All the Young Dudes - Sirius's Perspective

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/34577035.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive
Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: All the Young Dudes - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Character: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Regulus
Black, Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon, Mary Macdonald, Bellatrix
Black Lestrange, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Minerva McGonagall, Albus
Dumbledore, Walburga Black, Orion Black, Filius Flitwick, Severus
Snape, Horace Slughorn, Poppy Pomfrey, Frank Longbottom, Alice
Longbottom, Gideon Prewett (Harry Potter), Fabian Prewett, Arthur
Weasley, Caradoc Dearborn, Emmeline Vance, Dorcas Meadowes,
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Fleamont Potter, Euphemia Potter, Molly
Weasley, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Fred
Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks,
Andromeda Black Tonks
Additional Tags: Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry
Potter), Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, fanfic of a fanfic, i would die for
mskingbean89, Inspired by All the Young Dudes - MsKingBean89,
Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Requited Love, Canon Compliant, First
Kiss, First War with Voldemort, Domestic Violence, Abuse, Mutual
Pining, Internalized Homophobia, wolfstar
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of ATYD - Another Perspective
Collections: i love these, Wolfstar Canon™ and Acceptable Alternatives, Best of
Potter (J's), marauders fics - wolfstar jegulus..., best marauders fanfics
ever, COMPLETED FICS, TbrWolfstarbabe, always crying about
wolfstar, brb crying over sirius and reggie's relationship, Fics I’ve read
or wips I’m reading, A Collection of my Favorite Fics, brb crying over
regs’ and sirius’ relationship, Favwolfstar, Harry Potter Rereads
Stats: Published: 2021-10-18 Completed: 2022-04-24 Chapters: 188/188
Words: 628178

All the Young Dudes - Sirius's Perspective

by Rollercoasterwords

Summary

this is an ATYD fanfic first!!! and a harry potter fanfic only by necessity. this is literally
just me rewriting each chapter of atyd but from Sirius's perspective bc i love this story so
much and can't get enough of it. all credit for the original work goes to MsKingBean89 and
if for some reason you've stumbled upon this without reading the original ATYD first,
please go do that!!

Read the original here

Notes

(1/31/22) - A note on translations! I've had a few different comments asking if it's alright to
translate this work into other languages, so I thought I'd include a note here for future
reference :) Basically:
- yes, please feel free to translate this fic into any language
- please credit me as the writer AND mskingbean89 as the original creator of atyd
- please keep the work on ao3 rather than posting it to other sites

If you're translating the work and want me to link to it here, just select the "This work is a
remix, a translation, a podfic, or was inspired by another work" box when posting and put in
the info for this fic. It should show up in my related works, and then I can easily link back
to it! :)
 Summer, 1971

Sirius Black was awake. He doubted that he would ever sleep again. His entire body was alive with
energy, buzzing, as if he could feel the magic fizzing in his veins.

This was unfortunate, as it was well past midnight and there was nothing to do but lie in bed. His
mother had begun sending Kreacher, the wretched little snitch, to check in on him after one fateful
night when she had discovered Sirius under the covers with a muggle magazine. She had been
furious, ranting about how her niece was “poisoning his mind” and “contaminating the purity of
the noble Black family.” There had also been a lot about ‘Dromeda’s “perverted obsession with
mundanity,” a line which Sirius had thought his cousin would actually find quite funny. It wasn’t
funny when Walpurga was screaming it, though—her face twisted up into a frightening snarl.

The magazine wasn’t even Andromeda’s. Sirius had nicked it from a bin two weeks back; he’d
shown it to Reg, and they’d had a laugh about the silly, unmoving pictures.

Tonight, though, none of that mattered. Because tomorrow—tomorrow Sirius was going to
Hogwarts.

Hogwarts.

Just thinking the name made him giddy, and he grinned up at the dark panelled ceiling of his room.
He felt like laughing—he wanted to throw off the covers and jump up and down on the overlarge
mattress. Hogwarts. It was all he’d wanted since he could remember, the shining light at the end of
what felt like a very dark tunnel.

All summer he’d been up at the crack of dawn, racing downstairs to check the post. His mother’s
sharp reprimands that he behave with decorum had not been enough to thwart his excitement—nor
had the punishments she doled out when her commands went ignored. He didn’t care about
washing a few dishes or dusting a few old cabinets, and the fact that chores were the worst of it
made Sirius think that secretly, his mother must be just a tiny bit excited too. Maybe even proud of
him. Just a little. Surely, if she was truly angry, she’d have done much worse.

When the letter did come, Sirius had whooped with joy and grabbed Reggie’s hands, swinging
them around in circles until they collapsed on the living room floor, giggling.

“Can you believe it, Reg? I’m really off to Hogwarts.” Sirius had sighed, blissfully. His little
brother smiled, although there was a hungry glint in his eye as stared at the letter clutched in
Sirius’s hands.

“Wish I could go with you,” he said, rolling over so that he was lying on his back, staring up at the
ceiling.

“Aw, come on, you’ll be there in a year! And we’ll be housemates, living in the dorms together,
and I can show you ‘round and tell you which professors are nice and all that.”

Regulus dug his fingers into the plush carpet beneath them. “S’pose,” he said. And then, after a
short pause, “Won’t be the same ‘round here, without you, though.”

Sirius stiffened. “’Course it won’t,” he said, “Be a lot a more boring, eh?” Even to his own ear, the
cheer sounded forced, but Reggie smiled valiantly.

“Yeah,” he said, “Right.”

They left it at that.

Walpurga Black refused to take her sons shopping in Diagon Alley, and Sirius knew better than to
think that any amount of pleading or bargaining would change her mind. The Noble Black Family
was above mixing with the crowds of halfbloods and mudbloods that were sure to flood the place,
she said; it was bad enough, the state Dumbledore had let things get at Hogwarts.

“I mean, really,” she sniffed over dinner on the night that Sirius received his letter, “They used to
have standards. Maybe a few halfbloods here and there, but I heard from Dominia Lestrange that
nearly a quarter of the incoming class are mudbloods. Can you imagine!” Her husband nodded
solemnly in agreement, mouth twisted as though he had just eaten something sour.

“Sirius,” he said, turning to his son, “You’re to stay away from those sort, understand?”

“Yes,” Sirius muttered, poking unenthusiastically at his dinner. He was secretly quite curious about
muggle-borns—he’d never met one before. His parents insisted that they were all incompetent, the
dregs of wizardkind. But if so many were getting into Hogwarts, they couldn’t all be awful, could
they? And if Andromeda had run off to marry a muggle-born, then there had to be something
interesting about them, didn’t there? Otherwise, why go through all the fuss?

Walpurga tutted loudly. “Sit up straight, boy, and stop playing with your food this instant.”

Sirius straightened immediately, and hated himself for it. He let his shoulders slouch forward a bit,
defiantly, but his mother didn’t seem to notice this small rebellion. She was still going on about
Hogwarts: “I mean, what’s next? Goblins? House elves? Dumbledore has to draw the line
somewhere…”

So there was no Diagon Alley for Sirius. The Black family’s private seamstress came to measure
him for a new set of robes, and Walpurga sent Kreacher out with the list of books and supplies that
Sirius would need. He didn’t even get to choose his own owl from the Black family owlery—his
parents saw to that, presenting him with a spiteful beast that nipped at his fingers whenever he
went to open its cage.

The only good part was the wand. It was a Black family heirloom, stored away until the heir came
of age to use it. Even though Sirius had turned eleven in November of 1970, his mother had refused
to let him touch it until the summer before he left for Hogwarts.

“A wand is earned,” she had said to him, voice cold and sharp as ice, when he opened the empty
box on his birthday. For the rest of the year, any bad behaviour was met with threats: You are the
heir to this family, Sirius, and if you don’t wish to accept the responsibilities that come with that
title then you will never earn the privileges it bestows, either.

Sirius tried his best. Really, truly, he did. He sat still in lessons (he and Regulus were home-
schooled—another reason Sirius was dying to get to Hogwarts. Aside from the children of other
stuffy pureblood families, Sirius had never been able to make any friends his own age) and
parroted back his parent’s teachings in his essays. He memorised family trees and French
conjugation. He wrote fewer letters to Andromeda—and he was sneakier about sending them.

It was never enough, of course. There were still the arguments, and the punishments, and the
nights when he climbed into bed wincing on bandaged legs. Sometimes Sirius hated himself for his
inability to just let go, to give in and play the proper son that he knew his parents so desperately
wanted. He wished he could excise the stubborn part of his heart that screamed at injustice, the bit
that felt like a kick in the gut—that isn’t fair. That’s wrong. The infuriating instinct to just scream
NO.
But he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how he hard he tried. The more Sirius attempted to fit in, the
more aware he became of his complete inability to do so. Like trying to jam a puzzle piece into a
board when it just wasn’t shaped right—for the entire year, Sirius felt like something with its edges
scraped raw.

Still, he managed. He was good, mostly—good enough that when the time finally came, he got his
wand.

Walpurga insisted on a traditional bestowal ceremony, which meant all the family members Sirius
hated and the stuffy, starched dress robes and hours of speeches about purity and lineage and the
Black family name. He tried not to squirm too much—just a few more weeks. A few more weeks,
and I’m going to Hogwarts.

It was actually quite nerve-wracking, having to stand in front of all his relatives and take the wand.
Sirius had never touched it—had never even seen it, but he was well aware of the age-old motto:
the wand chooses the wizard.

What if this wand didn’t choose him? What if it could sense that there was—something wrong.
That he didn’t fit in. As Sirius stood to accept the crystalline case, it felt like a distinct possibility.
For a moment, as he opened the box, he was sure that the wand would reject him, proving to his
family once and for all the secret fear that curled, hidden, in his heart: that Sirius wasn’t truly
worthy of being a Black at all. That he never would be.

There was an oath that he was supposed to say. Sirius recited the memorised words—more
horseshit about family legacy, blood purity, blah blah blah—without thinking about them. Instead,
he stared down at the wand.

It was elm, nine and a half inches. Dragon heartstring. The wood had a beautiful finish, and it
seemed to glow softly in the light. As Sirius finished his oath, his family chanted:

“Toujours Pur!”

“Toujours Pur,” He repeated. His throat had gone dry.

There was a short pause. Sirius looked up, and met his mother’s eyes. She was frowning, glaring
meaningfully at their assembled relatives, who were all waiting for him to do something. Walpurga
raised her eyebrows slightly, as if to say, Just pick the bloody thing up!

So he did.

There was a rush of heat—of energy—a sort of tingle, as if stars were shooting up his fingertips
and spreading through his entire body. Sirius gasped, smiling. The wand seemed almost to hum in
his hand, as if it were greeting an old friend.

It chose me, Sirius thought, giddy. As if in response, a stream of light burst out of the wand. Sirius
felt a tug in his gut, like something was pulling the magic out of him. It wasn’t forceful—more
guiding, like the wand was showing him what to do. He released a startled laugh, following the
wand’s lead, pushing more magic out into dizzy spirals of tiny fireworks that leapt away from the
wood to crackle over his relatives’ heads.

There were hums of awe and delight, scattered applause, a buzz of chatter as people began to
disperse, turning to talk and find refreshments now that the ceremony was over. When Sirius
looked up again, his mother was smiling.

There was still something of a smirk about it—Walpurga Black was beautiful, but there was
nothing kind in her features, and the tilt of her lips meant that any smile looked somewhat haughty
at best. But it was proud. Undeniably, it was proud, and it was directed at him.

“Well, now,” she sniffed, smile still playing across her lips, “You may just make a fine heir yet.”

Sirius felt as if his heart might burst with joy.

 First Year: The Hogwarts Express
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It didn’t last, of course. It never did, with Walpurga. In the years that followed, Sirius sometimes
wondered if the good memories had ever really happened, or if they were only ever dreams—
fantasies that he convinced himself were real so that he could keep going. Had she really smiled at
him, that day? Had she really been proud? In the years to come, the memory would grow dimmer,
foggier, until Sirius could never truly be sure that it had happened at all.

On the morning they left for the Hogwarts Express, his mother was decidedly not proud. Sirius had
thought he might be able to ride the high of the successful wand-bestowing ceremony, scrape
through the last few weeks of summer quietly and be on his way. But this was not to be.

It was just—Reg. Regulus. He had grown more withdrawn the closer it got to September, more
distracted. Sirius had been trying not to think too much about it, because anytime he did it felt like
a fist was closing over his heart.

They’d always had each other, the Black boys. Each other, and not much else. The problem was
that Reg was sweet—always had been, even as a little kid, at that age when kids are supposed to be
bratty and drive everyone around them up the wall. There was a softness to him that was too close
to weakness. He saved worms from drowning in the gutter. He cried when Walpurga shouted—
which only made her shout more. Sirius learned very young, and very quickly, that no one else was
going to protect his baby brother. It had to be him, or Reg would have no one at all. And besides, it
was one thing to have his mother at his throat, screaming in his ear—Sirius could take it. But if she
set in on Reg, and Sirius watched his little brother’s lip start to tremble, heard him start taking
those quick, funny breaths that meant he was trying not to cry…Sirius couldn’t stomach it.

He actually had thrown up, one time. When he was seven, and Reggie had just turned six. Poor Reg
had wet the bed—it was an accident, just kid stuff, a nightmare. Even at seven, Sirius was old
enough to understand that. He was old enough to understand that a mother shouldn’t scream at her
child for that, shouldn’t dig her nails into his arm and drag him off the bed and pull down his
trousers, pointing her wand at his legs like she was going to—

That was when Sirius had vomited. Walpurga had turned to him with hellfire in her eyes, her anger
like a blade. Only now, it was pointed at Sirius, and not Reg.

But that was alright. Sirius had got his first scar ages ago. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t live
through. But seeing Regulus’s unblemished legs, still chubby with baby fat, smooth and vulnerable
—seeing his mother’s wand pointed at them—that was what had made Sirius sick.

After that, it was like Sirius had discovered some sort of secret code. When being good didn’t work
—and it never did, not for long—when one of them made a mistake, he just had to make sure that
his was worse. That was all it took, to keep Reggie safe. It was worth it.

So as they left for King’s Cross Station, Sirius couldn’t shake the guilt that cobwebbed across his
heart, clinging to him. It wasn’t as if his parents would ever let him stay back, would ever let him
wait a year just so that he could go to Hogwarts at the same time as Reg. But maybe a better
brother would have tried. Maybe a better brother wouldn’t be so excited to leave.

The best Sirius could do was be bad. Once he had secured his wand, he spent the rest of the
summer rebelling in every small way he could think of. He tracked mud through the house, he
snuck out of his room at night and crept around the library until Kreacher found him, he nicked
more muggle magazines. It was a delicate balance, inciting his mother’s anger but ensuring that it
was focused solely on him. There couldn’t be any spill over; he needed to make sure that Reg
looked like an angel once he left, and not a punching bag for any pent up frustration with the Black
heir. But Sirius thought he had managed alright.

The downside to this rebellion was that Walpurga refused to allow Regulus to accompany them to
the station. (“He doesn’t need a second more of your influence!”) They’d had to settle for a sniffly
goodbye at the house, presided over by their mother, who glared like she would wallop them both
if a single tear spilled over their watery eyes.

“I’ll miss you,” Regulus said, voice a bit pitchy. “Promise you’ll write?”

“’Course I will! Can’t miss you hearing about all my adventures.” Sirius grinned broadly, hoping to
set his brother at ease. He leaned in for a hug, and Reg clung to him, burying his face in Sirius’s
neck. He took the chance to whisper,

“Look, just play nice, alright? You’re good at that. Keep your chin up, you’re a saint compared to
me, yeah?”

Regulus pulled back, nodding and sniffling, a wary confusion clouding his eyes. He blinked, then
started to say, “Sirius, you don’t—”

“That’s that, then.” Their mother interrupted, “We’re off, or we’ll be late. Come along, boy.”

(It had been “boy,” for the past two weeks, ever since Sirius accidentally knocked over a vase
while trying to hide from Kreacher. Apparently it was something important, a family heirloom
from some stuffy old geezer who’d probably married his cousin. Sirius thought it had been ugly,
anyway.)

He gave his brother one last smile as they left, turning around to see Reg’s small frame silhouetted
in the doorway.

* * *

The station was everything he’d imagined—more, even. There were so many families, so many
children. Sirius had never been in a room with so many people his own age. And the train—it was
a beauty, a metal dragon spitting steam on the tracks.

“Don’t gawk,” his mother snapped, “Have some dignity!”

Sirius’s blinked and looked down sheepishly, then petulantly lifted his chin again, refusing to give
in to his mother’s orders. Even if his first instinct was still to jump at her every word. Pathetic, he
thought.

He held his head high as they walked through the station, aware of the looks that other wizards
were casting their way. He heard his name muttered by a few of them—the Blacks—snatches of
hushed conversation that died out of earshot as he walked by. Walpurga seemed used to the
attention; she had her shoulders thrown back and her head held high, staring haughtily at wizards
who jumped out of her way. She looked regal. Sirius felt very aware of who he was, and exactly
what everyone saw when they looked at him. Toujours pur. He lifted his chin a bit higher, then felt
foolish.

They were waylaid by a well-dressed witch who looked vaguely familiar—Sirius thought she
might be a distant cousin. For a moment, he listened as his mother began to speak with her in
hushed tones about which families were sending children to Hogwarts this year, discussing blood
status and staring nastily out at some of the other wizards.

“Did you hear about the Pettigrews?” The witch murmured, “Their daughter…”

Sirius zoned out. He had had quite enough of gossip about who was who in the wizarding world—
it was hardly any fun when he never got to meet any of the people his parents talked about. His
father had already made sure that Sirius memorised the names of every pureblood family at
Hogwarts, and had instructed him on which ones to avoid. Not that Sirius was planning to follow
those instructions—he didn’t want to spend the whole year with only his cousins for company.

Bored, Sirius let his eyes drift over to the train. He blinked. There was a boy with his face pressed
up against the window doing what could only be described—in the words of Walpurga Black—as
gawking.

He looked to be the same age as Sirius, but that was where the similarities ended. Even through the
carriage window, Sirius could see that the boy’s clothes were shabby—hand me downs, probably,
from an older sibling—and his head had been shaved, leaving nothing but fuzz that stuck straight
out. He had a broad mouth and full lips, which were hanging open a bit, and his eyes were wide
and glassy. One of them was blackened, the sign of a recent fight.

When their eyes met, Sirius felt his heart kick, anxiously, in his chest. But he couldn’t look away—
determined to project the façade of cool confidence, Sirius only raised a brow, challenging, as if to
say, what are you looking at?

The boy made a face, bulging out his chin with his tongue and crossing his eyes. Sirius’s lips
twitched, curling up into a smirk without meaning to, and he saluted the boy by throwing up two
fingers. The broad mouth split into a grin that changed his entire face, lighting it up.

“Sirius, what do you think you are doing?! Come here at once.” Walpurga swept forward and
yanked her son away from the window, roughly. Sirius rolled his eyes and followed her up the
platform, not quite sure why his heart was racing.

It was just his luck that Narcissa was arriving at the exact moment that Sirius was ready to board
the train. His mother sent him on with his cousin, giving Sirius very clear instructions that he was
to remain with her for the duration of the train ride and to not, under any circumstances, “mix with
blood traitors or the impure.”

Narcissa didn’t exactly look thrilled to be saddled with her kid cousin, but she smiled politely at her
aunt and brought Sirius on board, muttering, “Follow me,” as they towed their suitcases down the
hall.

“Right then,” she stopped outside one of the carriages, “This is where I’m supposed to meet my
friends.” Her lip curled as she looked at Sirius, making it very clear that his presence was an
unwanted intrusion—but one that she was resigned to suffer.

“Have fun then,” Sirius said quickly, “I’m off.”

“Wh—your mother said you were to stay with me,” Narcissa’s voice had gone high and reedy.
 Clearly, though she was displeased with the arrangement, she hadn’t intended to actually disobey a
direct instruction from Walpurga Black. Probably, she had just been planning to snipe at him the
whole train ride, making sarcastic comments about what a pain it was that she got stuck with him
in her carriage.

No, thank you, Sirius thought. He had other plans.

“Did she?” He was already backing away, holding his suitcase between them like a shield, “I think
you must have misheard!” He turned and scampered off as Narcissa called out behind him,

“You little—if I get in trouble for this, you’ll be hexed all term! Do you hear me, Sir—oh,
bollocks.”

Sirius heard the carriage door open and slam shut, and he smiled to himself as he hurried off down
the hall.

The train had already begun to move, but Sirius took his time, peeking in windows until he finally
found the person he’d been looking for. There were two other boys in the carriage now—a little
mousy one with a pointed nose and watery eyes, and a boy with messy black hair and glasses. It
looked as though they were in the middle of a conversation. Sirius steadied himself, taking a deep
breath.

Just make friends, he told himself, It’s easy. Just—be cool. You’re Sirius bloody Black.

The door swung open, and he sauntered in, interrupting whatever they were talking about. The
three boys turned to look at him, and he made a show of glancing about furtively.

“None of you are related to me, are you?” He drawled. The boy with the black eye was looking at
him, and his lips twitched down when Sirius spoke. Shit, Sirius thought, have I ballsed it up
already?

But then the one with glasses grinned, saying, “Don’t think so.” He held out a hand. “James
Potter.” Thank god.

“Oh good, a Potter. Dad told me not to talk to you.” Sirius sat down in the only empty seat, heart
pounding, “Sirius Black.”

Chapter End Notes

gonna be honest every use of british slang is a shot in the dark bc i'm simply not
british <3
 First Year: The Sorting

“So, where do you lads think you’ll end up?” James asked. They were nearing the school now, and
students were changing into their uniforms. “I’m hoping for Gryffindor.”

“Gryffindor?” Sirius scrunched up his nose, “Really?” His father always said Gryffindor was full
of hot-blooded idiots.

James didn’t seem offended by the scepticism. He smiled broadly, unselfconsciously, as he said,
“Yeah, my dad was a Gryffindor. I think it’s the coolest, don’t you?”

Sirius thought that James was the coolest, so maybe his opinion counted for something. James
Potter was friendly and self-assured, the heir to one of the oldest pureblood families—but one that
wasn’t as concerned with blood purity as the Blacks, judging by how Sirius’s parents had warned
him away from them. James had an easy, laid-back confidence that somehow didn’t come off as
entitled. Perhaps it was because he treated Peter—his chubby, undersized friend—with such
genuine kindness.

Peter, in return, seemed to worship James. He was from a pureblood family, too—Peter Pettigrew,
Sirius recognised the name. The Pettigrews were notorious for turning out squibs, and none of them
were very powerful. Plus, there had been some scandal with Peter’s older sister recently, apparently
she was nearly as bad as Andromeda.

Peter, for his part, seemed a nervous wreck, clinging to James like a lifeline. Although the question
had been directed at Sirius, it was Peter who answered, squeaking eagerly,

“I do! I want to be in Gryffindor, too, James!”

Sirius had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He was sure that Peter would just pick whatever
house James said was the best.

“What’s a Gryffindor?” the other boy interrupted.

Lupin—that was his name, Remus Lupin. When Sirius heard it, he’d thought for sure it was a
wizard name. But Sirius had never heard his parents mention the Lupins, and judging by the state
of his dress, Sirius doubted they ran in the same circles as the Blacks. Remus didn’t talk much, just
watched them with those big, round eyes, looking confused by much of the conversation. Sirius
wondered if he’d guessed wrong on the name—could a muggle have named their son Remus?

James looked as if he’d been waiting for this question his entire life. He launched into an
explanation about the Hogwarts houses, which made Peter groan. Sirius sighed as well, but
secretly he was quite interested—he’d never heard anyone other than his family discuss the
houses, and it was a bit of a shock to get a new perspective.

“So Gryffindor,” James was saying, “Is all about loyalty, bravery, honour.” They’ve all got
bollocks for brains, Sirius could hear the echoes of his father’s voice, after having an extra glass of
wine at the Lestrange’s dinner party.

“Hufflepuff is all about acceptance, they’re really—er—kind, I suppose, and they’ve got a lot of
hidden talent. I think.” James clearly wasn’t as enthusiastic about the other houses, but was trying
to find something nice to say. Full of mudbloods, Walpurga’s voice hissed inside Sirius’s head.

“Ravenclaws are really clever, their house is all about brains. And creativity, I suppose,” They’ve
got good minds, some of them—but their heads are all stuck in the clouds.

“And Slytherin—well, they’re supposed to be, er…cunning, I suppose. Don’t really understand
how that’s different from being smart, but they’re ambitious too—honestly, a lot of dark wizards
have come from Slytherin. Almost all of them, actually.” Slytherin is the house of nobility. Anyone
who’s going anywhere is a Slytherin. “I’d steer clear if I were you, mate.” James said this last with
a friendly nod to Remus, a heads-up between mates.

“Reckon I’ll be in Slytherin,” Sirius said, frowning. James looked at him, bemused.

“Aw, come on, surely not!” The words were said as if in reassurance—Sirius wondered if James
had already had this conversation with Peter, or one like it. Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“My whole family’s in Slytherin. Big tradition. Hasn’t been a Black in another house for about five
hundred years.”

Now James could see that he’d put his foot in his mouth. He flushed, and said awkwardly, “Oh,
sorry mate, I didn’t realise…well, cheers, I’m sure there’re plenty of cool Slytherins! My family’s
just a bit partial to Gryffindor, that’s all.” He smiled apologetically, a peace offering, and Sirius
smiled back.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. My family’s the worst.” He made a valiant effort to laugh, and James
chuckled, awkwardly, with him.

“I’m sure I’ll get stuck in Hufflepuff,” Peter moaned, flopping back onto the seat, and for once
Sirius was grateful for his complaining.

“Now, come on Pete, don’t be like that…Hufflepuff’s cool too, all the houses are great…”

It sounded as if the two friends had already had this conversation, or iterations of it, many times.
Sirius leaned back and glanced over at Remus—this whole explanation had been for his benefit,
after all. But Lupin was staring out the window, watching the trees flash by, looking as if he wasn’t
paying any attention to them at all.

* * *

Sirius thought his heart might beat its way out of his chest. He didn’t even glance down as their
boat sliced through the dark water of the lake, though normally he would have been entranced. The
sweeping stairways, the stone columns, even the starry ceiling—all of it hardly registered. The
castle was magnificent, but Sirius Black was used to magnificence. He hadn’t expected anything
less.

So as they entered the great hall, full of chattering students—more children in one room than Sirius
had ever seen, all different sorts, and they were all turning to look—his focus was entirely on the
shabby hat propped up on a little wooden stool.

The Sorting Hat.

Sirius tried to swallow, but it felt like there was a brick in his throat. At the Slytherin table, he
could feel Narcissa and Bellatrix staring at him. When he looked over, they smirked.

This is it, then, Sirius thought as Professor McGonagall began calling names, Slytherin.
He’d always known it was coming. All thoughts of Hogwarts were inextricably bound up with
Slytherin, where he would spend the next seven years. His whole family went on about it for ages,
anytime school was brought up—all the wonderful memories, the crucial connections, the like-
minded people. The pure blood. Slytherin had the lowest muggle-born acceptance rate of any house
at Hogwarts.

Sirius tried to find the excitement that he’d felt just a few hours earlier, buzzing in his chest. But
the train ride had done something funny to his head. He liked James, and he liked the way James
talked about Gryffindor—most of all, he liked not having to think about his bloody family, even
just for a short while. Sirius knew he should be thrilled at the prospect of walking over to take the
seat next to his cousins—but looking at them, all he felt was a cold wash of dread.

“SIRIUS BLACK!”

He still couldn’t swallow. Walking up to the little stool, Sirius thought he might be sick.

Pull it together, he chastised himself, This is all you’ve ever wanted. You’re at Hogwarts! It would
be just like the wand ceremony, he told himself. His parents would be so proud—wouldn’t they?

Wouldn’t they?

It was the last thought Sirius had before the hat settled onto his head.

Ahhhh, another Black, said the hat. Its voice was gruff; Sirius felt like it was scratching the inside
of his head. Suppose this one should be easy, eh?

Right. The hat was right—it should be easy. Any second now, it would call out the name…

Hmmm…but what’s this?

…and his parents would be proud, they definitely would, and wasn’t that what he wanted?

What you want, eh…

Sirius cringed, realising the hat could read his thoughts, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking.
It was a good enough reason to go to Slytherin, wasn’t it? To make his family proud? And he’d
have Reg to think about, he’d have to look out for Reg…

Very interesting, young Sirius, very interesting indeed.

…if this stupid hat would just shut up and get on with it, then everything would be fine, he just
needed it to say—

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Sirius’s heart leapt into his throat. It was a mistake—it had to be a mistake—

But people were starting to clap now, and McGonagall had already taken the hat, she was calling
the next name, and Cissy and Bella—oh, no, they were looking at him, his mother would know
before the night was out, wouldn’t she? How had he messed it up so badly? All he’d had to do was
wear a stupid hat!

Sirius stood, stiffly, walking over to the Gryffindor tables. He could feel the Slytherins staring at
him as he sat down. Traitor.

He was the first new student to sit down at the Gryffindor table, and he got a few pats on the back
and good-natured smiles—along with a few wary looks, presumably from students who were
familiar with his family name. At the front, the sorting continued on, but Sirius found himself
unable to pay attention.

A failure. A complete and utter failure, that’s what he was. A disappointment to the family. He
could imagine exactly what his mother would say if she was here with him. Sirius felt very small,
and very alone, even though he was surrounded by cheering Gryffindors.

He perked up a bit when Remus Lupin got sorted into Gryffindor, though they’d barely said two
words to each other on the train. He’d smiled at Sirius in the station—surely that had meant he
wanted to be friends, right?

But Remus sat down and stared doggedly at his plate, as though determined not to make
conversation. Sirius frowned.

He was surprised when Peter got sorted into Gryffindor—privately, he had agreed with the small
boy on the train when he’d said he was going to be in Hufflepuff. It wasn’t until James got sorted—
the hat was barely on his head two seconds before it called out Gryffindor—that Sirius began to
feel a tiny bit better. At least he’d have one friend (Remus still hadn’t said a word, and Peter
seemed too anxious to speak to him).

“How great is that!” James said, grinning broadly as he sat down, “We all made it!”

He made it sound like a grand achievement. Sirius groaned, his head in his arms on the table.

“Speak for yourself,” He replied, slightly muffled, “My Father’s going to kill me.” It was so much
easier to say father than mother. Sirius didn’t want to think about what his mother would do.

“I can’t believe it.” Peter kept saying, eyes wide. He shuffled a bit closer to James, darting glances
around the room like he thought someone might come and try to drag him away from the table.
Sirius thought he was acting ridiculous, so he was a bit surprised when McGonagall actually did
walk over—but she placed her hand on Remus’s shoulder, not Peter’s.

“Mr. Lupin,” she murmured, “If you would come to my office after dinner? It’s next to the
Gryffindor common room, one of the prefects can show you.”

Remus nodded mutely, and she left.

“What was that about?” James asked, “McGonagall wants to see you already?”

Remus looked at them, shoulders hunching forward slightly, as though he was trying to protect
himself from their attention. He kept his face blank, but Sirius peered at his eyes, which were wary
and perhaps a bit frightened. Like a stray dog, backed into a corner. They waited for an answer, but
he only shrugged.

He’s got a secret, Sirius thought, and for a moment he forgot to be miserable.

After the food had appeared and they’d all stuffed themselves, they followed one of the prefects,
Frank Longbottom, to their common room.

They were just about to enter when James grabbed at Sirius’s arm.

“Oi, hang back a minute, lads. Let’s see if Remus wants us to wait for him.”

Sirius blinked, then shrugged. Remus still hadn’t said a word to them since getting off the train, but
he supposed it couldn’t hurt. Peter looked a bit put out, but they both trailed James as he jogged
down the corridor towards McGonagall’s office.

When they arrived outside the door, Remus was nowhere to be found.

“Well?” Peter asked, “Are we waiting?”

“Nah, you go on ahead,” James replied, smiling. Peter glanced at Sirius.

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I’ll stick around a bit—he missed the password from Frank.”

Peter wrung his hands nervously, glancing between James and Sirius as if unsure whether he
should offer to stay as well.

“Oh, come on then,” Sirius sighed, rolling his eyes. He was too tired to stand out in the hallway
until Remus’s secret meeting was over—it wasn’t as if any of them knew how long it would take.
After a moment of hesitation, Peter followed him back to their room.

The Gryffindor common room was lovely; all decked out in red and gold, with plush armchairs and
a thick carpet. Their room wasn’t half bad either—although it would be Sirius’s first time sharing a
bedroom, and it was a bit cramped for his liking with the four massive beds. He flopped onto his
mattress as Peter began digging through his trunk.

Gryffindor. Of all the rotten luck, he had to get stuck in bloody Gryffindor. He supposed it was
better than Hufflepuff—his mother would have lost her mind if he ended up there, he’d heard her
rants about the number of muggle-borns they accepted.

Still, Sirius felt hollowed out. With the wand and everything, he’d thought maybe…well, he’d
wondered if maybe he really was meant to be a Black, if all his worries about not fitting in, or
fitting in wrong had been…

Sirius sighed, rolling over onto his back. It didn’t matter now; here was proof of what he’d known,
secretly, to be true: he didn’t belong. He was a disappointment. If his parents didn’t know by now,
they would tomorrow—he had no doubt that Bellatrix would be racing to the owlery to spread the
news. She always seemed to get a kick out of it whenever Sirius slipped up. And this, of course,
was much more than a simple mistake. This was permanent.

The door to their room swung open, and James came in. Remus followed behind him, eyes bugging
slightly as he looked at the room. Sirius sat up, watching them, curious. Remus was staring around
the room like he couldn’t believe his eyes—as he looked at the velvet-draped beds and dark
wooden trunks, something hardened in his face, as if he’d come to some private decision. Sirius
wondered what that was about.

Peter was still rifling through his trunk, growing more and more frantic as he pulled out clothes and
magazines and books, making a terrible mess.

“I can’t find my wand,” he wailed. “Mum made me pack it so I wouldn’t lose it on the train, but
it’s not here!”

“Pete,” James grinned, “Your mum asked me to look after it, remember?”

James and Peter, Sirius had learnt at dinner, had grown up as neighbours and knew each other quite
well. That explained why James was so kind to Peter—Sirius had wondered what the two could
possibly have in common. When James noticed Sirius sulking, he smiled.

“Cheer up, mate,” James said, sitting next to him on the bed, “You didn’t want to be in Slytherin
anyway, did you?”

He said it with such confidence, as though it were obvious. Still, the question echoed in Sirius’s
head: did you? Did you? What did you want?

“Five hundred years.” His voice was stony as he replied, “Every Black at Hogwarts has been sorted
into Slytherin for five hundred years.”

“Well, it’s about time someone tried to be different, eh?” James slapped him on the back jovially.

Sirius felt a sudden surge of emotion. He wasn’t sure what it was about James Potter—the smile,
the happy confidence—but somehow, hearing him talk like things would be alright made Sirius
feel as if, maybe, they really would be alright. After all, it was true, wasn’t it? Sirius hadn’t wanted
to be in Slytherin, not really. And he loved the color red.

If I’m going to be the family disappointment, Sirius thought, moving to his trunk, I’ll be the best
bloody disappointment they’ve ever had.

He started to unpack, pulling out the books Andromeda had kept for him. There were quite a few of
them—he had to stack the ones that didn’t fit on his shelf beside his bed.

“You know,” James said, as Sirius continued stacking books, “There is a library here.”

Sirius smirked,

“I know, but these are mostly muggle books. My Uncle Alphard left them to me, and mum would
set them all on fire if I left them at home.” Peter’s eyes widened at that, and he glanced curiously at
the books, which made Sirius feel extremely cool.

Once he was finished with the books, he pulled out his record player, followed by a box of records
in shining cellophane sleeves. Andromeda was truly, truly the best. Sirius had barely set them
down before Remus came over, eyes wide with wonder.

“Is that Abbey Road?!” He asked, peering into the box of vinyl. That wary look was gone,
momentarily, from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sirius grinned, handing it to him. Remus wiped his hands carefully on his robes before
taking it, as though the record were something fragile and precious. “You must be muggle born.”
Sirius said, “Never met a wizard who knows the Beatles – except my cousin, Andromeda. She
bought them for me.”

He’d been wanting to ask about it, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up. He didn’t want the others to
think that he was like the rest of his family—obsessed with blood purity. But Sirius really was
curious—Remus seemed so surprised by everything at Hogwarts.

Remus nodded, though it seemed like he was only half-listening,

“I love The Beatles, one of the boys in my room at home’s got at least ten singles, but he never lets
me touch them.”

“Boys at home?” Sirius arched an eyebrow. Was that something muggles said? “You mean your
brother?”
“No,” Remus’s eyes shuttered, and he shook his head. He handed the record back to Sirius and
retreated, shoulders hunching up again, “I live in a children’s home.”

“Like an orphanage?” Peter asked, wide-eyed. Remus’s eyes went flat and dark, brow tugging
down.

“No.” He spat. Sirius waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t—only turned and kept
unpacking.

Sirius desperately wanted to ask more questions, but he could see that Remus had gone silent on
them again. What was a children’s home, if it wasn’t an orphanage? Were there no adults? Was
that how Remus had got his black eye—fighting with the other kids? He certainly seemed the type
to throw a punch, with the way he’d glared when Peter asked his question.

Eventually, Sirius asked James about his quidditch poster just to break the awkward silence, and
their conversation quickly turned into a very heated argument. They were still debating the latest
line-up for the Chudley Cannons when Remus climbed into his bed and pulled the curtains shut.

There was a pause, before Peter whispered loudly, “You’d think he’d try harder to make friends.
Especially if he’s muggle born.”

Sirius stiffened. He’d thought that one of the only good things about failing to be placed in
Slytherin was that he’d be away from all that nonsense. And besides, Remus seemed much cooler
than Peter—he obviously had good taste in music.

“Are you sure the hat wasn’t supposed to put you in Slytherin?” Sirius drawled. Peter promptly
shut up.
 First Year: The First Disappearance

Dear Reg,

Hello from Hogwarts! It feels weird to be writing you a letter. Classes won’t start til Monday,
so we’ve all been given a few days for “settling in.” It’s amazing here, you wouldn’t believe the
size of the place! And Bellatrix wasn’t lying about the moving stairs—they actually do change
around. They had to give us all maps so that we wouldn’t get lost.

Have mum or dad said anything about

Sirius Black was having the time of his life. He had never before been given free rein to do
anything he wanted with his time—no restrictions or rules, no watchful parents, no scheduled
lessons or social gatherings. Of course, there were limits at Hogwarts; the professors kept an eye
on the students, admonishing them to stay out of mischief. But they were certainly nothing like
Sirius’s parents. When professor Flitwick caught him and James sticking dung bombs along the
Slytherin’s corridor, he only confiscated the contraband and gave them a gentle—though stern—
rebuke before sending them off with a twinkle in his eye.

Sirius felt giddy with his newfound freedom. He spent his days running about the castle with
James, exploring all the places he’d heard his cousins talk about. In the evenings, they played
games of chess or gobstones or exploding snap in the Gryffindor common room, chatting with their
fellow students.

And they talked. They talked about anything and everything. Sirius had never had a friend like
James Potter, who could match his rapid-fire wit and discuss Quidditch for hours without getting
bored. They could go on talking for ages, until it sometimes felt like they were in their own private
world, somewhere that no one else could penetrate.

Of course, this situation didn’t always sit well with Peter. The boy acted as if he and James were
attached at the hip, always following them around and trying to butt into their conversations. James
liked him, so Sirius supposed that there must be something more to Peter that he wasn’t seeing—
but bloody hell, was he annoying.

I’ve already made some friends—there are so many people here! I think James Potter and I are
going to be best mates, he’s the coolest, you’d like him. He told me he’s got a Nimbus back home,
the newest model, and once we’re allowed to bring brooms to school he’s going to let me give it a
go. I know mum and dad said to stay away from the Potters, but that’s bollocks—besides, they’re
purebloods too, so I don’t really see why

Remus was exactly the opposite. While Peter tagged along everywhere, involving himself in
everything, Remus acted as if the three of them had some sort of contagious disease. He’d dart off
with his map and his wand, disappearing into the castle without saying anything to the rest of
them. At first, Sirius wondered if he had other friends—but every time he saw Remus, the boy was
alone, and he still sat near them at dinner, though he stayed a few seats down and didn’t speak to
them. Whatever the reason, he made it very clear that he didn’t intend to be their friend.

My other dorm mates are alright, too. One’s a Pettigrew—Peter—he likes to whinge, and he’s
always following us around, but James says he’s great once you get to know him, so I’m giving it a
chance. The other’s a half-blood—he told me he was muggle-born, but Peter says his dad was a
wizard, only he died when Remus was little so I guess he grew up around muggles. He seemed cool
at first, but he’s actually a bit of a prick. Too good to speak to us or something, he just goes off by
himself and avoids everyone. I suppose mum and dad will make a fuss about “consorting with the
impure,” but it’s not as if I get to choose my room

They were all so used to Remus avoiding them that by the time Sunday night rolled around, none of
them gave it a second thought when he was absent from their room. Sirius had spent the day with
James and Peter out exploring the grounds—especially the Quidditch pitch—before heading back
to their room.

Sirius put on Abbey Road so that James and Peter could listen to it, insisting that he was about to
change their lives. To his irritation, the other boys kept getting distracted—James kept asking
questions about the words, and Peter wanted James to play chess, and both of them looked quite
put out when Sirius told them to shut up and listen. Eventually, he gave up, trying not to show how
upset he was at their disinterest.

“Sorry mate,” James shrugged, “It just doesn’t sound that different from other music to me.”

“You uncultured swine!” Sirius threw his pillow at James, who laughed and batted it away, “The
Beatles are gods among men. If Remus were here, he’d agree with me!”

“Where is Remus?” Peter piped up from the floor, where he was setting up his chessboard, “It’s
almost curfew.”

They paused, looking at his empty bed—but none of them could answer.

How are things back home? Not too boring without me, I hope. Tell Kreacher I send my regards—
is he still sleeping in that awful little nest in the kitchen cupboard?

Anyway, I can’t wait for you to get here next year. I’m not sure if you already know, but I actually
got placed in Gryffindor, not Slytherin. I know mum and dad will have a cow, but I actually think
Gryffindor’s way cooler anyway, and it doesn’t even bother me

Curfew came and went, and Remus still didn’t appear. Sirius kept glancing at his empty bed. He
knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help wondering—was it their fault? It was quite clear that
Remus disliked his roommates—could he have asked to be transferred to another room? Was that
even an option at Hogwarts? Could he have left the school entirely?

“Do you think we should ask someone?” Sirius suggested. It was getting late, and he couldn’t
shake the worries that crept like vines through the back of his mind. Outside, night had fallen; the
moon was high in the sky.
“Maybe…” James shrugged, “I s’pose it couldn’t hurt to ask Frank. Don’t want to get him in
trouble, though, if he’s just running late…”

Sirius frowned. “Yeah. Yeah, he does like to wander off, that one.” He smiled uneasily, glancing at
the door.

How did mum and dad take the news? I mean, I obviously don’t care what they think, it’s not as if
they can get me kicked out of Hogwarts just for getting sorted into the wrong house, but I’m just
cur

Eventually, they simply went to bed. Sirius couldn’t shake his unease, but this was Hogwarts. If
Remus was in any serious trouble, then surely the teachers would know.

Still, he slept poorly, and when he woke Remus’s bed was still empty. As he, James, and Peter got
dressed, they resolved to ask Frank about it once they went down for breakfast. But just as they
made the decision, the door to their room burst open.

Remus barged in, moving stiffly. He looked…haggard, as if he’d been up all night. His skin was
sallow and pale, which only made the dark bags under his eyes stand out even more.

“Where were you?!” James asked, brow furrowed with concern.

“Nowhere.” Remus said gruffly, pushing past him to collect his things.

Sirius watched him in the mirror, where he had just finished getting ready. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” James said gently, “You look a bit weird.”

Remus scowled as if they had yelled at him, muttering, “Piss off.”

Peter looked affronted, placing his hands on his hips. “We’re just being nice.” He said,
indignantly.

Remus ignored him, going to remove his t-shirt—and stopping abruptly when he realised that they
were still staring at him.

“What?!” He growled at them, “You all gonna watch me get dressed? You posh boys are all a
bunch of poofs.” He marched into the bathroom with his clothes and slammed the door.

Sirius frowned. If it wasn’t clear that he hated them before, it certainly was now. Still, there was
something about the way he’d moved, as if he were in pain…

“I’m hungry,” Peter whinged, “If we don’t hurry up, we’ll miss breakfast.”

Sirius cast a meaningful look towards James, who shrugged as if to say, What else can we do? The
three of them headed downstairs, leaving Remus as he liked to be—alone.

I miss you loads, can’t wait to see you at Christmas! And don’t worry—I’ll write you every week. I
bet it’ll start to feel like you’re already here!
Your brother,

Sirius
 First Year: Potions

Friday 10th September 1971

By the end of his first week of lessons, Sirius had broken a window, lost his owl, and learned a
new jinx, courtesy of his cousin, Narcissa.

The lessons themselves were, for the most part, boring—they were all introductory, and most of
the professors only covered information that was already found in the set texts. A few assigned
homework, but it was all, for the most part, simple stuff that could be copied almost directly from
their books.

History of magic was the worst—Professor Binns spent the entire time droning on, practically
reciting the introduction from A History of Magic. Sirius felt like he was about to crawl up the
walls by the time it ended; he’d already read the entire book over the summer.

Transfiguration was slightly better, but still a let-down. It was the class Sirius had most been
looking forward to, but Professor McGonagall said they wouldn’t be doing any spell work for the
first week, only reading, with homework assigned to gauge their ability level. Sirius liked reading,
but he’d thought he’d come to Hogwarts to learn magic.

In Charms, they finally got to pick up their wands, but they were only levitating pinecones. Sirius
was a bit surprised that one of the muggle-born students, Lily, was the first to master the spell,
lifting her pinecone three feet off the table. He followed soon after, though, adding a flourish to his
wand work to set his spinning like a top—just to ensure he wasn’t outdone. This backfired slightly
when the pinecone spun so quickly that it sailed through the air and smashed a window, but James
whooped with laughter, and Sirius just smirked and shrugged as if he’d meant to do it. Neither
Peter nor James—nor Remus—managed to levitate their pinecones, and Sirius was privately quite
proud.

The only other class that was even slightly hands-on was Potions, which Sirius was dismayed to
find they shared with the Slytherins. He’d been purposely avoiding any Slytherin students—
including his cousins—and his heartbeat sped up a bit every time he saw a flash of green in the
halls. It was stupid, but he wasn’t sure how to make it stop.

To make matters worse, Professor Slughorn was an irritatingly jovial man who insisted on adding a
running commentary to his role call. Of course, he had something to say when he saw Sirius’s
name.

“Black, Sirius – aha, there you are! Quite surprised at the sorting my boy, quite surprised! I’ve had
every one of the Blacks in my house since I started teaching! Shan’t take it personally, young
Sirius, but I shall be expecting great things!”

Sirius could feel the eyes of his classmates on him as Slughorn announced how he had shamed his
family to the entire room. If there had been any hope that some of the students might not know
about how he’d broken the Black tradition, it was gone now. 500 years, and you’re the one to ruin
it. Even Andromeda had been in Slytherin.

Slughorn continued to call out names as if he hadn’t just said the most mortifying thing possible to
all of Sirius’s classmates.
“A Potter and a Pettigrew, eh? Well, well, along with Mr. Black here this class has quite the
pedigree, eh?”

Slimy old git, Sirius thought, talking about everyone’s “pedigree.” He was reminding Sirius
uncomfortably of his parents at parties.

“Let me see… Lupin! I knew your father; not one of mine, but a damn good duellist. Nasty
business…”

At this, Sirius blinked and turned to look at Remus—along with the rest of the class. Most of their
year knew by now that his dad had been a wizard, but he was raised with muggles in a children’s
home (Sirius still wasn’t exactly sure about what that meant, precisely). But Remus hadn’t seemed
inclined to share anything else about his past.

A duellist? Remus’s dad sounded quite cool. But what was Slughorn talking about with that “nasty
business?” Sirius’s mind buzzed with curiosity—Remus’s eyes widened slightly, as if in surprise,
but he had no other response to Slughorn’s commentary.

Once he was done talking about every student’s family, Slughorn set them to work.

“Best thing is to just get stuck in!” He smiled, “Now, if we all work four to a cauldron, you can all
take it in turns to follow the steps…”

James and Sirius rushed to the cauldron in the back of the room, Peter scurrying behind. Sirius
looked up at Remus, but he just continued to stand, rooted to the spot. Sirius had noticed that
Remus had a tendency to furrow his brow slightly and poke his lower lip out a bit, so that it always
looked like he was thinking hard about something. He had the same expression on his face now, as
he watched his classmates pair off.

“Mind if I join you, lads?”

Sirius turned, and cringed internally when he saw the Slytherin robes. The speaker was Nathaniel
Quince, another of James’s neighbours. Of course, Potter was predictably welcoming, and they did
need another partner…

When Sirius looked back towards Remus, he had joined up with Lily, the muggle-born who had
done well in charms. They were working with two Slytherins, a greasy-haired boy named Severus
Snape who had a protruding nose and a dour look on his face, and a burly kid—Garrick Mulciber
—whose name Sirius recognised as one of those families that was often in attendance at his
parents’ gatherings.

Sirius looked back to his own group. They had James’s book open, and were studying the
instructions carefully. James quickly took charge, directing Peter to start crushing their thistles and
telling Quince to measure out their snail eye-stems. Sirius put himself in charge of stirring, listening
as James read from the book and instructed him on how many times to stir and in which direction.

For practical work, it was quite boring. Unlike Charms, there were no immediate results—just
tedious instructions and waiting for the potion to brew. Sirius could tell within the first five
minutes that potions would not be his favourite class.

“Let’s try adding the powdered newt and see what happens,” He said, elbowing James and
wiggling his eyebrows.

Peter frowned. “The ingredients don’t call for powdered newt, though.”
“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be fun to see what happens?”

This just made Peter frown more, and Sirius rolled his eyes in exasperation. James glanced between
the two of them, and said diplomatically, “Maybe we should save the experimenting for after the
first class, eh Sirius? Wouldn’t want to blow up the classroom on the first day...”

Sirius didn’t have time to respond, because at that moment chaos broke out. A few tables in front of
theirs, Remus threw himself at Severus, punching him square in the face.

Sirius felt a thrill of adrenaline. Finally, some excitement. It was bloody cool, the way Remus
clocked Snape. No hesitation, just a closed fist and a quick swing,

He didn’t have the upper hand for long, though. Mulciber promptly yanked Remus off Snape and
punched him square in the face. Sirius was about ready to jump into action (never mind that he had
never thrown a punch in his life) when Slughorn bellowed,

“Stop!” Everyone froze as the potions master hurried over, expression stormy. “Get up, both of
you!” He shouted at the two boys sprawled across the floor. Snape and Remus obeyed, clambering
up, both breathing hard. Sirius thought that Snape definitely looked worse off; his nose was
bleeding, and his greasy hair was all mussed up. There was a bruise forming on Remus’s chin, but
it just made him look tough.

“Explain yourselves!” Slughorn shouted. Both boys looked down at their feet, silent. Mulciber was
grinning, and Lily was crying. Both were equally annoying.

“Very well,” their professor said, crossly, “Detention for both of you, two weeks. Ten points from
Gryffindor and ten from Slytherin.”

“That’s not fair!” James said, suddenly, next to Sirius, “Should be twice as many from Slytherin, it
was two against one!”

“From where I was standing it was Mr. Lupin who started it,” Slughorn replied curtly, shaking his
head, “Still, you are quite right – Mulciber, five points for punching Remus. Violence does not
solve violence, you know, as I’ve told your eldest brother on a number of occasions. Miss Evans,
please take Mr. Snape to the hospital wing. Lupin, you can clean up the mess you’ve made.”

The lesson was almost over anyway—Slughorn had spent so long taking roll—so the other
students were dismissed. Outside, the hall was abuzz with chatter.

Mulciber wasted no time bragging to the Slytherins that flocked around him, saying, “Well, he’s
thick, innit? Couldn’t read the book, all Severus did was ask what they teach in muggle schools—”

“Oi, and who taught you to be such a prick, Mulciber?” Sirius called out, “Maybe you can ask them
to teach you how to throw a better punch. From where I was standing, it looked like your pal
Severus was the only one bleeding.”

James and Peter laughed, some of the other Gryffindors joining in. Mulciber and his crew muttered
angrily, but as they were still right outside the potions classroom, seemed to think better of
retaliating. Sirius, James, and Peter watched them walk away, waiting for Remus to finish cleaning.

When he walked out, he looked surprised to see them standing there. For a second, his expression
turned wary. But then James grinned at him, crowing,

“Bloody brilliant, mate!” He punched Remus lightly on the arm, as if they were best chums, “The
way you just went for him!”
“Mulciber was out here bragging afterwards, told everyone what Snape said.” Sirius added, “You
were right to do it – what a prat.”

“Told… everyone?” Remus groaned.

“Don’t worry, they’re all on your side.” James said, “Well, except the Slytherins.”

“Yeah, and who gives a toss about the Slytherins?” Sirius grinned, “C’mon, it’s dinner soon –
hungry?”

“Starving,” Remus said. For the first time since the train, he grinned back.
 First Year: Revenge

Regulus didn’t write him back.

Sirius waited all week for a letter, but nothing came. Worse than that—his owl never returned;
after a few days, he broke down and asked Narcissa, who smirked and told him it had been
confiscated. Sirius tried not to worry, but it felt like there was a stone in the pit of his stomach.
More and more often, he found his thoughts wandering back to Reg, wondering how his brother
was doing…

The solution, of course, was to keep his mind occupied at all times with other things. He made bets
with James about who could finish their homework first. He played chess with Peter, over and over
again, until he finally won. He watched Remus, who had finally begun to spend time with them,
trying to puzzle out the odd boy’s secrets.

On Sunday evening, Sirius’s distraction of choice was their transfiguration essay for McGonagall.
Fourteen inches of parchment—James and Sirius raced to see who could finish theirs first (Sirius)
while Peter tried desperately to keep up. Remus just relaxed into the plush armchairs of the
Gryffindor common room, watching them all as though he couldn’t be bothered with something as
silly as homework.

“So,” James said, setting down his quill, “How are we going to get them back?”

“Get who back?” Peter asked. He was searching through his notes, looking for a page that he had
accidentally elbowed onto the floor earlier without realising. Sirius sighed and ducked under the
table.

“The Slytherins.” James hissed, “Keep up, Pete.”

Peter whispered back, sounding worried, “Not all of the Slytherins, only Snape and Mulciber,
right?”

Under the table, Sirius rolled his eyes. “All of them,” He said firmly, sitting back up and presenting
a piece of parchment, “This what you were looking for?”

“Thanks!” Peter grabbed it, relieved, “I’ve nearly finished…”

“Have you done it, Lupin?” Sirius asked casually, looking over. Remus had left his book open on
the table, but he hadn’t glanced at it once. In fact, over the course of the week Sirius had noticed
that Remus never seemed to look at his books. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten Mulciber’s
comment about reading, but Sirius hadn’t.

“Nah,” Remus shrugged, nonchalant, “Can’t be bothered.”

Sirius frowned. It couldn’t be true, could it? “Let us know if you need help.”

“You can copy mine if you want.” James said helpfully, pushing his essay across the desk. Sirius
watched as Remus attempted to stifle his irritation—his jaw clenched, and his brow furrowed
slightly.

“I’m fine. I’m not stupid.”

“No one said you were.” James replied, acting as if he couldn’t hear the bite in Remus’s tone.
Sirius continued to study Remus’s expression; his entire face had clouded over. On the armrest of
his chair, his fist was clenched. Sirius remembered how he had thrown himself across the potions
table to punch Snape.

When Sirius looked back up, their eyes met. Remus released a short breath, unclenching his fist,
and said,

“We could put itching powder in their beds.” He seemed eager to change the subject, “Or on their
clothes… if we could figure out who does the laundry, anyway.”

Figure out who does the laundry? Sirius blinked. Did Remus not know about house elves? Before
he could ask, James responded, chewing on his quill thoughtfully as he said,

“I like it.” A pause, then, “Anyone got any itching powder, though?”

All three of them shook their heads.

“Could order some from Zonko’s.” Sirius suggested. “If you let me borrow your owl, James, Mum
confiscated mine after the sorting.” His heart sped up when he said it—he wasn’t sure why it felt
like he was admitting something. The whole school knew that he was the family disappointment
by now.

“I s’pose,” James replied. “Wish we could do it sooner, though. You know, strike while the iron is
hot.”

“Don’t need to buy itching powder,” Remus said, suddenly, sitting up straight in his chair, “Do you
reckon they have rose hips in the greenhouse?”

“Yep,” Peter replied, still scribbling away at his parchment, “For healing potions – arthritis, I
think.”

“The hairs inside make you itch, really badly.” Remus explained, speaking faster. There was a
spark of excitement in his eyes, “Matron – the woman who runs the children’s home – she grows
them, and if you get in trouble she makes you seed them without gloves on.”

“That’s awful.” James frowned.

“Good idea, though!” Sirius grinned. “Next break, we’ll go and get a load of them. Then we can
seed them – with gloves on – and put them in the Slytherin’s bedsheets. Excellent!”

“How are we going to get into the Slytherin dorms?” Peter asked, finally setting down his quill.

James leaned back, smirking. “Leave that to me.”

***

They sent Peter to collect the rose hips, since he was the only one of them who hadn’t done
anything cool enough to get detention—which meant he wasn’t yet on any professor’s radar as a
troublemaker. Sirius didn’t have the most faith in Peter when it came to making mischief, but it
turned out that he was decent at sneaking around. When he returned unnoticed from the green
house after morning break with a jar full of rose hip seeds, even Sirius clapped him on the back.
After that, it was just a matter of seeding all the buds. They locked themselves away in their shared
bathroom, following Remus’s instructions to wear heavy dragonhide gloves and avoid any direct
contact with the seeds or the fine little hairs. Sirius sat next to James on the floor, working in
tandem.

“I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces,” he said, grinning as he worked. James’s head was
bowed right next to his, and he looked up and grinned back, sharing in the excitement.

Sirius continued, saying, “I still don’t know how we’re going to get into the Slytherin dorms –
even Peter isn’t that sneaky.” He shot a meaningful look at James, who had refused—despite all of
Sirius’s best efforts—to reveal his master plan for breaking into the Slytherin common room.

“Let me worry about that,” James said, and Sirius rolled his eyes in exasperation. Secrets were only
fun when he was in on them.

They stored the seeds and hairs in an extra jar, eating the leftover rosehips over the course of the
week to ensure that they left no evidence behind.

Their chance came on Tuesday evening. It was James who suggested that they should do it before
everyone went to bed, and that they split up to avoid suspicion. Sirius felt dizzy with excitement
during dinner, rushing to finish his food. Remus was still helping himself to seconds and Pete,
although done, looked sick with nerves. So Sirius was the first to stand, strolling casually out of the
hall. As he left, he thought to himself that if Peter ruined it for all of them by panicking and giving
something away, Sirius would curse the boy himself.

James was next to leave, following at a discrete distance. They made their way to the girl’s loo on
the second floor. According to Remus, there was a secret passage that led to the dungeons.

Inside, Sirius could hear a girl crying in one of the stalls. Remus had warned them about that—
apparently nobody used this lavatory because of the gloomy ghost that haunted it. Sirius left her
alone, pacing in front of the door as he waited for the others to arrive.

“Well, someone’s eager,” James said, mildly, as he shut the door behind him. Sirius grinned.

“D’you reckon we’ll have to wait for Pete to hurl when he gets here? He was looking a bit peaky
back there.”

“Nah, come on, Pete’s a good sport.” James smiled, but it was a bit strained. He didn’t like it when
Sirius made jabs at Peter—it always made things uncomfortable, so Sirius wasn’t sure why he still
did it. Sometimes the words just slipped out—he wasn’t good at holding his tongue when he was
annoyed. Or excited. Or angry. Or—well, he wasn’t very good at it ever, really.

Once Peter and Remus arrived, James made a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm. “Lead the way
then, Lupin.”

Sirius grabbed his arm, stopping him with a meaningful look. “Wait, show us what you’re planning
first.”

James smirked that infuriatingly secretive, self-satisfied grin he’d been sporting since Sunday.

“Oh…ok then, here, hold this,” he thrust the jar of rosehip seeds into Sirius’ hands, pulling back
his robes.

Sirius almost gasped as James started to pull the shimmery, silvery material out into the open. His
mouth dropped open.
“No,” he breathed, “You haven’t, Potter, you bloody haven’t…”

James was wearing a shit-eating grin, looking very pleased with himself. He winked at them all,
then, with a flourish, swept the cloak over his head, so that it covered him top to toe. He vanished.

“You jammy bastard!” Sirius whooped, “How come you never told me?!” The excitement in his
voice mostly covered the sting of indignation underlying the words.

“You never told me, either!” Peter squeaked, “And I’ve known you forever. Where did you get
it?”

Sirius stifled the hot flash of annoyance at Peter’s tone, which he was sure was directed at him. It
did make him feel slightly better, though, that while James had kept this secret from Peter for
eleven years, he’d only kept it from Sirius for a few weeks.

“Been in the family for years,” James said triumphantly, pulling the cloak down to reveal his head,
“Dad let me bring it, as long as I don’t tell mum.”

“Lucky git,” Sirius said, reaching out to rub some of the invisible material in his fingers. It felt
silky, luxurious, yet light as air. “My parents would do anything for an invisibility cloak.” I wish
Reg was here to see this…

“I reckon we can all fit under it,” James demonstrated, pulling it apart and raising his arms like a
bat, “C’mon, let’s all get nice and cosy…”

It was a bit awkward, shuffling underneath the cloak together, and they had to waddle around the
room a few times to make sure they could actually get about. Finally, trying not to giggle or
whisper too much, the four invisible boys made their way into the third stall from the left. Remus
directed them, showing them which tiles to tap to open up the floor and reveal the passageway.

“How’d you find this, Remus?” James whispered, “It’s genius.”

“You come out behind one of them rugs they hang on the walls, in the dungeons,” Remus replied,
“I just looked behind it.”

“Do you mean a tapestry?” Peter asked. He could be so dense.

Sirius had known upon first seeing him on the train that Remus came from a different background
—the hand-me-down clothes, the shabby used books, the black eye. It became even more apparent
as he started to spend more time with them. Incidents like this, where Remus was slightly out of
sync, missing words or unfamiliar with references the others made, happened fairly frequently.
Sirius wasn’t sure how much of it was being raised with muggles and how much of it was…well,
being what the Black family would call “low-class.”

Next to him, Remus stiffened at Peter’s question, muttering, “Um…s’pose so?”

Obviously, they all knew that Remus had meant a tapestry—Peter hadn’t had to point it out like
that. “Shut up, Pettigrew,” Sirius huffed, kicking at Peter’s ankle.

“Oi,” Remus hissed, kicking back at Sirius with much more force, “Bugger off.”

A sharp flash of pain shot up Sirius’s leg as Remus’s foot connected, and he yelped involuntarily.
“Sorry! Meant to get Pete, not you.”

“Be quiet, all of you,” James snapped, “We’re almost there.”

They paused, listening through the tapestry for movement in the corridor. Once James gave the all-
clear, they clambered out into the stone hallway. The dungeons were cool, dimly lit and cavernous.
Sirius felt a chill run up his spine. He tried to imagine coming down to these bleak corridors every
night, living down here—and felt a rush of gratitude for the cosy Gryffindor common room.

“Where’s the entrance?” He murmured.

“Behind that wall,” Remus answered immediately, pointing. The rest of them looked over—Sirius
expected some kind of sign, a funny torch or a portrait, or even a stone that looked different from
the rest. But it was just a plain wall, the same as all the others surrounding them.

“How’d you know?”

There was a brief pause, then Remus said, hurriedly, “I’ve seen them go in before.” He sounded
nervous, though Sirius wasn’t sure why.

“D’yknow the password?”

“Nope.”

“Damn.”

“It’s not curfew yet, let’s just wait.”

Sirius hated waiting. It was too cramped underneath the cloak, and too hot. Peter kept shifting his
weight from foot to foot, nervously, and it was getting on Sirius’s nerves. He was just about to
snap at the smaller boy when two seventh years came hurrying through. Sirius jerked his head up
at the sound of their footsteps—and stifled a groan.

Just my luck.

“Let’s see the ring again, Bella!” Narcissa pleaded with her elder sister. Sirius pressed himself back
into the wall, wishing he was anywhere else. He’d hardly spoken to his cousins since the sorting—
if their eyes met in the dining hall, the girls only glared at him.

Bellatrix preened, extending her bony fingers to show off an enormous, ugly silver and emerald
engagement ring, which she’d been flashing about at every family gathering since the summer. At
school, she’d been just as annoying, making sure that everyone knew she would be marrying
Rodolphus Lestrange as soon as she completed her NEWTs. Sirius had had to go to the engagement
party—it was awful, Bellatrix was a bitch the entire night and her fiancé was one of the creepiest
men Sirius had ever met. He didn’t even want to think about how soon he’d have to attend their
wedding.

Narcissa squealed as she looked at the ring, as if she hadn’t already seen it a thousand times.

“Gorgeous!” She gushed, “Oh, I can’t wait to get married…”

“Wait your turn,” Bellatrix replied, voice scratchy and haughty, “Once Lucius has a better position
with the ministry I’m sure Mummy and Daddy will agree to the match.”

They were in front of the wall now. Bellatrix flipped her curly black hair over her shoulder—Sirius
hated how similar it looked to his. Decades of marrying within the family had resulted in a
complete lack of originality when it came to features. He cringed just thinking about the number of
times people had mistaken his cousins for his sisters.
“Mundus sanguine,” Bellatrix announced. The wall slid aside to let them in, and the four boys
hurried after, as fast as possible before it closed.

Sirius’s stomach did a flip as he looked at the place where he was supposed to have spent his seven
years at Hogwarts. It felt strangely familiar—he recognised so much from his family’s stories.
There was the fireplace, decorated with onyx and jade. The candelabras flickering on the walls, the
portrait of Salazar Slytherin. There was the reading alcove his mother had spoken about, where
she’d studied as a girl. His throat felt dry.

He wasn’t sure how to untangle the feeling in his chest. This place didn’t feel like home, and yet…
it did. Sirius could picture himself here—or, not himself as he was, precisely, but the son that his
parents expected him to be. Chatting with his cousins, studying spellwork where his parents had
studied, and their parents before them…

James prodded them forward, and Sirius realised he had frozen in place, completely unaware of the
others around him. He hoped that they hadn’t noticed. They hurried up a flight of stairs, searching
for the boy’s dormitories. On their way they passed Severus, sitting alone in a corner, hunched
over his potions textbook. Sirius felt a spike of resentment that a slimy, disgusting little wretch like
Severus had made it into Slytherin when he—

Stop it, he thought to himself, fiercely, You would have been miserable here. It was true, but
knowing that didn’t really make him feel any better.

At the top of the stairs, they entered the first open door which was, miraculously, a bedroom.

James cast off the cloak, rushing into the room as he said, “Keep a look out, eh Petey?”

Peter responded immediately, scurrying towards the entryway and glancing nervously over his
shoulder every five seconds.

James, catching sight of the look on Sirius’s face, nudged his shoulder and grinned mischievously.
“Reckon one of these is Snape’s bed?”

Sirius smirked, trying to shake off his dark mood. “This one might be,” he pointed, “Sheets look
greasy enough.” All four of them snickered.

“Quick then, lads, gloves on,” James whispered, unscrewing the jar. Remus and Sirius pulled on a
dragon hide glove each, grabbing handfuls of seeds and scattering them liberally underneath all the
bedclothes.

“They’ll see them!” James said, sounding disappointed. Sirius frowned, looking down at the bright
red seeds like spots of blood against the white sheets. Even in the dark, they stood out.

“Well…they’ll still get it on them trying to brush them out,” Sirius offered.

“Hang on…” Remus mumbled, frowning and sticking his lip out the way he did when he was
thinking. He pulled his wand out, biting his lip as he waved it delicately over the bed where he had
just scattered seeds. “Obfuscate,” He whispered, enunciation perfect.

The seeds disappeared completely. Sirius blinked, searching for any trace of them—but they were
gone.

“Blimey!” James stared, “How’d you do that? Flitwick hasn’t taught us that charm yet, has he?
Was it in the reading?”
“Nah,” Remus shrugged, “I saw some of the fifth years doing it yesterday to some sweets they
bought in the village. S’not hard to copy.”

Easy for Remus to say. Sirius and James immediately attempted the spell themselves, over their
respective seeds. Nothing happened. Sirius frowned, trying again, listening to James whisper next
to him, “OBfuscate. ObfuscATE.” After his third try, James had managed to vanish all of his.
Sirius hadn’t done anything at all. His face flushed with shame.

“You’d better do it, Lupin, or we’ll be here all night,” James said, good naturedly.

“Yes, please hurry up!” Peter hissed from the doorway, white with fear. Sirius tried to tamp down
on the resentment bubbling in his chest.

He gave it a few more go’s, determined to get it right—but no matter what he did, he couldn’t
emulate the motion Remus made with his wand, or get the enunciation quite right. Finally, he gave
up, ceding the task to Lupin.

“You’re going to show me exactly how to do that as soon as we’re back on neutral territory,” He
said. Remus nodded, looking a bit confused—he didn’t seem to understand why they were
struggling so much.

Once every bed appeared empty, James announced, “Next room,” pulling them back to the
entranceway.

“Do we have to?” Peter whined, hopping from foot to foot, “Isn’t that enough?”

“Not even close!” Sirius laughed, a bit patronisingly, tossing his head, “What if we haven’t even
got Snape’s bed yet? We have to get them all, Pete. Are you with us or not?”

“All the boys, anyway,” James said, as they entered the next bedroom, “I don’t fancy our chances
getting into the girl’s – remember what happened to Dirk Creswell last week?”

They made quick work of it, James and Sirius scattering the seeds while Remus cast the
concealment charm. Surprisingly, they actually managed to get every single boys’ room—
including the last one, which had three sleeping students in it, sixth years. Even Sirius had been
ready to throw in the towel at that point, but Remus had darted in by himself and returned a few
moments later, eyes shining with mischief.

By the time they had finished, it was getting late. More and more Slytherins were heading upstairs
for bed, and they had to creep carefully down the stairs, flattening themselves against the wall as
students passed. It was slow going, but they managed to sneak all the way back through the
common room unseen, darting back into the corridor outside.

Per James’s instructions, they all kept as quiet as possible until they were within spitting distance
of Gryffindor tower, when it was finally safe to remove the cloak once more.

“Widdershins!” They chanted together at the fat lady, who swung open for them.

Inside, the Gryffindor common room was warm and cosy, and Sirius felt a strange calmness settle
in his chest. This was his home. He threw himself onto the nearest available sofa with his friends,
cheeks aching from smiling so hard. Frank Longbottom called to them from his desk, where he was
tidying up revision notes,

“Cutting it fine, lads, been somewhere interesting?”

Peter’s eyes widened in a moment of panic, but James just waved a hand and said,

“Library, obviously.”

Frank shook his head, though he was smiling,

“I’m sure I’ll hear about it soon enough.”

“I wish I could be there when it all kicks off!” Sirius whispered, giddy with adrenaline, “And I
wish even more we could have got my cousins.”

“It’s just the beginning, Sirius mate,” James replied, slapping his knee, “Between the four of us I
reckon we could go even bigger next time. Excellent first mission, men!”

Peter whimpered,

“First mission?!”
 First Year: Marauders
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Wednesday 15th September 1971

The next morning Sirius leapt out of bed, heart pounding in his chest. He could hardly wait to see
the results of their work. James seemed to feel the same way—he was already awake, shaking
Peter and crowing, “Rise and shine!” Sirius followed suit, throwing open the curtains on Remus’s
bed. The skinny boy groaned when the sunlight flooded across his face.

Despite their friends’ protests, James and Sirius ensured that they were some of the first students
into the Great Hall for breakfast. The Gryffindor table was completely empty, as were Hufflepuff
and Slytherin—there were a few older Ravenclaw students, hunched over their books.

“Perfect,” Sirius declared, thrilled with the empty benches, “Front row seats!”

“Bet no one shows up for hours,” Peter whinged, looking like he was about to pass out in his
porridge bowl.

“Oh, cheer up,” James poured them all large mugs of tea, “Don’t want to see the fruits of our
labour?”

“Not at six in the morning,” grumbled Peter, slurping his tea loudly. Sirius winced at the sound and
pushed a plate towards him,

“Have some toast and stop whinging.”

Remus, who always seemed to perk up when presented with food, was already cutting a slice of
toast into four pieces. Sirius watched as he layered a different spread onto each quarter—
marmalade, jam, butter, and lemon curd. He raised a brow, bemused, when Remus caught his eye,
but the other boy just smiled benignly and tucked into his breakfast.

Contrary to Peter’s claim, it didn’t take long at all for other students to begin trickling in for
breakfast. Remus had just finished scarfing down his toast when a group of Slytherins arrived—
three boys and two girls, third years. The four Gryffindors watched intently as they made their way
to their table, sitting down and reaching out for platters of food.

Sirius felt as though he might burst with anticipation. They waited, but nothing seemed to be out of
the ordinary. The Slytherins poured themselves tea, buttered toast, and spooned eggs onto their
plates without any difficulty. Sirius sighed, disappointed, and wondered if Remus had been wrong
about the rosehip seeds…

But then. The tallest boy shifted in his seat, rubbing at his arm. His friend bent down, furiously
scratching his leg whilst trying to act as if he were looking for something in his pocket. The third
boy kept sticking his wand behind his ear to itch.

“It worked!” James whispered, excitement barely restrained in his hushed voice. Even Peter was
smiling now, still blinking sleep from his eyes.
As the morning wore on, more and more Slytherins filtered in, and their problem quickly became
obvious to anyone watching. By seven o’clock, the Slytherin table was full of squirming, writing,
scratching boys, and horrified girls looking on in dismay. It was completely hilarious—across the
room, watching students snickered and pointed at the scratching Slytherins. One nasty-looking
sixth year, Amycus Carrow, ripped his robes, school jumper, and tie clean off to claw at his chest
—already bright red from the boy’s ministrations.

By the time Snape came in, Sirius thought he might die of laughter. Poor Severus appeared to have
had a particularly bad reaction to the rosehip seeds. He skulked in with his head bowed, trying to
cover his face with his hair (how did manage to get it THAT greasy?). It didn’t work—his nose
stuck out, and was visibly shiny and red.

“Oh Merlin!” Sirius couldn’t breathe, his stomach hurt from laughing so hard, “Tell me we got his
face!”

“Oi, Snivellus!” James shouted, suddenly, grinning mischievously at Sirius.

Snape spun around, looking up; his hair parted. The left side of his face was covered in an angry
red rash, from his temples all the way down to his neck, disappearing under his uniform. His left
eye was red too, the lid swollen and irritated.

“Looking good!” Sirius crowed, and all four boys dissolved into giggles as Snape stormed out of
the room.

Sirius felt like a legend by the time breakfast was over. The entire castle was already buzzing with
rumours as everyone tried to figure out what had happened to the Slytherin boys. As he listened to
the other students whisper about their handiwork, Sirius couldn’t stop smiling. James seemed to
feel the same—he kept nudging Sirius playfully, and even Peter had cheered up. Although he
insisted on continuing to remind them that he had helped too, not even Peter’s obvious and
annoying desperation for James’s approval could bring down Sirius’s mood.

“It was all Lupin’s idea, though,” Sirius said, after Peter reminded them for the hundredth time that
he had been the lookout, “What shall we do to celebrate, eh? Exploding snap? Raid the kitchens?”

Remus smiled politely, appearing much less excited than the other boys. It was strange—he’d
seemed completely absorbed in the prank the previous night, and Sirius had thought that Lupin was
the coolest bloody person in the world when he’d gone into that room of sleeping Slytherins by
himself. He still remembered that mischievous spark in Remus’s eyes—where had it gone today?

“Well, whatever you do, you’re doing it without me,” he said, “I’ve got double detention.”

“From Slughorn?”

“Yeah, and McGonagall. And Flitwick, but that’s tomorrow. Then my Herbology detention is over
the weekend.”

“Bloody hell mate,” James looked a bit concerned, “You going for a record or something?”

Remus shrugged, looking away. More and more, Sirius had noticed this happening. It seemed as
though Remus communicated with the rest of them through layers—on a good day, he always felt
at least slightly removed, as though he were speaking to them through a screen. Sometimes—like
last night—there were moments when it felt as if the barrier had dropped, leading to a heady rush
of unguarded friendship. Other times, Lupin shut them out completely, going silent or avoiding
them as he had for that first week. Usually that happened after one of Peter’s stupid questions, but
sometimes it was unpredictable. Remus was like a puzzle that Sirius couldn’t quite find all the
pieces for, yet.

Still, he did his best to reach out, saying gently, “Maybe you’d better start doing your homework?”
This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Remus only rolled his eyes and stood.

“C’mon,” he said, “It’s Defence Against the Dark Arts first, thought you two loved that.”

* * *

Reg,

Narcissa told me about mum confiscating the owl. Sorry about that—don’t know what they’re
expecting it to do, it’s not like writing letters will change my House. And it’s really not fair of them,
because it’s not as if I got a choice in the matter. The hat wasn’t exactly taking requests.

Anyway, I’m borrowing James’s owl to send you this. He says hi, and he’s excited to meet you next
year. I think you’ll really like it here, the classes aren’t too bad and there’s loads to do. You won’t
believe some of the stuff we’ve been up to—I’ll tell you all about it at Christmas.

How are things back there? Are you doing alright? Write back using James’s owl—it should stick
around for a bit, just call, her name’s Hattie. (Don’t worry—I made fun of James. He’s the one
who named her).

Your brother,

Sirius

Once they were done with classes, and Remus had left for his detentions, and Peter had left to
check out some chess club, Sirius walked to the owlery with James. He’d been embarrassed at first,
asking to borrow the owl—no one else seemed to give much thought to the fact that his parents had
confiscated his, but it still made Sirius flush with shame. After two weeks of classes, though, he
couldn’t ignore the guilt he felt thinking about how he’d promised Reg that he’d write.

He’d finally worked up the courage to ask James the previous night, when they were all riding the
high of their successful prank. After the others had gone to sleep, he had snuck over to James’s bed.
The other boy was still awake when Sirius pulled the curtains back.

“Sirius?”

“Hi.”

“What’s going on, mate?”

“Er…I sort of had something to ask you.”

James smiled groggily, sitting up and sweeping his arms out in a grand gesture of welcome.
“Please, good sir, do come in.”

Sirius smiled in relief, clambering in next to James and sitting on his knees on top of the blanket.
The curtains fell shut, creating a barrier from the rest of the room. It made Sirius feel cosy, safe.

“So…” James said expectantly once Sirius was settled, “What is it? Have you already got a plan
for our next mission?”

He was grinning, eyes eager, and Sirius felt the familiar flush of shame that came with knowing he
was about to disappoint someone.

“No, sorry, I just…I was going to ask if I could borrow your owl.”

James blinked.

“Oh. Yeah, sure, mate.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said, and there was an awkward pause. Unable to stomach the silence, he
continued speaking. The words jumped off his lips almost of their own accord, “It’s just, I
promised Reg—Regulus, my brother—I promised him I’d write. And, well, obviously I haven’t
been able to, y’know, and I figure I should check in, just make sure he’s okay…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” James nodded, brow creased, and Sirius realised he’d been speaking quite
quickly. “You can borrow my owl anytime. What’s mine is yours.”

Sirius nodded. “Okay,” his throat felt a bit tight, “Okay, yeah, cheers mate. Thanks.”

As he clambered out of James’s bed, the other boy lay back down, yawning as he mumbled,
“Anytime.”

As they walked to the owlery together, Sirius was uncharacteristically quiet, fidgeting with the
letter in his hands. James didn’t mention it, instead chattering on about the spell they were learning
in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

It wasn’t until Hattie (Sirius had snorted with laughter when James first told him the owl’s name)
had flown off and they were on their way back to the dorm that James paused, laying a hand gently
on Sirius’s arm.

“Hey,” his voice was low, furtive, even though they were alone in the hallway, “Are you alright?”

Sirius realised that he’d been continuing to fidget with his fingers as they walked, and that he’d
clearly missed responding to some questions James had asked. He dropped his hands to his sides,
flipping his hair out of his face and plastering on a smile.

“Who, me? Peachy, thanks for asking.”

James frowned, but didn’t push him on it. They walked the rest of the way to the Gryffindor
common room in silence, and when Peter got back from his club and distracted James by
challenging him to a game of chess, Sirius was privately relieved.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust James—in fact, it was quite the opposite. James was too easy to talk to,
and more often than not Sirius felt himself on the verge of breaking down and telling him
everything, every dark family secret he’d kept for years, every detail about his worries when it
came to Reg, all the twisted emotions regarding his Sorting. He didn’t want to overwhelm or
burden his new friend, or scare James away by telling him all about his mental family.

At the same time, Sirius had never had anyone to talk to the way he talked to James, and it was
incredibly tempting sometimes to just blurt out everything he was thinking. Sirius wasn’t good at
bottling things up—he was much better at releasing his emotions, often in the form of impulsive
decisions that got him in trouble later. And although James shared Sirius’ love of adventure and
mischief, he was much more patient and an excellent listener—how else could he have been
friends with Peter for so many years?

Sirius’s brain hurt from thinking himself in circles, and he eventually put on one of his records to
drown out his thoughts. When Peter complained about the noise, he sighed dramatically and
fetched the headphones that Andromeda had sent him for his last birthday. He was still lounging
on the couch in the common room when Remus returned, sitting next to him.

Sirius pulled off the headphones at once. “That was quick!”

“Only had to do one in the end,” Remus replied, “Slughorn let me off, too busy trying to sort out
the itching powder thing.”

Sirius relaxed back into the couch, smiling and folding his arms under his head,

“That prank is just the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Snape was allergic and everything,” Remus smirked mischievously, “That ginger girl said he’s
been in the hospital wing all day.”

Sirius laughed, grinning at Remus, who grinned back—it was the same smile from the train, the
one that tugged across his entire face and lit it up.

“Which ginger girl?” James asked quickly, looking up.

“Check MATE!” Peter cried.

“You know, the annoying one. Evans.”

“I don’t think she’s annoying.”

“Ok.” Remus’s smile had dropped, and he shrugged.

“Let’s not talk about girls,” Sirius said pointedly, trying to get them back on track, “This might be
the most important day of our lives! This is the day we became legends; the day our friendship was
forged in the fire of itching powder!”

“They don’t know it was us, do they?” Peter asked, nervously. He just had to ruin everything.
Remus shook his head.

“Slughorn reckons it was a Slytherin girl. Or a gang of marauders.”

The word struck Sirius like a bolt of lightning. It was so perfect. “Marauders!” He repeated,
“That’s it! Raise your glasses, boys!”

James shot him a bemused smile. “We don’t have glasses.”

“Well, just pretend.” Sirius shook his head, irritably, but he was still smiling, too, “From this day
 forward, we are The Marauders!”

He savoured the way the word rolled off his tongue—elegant and playful and mysterious. The
other boys stared at him for a moment, silent. James was still grinning, and Peter kept darting
glances at James, as if waiting for a cue on the proper response.

Next to Sirius, Remus burst out laughing. “What sort of poncey gang name is that?!”

He had never heard Remus laugh before—really laugh, like he couldn’t help himself, breathless
and joyful. It made Sirius laugh too, and even after they had calmed down, he found that he
couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter End Notes

fully aware that writing "james's", "sirius's", "remus's", etc is technically incorrect but
unfortunately that's my burden to bear
 First Year: Secrets

Friday, 17th September, 1971

James’s owl returned empty-handed (empty-taloned?), not even a scrap of paper tied to her leg.
Sirius tried not to show how much this upset him. Surely Reg wasn’t ignoring him—probably,
their parents had forbidden Sirius’s brother from writing to him, further punishment for his failed
Sorting. But this line of thought didn’t make Sirius feel any better, as it only set him wondering
how Reg was doing, and whether he was alright all by himself.

It was the first time in either of their lives that the boys had been separated (well, aside from one
year when Sirius was a baby, before Reg was born, and he didn’t remember any of that), and even
at Hogwarts, surrounded by other students, Sirius missed his brother. He would find himself
thinking about a joke he’d heard that Reg would particularly enjoy, or about how scared Reg might
be if he heard the rumours about the monster hidden in the castle. His little brother had always
been a bit of a cry baby. Sometimes, lying alone in his bed at night, Sirius would remember how
when he and Reg were little they’d sneak into each other’s rooms, whispering until they fell asleep
next to each other. On those nights, Sirius felt hollow with loneliness, even surrounded by three
other boys.

So although he did his best to hide it, Sirius was in a sour mood all day. He had never been very
subtle with his emotions—he snapped at Peter in the morning, and was snippy even with James.
Remus seemed to sense his bad mood and steered clear of him, hardly saying two words to Sirius
throughout their classes and eventually abandoning them for another one of his detentions.

Finally, after a particularly snide remark towards Peter during a game of exploding snap, James
had had enough.

“Oi, either play nice or tell us what’s bothering you, but you can’t keep sulking all weekend!” The
words were spoken firmly, although Sirius had a sense that James was trying not to be too harsh.

Still, it stung. Sirius huffed, feeling very sorry for himself—first his own brother refused to speak
to him, and now James was having a go!

“Fine,” he stood angrily, “I’ll piss off then!” He stormed off to their room, waiting for James to
come after him—but he didn’t.

By the time they were all getting ready for bed, Sirius could see that he’d been a bit of a prick, and
was feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. Tell us what’s bothering you, James had said. And
while he certainly wasn’t going to tell Peter, Sirius realised that he did want to talk to someone.

He waited, once more, until the other boys were tucked into bed. After all the curtains had been
shut, he tiptoed over to James, pulling back the curtain sheepishly.

“Sirius?”

James sat up, blinking, and fumbled for his glasses, “Alright, mate?”

“Yeah, sorry, er…d’you mind if I…”

“Yeah, yeah, come in!”

Sirius let the curtain fall shut behind him, closing them in. For a moment, the two boys only looked
at each other. Sirius turned away first, glancing down and fiddling nervously with a crease in the
blanket.

“I just, um…Just wanted to say sorry, I s’pose. For being a prick.”

“Thanks mate, I know you didn’t mean it.” When Sirius looked back up, James was smiling
encouragingly. He attempted a weak smile in return.

Tell us what’s bothering you.

“It’s just…Reg was supposed to write back.” The words came out a bit rushed. James frowned.

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. He was meant to write, and—I mean, I promised him I’d write, and I thought—I’ve never
been away from home, y’know, and it’s just—”

“You miss him?” James offered.

“Yeah,” Sirius released a breath, “Yeah, I do. And…I’m worried. About him.”

James waited patiently as he collected his thoughts, taking another breath before saying, “I think
my parents were really upset that I didn’t get into Slytherin. And even though it’s not Reggie’s
fault, they can be…intense. Things aren’t always—good, with my family. D’you know what I
mean?”

James’s brow was furrowed; he was watching Sirius intently.

“Er…I’m not sure. Are you worried they’re mad at him, too?”

Sirius felt a hot rush of shame. Of course James wouldn’t know, it wasn’t as if he had ever been a
disappointment to anyone. Deep down, Sirius knew that the screaming matches, the punishments,
the scars—it wasn’t the way normal families behaved. He felt embarrassed for even bringing it up.

“Sort of,” he shrugged, withdrawing a bit, “More like…Reg might have to pay for my mistake.”

James still looked a bit confused, but he reached out to clasp Sirius’s arm.

“Hey,” he caught Sirius’s eye, “You didn’t make a mistake. I think it’s brilliant that you’re in
Gryffindor. And if your brother’s anything like you, then I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

That’s what I’m worried about, Sirius thought. But he didn’t have the words to say it.

* * *

Tuesday, 5th October 1971

Sirius continued to wait, glancing about furtively every morning when the post arrived, hoping to
get something from Reg. But nothing came. His late-night conferences with James became more
regular—even though Sirius didn’t always know how to explain, and even though James didn’t
always know what to say, he was a good listener. The conversations made Sirius feel less lonely,
and sometimes he could go the whole day without thinking about Reg, too caught up in planning
pranks with James or frantically completing homework.

Of course, there was always a crush of guilt once Sirius realised how long he’d gone without even
wondering if his little brother was doing alright, especially considering his promise to keep in
touch. (He sent one more letter, near the end of September, but when Regulus didn’t write back, he
gave up.) This only led to renewed attempts to keep busy, filling his every waking moment with
activity so that he didn’t have time to think about his family—or to think about how he was
avoiding thinking about his family.

Luckily, there was no end to the distractions provided by Hogwarts. The professors were engaging,
the magic was fascinating, and James was always at his side, ready with a quick joke. Even Peter
got less annoying, keeping Sirius occupied with games of chess or exploding snap. But one of the
best distractions by far was Remus Lupin.

Though he spent more time with them, the boy remained an enigma. He was excruciatingly private,
sharing very little detail about his life amongst muggles—even when Sirius worked up the courage
to ask a few simple questions, Remus would respond with one-word answers or wordless shrugs.
He continued to periodically disappear into the castle on mysterious errands, often arriving back in
the common room with only minutes to spare before curfew. Sirius watched him closely, trying to
figure out what the quiet boy was up to—but he never could.

In classes, he was even more infuriatingly hard to pin down. He never glanced at his books, and
never completed his homework; by the end of the first month, he had accumulated more detentions
than any other Gryffindor, even the Prewett twins. Yet he was frustratingly good at magic—as with
the obfuscate charm, Remus seemed to have a knack for casting spells. He often succeeded before
any of his classmates when it came to their practical work in Charms; he would watch Professor
Flitwick perform a spell once, and almost immediately be able to imitate the small man. Sirius
scrutinised his friend, trying to figure out his secret—but Remus Lupin was a mystery that didn’t
want to be solved.

He made this fact very clear in October, when—on a Monday night—he disappeared completely,
never returning to their room to sleep. Sirius and James were up late into the night whispering—
James patiently listened to all of Sirius’s theories about where Remus might have gone, and
provided feedback—but the other boy never returned.

They didn’t see him again until the next morning, when he appeared in their Transfiguration
classroom. He looked tired, with dark circles ringing his eyes, but otherwise normal.

Sirius, James, and Peter spent the lesson trying to get their friend’s attention, but he steadfastly
ignored them. Sirius noted that McGonagall didn’t give Remus detention for forgetting his
homework, which was unusual—and made him wonder if the Professor knew what had happened.
But he certainly wasn’t going to ask a teacher about it—he didn’t want to rat Remus out if he’d
been off making mischief through the night.

In the halls on the way to Charms, they were finally able to ambush Remus. Sirius spoke first,
blurting out,

“So? Where were you?!”

“Nowhere,” Remus said gruffly.

“Oh, go on,” James came up on the other side of him, wheedling, “Tell us! Was it the same place
you went last month?”

“Maybe.”

“Were you in detention again?” Asked Peter, lagging a bit behind the others.

“Nope.”

“Then where—”

“Watch it, half-blood!”

None of them had been watching where they were going, and Remus had just run directly into
Snape, who was coming around the corner. He bristled, squaring his shoulders and shoving past,
roughly, as he said,

“Watch yourself, Snivellus,”

Snape didn’t let him by, and pushed him instead. Mulciber appeared around the corner, looming
menacingly over the smaller boys. Sirius felt adrenaline spiking through him, along with nerves.
But Remus didn’t look afraid.

“I know it was you that broke into our dorms the other night,” Snape hissed, “All of you.”

“Yeah? Prove it.” James smirked, folding his arms.

Snape sneered with rage,

“I can’t, yet. But I will. I’ll get you back too, I promise.”

“We’re quaking in our boots,” Sirius chimed in, leaning back against the wall and hoping he
looked as brave as Remus and James. “Now would you kindly move it?”

“Your idea, was it, Black?” Snape drawled, “Or yours, Potter? Had to have been one of you.
Pettigrew doesn’t have the guts and dear Lupin here clearly hasn’t got the brains…”

Sirius watched as Remus’s face went white with rage, fists clenching immediately. It was the same
expression he’d had that day when he’d flown over the desk in potions and nearly broken Snape’s
nose.

“Move along now, gentlemen.” A sharp voice interrupted the spat, echoing a bit in the corridor.
Professor Flitwick stepped out of his classroom and gave them all a disapproving look. “Severus,
you’re clogging up the halls, and you four are supposed to be in my class. Come along.”

The adrenaline stayed with Sirius for the rest of Charms—as Snape’s words echoed in his head, he
felt a rush of anger. It was nothing compared to Remus, though, whose expression remained
stormy. He kept shooting his cushions across the room like missiles, with enough force that Sirius
worried he might break a window.

For the rest of the day, the boy was sullen and withdrawn. When they went to bed, he drew the
curtains quickly, before any of them could speak to him. Sirius looked at James, raising an
eyebrow—What d’you reckon’s going on with THAT one?

James just shrugged, palms open in a helpless gesture—Your guess is as good as mine.
 ***

Thursday 7th October 1971

Sirius continued to watch Remus over the next few days. He was pretty sure the other boy had
started to catch on—he would sometimes glance up and catch Sirius staring. But all Sirius had to
do was offer a friendly smile, and Remus would smile tentatively back—so he didn’t think there
were any hard feelings.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Snape had said—the comment about brains, that was what
had really upset Remus. He was clearly sensitive about it. And the fight in potions had been
because Snape suggested he couldn’t read…he never opened his books, and he hardly ever wrote
anything down, he didn’t even jot notes in class. Sirius’s mind was whirling with the question:
could it be true?

He wanted badly to discuss it with James, but decided not to—it didn’t feel right, talking behind
Remus’s back about something like that. Especially not when it was clearly a sore subject for the
boy. So Sirius continued his careful observation, waiting to see if he’d be able to figure it out.

As luck would have it, the opportunity came on that Thursday. They were all working on
homework in the common room—James was working on Remus’s. It had been a battle to get the
sullen boy to agree to the help, but after James asked to learn obfuscate in return, Remus finally
acquiesced.

Stubborn, Sirius thought to himself, And proud. He clearly liked to do everything alone—even, in
the case of homework, when that meant not doing anything at all. Sirius didn’t understand why he
continued to hold himself at such a distance, and got distracted musing over it, though he was
supposed to be finishing his own essay. Had they done something to offend Remus?

Next to them, Peter was attempting to levitate an apple into the wastepaper basket a few feet away.
They had been working on levitation in Charms, and it was so ridiculously simple that Sirius
wasn’t sure why Peter still seemed unable to grasp it. His apple kept wobbling and falling back
down to the ground with a thump. It was starting to get on Sirius’s nerves.

A Black has no time for incompetence! Said a shrill, spiteful voice in his mind.

James was much more patient, murmuring reassuringly, “You’ll get it Pete, don’t worry.” He
didn’t even glance up from Remus’s paper as he said, “Keep at it.”

“I’m trying,” Peter groaned, “I’m sure it’s the movement I’m getting wrong…the book says to use
a ‘smooth, serpentine action,’ but I’m not sure…” He swirled his wand in the air. Remus, who was
watching, tutted.

“It’s not like that.” He said, bluntly. “It’s like an S shape on its side. Look.” He waved his own
wand, effortlessly demonstrating the spell and sending the apple sailing neatly into the bin.

“An S shape, are you sure?” Peter frowned. Sirius wanted to roll his eyes. Remus had just done the
spell, hadn’t he?

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Peter chanted, copying the motion Lupin had shown him and point his
wand at a piece of paper. Sirius watched as the paper lifted into the air (still a bit wobbly) and flew
with far less grace into the bin, dropping beside the apple. It was still sloppy, but Peter looked
elated.

“I did it!” He gasped, “An ‘S’ shape, why didn’t it just say that in the book?!”

“Well done, Pete.” James paused his work, looking up and smiling, “You should be a teacher,
Remus.”

Lupin snorted as if the idea were ridiculous, looking down at the ground. Sirius could almost swear
he was blushing.

James continued, “I’m nearly done with this, just need to check something – can you pass me
Magical Theory? The Waffling book?”

The others weren’t watching—James was reviewing his work, and Peter was levitating more balls
of paper, looking delighted with himself. So it was only Sirius who saw the expression of naked
panic that bled across Remus’s face. He stared down at the books, eyes darting quickly from cover
to cover. He glanced up at James, helplessly—then back down at the books.

Sirius cleared his throat subtly, leaning across the desk to tap a forefinger against the cover of
Magical Theory. He didn’t look at Remus as he did it, trying to make it look as though he were just
reaching to grab a sheet of paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus pick up the tome and
pass it to James.

“Cheers mate,” James said, absentmindedly, oblivious to what had just occurred. Next to him,
Remus’s discomfort was almost palpable—but Sirius continued working, acting as though nothing
had happened. Privately, though, his mind was spinning, as a piece of the puzzle fell into place.
 First Year: Scars

Friday 15th October 1971

For the next few days, Remus Lupin was impossible to pin down. In classes, he doggedly ignored
all of Sirius’s attempts to catch his eye. At dinner, he struck up conversations with Peter (who
seemed both flattered and slightly frightened by the attention) to avoid speaking with Sirius. In the
common room, if Sirius sat next to him, he would immediately leap out of his chair and make
some hurried excuse to rush off.

It drove Sirius mad.

When he complained to James about it, the other boy just shrugged neutrally.

“Yeah, but he’s always running off, that one—are you sure it’s something to do with you?”

Sirius couldn’t very well explain why he thought Remus was avoiding him, so he gave up whinging
about it and turned his attention to planning an ambush.

His chance came the very next week, during their flying lesson. Most of the kids had some
experience on a broom, although some had more than others—James was insufferable, darting
about and showing off with fancy loops and sharp turns. Sirius felt a prick of jealousy at the
effortless way his friend roamed the sky, even though he was quite good himself; he wasn’t
entirely used to being shown up yet.

Although the majority of the class could handle the basics, it was another story entirely for the
muggle-born students. None of them had ever flown before, and in their first lesson it had become
quite clear that they were enormously uncomfortable on their brooms. Remus was the worst of
them all, going pale as he rose into the air and gripping the handle with white knuckles.

So it was no surprise that Lupin looked a bit queasy as they changed into their scarlet flying kits
and laced into thick boots before squelching out onto the pitch. It had rained the night before,
turning the entire field into a muddy, swampy mess.

“Right, mount your brooms please, ladies and gentlemen,” Madam Hooch bellowed at the group,
“Nice strong wind today, so I want you all to take good care. Potter, no showing off!”

This last comment just made James grin, firing him up. They all clambered onto their brooms.

“I’d like five clean laps around the pitch, then a good landing back here from each of you. Mind
the puddle and remember to lean into the wind where possible. Use it to your advantage. Five
points to whoever’s back first.” With that, the gruff witch raised her whistle to her lips and blew
hard.

James and Sirius darted off, zooming ahead of the other students and racing around the pitch.

“You’ll never defeat me, Black!” James called dramatically, smiling like his face was going to
split in two.

“Oi, Potter, no showing off!” Sirius shouted back, laughing. Below them, Hooch was booming
through her megaphone, telling Remus to fly higher. When Sirius darted a glance back, he saw that
the nervous boy was already falling far behind the rest of the class, clutching his broomstick and
looking like he was about to be sick.

James pulled ahead a bit, crowing triumphantly, and Sirius nudged his broom forward, attention
back on the race. The wind whipped through his hair, and for a moment he felt entirely untethered,
giddy with freedom.

By the end of the first lap, it became clear that James was going to win. He was much better at
turning, and pulled ahead with no problem. The two of them grew bored with the race halfway near
the end of the second lap—the rest of the class was just finishing their first—and Potter began
showing off, circling the towers of the empty spectator stands and zooming back to complete his
laps with time to spare. Sirius cheered him on, flying a few loops on his own broom, but it was
clear that this was Potter’s show.

He tamped down on the stubborn resentment that crept in, focusing instead on enjoying the bracing
wind against his skin. He completed four laps quickly, and watched with James as the other
students struggled to keep up. Remus was still plodding along, and Sirius was struck with a sudden
flash of inspiration.

Can’t avoid me up here, can you?

He slowed down considerably to cruise alongside Remus.

“Having fun?”

“What are you doing?” Lupin frowned, eyes fixed firmly on the broomstick in front of him,
“Trying to lose?”

“James is gonna win,” Sirius shrugged, “Might as well let him have his moment. Though I’d hang
out with you.”

“Why?!” Remus looked a bit put out, and the word was huffed through gritted teeth.

“Thought you might want the company,” Sirius said, grinning. Lupin could be so moody. “Plus,
we’re about to land, and I know you hate landing.”

“Piss off.”

“No.”

“I’m warning you, Black…”

“You can’t punch me up here, Lupin, unless you want to let go of your broom.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“Yep.” Sirius flew ahead, circling Remus like a planet in orbit, just to rub it in.

“Piss off.” Remus made a pathetic attempt to dodge him, wobbling comically.

“Time to land…remember to stick your legs out and lean back…then bend your knees as you hit
the—oi!”

Sirius’s broom gave a sharp, sudden jerk, and when he turned he saw that Remus had actually
reached out to grab the tail end. He was grinning cheekily, that same flash of mischief in his eyes
that Sirius had seen the night they played their prank on Slytherin.
Sirius laughed, delighted, and steadied himself. He flew back to Remus and gave him a hard shove
backwards—Lupin wobbled some more, but managed to continue his descent. He was doing much
better than he had during their last class, and he even twisted back to push Sirius again.

“Out of my way!” Remus sped up, “You can be the last down for once!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Sirius turned the other boy’s tactics around on him, grabbing the tail of his
broom and tugging. This was perhaps a bit too effective, as they were both quite close to the
ground at this point. Their brooms went flying and they crashed into the huge, muddy puddle,
wrestling earnestly. Their robes were instantly soaked.

“Black! Lupin!” Madam Hooch marched over, hands on her hips and brow furrowed in a stern
frown.

Their classmates gathered around, giggling and pointing. Sirius leapt gallantly to his feet, pulling
Lupin up roughly and flicking a bit of muddied hair out of his eyes.

“What did I say about minding the puddle?” Madam Hooch raised an eyebrow, but the stern look
had quickly given way to an amused smirk, and there was a twinkle in her eye. “A point each from
Gryffindor. You’d better go and wash off in the showers. Off you go.”

They waddled awkwardly to the quidditch changing rooms, weighed down by their waterlogged
robes.

“Bloody ridiculous kit,” Remus grumbled, squeezing some of the water out of one of his sleeves as
they stepped into the squat building, “How are we ever going to dry it?”

“The house elves will take care of that,” Sirius replied, shaking his off and dumping it
unceremoniously in a corner. He heard the wet thwack of Remus’s robes hitting the ground behind
him as he stepped into a shower cubical. The water came in a rush of hot steam, unknotting the
tension in Sirius’s muscles and making him sigh with relief. He was a bit sad about missing forty
more minutes of flying, but he could hardly complain as he relaxed under the hot water.

Sirius wrung out his hair and scrubbed the mud from his face, watching it swirl away down the
drain. He stood under the stream for a few extra minutes, until he heard Remus shut the water off
and step out of the next cubicle over. He could hear the other boy plodding around, looking for his
uniform.

Sirius had brought his own clothes with him into the stall, bashful about changing in front of his
friend. He dressed quickly, sweeping his wet hair back from his face, and stepping neatly out.

Remus was still finishing dressing, fumbling with the buttons on his school shirt. He had done
them up wrong, and began undoing them to start over again.

Sirius was about to look away when he saw it—the flash of silvered discoloration, a jagged stripe
that stretched from the left half of Remus’s collarbone down diagonally across his chest.

For a moment, Sirius’s mind was full of his mother’s voice, her wand, the sharp flick as she said—

“What’s that?!” He burst out without thinking, pointing. It was—it looked similar, but not quite.
Not as steady, arcing like lighting, fuzzier around the edges.

Remus looked up in shock, then back down, hurrying to close his shirt faster. Sirius thought he
caught a glimpse of a few other, smaller marks.
“A scar.”

Sirius’s heart pounded. He felt a bit sick. His head swam, and he heard himself saying,

“It’s…” Different from mine. But no, he couldn’t say that. “Did it happen to you at the home?
Where you grew up?” He thought of the black eye, and the wary look Remus so often wore. Sirius
had never considered that the other boy might be…well. The same as him.

Remus nodded, wordlessly.

Sirius felt as if there was something coiling, tightly, in his chest. He nodded back, and said quietly,
“I’ve got scars.”

Remus was still looking at him, so he bent down, pulling up his trouser leg. He turned his ankle
quickly to display the marks, before he could think too much about what he was doing. Remus
stared at him, and Sirius watched him staring, trying to decipher the changes that were taking place
behind his eyes. He felt very small, suddenly, and dropped his trouser leg, not sure how much
longer he could stand under the weight of those large, unblinking eyes.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. They only stared. Sirius’s face felt like a mask, stiff and
frozen—his heart was still racing, and his mind was full of static. Remus was looking at him
—really looking at him, like he was seeing him for the first time.

“Shall we go and watch James making a prat of himself?” Sirius asked, finally, attempting
normalcy.

Remus nodded again, still silent, and they both stepped back out into the cold autumn air. As they
moved to sit on the spectator’s benches, watching their classmates dart around the field, Sirius
thought to himself, Now or never.

“Remus?” The other students were coming in for their final landing, and soon they would be
surrounded by chattering, wind-flushed bodies.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t read, can you?”

Remus sighed, the way someone might sigh after setting down a stack of heavy books.

“Nah.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Cheers.”

Sirius smiled, heart still kicking. It took a moment, but Remus smiled back.
 First Year: History

Saturday 23rd October 1971

For the next week, Remus didn’t avoid him, exactly, not as he’d been before. But he made sure that
Sirius never caught him alone—always careful to remain in the presence of their fellow marauders,
or else choosing to spend time in the crowded common room. Of course, he also continued to dart
off on his own, and while Sirius attempted a few times to catch him leaving, Lupin was just too
slippery.

So it wasn’t until the next weekend that Sirius finally caught him, alone in their room, flicking
through one of James’s quidditch magazines—which was odd, as Remus had already made it clear
that he had zero interest in the sport, no matter how the other boys tried to explain to him that it
was one of life’s greatest joys.

Sirius had found that direct questions seemed to work best with Remus, so as he trotted over to the
bed, he said bluntly, “Did you just never get taught?”

Remus waited a moment to respond, pointedly turning the page and acting as if he was entirely
absorbed in an article about This Month’s Newest Models.

“I got taught.”

Sirius continued to stand, stubbornly, at the end of the bed. The article was outdated, anyway, and
not very interesting even if you could read.

Finally, Remus released a resigned sigh and closed the magazine. “I got taught,” he repeated, “Just
didn’t learn properly. When I look at the words, I don’t think I see what everyone else does. It
doesn’t make any sense; all the letters keep jumping around and changing. Teachers said I was just
thick.”

Sirius blinked, studying him. He had never considered that two people might just…look at
something and see two entirely different things. He stared into Remus’s eyes, wondering what it
was about them that was wired differently.

“But how have you been doing it?” He insisted, waiting expectantly for an answer.

Of course, Sirius had suspected for a few weeks…but to be quite honest, the confirmation that
Remus couldn’t read had still been a shock. He was so clearly brilliant, with the way he mastered
spells. Sirius had half thought that he was just too much of a rebel to bother with homework.

Remus seemed baffled by the question. “Doing what?!”

“Well…everything! All your work, here, at Hogwarts.”

Now Remus was looking at him as if he were thick,

“Sirius, I haven’t been doing it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in detention every night.”

Ugh, he was IMPOSSIBLE. “Well, yeah, obviously,” Sirius waved his hand dismissively, “But the
other day, in Potions, I saw you – you didn’t take any notes, didn’t even look at the book, or the
blackboard, and you still prepared all of the ingredients for the cure for boils perfectly – Slughorn
gave you five points!”

Remus flushed and shook his head, “Oh, that was easy. Sluggy told us how to do it in the lesson
before, I just remembered it.”

“Bloody hell, you must have a brilliant memory, then.”

Remus just shrugged, looking for all the world like he didn’t understand what was so impressive
about brewing a potion perfectly, without any practice, after being told one time an entire week ago
how to do it.

“If you could read, you’d be as good as me and James. Better, probably,” Sirius mused.

Remus snorted,

“So modest, Black.”

“Well, you would!” Sirius reiterated, distracted, “Your wandwork is much more natural, and if
your memory is as good as you say it is…” He lost himself, for a moment, in thought, “I bet there’s
a spell for it.”

Remus huffed a laugh, as if the idea were ridiculous,

“You’re going to cure me with a spell?”

“Why not?”

Sirius stuck his lip out, petulant and slightly offended by the disbelief in Remus’s tone. But the
other boy just said simply,

“Magic can’t fix stuff like that. Why else does James wear glasses?”

“I think there are spells for eyesight,” Sirius countered, “Maybe they’re just not worth the effort, or
too dangerous, or complicated or something.”

“It’s not just the reading,” Remus insisted, “My writing’s crap too; I’m too slow, and it comes out
all messy.”

“There are definitely spells for that,” Sirius assured him, “You can bewitch your quill, I’ve seen my
father do it on official documents. His handwriting’s really scratchy, normally.”

Remus stared at him as if he were mad.

“Why are you so interested, anyway?”

Sirius pointedly ignored the darkest corner of his mind, the part where he was squashing down
everything that he’d been trying not to think about, and focused instead on the boy in front of him.

“You’re my fellow Marauder! We can’t have you in detention every day, what if the Slytherins
strike back? We’ll need your evil mind for pranks.” This gave him an idea, and he continued,
“Speaking of, I’m assuming you haven’t done your history homework yet?”

“Nope.”

“Ok then, let’s get started.” Sirius jumped off the bed and began rooting around in his trunk.
Remus protested immediately, standing up and folding his arms with a frown as he said, “No.
You’re not doing my homework for me.”

“Too bloody right, I’m not,” Sirius refrained from rolling his eyes as he pulled out A History of
Magic. “I just fancied refreshing my memory, that’s all. So, I’m going to sit here and read it aloud
– because that helps me study – and if you happened to retain some of it in that enormous brain of
yours, then there’s not much I can do about it.”

Remus’s frown deepened, and he said, sullenly,

“Haven’t you got something better to do? Where’s James, anyway?”

“Watching the Gryffindor quidditch practice,” Sirius shot back, settling down on his bed and
opening the book. “Reckons he’ll get on the team next year, so he’s trying to pick up some tips.
Peter’s followed him, obviously. Now, be quiet please, I’m trying to work.” He cleared his throat,
“A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot. Chapter One, Ancient Egypt; The Rites and Rituals of
Imhotep…”

For a few moments, Remus hovered in the middle of the room, arms still crossed. He looked as if
he was trying to decide whether to storm off or not—but eventually he seemed to give in, slouching
over to the bed and sitting down with a scowl.

A bit more time passed, and the scowl disappeared. He relaxed, leaning back onto his arms,
wariness bleeding from his features as he listened. Surprisingly, he actually seemed quite interested
—Sirius thought the text was somewhat dry, but then, much of it covered things he had already
learned under his parents’ tutelage growing up. For Lupin, Sirius supposed, it was all brand new.

Eventually, Remus lay back, arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. When Sirius glanced at
him, there was a small, unconscious smile on his face. Sirius turned back to the book, and realised
that he was smiling, too.

He made it halfway through Chapter Five (“Tiberius and the Advancements of Roman Battle
Magic”) before his voice began to give out completely, and he had to close the book. Evening had
fallen, bleeding deep blue and orange into the sky outside, and the room around them seemed
alight with the glow of the setting sun.

“I don’t think I can study any more today,” Sirius croaked.

Remus’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up quickly, blinking.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly, “It’s dinner now, I’m starving.”

They stood, stretched, and started downstairs. At the Gryffindor table, James and Peter were
already waiting in their usual seats.

Sirius drained a goblet of pumpkin juice, which soothed the worst of the scratchiness in his throat,
before asking, “How was practice?”

“Cracking,” James said enthusiastically, beaming as he speared a sausage with his fork, “How
come you didn’t come?”

“Homework,” Sirius replied casually, catching Remus’s eye and smiling a small, private smile.

James entertained them throughout dinner with a detailed account of the quidditch practice,
including the names of every member, their positions, their techniques, their weaknesses—even
some of their birthdays. Peter piped up occasionally, usually just to remind everyone that he agreed
with what James was saying. But Sirius was in such a good mood that it hardly even irritated him,
tonight.

Pudding was a disappointment—millionaire shortbread, which neither he nor James liked. Remus
and Peter both acted like they were mad, scarfing down the lot. In fact, when Remus saw that Peter
had already eaten both other boys’ plates, he shot him a bit of a dirty look.

“I’ve got some sweets,” Peter said nervously, as if realising the mistake he’d made in coming
between Remus and food. He dug through the pockets of his robes and pulled out a bulging brown
bag, “Mum sent them, help yourself.”

“Cheers Pete!” James said happily, and the rest of them wasted no time in tearing into the
surprisingly wide selection of candies. They didn’t slow until they’d demolished about half the
bag, and all looked a bit queasy.

“What homework were you doing?” James asked, scratching his chin absentmindedly, “I thought
we’d finished everything for this week.”

Seeing James scratch made his own skin feel prickly, and Sirius itched at his collar bone as he said,
“Yeah, um, I was behind on history. Had to go back and check something.”

Next to him, Remus was starting to scratch, too. Sirius didn’t think anything of it, more focused on
James, who was asking, “Oh, really? Did we miss something, then?”

This was the drawback to doing everything together, Sirius realised—if he wanted to keep Remus’s
secret, he’d need to formulate some better excuses. Or just stop doing all his homework with
James.

Suddenly, Remus leapt out of his seat. Sirius jerked around to look at him—his eyes were wide
with horror, and his face had gone white. He was staring down at his own hands.

“What’s up, Lupin?” James asked, startled.

Remus looked up at them, breathing hard, naked terror in his expression. Sirius realised that dark
hair was sprouting from the back of Remus’s hand, where he’d been scratching.

Oh, bollocks…

Sirius looked down at his collarbone—sure enough, the same dark hair was sprouting. From his
face, his hands, his arms—it grew from every bit of exposed skin.

“Oh bloody hell…” Across from him, James was experiencing the same conundrum, “What’s
going on?!”

Isn’t it obvious, Sirius thought, glaring at the bag of sweets that was still sitting, innocently, on the
table.

“Peter,” he growled, already knowing the answer to his question, “Are you sure your mum sent
those sweets?”

The only one among them who hadn’t eaten any of the candy, Peter spluttered, turning bright red,
and squeaked out,

“Well, I mean…I thought they were from her…they arrived this morning…”
“Peter!” James roared. People were turning to stare at them now, whispering and laughing. Pretty
soon the entire hall was craning their necks for a look at the three furry first-years. The loudest
laughter was coming from the Slytherin table, where Severus Snape looked close to hysterics.

“Come on,” Sirius stood up, squaring his shoulders and attempting to maintain some shred of
dignity, “Let’s go to the hospital wing. We can plot our revenge later.”

Although he could certainly see the humour in the prank, he hated the self-satisfied smirk that
Severus shot him as they left. He hated that he’d let a Slytherin get one over on him. Down the
table from Snape, Bellatrix and Narcissa were staring at Sirius disdainfully, which made him want
to cringe. He had no doubt that his parents would be finding out about this, one way or another—
though he doubted his cousins had been so eager to share the news about the case of itching boys
in their own Hogwarts house.

As they exited into the hall, Sirius muttered darkly, “Told you they’d strike back.” He thought of
his cousins, smirking in their green robes, and gritted his teeth, determined to return the favour—
not just to Snape, but to every Slytherin that thought they were better than him.

Although he attempted to laugh and joke with James, whose answer to most problems in life was a
good sense of humour, the hot sting of shame curled in Sirius’s belly long after Madam Pomfrey
had set them all back to normal.
 First Year: Birthdays, Books, and the Beatles

Madam Pomfrey gave them a stern lecture on misusing magic before sending them on their way,
which seemed to irk everyone except Remus.

“As if we all wanted to look like bigfoot!” James scoffed. Peter mumbled, “Yeah…” in his typical
fashion of echoing everything James said. Remus just stared straight ahead, looking unusually
shaken by the whole situation.

Sirius was still seething. “It had to be Severus. He coated the sweets in one of his potions, I know
it.”

“Yeah, we all know it, mate.” James shook his head, “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back.”

“I’m so sorry!” Peter moaned—he hadn’t stopped apologising since they’d left the hall, and it
made Sirius want to strangle him. “I really thought they were from my mum!”

“It’s fine, Peter,” James said benevolently, “Just wish you’d given them to us first thing on a
Monday – then we could have at least bunked off Transfiguration.”

“I demand retribution!” Sirius shouted, raising his wand dramatically. James laughed and,
surprisingly, so did Remus.

“And you shall have it!” James matched Sirius’s melodramatic tone, grinning, “Patience is a virtue,
Black. Vengeance like this takes time. Don’t suppose you’ve got any other brilliant ideas, Remus?”

“Sorry,” Remus shook his head. He had perked up a bit, but his skin was still quite pale, and he
kept darting glances down at his hands as if worried that hair would start sprouting again.

“I’ll help you, James,” Peter said eagerly, “I’ll do anything, I won’t be scared this time, I’ll…”

They had just begun to turn the corner that led to Gryffindor tower when someone behind them
called out,

“Sirius.”

All four boys turned, and Sirius’s heart leapt into his throat.

Bellatrix.

She had always been his least favourite cousin, close enough in age that he had grown up with her
tormenting him but old enough to make him feel small. She stared at him now with her nose turned
up, as if he were a particularly disgusting flobberworm that she was about to step on.

“Whaddyou want?” Sirius asked, trying to sound nonchalant even as he hunched instinctively,
drawing his shoulders closer to his ears. James stepped forward, standing at his side, and Sirius felt
very grateful for his friend.

“Come here and address me properly,” Bella snapped, voice icy.

Sirius stayed, stubbornly, in place—until she withdrew her wand, which he knew from experience
that she wouldn’t hesitate to use.

“Come here,” her voice was low now, and dangerous, “Or I’ll make you. And it won’t be a
childish little hair growth charm, I promise.”

Sirius slumped forward, shaking his head wordlessly at James when his friend moved with him. It
was embarrassing enough that the other boys were watching this dressing-down from his family
—especially James.

“That’s better,” Bellatrix tutted as he shuffled closer to her. Sirius fiddled with his wand, glaring at
the ground. He wished his palms weren’t so clammy.

“I’d heard that you were running around with blood traitors and mudbloods now—I always thought
you were an idiot, but even I’m surprised that you’ve become this much of a disgrace. You’re still a
Black, let me remind you! You could stand to have a bit more dignity.”

Sirius flushed, glad that she wasn’t speaking loudly enough for his friends to hear. Or at least, he
hoped she wasn’t.

“I mean, really! Your actions don’t only reflect on you, Sirius—you’re making the entire family
look bad. Do you have any idea how I feel, knowing my pea-brained cousin is mucking about like
some sort of muggle-loving—”

“For Pete’s sake, Bella, what do you want?” Sirius snapped—and regretted it immediately when
she levelled an icy stare at him, sending a chill down his spine.

“Your parents are concerned about you,” she sniffed, “They want to make sure that you aren’t
losing sight of your roots. Cissy and I have kindly offered to have tea with you on your birthday, in
the Slytherin common room. Am I understood?”

Sirius wanted to sink into the floor. Tea with his cousins was just about the worst way he could
think to spend a birthday—anger bit through him, mixing with the hot flush of shame he felt as he
listened to Bellatrix voice every secret fear he’d held since the Sorting. Disgrace. Disappointment.
Embarrassment.

When he didn’t respond, she spat his name, “Sirius.”

He looked up, attempting a belligerent glare. It didn’t seem to be very effective though—he was
still a mess of emotions.

“I said, Am. I. Understood.”

“Yes,” he muttered, looking back at the floor.

“Good.” Bellatrix patted his head patronisingly, and Sirius fought the urge to duck away from her
touch. “Now run along back to your little blood traitor friends.” She turned on her heel and left,
robes sweeping behind her.

Sirius walked back slowly, nerves on edge, chest still boiling with frustration, anxiety, and shame.
None of them said a single word as they returned to their common room.

It wasn’t until they were seated on their usual sofa that James broke the silence.

“Alright, Sirius?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, making a valiant effort at nonchalance, “She um…she wanted to invite me for
tea. On my birthday. I think my mother must have made her, probably held a family conference.
Try to bring me back into the fold.”
“Just because you’re in a different house?”

Sirius smirked, “And the company I’m keeping.”

“So when’s your birthday?”

“Two weeks. The third. I have to go to this tea, though, Bella’s not joking about knowing some
really vile curses.”

“We’ll do something afterwards, then. Something good, yeah?”

Peter and Remus both nodded enthusiastically, and Sirius felt a surge of gratitude for his friends.

* * *

Wednesday 3rd November, 1971

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Sirius woke to James Potter, heir to one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain, flinging himself
headlong onto his friend’s bed. He tackled Sirius, and the two started wrestling through the
blankets, laughing.

When Sirius finally managed to shove James off and step out of bed, he noticed Peter standing
nervously across the room.

“Happy birthday, Sirius!”

“Cheers, Pete!” Sirius grinned, and looked over towards Remus’s bed.

It was empty—the curtains left open, the bed still made.

“He, er…never got back last night,” James said, when he saw Sirius looking. There was a moment
of tense silence as they all looked at the empty bed, noting yet another disappearance from their
friend. Where did he keep going?

Finally, Sirius shrugged, saying with forced cheer, “Probably off plotting the downfall of the
Slytherins—evil genius, that one.” James and Peter chuckled—also a bit forced—and they all
silently agreed not to talk about it.

Classes were a drag, but James and Peter made it fun. They acted as if Sirius were royalty the entire
day, holding doors for him, carrying his books, even leaping out of their seats to bow to him when
he managed to transfigure his goldfish before anyone else in the class (which McGonagall did not
find amusing). After lunch, James surprised Sirius with a flying lesson—apparently he’d already
gotten on Madam Hooch’s good side. The three of them sped across the pitch, wind biting at their
faces and stealing the laughter off their lips.

Sirius was having such a good time that he was almost able to forget about his appointment with
his cousins—almost. But as the deadline loomed closer, he grew more and more nervous. James
managed to cheer him up again at dinner, leading the entire Gryffindor table in a round of “Happy
Birthday,” followed by “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” The rowdy Gryffindors had continued to
sing “And so say all of us!” over and over, voices rising each time, until Professor McGonagall
finally threatened to give the whole house detention if they didn’t stop.

Tea with his cousins was just as bad as he expected it to be. He felt awkward and out of place in the
Slytherin common room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. He was even more acutely aware of the
fact that these people would have been his friends, and this would have been his home, if things
had gone as they should. It was jarring, seeing a future he would never have laid out before him.

The entire time, Bellatrix kept up a steady stream of underhanded (and overhanded) insults, barbed
jokes, and petty jibes about how much of a disappointment Sirius was becoming. Cissy didn’t
speak as much, except to agree with her sister. Privately, Sirius wondered if they were just relieved
that the attention had turned away from their immediate family and onto his.

Sirius had been fairly young when Andromeda ran off to marry a muggle, but he remembered
Narcissa and Bellatrix idolising their big sister when they were all little kids. He had never asked
Andromeda about it directly, but he knew Bellatrix in particular felt betrayed. The summer they
received the wedding announcement, Bella had set her sister’s room ablaze in a fury, burning
everything ‘Dromeda left behind. Neither Narcissa nor Bellatrix had spoken to their older sister
since. In fact, Sirius was pretty sure he was the only person in the family who was still in contact
with Andromeda (she’d taught him how to use the muggle post, since his parents didn’t understand
the concept of a post office). Sirius couldn’t imagine anything ever coming between him and Reg
like that.

In fact, before he left to return to his own common room, he even made an attempt to ask about his
brother. It was after yet another tangent from Bellatrix about how absolutely awful it was to have
to tell her dear aunt that the heir to the Black family was now befriending blood traitors.

“She writes to you, then?”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “Obviously. It’s not as if you can be trusted to be honest about your
situation.”

“And you, too, Cissy?”

“It’s Narcissa.”

“D’you reckon you could—maybe, I mean, y’know…maybe send a letter to Reg for me?”

Narcissa’s glare faltered as she was caught off-guard. For a moment, her brow furrowed, and she
started to say, “Well…”

“Absolutely not!” Bellatrix sneered, “As if he needs any of your influence right now! Honestly,
Sirius, all you have to do is grow up and learn to behave with maturity, and I’m sure your parents
will give you your owl back.” She shook her head, chastening. Sirius flushed.

“Right,” he muttered, “Don’t know why I even bothered asking.”

He left as soon as he could after that, seething all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.
Neither of his cousins had even wished him a happy birthday.

He arrived back just before curfew, and when he stepped into their room to get ready for bed, he
came face to face with Remus.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then—

“Er—happy birthday, mate.” Remus smiled weakly, looking a bit guilty. There were dark circles
under his eyes, and his skin was sallow, like he’d been up all night.

“Thanks!” Sirius blinked, a bit surprised, and smiled back. “Where were you?”

“Got sick,” Remus mumbled, “Pomfrey made me stay in the hospital wing all day.”

It seemed a bit odd for an illness to come on so suddenly—Sirius wondered if there was something
more that Remus wasn’t telling them. Especially as this wasn’t his first disappearance…

But none of the boys questioned the explanation, and the next morning there were classes to get to,
and essays to write, and pranks to plan, and so many other things to think about.

As winter approached, the boys spent less and less time outside, preferring to work huddled around
the fire in the common room. When Sirius wasn’t spending time with James (and Peter, who never
seemed to leave his side), he was reading with Remus. It took them just under two weeks to finish
A History of Magic, and Sirius then started alternating between A Beginner’s Guide to
Transfiguration and Magical Drafts and Potions. He even started reading aloud when they worked
on their homework in a group, although it led to scowling from James, who preferred silence.

“It helps me think, Potter!” Sirius would puff out his lip, pouting, “I’ve got to catch up to you
somehow!”

This appeal to James’ pride, as well as his instinct for helping those in need, usually worked, as it
was true that James had now pulled quite far ahead of Sirius in all their classes. Although Sirius let
his friend believe it was because he had been drastically and rapidly improving, that wasn’t
necessarily the case (James had been getting better, just not that much better.)

The truth was that Sirius had decided he no longer cared about schoolwork. It was all so easy
anyway—he could get passable grades even without studying or taking notes, and do better than
half the class if he bothered to glance over his books—and Bellatrix had made it very clear during
his birthday that something as frivolous as good marks would never be enough to win his way back
into his parents’ good graces. What did it matter if he came top of the class, if the class he was in
was full of Gryffindors?

So Sirius found other ways to occupy his time. Namely, researching—ever since they had started
reading together, Remus’s marks had skyrocketed, and Sirius was sure that if he could just figure
out the right spell the boy would become a bonafide genius in no time. Sirius spent most of his
spare time in the library, looking over cognitive interpretation spells that were supposed to be
OWL level, but didn’t seem all too complicated, once you grasped the basics. It was much more
interesting than his classwork, anyway.

Remus had started to grow more comfortable around the other boys, as well, and around Sirius
especially. He began to spend more time with them, and stopped sneaking off on his own so much.
He even started to share his musical knowledge with Sirius, revealing that he’d actually seen the
Beatles perform. Remus knew all about muggles, and patiently weathered Sirius’s many questions.

By the end of the month, Sirius truly felt as though they had all become fast friends. Well—Peter
still got on his nerves sometimes (a lot of the time), but that was to be expected. The Marauders
would end most nights around the fire in the common room, plotting pranks and playing games of
gobstones or exploding snap, laughing until their sides hurt before trudging upstairs to bed.
 First Year: Christmas 1971

Sirius hated Christmas.

He always had, ever since he could remember. Christmas for the Blacks meant family dinners and
boring galas and far too many of Sirius’s relatives hanging about in their dress robes. His mother
was always on edge, ready to snap at a moment’s notice under the stress of playing the perfect
hostess. His father grew sombre and strict, always watching his sons with a reproachful eye to
ensure they did nothing to embarrass him. It was altogether joyless—even the presents were
boring, books about family history or dusty heirlooms that served no purpose past decoration.

So as November drew to a close, and December edged brittle and biting into Hogwarts, Sirius grew
more and more sullen. While other students chattered about holiday parties and presents and family
visits, he scowled and threw himself into his research, spending hours in the library. Even James
was becoming insufferable—he kept talking about his mother’s mince pies, or how badly he hoped
it would snow.

“Last year my dad apparated us to this huge hill just outside of London—I side-alonged, it felt SO
weird—and he charmed the sleds so we wouldn’t fall off, it was unbelievable how fast—”

Sirius slammed his book shut. They were sitting in the common room, next to the roaring fireplace.
Remus and Peter were playing a game of gobstones on the floor, and James was holding a
quidditch magazine. He hadn’t been reading it, though; instead, he’d been chattering on, once
again, about Christmas.

“Do you mind?” Sirius snapped, “I’m trying to read.” James fell silent, and both Peter and Remus
glanced up when they heard the book slam (a thick tome on ocular transfiguration). Now, they
watched him in tense silence.

“Er…sorry, mate,” James said, awkwardly. Remus’s lips were pursed, like he thought Sirius was
being ridiculous, and Peter was looking back down at his gobstones nervously. Sirius knew he
wasn’t being fair, but he couldn’t help responding to the sharp prick of irritation he felt at the
excitement in James’s voice. They would be boarding the train the following morning, and his own
nerves were stretched thin.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, “Too loud to concentrate down here anyway.” He picked up his book and
retreated to their room, hoping to make a dignified exit. He was already embarrassed about
snapping at James—he got frustrated with Peter all the time, and even Remus, but never James. It
felt strange.

Of course, James Potter was too good to hold it against him. That night, when Sirius tiptoed over to
his bed, the other boy let him in immediately. Sirius didn’t even have time to speak before James
was apologising,

“Look, Sirius, I’m sorry about earlier—I wasn’t thinking, I know that Christmas is rough for you
—”

“No!” Sirius gaped, horrified with himself, “No, I should be the one apologising! It’s not your fault
my family’s awful. You have every right to be excited—I’ll try to be less of a miserable git.”

They were both smiling, all forgiven, and Sirius felt an incredible sense of relief. What would he
do without James Potter?
 * * *

The next morning, Remus came to see them off at the station. He was staying at Hogwarts over the
break—James had invited him to come visit, but apparently there was some sort of complication
with the muggle law that meant he wasn’t allowed. James had also invited Sirius to stay with his
family—but of course, Sirius had had to refuse. He could only imagine how his parents would
respond if he asked to go to the Potters’ for Christmas.

As they boarded the train, James promised Remus that they’d write, saying conspiratorially, “See
if you can come up with our next plan of attack on Snape!” Remus nodded and smiled, waving to
them from the platform. He looked a bit gloomy, but Sirius thought to himself that he’d switch
places in a heartbeat—mucking about at Hogwarts sounded much better than where he was going.

Sirius tried to keep his promise to be less miserable on the train, but he was quiet and withdrawn
for most of the ride. James didn’t push him, keeping up a steady conversation with Peter that
carefully skirted around all Christmas-related topics. As they drew closer and closer to London,
Sirius found himself tuning them out, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to listen. By the time
they reached the station, his heart was a closed fist in his chest.

His father was there to pick him up. Orion frowned deeply as he watched his son bid goodbye to
James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, but said nothing until they were out of the crowded station.

“I thought I told you to stay away from the impure.” Unlike his mother, whose voice grew shrill
when she was upset, his father’s voice only got quieter when he was angry. The words were hissed,
venomous. Sirius flinched.

“James and Peter are purebloods, too,” He mumbled defensively, staring down at his feet as they
walked. His father sniffed.

“The Potters are some of the worst blood traitors in history,” he said fiercely, “If they had their
way, the entire wizarding world—our entire way of life—would crumble around us. Do you
understand?”

Sirius shrugged, and his father gripped his arm.

“Answer me when I speak to you, boy.”

Sirius’s arm ached where the fingers dug into flesh. He gritted his teeth.

“I understand.”

* * *

His arrival home was just as horrible as Sirius had expected it would be. It had only been a few
months since he left, but it was still jarring to approach the dark manor with its family crest
emblazoned over the door. It didn’t look any different, but as they entered the wood-panelled halls
and passed under the sneering portraits of his ancestors, Sirius couldn’t deny that it felt different.
Less like home—he missed the cosy warmth of the Gryffindor common room.

His mother was waiting in the sitting room, along with—

“Reg,” Sirius breathed, smiling for the first time since he’d stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. He
started forward, grinning, eager to greet his brother. But Regulus shrank back, slightly, and didn’t
return the smile.

Sirius halted, stung. What was that about?

He realised, quickly, that it must be the presence of his parents that had caused Regulus to
withdraw. His mother abhorred what she referred to as “mawkish displays of sentiment;” she had
intoned countless times that such affection was unmasculine, a sign of weakness.

Still, Sirius had thought—had hoped—that his brother would be excited to see him.

His mother set in immediately, droning on about how incredibly disappointed she was in his
Sorting, how he had brought shame to the entire family, how his great-aunt had nearly had a fit
when she heard the news. This verbal lashing led into what seemed to be an endless series of rules
for his behaviour now that he was home—he was to act at all times with decorum and respect for
the Black family name.

Throughout this cheerful greeting, Regulus remained silent, barely meeting Sirius’s eye. His
mother’s words hardly even stung, because Sirius was too busy trying to figure out what, exactly,
was going on with his brother. Was Reg mad at him for failing to write? It wasn’t as if he’d had
control of the situation—he’d done his best!

There was no chance to talk about it, though, until later that night. Once everyone was in bed,
Sirius snuck out of his room, darting down the hall.

Regulus sat up when he opened the door. It was dark, but the moon was waxing outside, nearly
full, and the light spilling through the windows was enough to see.

“Sirius?”

“Reg!”

Sirius shut the door behind him, bounding eagerly onto the bed. He grinned down at his brother.

“Did you miss me?”

Reg shifted uncomfortably, darting glances at the door. He still wasn’t smiling.

“Come on, you’ll get us in trouble—”

“Oh, please!” Sirius rolled his eyes, “You know they’ll only punish me. It’s not as if you’ve snuck
out of bed. And I wanted to see you! I missed you.”

Finally, a small smile curved across his brother’s face.

“Really?”

“Of course!” Sirius tried to ignore the guilt crawling around inside his chest as he thought of how
much he had dreaded coming home—even though it meant seeing his brother again. “I tried to
write—did you get my letters?”
“Yeah, um, sort of. Mum wouldn’t let me read them. They made her really angry.” Reg drew his
knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Ugh, I knew she was behind it, the old bat!” Sirius scowled, and Reg giggled nervously. “Don’t
worry, I’ll tell you all about it!”

And he did, whispering about the classes and the magic and the friends he’d made. He talked about
how it felt to soar around the quidditch pitch, the acrid smell of a potion exploding in class, the
way the ghosts looked silvery in the candlelight of the great hall.

“And there’s this great big fireplace in the Gryffindor common room—you’ll see next year—James
and I are going to try and figure out if we can pinch some of the potions ingredients to change the
colours—”

“What?”

“The colours of the flames, like if you add powdered newt—”

“No, I meant…” Regulus frowned, brow furrowed, “What do you mean, ‘I’ll see next year’?”

Sirius blinked. “When you’re at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, I know, but Sirius—”

The door to Regulus’s room swung open, and Kreacher burst in.

“A-ha!” He cried in his awful, reedy voice, “The young master is out of bed!”

“Oh, bollocks.”

* * *

After the first week, his mother placed a locking charm on his door to ensure that Sirius remained
in his own room at night. In retaliation, Sirius swapped around all of the plaques under the portraits
lining the hallway, so that each of the paintings had the incorrect name. This only made his mother
angrier—she rapped a ruler against the back of his knuckles until they were bruised, then made
him switch everything back with aching fingers.

“Just let it go,” Regulus said that evening, as Sirius sulked in the library, “You’ll only upset her
more.”

“A marauder never backs down!” Sirius insisted, frowning. He was trying to remember a prank
that Remus had explained to him, something that involved laundry.

Regulus rolled his eyes, and said a bit sharply, “You’re not at Hogwarts, Sirius.”

“A marauder never abandons his code!”

Reg shook his head, but he was smiling a little as he said, exasperated, “Honestly, you’re as bad as
your mudblood friends.”

Sirius froze. “What?”

Regulus blinked, smile dropping. “Your friends—I mean, it’s just, mum says they’re a bad
influence—”

“Yeah, well, mum’s a right bitch, isn’t she?” Sirius snapped. Anger coiled in his veins. Since when
did his little brother throw around words like mudblood?

Reg looked hurt. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“And you shouldn’t talk about my friends!” Sirius stood, seething.

“I’m sorry,” Reg said, placating, “Come on, Sirius, don’t go. I’m sorry.”

Sirius huffed, still hot with anger. But he sat back down, muttering,

“James and Peter are purebloods, anyway.”

“Yeah, you told me,” Reg said.

It was discomfiting—Sirius had never felt so out of sync. He and Reg had always been on the same
page, his little brother listening eagerly to his every word. Sirius thought Reg understood, as he did,
that most of what their parents said was horseshit.

But four months had made a difference. During his weeks at home, Sirius felt out-of-step more and
more often. He kept making comments, expecting Reg to agree, only for his little brother to shake
his head or roll his eyes. And the more Sirius spoke about Hogwarts, the more Regulus seemed to
withdraw, as if hearing about the school made him angry. Sirius couldn’t figure out what he was
doing wrong—there were moments where he thought they might even fight, but at the end of the
day Reg always softened, shrugging off whatever was bothering him to smile and laugh along with
his brother. In those moments, it felt as though nothing had changed; things were easy, effortless
between them. They were still best friends, after all.

* * *

Friday, 23rd December 1971

On the day of the annual Black Family Christmas Party, Sirius and his brother were firmly on the
same page. They spent the morning complaining to each other about the new dress robes their
mother was making them wear, and they made a game of running around the house, hiding from
Kreacher. By the time the haggard house elf finally found them and sent them to wash up, both
boys were giggling, faces flushed.

And then their relatives started to arrive. The Blacks had a family dinner every year on the day
before Christmas Eve, and this year was no different. Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins—as
the manor began to fill with people, Reg became more and more withdrawn. While Sirius
slouched, mussing up his hair and muttering his hellos, Regulus was the picture of decorum: not a
hair out of place, robes neatly pressed. He greeted each family member with perfect poise, exactly
the way their parents expected.

After their great-aunt swept away, Sirius nudged Reggie, grinning.

“Oi, m’lord, should I bow to you?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked up.

“Come on, it’s not that hard to behave for one night.”

“Maybe not for you,” Sirius lamented dramatically, “But for a marauder—”

“Oh, quit it with the marauders!” Reg snapped. Sirius fell silent, a bit surprised by the sting in his
brother’s voice. When Regulus saw his expression, he muttered, “Look, let’s just not make her
mad tonight, alright?”

Sirius didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. As their next relative approached, he leaned in
to whisper petulantly,

“You used to be fun.”

Reg stiffened, mouth a thin line, but didn’t respond.

Sirius was in a sour mood the rest of the night, and he slumped into his seat at dinner. He picked at
the first course, ignoring the chatter of his relatives around him. It was all the same boring stuff as
usual—who got a new promotion at the ministry, whose child had run off and married a muggle,
whose niece was rumoured to be a squib. And then Sirius heard something that caught his
attention.

“…a disgrace, but nowhere near as bad as the Potters!” his aunt said primly, waving her glass of
wine. Her husband chimed in,

“Oh, don’t get me started on Fleamont! The new reforms he’s trying to push through in the muggle
relations department are ridiculous, I’m ashamed to even work in the same building as him!”

Across the table, Bellatrix was watching Sirius with a mean glint in her eye. When she saw him
looking back at her, she smiled.

“Sirius, isn’t the Potter boy one of your little friends?”

Her parents fell silent, turning to look at him. Down the table, his own parents were staring too,
obviously appalled.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, flushing. It felt like everyone had gone quiet, listening for his answer.

“I told you to stop hanging around that boy, Sirius,” His father admonished loudly, “You’re to stop
spending time with him immediately at the start of next term, am I clear?”

Anger crawled, once more, up Sirius’s throat. He spoke without thinking,

“And how am I supposed to do that? He’s my roommate, in case you forgot.”

His father’s face went white with rage, and his mother hissed, “Sirius! Do not speak to your father
like that!”

“Oh, don’t worry, Sirius,” crooned Bellatrix, still grinning wickedly, “I’m sure no one will be
forgetting who your housemates are anytime soon!”

Around the table, his entire family was staring at him, their expressions ranging from mild
disappointment to utter disgust. Sirius flushed with shame. He looked over to Regulus, but his
brother was staring down at his plate, silent.

Fine, then.

He lifted his chin, directing his next words towards Bellatrix. “Great! I’m proud to be in
Gryffindor, so I don’t have to hang around a bunch of slimy gits like you and your friends!”

“Sirius!” His mother screeched.

“Proud?” Orion Black bellowed, slamming down his goblet, “Proud?! You have brought shame to
your entire family!”

Across the table, his uncle nodded, “Never thought I’d see the day the Black heir would become a
blood traitor—”

“I was so embarrassed when I heard the news—”

“Five HUNDRED years, and—”

Across the hall, his relatives broke out into protest, everyone shouting over each other. Sirius’s
heart was thundering in his chest, and he felt tears pricking the back of his eyes.

“Enough!” Walpurga was almost screaming. Finally, everyone fell silent. She turned her cold gaze
to Sirius.

“Go to your room. Now.”

Sirius held her eyes for a moment, but then relented, slamming his fork down and pushing his chair
roughly away from the table. He held his head high as he left, hoping that his family couldn’t see
his shoulders shaking.

* * *

That night, Sirius didn’t turn when the door to his room opened. He could hear Reg creeping in,
painfully slowly.

“Sirius?”

Silence. Fury beat like a heart against his ribcage, and he felt hot and prickly all over.

“I know you’re awake.”

Regulus crept closer to his bed, and the mattress shifted as his brother climbed in. Sirius grimaced
into his pillow.

“Go away, Reg.”

“Sirius—”

“Just go away! I thought you were worried about getting in trouble.” Now he was sitting up,
having thrown the blankets off so that he could face his brother.
Regulus watched him, eyes wide and repentant.

“Sirius, I’m sorry,” he said, “I really am, I told you not to make them mad—”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Really? Came to say ‘I told you so’?”

“No, that’s not—”

“Oh, shove off, Reg!”

Now there was a spark of frustration in his brother’s eyes. “You’re not being fair! Come on, it’s not
like I could have stopped them—”

Sirius knew Reg was right, but it still hurt. He didn’t know how to say that it had always been the
two of them against their family, against the world—that Regulus’s silence was a betrayal, an
abandonment, a broken promise.

“You could have done something, instead of just leaving me alone—”

But now it was Reg’s turn to laugh, incredulously, as he said, “Leaving you alone?”

The words hung between them. Guilt and anger twisted together in Sirius’s chest.

“I told you to go away!” He reached out, shoving Regulus hard. His brother fell back onto the
mattress, flailing to keep his balance and stop himself from tipping off the edge of the bed, pyjamas
twisting around his legs and—

Oh.

Sirius froze. They were both breathing hard, chests heaving, even though they’d been whispering.
Sirius stared down at his brother’s leg, where his trousers had twisted up, revealing the bottom half
of his calf. There were three straight, thin lines, right down the middle of the skin.

Sirius looked up, and their eyes met.

“Reg—”

His brother flushed, reaching down hurriedly to adjust his pyjamas, scurrying further away on top
of the blankets.

“Reggie, did she—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sirius swore. “That bitch.”

“Don’t call her that!” Regulus said sharply, and Sirius looked at him in disbelief.

“Reg, she hurt you—”

“She wouldn’t hurt me!” His voice rose defensively, “She’s my mother!”

For a moment, Sirius was stunned into silence. Then, quietly,

“She’s my mother, too.”

When Regulus refused to meet his eye, Sirius continued, “Come on, you know it’s not right, she’s
—”

“She’s only trying to do what’s best for me!” Reg whispered furiously, words tripping over each
other, “To make sure I don’t end up like—”

He stopped, abruptly. Sirius felt sick.

“Go ahead,” he said, flatly. Reg shook his head, looking away.

“No, go ahead,” Sirius urged, anger licking back into his voice, “Say, it, Reg, I want to hear it.”

“Sirius—”

“To make sure you don’t end up like me, right? Is that it?”

His brother’s eyes were shiny with tears, but Sirius didn’t care. He pushed himself out of bed,
grabbing a traveling cloak from his wardrobe.

“Sirius?” Regulus whispered. When his brother ignored him, he tried again, “Sirius? Where are
you going?”

Sirius shut the door of the wardrobe roughly and grabbed his wand from where he’d stored it in his
desk.

“Home,” he said.

* * *

It was raining in Hogsmeade. Cold water pelted Sirius as he struggled up towards the school
grounds, wind whipping raindrops past the heavy hood of his cloak, until his hair was dripping
wet.

He’d waited until the early morning, while it was still dark, to sneak out of his room. His parents
kept floo powder in an office down the hall, and there was no telling where Kreacher might be
roaming at night. Near dawn, though, the house elf started on breakfast, and Sirius knew he would
be sequestered in the kitchen. He’d held his breath as he tiptoed down the hall, sure that he’d open
the office door to find his father waiting—but Regulus hadn’t alerted anyone. He hadn’t gone to
wake their parents or find Kreacher. He hadn’t tried to stop Sirius from leaving at all.

No one approached him as he tromped through the muddy grass and made his way to Hogwarts’
front entrance. The doors opened easily, and the halls were empty—the only sounds the snoring
portraits and Sirius’s own cloak dripping water onto the floor. He had to wake the Fat Lady to give
her the password, and she grumbled as she swung open, allowing him entrance into the common
room.

Remus sat up when the door to their room swung open, rubbing his eyes. For a moment, he just
blinked in the dark—but then his face split into a grin.

“Sirius!”

He leapt out of bed, clearly overjoyed to see his friend. Sirius couldn’t help but grin back, pushing
his wet hair out of his face.
“Alright, Lupin?” He tried to keep his voice nonchalant as he dropped his cloak to the floor, even
though his body still felt wired with adrenaline. He and Reg had always talked about running away
from home, but neither of them had ever actually done it.

“Freezing, isn’t it?” Sirius pointed his wand at the fireplace, “Incendio.”

“What are you doing here?!”

“Had enough,” He looked down at his boots, which were caked with mud, and concentrated on
pulling them off, “Got into an argument with Dad, then the whole family got into it. All the usual
stuff. Called me a blood traitor, the shame of the family, et cetera, et cetera…” He collapsed back
onto his bed, heart racing with the memory of his family’s voices. “So I left.”

James would have wanted to talk about it—to ask if he was okay, to tell him that he shouldn’t be
ashamed, to insist that his parents were wrong. Sirius braced himself, but Remus just said,

“Wow. How did you get here?”

Good ol’ Remus. “Floo powder,” Sirius shrugged, “To the pub in the village. Then just walked
up.”

“Wow.” Remus repeated.

Before the other boy could ask any more questions, Sirius sat up. “I’m starving, they sent me to
bed last night without dinner. Come on, get dressed! Breakfast!”

Although they attempted to take their seats as usual in the Great Hall, acting as though nothing
were wrong, McGonagall stormed over immediately.

“Mr. Black,” She said sharply, “What is the meaning of this?”

Sirius smiled cheekily. “I missed you too, Professor.”

Her lips twitched, but the frown remained staunchly on her face.

“You were seen walking onto the grounds from Hogsmeade at six o’clock this morning. Do you
care to explain yourself further?”

Sirius shook his head,

“Not really, Professor. That’s pretty much all there is to it.”

McGonagall shook her head and sighed, a note of pity in her eyes. It made Sirius uncomfortable.

“Very well, Mr. Black. I shall have to contact your parents, of course, so that they know where you
are.”

But a flock of owls was swooping into the room, and Sirius could see the largest of them—a stately
eagle owl—clutching a thick red envelope.

“No need,” He said, as the bird dropped the letter onto his plate. He looked down at it, pointedly,
then smiled wryly up at McGonagall. “I think they know exactly where I am.”

He held her eye as he picked it up, ripping it open before anyone could see his fingers trembling.
Immediately, his mother’s voice filled the hall, shrill and icy with rage. The other students turned
to look, and McGonagall winced.
“SIRIUS ORION BLACK,” his mother’s voice screamed, “HOW DARE YOU DEFY YOUR
FATHER IN THIS MANNER!” Next to him, Remus covered his ears. But Sirius remained
completely still, refusing to drop McGonagall’s gaze. “CONSORTING WITH HALF BREEDS
AND BLOOD TRAITORS! TURNING YOUR BACK ON YOUR FAMILY! IF YOUR
GRANDFATHER WAS ALIVE HE’D HAVE DISOWNED YOU THE MOMENT YOU WERE
SORTED! YOU WILL REMAIN AT SCHOOL UNTIL THE END OF THE YEAR AND THINK
ABOUT THE SHAME AND DISHONOUR YOU HAVE BROUGHT TO YOUR NOBLE
TITLE! DON’T THINK WE WON’T DISINHERIT YOU! YOU ARE NOT OUR ONLY SON!”

With that, the letter burst into flames, until it was nothing but a pile of ash on the table. The silence
that followed was suffocating. Sirius could feel the eyes of every person in the room on him.

Let them watch, then, he thought, anger still a blistering ember in his belly. But he kept his
composure, spooning scrambled egg nonchalantly onto his plate. He glanced up at McGonagall
again,

“You can send mother an owl if you like, Professor, but I doubt she’ll read it.”

“Very well, Sirius,” McGonagall nodded, “Just…try to keep out of trouble, will you?” She made
her way stiffly back to the teachers’ table at the far end of the hall.

Sirius ate his breakfast in silence, skin prickling with the gazes of the other students. Even Remus
was staring at him, wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. Sirius tried to
ignore the embarrassment that bled like oil through his body, choking down his food.

I don’t care, he reminded himself, fiercely. Who gives a toss what they think? But he still felt a
wash of relief once he’d finished eating, and was able to leave the curious stares behind.

* * *

The next morning was much better. When they woke on Christmas day, Sirius and Remus
discovered piles of wrapped presents on their beds. Remus almost looked perplexed as he
unwrapped a lumpy package containing various snacks, along with a set of gobstones from James
and a box of chocolate frogs from Peter.

“Merry Christmas,” Sirius said, stifling a yawn. Peter had sent him a box of frogs, too, and there
was an annual of his favourite quidditch team from James, which made him smile.

“Merry Christmas,” Remus responded, “I didn’t get anyone any presents,” He scratched as his ear,
looking a bit guilty, “I didn’t know they would…”

“Don’t worry about,” Sirius reassured him, heading into the bathroom, “No one expected you to.”

When he came back into the room, there was a large, flat, square package on his bed. Andromeda.
Sirius ripped it open as fast as he could, buzzing with excitement.

“It’s from Andromeda!” He explained to Remus, who had responded to his enthusiasm with a
bemused grin. When he pulled a record out of the package, Remus’s eyes lit up, and he hurried
over.

Every holiday, Andromeda sent him a muggle album. It was how Sirius had amassed his collection
—his most prized possessions, aside from his wand. This one had a black cover, overlaid with an
image of a man standing in front of a huge amplifier, playing a guitar. His hair was wild and curly,
and he had a powerful stance, legs apart, outlined in gold. Electric Warrior, read the text, T-Rex.

“Ohhh, T-Rex, I think I’ve heard of them,” Remus murmured. Sirius flipped the album over,
eagerly scanning the track listing.

Remus shifted impatiently. “Stick it on!” He urged, eyes still bright with excitement.

Sirius did, sliding the disk out carefully and placing it gently onto his turntable. They watched as it
began to spin, and the room filled with music – a smooth, sliding throb.

Beneath the bebop moon/I wanna croon/With you-ooo…

They sat, hypnotised, utterly immersed in the music. When it stopped, Sirius flipped the record
immediately to its B-side, and they sat in silence while it played. When it was over, Sirius
wordlessly turned the record and began again at the beginning.

Remus was the best person to listen to music with. Unlike James and Peter, he didn’t talk, and he
didn’t get distracted. For the slower, dreamier, songs, they lay next to each other on the bed,
sharing smiles. On the catchier riffs, they tapped their feet, or swayed with the melodies. They
didn’t need to speak—as long as the music was playing, the entire world fell away, and Sirius felt
warm and safe.

Eventually, halfway through the second listen, Frank came in,

“Merry Christmas lads – come on, breakfast!”

The Great Hall was an explosion of colour; glittering ropes of red, green, and gold tinsel sparkled
from every rafter, and twelve enormous trees twinkled with multicoloured lights and baubles on
every branch. Sirius grinned, thinking to himself that maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad, after all.

After breakfast, the boys raced back to their room, where Sirius immediately started the album
again. When they had listened through a third time, Remus announced, “It’s the coolest thing I’ve
ever heard.” Sirius nodded solemnly, elated that the other boy loved it as much as he did.

They spent the rest of the day eating their way through Peter’s chocolate frogs, playing rowdy
games of exploding snap, and listening to music in the common room. By dinnertime, Sirius had
memorised all the words to Jeepster. He hummed in between bites of food, watching Remus stuff
his face, and by the time the meal was over they were both tapping their feet.

As Sirius went to bed that night, he didn’t think about his family, or his mother’s letter, or even his
brother. Instead, he played T-Rex on repeat in his mind, falling asleep with the melodies still in his
head.

You slide so good

With bones so fair

You’ve got the universe

Reclining in your hair…

 First Year: Lectiuncula Magna

Tuesday 27th December 1971

One good thing came of Walpurga’s letter: an idea. During the strange, sleepy days between
Christmas and New Year’s Day, Sirius attacked the bookshelves in the library with a vengeance,
sure that he was close to a breakthrough. Previously, he had been focused on eyesight—how to
alter the letters that Remus looked at. But he kept hitting dead ends; it was difficult to figure out
how to keep the words straight, especially when Sirius didn’t fully understand what exactly it was
that Remus saw each time he looked at a page.

But he hadn’t needed to see the howler to understand what it was saying…

Remus refused to accompany him to the library; he acted as though the books would bite him if he
even tried to enter. So Sirius lugged armfuls of thick volumes back to the common room. They
would sit in companionable silence in front of the fire, Sirius reading and Remus playing chess
against himself with Peter’s chess set. (He didn't seem to understand any of the rules—but he
thought it was very entertaining to watch the little pieces march around the board). When Sirius
wasn’t researching, he and Remus were breaking in the new gobstones from James, or listening to
T-Rex, or trying to transfigure Frank Longbottom’s slippers (he got very cross with them one
evening, when he found them covered in slime—Sirius had been trying to turn them into snails).

He kept as busy as he could, but there were still moments when Sirius’s feelings crept up on him.
The snarled mess of guilt, shame, and rage stirred up by the visit to his family had coalesced into a
predator in the back of Sirius’s mind, tail flicking, waiting for any opportunity to pounce. He
would see the scattered Slytherin students in the Great Hall at meals, and remember Bellatrix’s
awful smile. Or he would look up after a moment of intense concentration in the library, déjà vu
settling over him, the towering shelves reminding him of his family library at home. Or Remus
would say something funny, and Sirius would laugh until his sides hurt, until he was gasping for
breath, and find himself thinking, I wish Reg were here.

This confusing mess of emotion only upset Sirius, adding to the simmering anger that he’d tried to
lock away. Luckily, he knew exactly where to focus his building resentment: Severus Snape.

Remus seemed just as eager to plan their revenge, still furious about Snape’s prank with the hair.
He took a slightly different approach than Sirius, though.

“We should just get James’ cloak, follow him around ‘til he’s alone, then beat the shit out of him.”

They were sitting in the empty common room, and Remus’s voice was close to a growl as his
fingers dug into the leather armrest of the settee.

“Now, now, Lupin,” Sirius tutted, arms full of library books, “You’re thinking like a muggle. If
we’re going to get him, we’re going to get him with magic.”

“Not more books,” Remus groaned, mouth twisting like he’d tasted something sour as Sirius
plopped down beside him.

“Yes, more books.” Sirius flipped open a heavy tome, so big that the cover rested across both of
their legs. “You’ll love them once you get to know them, I promise.”
He was getting close, now, to finishing his research on the reading solution. He’d figured out what
spells he’d need, and he only had to find a way to cobble them together. In fact, he’d already started
trying different variations in the library, where Remus was sure not to discover him—but Madam
Pince had threatened to ban him after a succession of failed attempts that resulted in books
screaming aloud.

“So what’s this one about?” Remus asked, although he didn’t sound very enthusiastic about the
question.

“Hexes and jinxes. A lot of them are really complex, though. I mean, we’re good – you, me, and
James, anyway – but I still think we should stick to the basics. Simplicity is key.”

“Ok,” Remus muttered.

“So I thought we could brainstorm all the stuff we can do, and see if that lends itself to any good
jinxes,” Sirius continued on cheerily, undeterred by his friend’s lack of enthusiasm, “So I’m really
good at transfiguration – I got the best marks even after you started catching up.”

“Right,” Remus nodded.

“And James is a bit better than me at Defence Against the Dark Arts – which you’d think would be
helpful when dealing with a slimy creep like Snivellus, but we haven’t really learnt any good spells
yet, except disarming stuff, and that’s no use.”

He chewed absentmindedly on his quill (a habit his mother hated, but she wasn’t here,) and
continued, “James is good at flying, too, obviously, but I dunno how that’s going to be any help.
Then there’s Pete…good at sneaking around and grunt work, I suppose…”

One nice thing about not having James around was that Sirius didn’t have to try quite as hard to
hide his disdain for Peter. It was true that the boy had grown on him—he could be funny
sometimes, and he was always up for a game of chess or exploding snap. But he was so desperate
for James’ attention, and he was nowhere near as good at magic as the rest of them.

“Pete’s good at Herbology,” Remus suggested, “And Potions.”

“Both useless,” Sirius shrugged, “You were the one who came up with the rosehip thing, and we’re
never going to best Snape at Potions – I hate to admit it, but the bastard’s too good.” It wasn’t like
he was being mean about Peter—just honest. “Anyway, then we’ve got you; you’re probably best
at Charms.”

“Not best,” Remus said, quickly, “I’m good at levitation, I suppose, but that’s it.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, waving a hand impatiently. “Oh, shut up, this is no time for modesty, Lupin.
You pick up spells quicker than anyone. If we find a sufficiently hideous hex in here, then I’m
counting on you to figure out how to do it.”

Remus shifted uncomfortably, even though he was just stating the facts. Sirius ignored his friend’s
blushing, focused on the task at hand.

“It has to be something big,” he murmured, flipping all the way to the back of the book and
making Remus yelp when the full weight of it thudded onto his lap. Sirius ran his finger down the
index, “Something much worse than the hair thing.”

Next to him, Remus had tensed up. After a moment, he pushed the book away and stood,
stretching.
“I dunno why you think I’ll be any help,” he insisted, yawning. Sirius grinned.

“Muggle insight,” he said, “Like the itching powder. You can come up with stuff Snape won’t see
coming.”

Remus frowned, scratching his head. His lower lip jutted out, the expression he wore whenever he
was concentrating on something.

“Can’t think of anything bad enough,” he said, “Once we got a bucket of water and propped it up
over a door – which you have to leave a bit ajar, y’know, then Matron was supposed to walk
through and get soaked. Except Matron didn’t walk through, the cook did, and we got served shit
food for a month.”

As if on cue, Remus’s stomach growled. The boy was always hungry. “That’s a pretty tame prank,
to be honest. Are you hungry? Can we go down for dinner yet?”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Sirius sighed, closing the book. Once Remus started thinking about food, there
was no getting him to concentrate on anything else. “We could get a bucket pretty easily, but it
seems like there’s a lot of room for error. And I dunno if it would really strike fear into his heart
the way we want it to. We’re marauders, we should be setting certain standards.”

As they climbed through the portrait hole, Remus chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, told you it was rubbish. Shame, ‘cause Snivellus could do with a good wash.”

Sirius laughed. A good wash…

He froze, struck with inspiration.

“Oh, you genius! You bloody genius!” He reached out to grip Remus’s shoulder.

“What?” Remus asked, looking back with a mix of shock and annoyance—probably irritated that
Sirius was delaying his dinner by thirty seconds.

“A good wash! That’s what we’ll do! It’s easy, I bet, it’ll be in one of those books… wait here!”
He darted back through the portrait, knowing exactly which book to grab.

* * *

“So wait, explain it to me again?” Remus whispered, using the remains of his roast potato to mop
up his gravy. They were just finishing their plates, speaking in hushed whispers as they hunched
over the Gryffindor table. “It sounds complicated.”

“It isn’t,” Sirius assured him, “I reckon it’s easy. Weather spells are hard on a grand scale, but this
only needs to be a cloud the size of this plate.” He tapped his fork on the porcelain, emphasising
his point.

“Would it be like the ceiling?” Remus asked, jerking his head towards the charmed rafters as he
shoved the potato into his mouth. It was raining, matching the dreary weather outside—but of
course the water disappeared before it could actually hit them.

“A bit,” Sirius replied, “But smaller. And without whatever charms are stopping us from getting
wet.”

“But…couldn’t he just step away from it?”

“Not if we combine it with a binding spell!”

“But…we can’t mix spells yet. Well, I can’t. Can you?” Remus paused his eating for a moment to
glance up at Sirius, who nodded excitedly,

“Yeah, I’ve been having a go at it, for your reading thing. It’s actually not too hard; you just have
to concentrate.”

“That’s what they say about reading,” Remus said sceptically.

“We’ll practice,” Sirius insisted, “We’ll practice loads, before James and Pete get back. They’ll be
dead impressed.”

Back in the dorms, Remus continued eating, munching on biscuits as Sirius tore through the pages
of one of his library books. It was full of weather charms, with no less than seventeen rain-related
spells—but finally, he found one that seemed like it would fit his vision. He read the directions
aloud several times, until they were both sure they understood, and they took it in turns to have a
go.

Sirius was better at pronunciation, but Remus was a natural when it came to wandwork, and Sirius
had to watch how he twisted his wrist to get it right. It took hours, even with both of them working
together, but as the clock approached midnight they finally succeeded: Remus managed to cast a
small, grey cloud. It slid like smoke from his wand, hovering between them before bursting, almost
like a bubble. There was a faint trace of condensation left behind, which dissipated in seconds.

Sirius couldn’t stop smiling,

“This is going to work!”

* * *

Saturday 31st December 1971

Remus was acting weird. He’d been a bit off all weekend—touchier than usual, more easily
frustrated, restless. Sirius hadn’t paid it any mind; he was used to Remus’s moods, by now. But on
Saturday, he kept trying to ditch Sirius.

It wasn’t as if there was anywhere to go—they were both confined to the school grounds, and
Remus didn’t exactly have any other friends to hang out with, unless he had suddenly become best
mates with Frank. At first Sirius thought his friend might just want some quiet time—that was no
problem, they had grown quite comfortable sitting in companionable silence. But Remus looked
annoyed when Sirius brought his library book down to the common room, which was a bit rude, as
Sirius had been lugging heavy books out of the library all week just so that Remus wouldn’t have
to be alone.
Eventually, he said he was feeling sick. They were lying in their room, listening to T-Rex again,
and Sirius gamely offered to relocate to the hospital wing. There were so few students that they’d
probably be the only ones there, and he couldn’t imagine that the friendly old nurse would mind a
bit of music. Sirius was just about to levitate the record player when Remus yelped,

“No! I—I should go alone.” His brow was knotted in consternation. Sirius stared, perplexed.

“Why?”

“Well, er—the spell. You should keep practicing. We need to be ready once classes start back.”

“We’ve basically got it now, though,” Sirius pointed out, frowning. They’d both managed to
procure miniature rainstorms at this point—in fact, they’d very nearly flooded the bathroom. It
wasn’t as if one night off would set them back.

“Find something else to do, then,” Remus snapped, halfway out the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“How’d you know she’ll keep you overni—?!” But before he could even finish his question,
Remus slammed the door behind him.

Sirius hovered in the middle of the room, stung by his friend’s abrupt dismissal. Did Remus just—
not want to spend time with him? The horrible thought occurred to Sirius that maybe he was acting
just like Pete, tagging along desperately even when he wasn’t wanted.

There was a sudden wave of embarrassment, which he expelled immediately with anger—he
wasn’t like Peter; it wasn’t as if he was desperate to hang around Remus! He was perfectly fine by
himself—in fact, Remus was the one who should be grateful that Sirius let him hang around! If he
hadn’t come back to Hogwarts, the other boy would’ve had to spend Christmas alone! So who
cared if Remus was being a prick—it wasn’t like Sirius needed him, anyway!

Sirius muttered angrily, storming to the library. Since Remus was so eager to be alone, he might as
well spend some time there, instead of lugging the books back to the common room. But once he
arrived, he found himself unable to concentrate—he kept remembering how he and Reg had hidden
amongst the bookshelves, the morning of the Christmas party when they were trying to avoid
Kreacher.

Sirius stomped back to dorm room, putting T-Rex back on. But that made him think of Remus, and
how much more fun it was to listen to the music with another person. Finally, he gave up and went
to the bathroom to practice the storm spell. But even that was a wash—he struggled to concentrate,
and ended up soaking his robes.

Finally, he stripped off his wet clothes and changed into his pyjamas. It was getting dark, and
Remus still wasn’t back. Sirius wondered if the nurse really would keep him overnight—but he
hadn’t looked sick. In fact, all day Remus had had more energy than usual; he’d been unable to sit
still for more than two seconds. Surely he would be coming back, right?

Sirius waited, but Remus didn’t return. He rolled over in bed, remembering the other times his
friend had disappeared for the night. Was he in the hospital wing, all those times? Did he have
some sort of illness that he was keeping secret? Outside, the sky was pitch black, the only
remaining light from the moon, and—

And—

The moon.
Sirius sat up, staring out the window.

A full moon.

But…that couldn’t—it couldn’t be—

Sirius felt as if his stomach had dropped through the floor. For a moment, he could only stare.
Then, with a sudden burst of adrenaline, he scrambled out of bed, searching for his astronomy
notes and counting the days in his head…

* * *

Sunday 1st January 1972

Sirius had hardly slept. He was bleary-eyed at breakfast, dizzy from the lack of sleep. He’d spent
the entire night pouring over his astronomy notes—then he’d moved on the Defence Against the
Dark Arts, searching for anything relevant. After that, he’d scoured all his library books, checking
to see if he’d brought anything useful back to the dorm. But there was very little in his notes or his
books to answer his question, and so Sirius rushed to eat, hurrying to the library immediately when
he was done.

He dragged an armful of books over to a corner table and devoured them, scouring the pages.
Everything fit: the monthly disappearances, the strange moods, the visits to the hospital wing…

But. But—could it really be true? Sirius had thought the reading was a big secret—this was almost
unthinkable. Yet the more he researched, the more certain he felt that his hunch was right.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

His heart pounded with the weight of his discovery, and questions swam through his mind. How
had it happened? And when? Did Dumbledore know? He must—the professors had to know, that
must be why Remus went to the hospital wing every month, they had to have some sort of safety
measures in place. What was the transformation like? What did it look like? Could Remus
remember it?

Even as the questions surged, an endless tide, Sirius knew he wouldn’t be able to ask any of them.
If his hunch was right (it was, it had to be), then Remus had good reason for keeping it a secret.
Sirius had always been taught that werewolves were highly dangerous, more beast than man.
Obviously, that wasn’t true—not if Remus was any indication. In fact, it never crossed Sirius’s
mind that he should be frightened, or even worried. But he was sure that there would be an uproar
if the news were to ever spread around the school.

By the afternoon, he was almost completely certain of his conclusion—and just as certain that he
could never, ever tell Remus that he had figured it out. Still, the curiosity ate at him—he realised
that he badly wanted to see his friend. Luckily, Sirius knew exactly where to find him.

* * *
Remus was the only student in the hospital wing. He was sleeping, but Madam Pomfrey let Sirius
sit next to his bed, whispering,

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see a friendly face when he wakes up!”

Sirius smiled at her as she pulled up a chair for him, and sat down as she bustled away.

Remus didn’t look any different. Well—there were some bandages, and those dark circles that
showed he’d been up all night. But he was still the same skinny boy, fuzzy hair sticking out from
his scalp. He didn’t look like a dangerous creature. He just looked tired.

Sirius rested his chin on his hands, watching his friend sleep. As he waited for Remus to wake, his
resolve hardened—even if the boy was a werewolf, it didn’t matter. It didn’t change who he was,
funny and smart and full of secrets. Sirius would make sure that no one else found out, so that
Remus could stay at Hogwarts. They would keep planning pranks and listening to music and
reading together—nothing had to change.

When Remus finally sat up, Sirius eagerly handed him a glass of water. He accepted it wordlessly,
drinking deeply—then jumped when he realised who had handed him the glass.

“Sirius!” His voice was raspy.

“Happy new year!” Sirius crowed. “Thought I’d come looking when you weren’t at breakfast. You
all right?”

“Fine,” Remus said, rubbing his head, “I um…I get migraines sometimes. I’m feeling better.”

“Good,” Sirius nodded (he’d really need to teach Remus to lie better, somehow), “Because I’ve got
your Christmas present ready.”

“My…what?” Remus looked wary, like he was expecting this to turn into a joke.

“Sorry it’s late,” Sirius said, hardly able to contain his excitement, “I had a few last-minute tweaks
to make. Here.” He passed over the book that he’d brought with him. It was Remus’ copy of A
History of Magic.

“What…?” Remus’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the title.

“Open it!”

Remus did. The pages were crisp, almost like new—Sirius doubted he’d opened the book more
than once all year. Below the title, he’d scrawled a quick note, and he watched as Remus squinted
at it.

“Sirius, you know I can’t—”

“Put your hand on it!” Sirius interrupted, stepping forward, “Palm flat against the page – yeah, like
that. Now, give me a moment…”

He lifted his wand, placing it carefully against Remus’s temple. His friend’s eyes widened slightly
in panic.

“Sirius, what are you doing?”

“Trust me!” Sirius shushed him, concentrating hard. He took a deep breath. Remus squeezed his
eyes shut, as if expecting his head to be blown off, and Sirius tried not to be offended by his lack of
confidence.

“Lectiuncula Magna!” Sirius pronounced the words precisely, putting some force behind them.

Remus flinched a bit—Sirius knew from trying the spell on himself that it didn’t exactly feel
pleasant, though it wasn’t painful.

“What was that?” Remus had opened his eyes again, still wary as he gazed up at Sirius.

“Look at the book!” Sirius said eagerly, grinning, “Tell me what it says!

Remus gave a long-suffering sigh and looked down.

“Read it!” Sirius prompted.

“I…” Remus looked back down, and paused, frowning. After a second, he blinked, eyes widening.
Sirius watched as his entire face lit up, mouth breaking out into a broad smile.

Remus laughed. He looked back up at Sirius, then down at the page. He flipped open to the
middle, staring down at the text.

“Oh my god!” He flipped to another page, eyes scrolling rapidly as he read. “Oh my GOD!”

“It worked, then?!” Sirius asked, thrilled.

“Sirius! This is…you! I can’t…How?!”

“Oh no,” Sirius teased, “Don’t tell me I’ve messed up your brain so much you can’t even form a
coherent sentence?”

“Thank you,” Remus said fervently, and Sirius was a bit surprised to see that his eyes looked shiny,
as if he might cry. He rubbed at them with his fists, and Sirius looked away, heart beating hard in
his chest.

“S’ok,” he said casually, “Now you can help me research our next big prank.”

“We haven’t even got the first one off the ground yet,” Remus sniffed, still smiling, “You have to
show me how you did this…it’s…I mean, it must be really advance magic.”

“Sort of,” Sirius shrugged nonchalantly, “I got the idea after Mother’s howler, actually. I thought if
you can get a letter to scream at someone, then you can get a book to read to someone. Keeping the
voice inside your head was the hardest part – I couldn’t tell if it was working on me or if I was just
reading normally. Works on any book, though. I think. Not sure about other stuff yet, like potion
labels or signs, but we can keep working on it…”

Remus was looking back at the book, flipping through the pages in wonder, and Sirius trailed off,
smiling. There would be time to explain it all later—for now, he decided to let his friend enjoy the
gift.
 First Year: The Prank

Sunday 2nd January 1972

It took a few tries for Remus to get the spell right. Sirius had to coach him through the
pronunciation, which was a bit tricky, and although most magic seemed to come naturally to Lupin,
he was hesitant to perform the spell on himself. Eventually, he said shyly,

“D’you mind just…doing it for me? Until I get the hang of it?”

“No, of course not!” Sirius assured him, secretly bursting with pride. He liked being able to do
something for Remus, and he liked that his friend trusted him enough to even ask.

Of course, when the others returned, they had to be a bit more secretive about it. Sirius didn’t say
anything, but he knew Remus was embarrassed about his trouble reading and didn’t want James or
Peter to know. Luckily, they had the perfect distraction.

“Brilliant!” James crowed, breaking into a grin, “Completely brilliant!”

“You’re so clever!” Peter gushed.

They had all crammed into the small, shared bathroom. Sirius was positioned in the bathtub, the
open umbrella over his head the only thing keeping his robes from getting drenched as Remus
conjured a grey rain cloud above his head. It hovered, pouring rain down into the bath below.
Sirius shuffled up and down the tub, but the cloud stuck to him, following him about the way Peter
did James.

Their two friends had arrived back at Hogwarts just hours ago, but as soon as dinner was over
Sirius and Remus had dragged them upstairs to reveal the fruits of their labours.

“Lupin gave me the idea,” Sirius explained, “But I looked up the charms to do it. He won’t know
what’s hit him!”

“When can we do it?!” James was jumping up and down now, unable to contain his excitement.
“First thing tomorrow? Breakfast? Potions?”

Sirius shook his head sagely. “Dinner. More of an audience.” He’d already thought of this.

“Yes, dinner,” James agreed immediately, “Seriously, you two, I’m so bloody proud.”

“Cheers,” Sirius raised an eyebrow, casually, but his heart leapt with the praise. He looked over to
Remus. “Um…Lupin? You can probably stop now. My feet are getting wet.”

“Oh!” Remus shook off the charm, looking down at the tub—he had produced more rain than the
ancient plug hole could manage, leaving Sirius ankle deep in cold water. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sirius laughed, squeezing out his robes and stepping out of the tub, “Just make sure you
do the same to Snape.”

“So, Lupin’s doing this one?” James asked. Sirius shrugged,

“He’s better at it. I can do it too though, if we get interference.”

 * * *

Monday 3rd January 1972

It was getting easier, admitting stuff like that. One side effect of spending all his time around James
and Remus was that Sirius had to accept that he simply wouldn’t be the best at everything any
longer (they were much tougher competition than Regulus). But he found that he enjoyed the
challenge of competing with James, who—regardless of whether he won or lost—always
concluded the competition with a broad grin and a friendly pat on the back. And he could hardly
hold it against Remus, who was so shy about his own talent with magic that he acted baffled
anytime he came first in something.

On the first day of lessons after Christmas, Sirius was buzzing with energy, wishing he could turn
time forward to dinner. He hung back with Lupin as the other boys went down to breakfast, quickly
performing his reading spell on the other boy. Remus was still struggling a bit to get it down, but
that was alright—none of them could be best at everything, and Lupin would be the star of the
show when it came to their spell tonight.

The day dragged by, minutes crawling like molasses as Sirius listened to their professors drone on.
James and Peter were fidgeting, too, a mirror of his own nervous energy. Remus, on the other
hand, seemed completely absorbed by the classes. Sirius smiled to himself as he watched his friend
consult their texts repeatedly, a look of wonder on his face. It was clear that the reading made a
difference; Remus was the first student to get his brick to bounce in Charms, mastering the spell
after glancing over his book.

But even the satisfaction of watching Remus put his reading to use wasn’t enough to alleviate the
energy bottled inside Sirius, and by that afternoon he was strung tight, tense. They had Potions with
the Slytherins—which meant seeing Snape, and thinking about the prank, and tasting vengeance
just out of reach on the tip of his tongue.

Slughorn was returning their essays on the twelve uses of dragon blood. Sirius and Remus had
done theirs together, and the marauders as a whole did fairly well (Peter, predictably, was at the
bottom of the pack). But of course, Snape got the highest mark and earned five points for
Slytherin. The sight of his smug smile made Sirius want to punch him in the face.

He had expected that his own essay would come second, as he had always been quite good with
words. Sirius was prepared to hear Slughorn call his name, and perhaps that was why he felt a
sharp jolt of shame when it wasn’t him, but Lily Evans—the muggle-born girl—who came second
and got a point for Gryffindor. He flushed as he listened to their professor read her score; she had
only beaten him by a few marks.

Snape gave her an oily smile, and she grinned back at him, cheeks pink. Sirius felt a surge of
irritation, and before he knew it he was opening his mouth,

“Wonder if it’s worth cosying up to Snivellus just for one measly house point.” He kept his voice
low enough not to draw Slughorn’s attention, but made sure that Snape and his little girlfriend
could hear. Lily spun around, blushing,
“Shut up, Black,” she hissed, “No one likes a sore loser.”

This just made him angry, and he hissed back immediately, “Hardly losing when your boyfriend
lets you copy his work.”

“I do not copy him, and Severus is not my boyfriend!” Now her face was almost as red as her hair.
Sirius sunk his teeth in.

“You’re blushing, Evans,” he smirked, nudging James, “Isn’t that sweet?” James snickered,
nodding along.

“Ignore them, Lily,” Snape whispered, back turned to them, “They’re just jealous.”

“Jealous of what, Snivellus?” James said quickly, still quiet enough to avoid drawing the
professor’s attention, “Jealous of a slimy greasy git like you? Keep dreaming.”

Sirius laughed, bolstered by James’ support. Peter laughed too, trying to involve himself as usual.
Slughorn still hadn’t noticed them—he was scribbling instructions on the blackboard, his back
turned. Remus seemed to be ignoring them, as well, more interested in flipping through his book.

At James’ provocation, Snape finally turned around. He sneered at Sirius,

“I hear you had a very quiet Christmas, Black,” his beady little eyes narrowed with malice, “Your
family couldn’t stand to have you around for more than a few days before packing you off back to
school, is that right?” His lips curled, cruelly, “All of the pureblood families are talking about it –
the Black’s black sheep.”

Sirius’s blood turned to ice. Oh god—did everyone know? He imagined all the Slytherins
whispering about it, thinking they were better than him, listening to Bella’s mean laugh as she
recounted the dinner party.

He clenched his fists, impotent with anger. He wanted to say something clever, something biting
and sharp, but all that came out was,

“Shut. Your. Face.”

Not his best moment.

Luckily, James came to the rescue, frowning as he said, “Yeah, watch it, Snape. You’d better be
careful what you say. Never know what might happen.”

“Is that a threat, Potter?” Snape drawled, sounding bored, “Forgive me if I’m not quaking in my
boots. Going to set Loony Lupin on me again?”

Remus, who hadn’t even really been paying attention, flinched at the jibe. His brow knotted, and
he moved immediately to pick up his wand, all his attention now on Snape—who smirked, saying,

“Oh my, have you actually learnt some magic, Lupin? I’m impressed. Mind you, I’ve heard they
can train some monkeys to perform basic tricks, so I suppose it’s no real achievement.”

Remus raised his wand—he could be more impulsive than Sirius sometimes. Still struggling with
his own fury, Sirius grabbed his friend’s wrist and pushed it back down on the desk.

“Not yet,” he muttered. They couldn’t let all their hard work be for nothing.

Remus clenched his jaw and looked back at the blackboard, wand still held tightly in his fist. Sirius
was still seething, too, but he ignored Snape as he chuckled and turned back around. Lily
whispered to her friend,

“There’s no need to be so horrid to him!”

For the rest of the lesson, Sirius thought of nothing but their revenge. He had already been focusing
the brunt of his anger on Snape—but with Christmas break, there had been some time since the
hair prank, and the sting of it had died a bit. Now, the wound was fresh again; Sirius wanted
nothing more than to humiliate Severus, to make him feel small.

Although Remus remained quiet throughout the rest of the day, Sirius could tell that the other boy
shared his anger. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was about the “Loony Lupin” comment that had
stuck with Remus, but his friend hardly touched his dinner and kept glaring at Snape from across
the hall when they finally sat down to eat. Sirius scowled as he watched the Slytherins nudging
each other and pointing towards the marauders. Were they all talking about him?

Lily noticed the dark looks on their faces and piped up, saying sternly,

“You lot just leave Sev alone, ok? This stupid fight is going to go on forever if none of you can be
mature enough to—”

“Give it a rest, Evans,” James rolled his eyes, “Bad enough you have to be friends with the tosser,
now you’re trying to defend him? Where’s your house loyalty, eh?”

“This has nothing to do with houses,” She insisted, indignant, “It’s a ridiculous spat over nothing.”

“He insulted Remus!”

“You all pick on him all the time!”

“He started it!”

“Oh yeah, so you have to finish it, right, Potter?!” She burst out of her seat, picking up her bag,
“God, you’re so full of yourselves!” She stormed away, moving to sit further down the table.

“Loves a fight, that one,” James stared dopily after her.

Back at the Slytherin table, there was a yelp of laughter. Remus snapped, apparently deciding that
he’d had enough. He stood up and pulled out his wand, even though he was supposed to wait for
Sirius’s signal.

“Ligare Pluviam!”

It worked immediately, faster than it ever had before; a raincloud shot from the end of Remus’s
wand, so fast that Sirius could hardly make it out until it was already hanging over Snape’s head.
The cloud settled in place, grey and bloated, rumbling with thunder. The downpour began.

At first, he was frozen with shock, gaping up at the storm cloud that had appeared, seemingly, out
of nowhere. As water pelted against Snape’s face, the other students hurriedly scooted away, trying
to avoid the deluge. He leapt to his feet after a moment, trying to dodge out of the way, but the
cloud stuck to him like glue, following his movements. It was perfect, Remus’s best work yet.

“Yes!” Sirius hissed in his friend’s ear, “Bloody yes, Lupin, you beauty!”

Remus was grinning, eyes still focused on Snape, although he’d sat down and concealed his wand
so that no one could tell he was behind the magic. That was good—students were laughing, now,
and looking around the hall to try and see who was casting the spell. But no one had seen Remus
move except the marauders.

Sirius felt a mean twist of pleasure as he watched Severus try desperately to escape the storm. All
the anger and frustration he’d been wrestling with finally had an outlet. As Snape’s words from
their earlier class echoed in Sirius’s head, he thought to himself,

I hope you choke, you rat.

As if Remus had read his thoughts, the cloud began to grow larger and darker. Snape was, indeed,
beginning the splutter a bit now, eyes squinted shut against the rain. His robes were completely
drenched, and a puddle had already formed around him on the floor. As the downpour thickened,
genuine panic crossed his features.

Good, Sirius thought, savagely.

“Stop it!” Lily was screeching at James, “I know it’s you! Stop it now!”

James held his hands up, laughing, to show that he wasn’t doing anything. Lily looked like she
might cry, which made Sirius want to roll his eyes. It wasn’t as if a little rain ever hurt anyone.

Severus made to run, holding his arms futilely over his head (which seemed pointless, as his hair
was already plastered to his forehead), but his robes were so heavy and waterlogged that he half
tripped, half slid and collapsed to the floor. Sirius laughed.

Next to him, Remus was still working on the spell. Sirius watched, awestruck, as the rain began to
fall even harder, until Severus was hardly visible through the storm. There was even thunder and
lighting crackling in the cloud, now—that had never happened before. Sirius was stunned by his
friend’s power; Remus was a lot stronger than he’d been letting on.

“Stop it! Please!” Lily was sobbing now, and even James had stopped laughing, a look of
chivalrous concern on his face. Stupid girls, ruining everything.

“Er…Remus?” James reached out and touched their friend’s arm, “He’s had enough, mate…”

Snape wasn’t getting up, and a wave of fear was rippling through the hall. No one was laughing
anymore—in fact, a few students were screaming. Sirius scowled at them. Part of him, the meanest,
angriest part, wanted to see if Remus could make the cloud strike Severus with lightning.

“FINITE.” Dumbledore’s voice boomed through the dining hall.

The rain stopped immediately. Everyone was silent. The headmaster stood in the entranceway,
looking perfectly calm despite the chaos. He swept into the room and vanished all of the water with
a flick of his wrist, bending over Severus.

Next to him, Remus was shrinking further into his seat, smile gone as he watched Dumbledore
whispering over Snape’s prone body. Lily was still sobbing, and ran over to stand beside the
headmaster. Sirius felt an even greater surge of annoyance. Why was everyone overreacting so
much? It was a harmless prank!

“Everybody to your dormitories, please,” Dumbledore’s voice was soft, but it echoed through the
silent hall, “Miss Evans, please fetch Madam Pomfrey.”

Lily darted out of the room, and everyone else began to file out obediently. The marauders
exchanged glances as they hurried to join the rest of their house. James looked concerned, Peter
frightened, and Remus ashamed. Sirius frowned all the way back to their dorm, stubbornly thinking
to himself that it wasn’t as if they’d done anything dangerous!
 First Year: Aftermath

The Gryffindor common room was crowded with gossiping students. Everyone was chattering,
talking about who could be behind the prank. Apparently Snape had managed to piss off quite a
few different people—Sirius wondered vaguely if there was anyone who liked him, aside from
Lily.

He followed his friends up to their room, where the mood was silent and sombre. Remus sat on his
bed and stared at the floor, looking sick with guilt, and James watched him apprehensively. Sirius
wanted to shake them both. That was probably the coolest magic that any first year had ever done!

“What happened?” James asked, carefully, “Did you lose control of it? That was really strong
magic.”

Lose control. Losing control of the spell made the cloud dissipate, the rain fade away—what
Remus had done took precision, power. Sirius couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“It was amazing!” He said, fiercely, “He’ll think twice about crossing us again!”

“But…I mean, we didn’t want to hurt him, did we?” James frowned.

“He’s fine, he was just pretending, to get us in trouble.”

“Will we get in trouble?” Peter piped up, fidgeting nervously, “We didn’t all do it, did we? It was
only…”

Sirius slapped him around the back of his head,

“You rat,” he shook his head, disgusted, “We’re marauders. All for one and one for all.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, muttering, “Whatever that means,” and going to sulk on his own bed.

“I did it, you lot shouldn’t get in trouble.” Remus said morosely, eyes still glued to the floor.

“It was half my idea!” Sirius reminded him, “I did the research! Don’t worry, Lupin, I bet you
anything he’s fine.”

But Remus continued moping. “If he is, then it’s no thanks to me.”

Sirius wanted to roll his eyes. Why were all his friends acting like girls? But then Remus looked up
at James, gaze steady, and said,

“I did mean to hurt him.”

Sirius released a breath, but Remus wasn’t looking at him. He was speaking to James.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting whatever James might have said. It was Frank
Longbottom.

“You four are to come to McGonagall’s office, now,” He told them. He was acting like someone
had died, and for the first time Sirius felt a spike of worry—they hadn’t hurt Snivellus, right?

So what if we did? He thought to himself, furiously, trying to dispel with his anxiety, He deserved
it!
Everyone stared as they made their way through the common room, and Sirius lifted his chin
instinctively, daring anyone to say anything. He refused to feel bad about what they’d done; for
Pete’s sake, it was just some water!

Dumbledore stood beside the desk in McGonagall’s office, watching them serenely. He smiled
pleasantly as they lined up in front of him.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Good evening, headmaster,” they all chanted back.

“You may be interested to know that young Mr. Snape is quite well – though his pride has been
rather wounded.”

A hot surge of vindication—he knew Severus was faking—and Sirius tried to catch Remus’s eye,
but the other boy was staring firmly at the floor.

“He seemed to think that you four had something to do with his misfortune.” Dumbledore
continued, smile still in place, “Particularly you, Mr. Potter.”

James looked up, opened his mouth, then closed it again and looked down. One for all and all for
one. It’s not like they’d be able to prove any—

“It was me, sir, I did it.” Remus had stepped forward, and was speaking quickly, “He said some
stuff to me earlier, and I was pissed off with him. I wanted to teach him a lesson.”

Sirius groaned internally. If they had just stayed quiet, they might have gotten away with it! But of
course Remus had to play the martyr.

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded, “You acted alone?”

“Yes,” Remus pulled out his wand, “Look, I can prove it—”

“No need!” Dumbledore said, hurriedly, “I believe you, Mr. Lupin.”

What Remus had forgotten was that they were marauders—all for one, one for all.

“It wasn’t just him, sir!” Sirius spoke up, “I looked up the spell, I learnt how to do it too, it’s just as
much my fault.”

“You mean you planned this, Black?” McGonagall said, sharply, “You planned an attack on
another pupil? Ten points from Gryffindor. Each.”

Sirius flushed, realising his mistake. Remus, clever as always, had made it sound like a one-off
thing, but now Sirius had gone and spoken without thinking again…

“And detention for all of you, for a month.” She continued, “I find it very hard to believe that Mr.
Lupin here acted alone.”

Sirius hung his head, feeling more than a little guilty that he’d accidentally made things worse.

“You may go, gentlemen.” Dumbledore said, quietly, “I have no doubt you will all take the time to
apologise to Mr. Snape, of course.”

Sirius snorted indignantly—if anything, he was angrier with Snape now, for pretending to be hurt
and then tattling to get them all in trouble. They hadn’t run and told on him about the hair prank,
and Sirius felt that the Slytherin had broken the unspoken Pranking Code of Honour. But James
elbowed him roughly before he could protest. They turned to leave.

“Mr. Lupin, just a moment.”

Next to them, Remus froze. Sirius glanced back at him as the door shut behind them—his face had
gone white as a sheet. They tried to wait outside, but McGonagall shooed them away, threatening
to lengthen their detentions if they didn’t return to their dorm immediately.

The common room had mostly cleared out by the time they got back, but they still got a few
curious stares as they made their way back to their room. Sirius waited until the door was safely
shut behind them before he burst out,

“That slimy little snitch! I could kill him,” he paced in front of his bed, edgy with frustration.

Peter sat down on his own bed, muttering darkly,

“Lupin might beat you to it.”

Sirius froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

As usual when confronted, Pete backpedalled immediately, wide-eyed under the weight of his
friend’s angry glare. “Nothing!” He squeaked defensively, “Just…well, he did say he was trying to
hurt him, didn’t he?”

“You heard Dumbledore, Snape’s fine! He was just faking to get us in trouble.”

Now James chimed in, horrifyingly, on Peter’s behalf, saying carefully, “We know, mate, but you
have to admit that Remus did go a bit…overboard.”

Sirius stared at his friends, incredulous.

“Just who’s side are you on, anyway, then?”

“Come on, this isn’t about sides, it’s just—”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Evans! Snivellus got exactly what was coming to him!”

“I know!” James ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, “I’m not trying to argue that! Just…well,
d’you think we should be worried? About Remus?”

“Worried?” Sirius crossed his arms, disbelieving, “Come on, he’d never actually hurt anyone!”
Had Peter and James never been angry before? Everyone wanted to hurt people, sometimes, but it
didn’t mean you were going to actually do it. Remus was just being honest, earlier.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” James held his hands up, surrendering. “I just meant…d’you think he’s
okay?”

Sirius blinked. “Okay?”

“You spent Christmas together,” Peter chimed in, “Right? He seemed alright, then?”

Sirius paused, thinking about his discovery—the full moon, the hospital wing, the disappearances.
But—

“Remus is fine,” he said, firmly, “I told you, the whole thing wasn’t even his idea. I just dragged
him into it.” He sighed, finally sitting down on his bed. James watched him for a moment,
evaluating, and then nodded.

“Right then,” he clapped his hands together, as if he could physically dispel the tension in the
room, and smiled. “Aside from all that, it was a bloody cool prank, wasn’t it?”

* * *

By the time Remus returned, all had been forgiven. Peter and Sirius were playing chess, and James
was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. When the door opened, Sirius jumped up—Peter had
been about to check his king, and he was privately relieved to have an excuse to abandon the game.
Remus had barely made it two steps into the room when Sirius exclaimed,

“You’re back! What did Dumbledore want?”

Peter looked up, frowning, from his chessboard, and James poked his head out of the bathroom,
toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. Remus shifted uncomfortably.

“Nothing,” he muttered, walking to his bed, “Just asked me about the spell.”

“Really? “Sirius followed him over to the bed, where he was sitting down to take off his shoes,
“What about it? Did he want to know how we’d done it? Did you show him?”

“No, I—he was just telling me not to do it again.”

“Oh. Well, did he say anything about—”

“Look, I’m a bit tired. Can we talk about it later?” Remus stood abruptly, turning his back to them
as he grabbed his pyjamas. Sirius tried not to let the dismissive tone sting.

“Sure…” He mumbled, watching Remus brush by James on his way out of the bathroom. He
slammed the door behind him with a bit more force than was necessary, and when he came back
out he went straight to bed, drawing the curtains. The other boys went to sleep soon after—Sirius
really didn’t want to finish his chess game with Peter, and pretended that he was tired, too. Once he
heard Pete’s steady breathing, though, he crept over to James’ bed.

They’d both learned how to do silencing spells the week before Christmas break, when they’d
accidentally woken Peter one night. Sirius cast one now as he climbed into James’ bed, and the
other boy sat up as if he’d been expecting him.

“Hiya.”

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“D’you think Remus is mad at me?”

James blinked. “What?”

“He seems a bit mad, doesn’t he?” Sirius chewed on his lip, “D’you reckon he’s annoyed with me?
Since I sort of—convinced him? To do the spell?” He thought of Remus’s dismissive attitude, the
way he’d slammed the door, the way he’d refused to meet Sirius’s gaze earlier in McGonagall’s
office. “D’you think he blames me for getting him in trouble?”

James frowned, considering for a moment. “Nah,” he shook his head, “I think he’s just feeling
bad.”

“What, about Snivellus?”

“Yeah. Seemed like he felt pretty guilty earlier. I think he’s blaming himself.”

Sirius snorted. “Well, that’s dumb. Snape didn’t even get hurt.”

James yawned, shrugging. “If you’re worried about it, why don’t you try talking to him
tomorrow?”

Sirius nodded, thinking. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right…maybe I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

But Remus wasn’t in a very talkative mood the next day—or the one after, or the one after that. In
fact, he started avoiding the marauders again, the way he had…well, before they were the
marauders. The only difference was that now, when he snuck off, he usually had a book in hand. In
fact, he seemed to spend all his spare time reading or working on homework.

Sirius was happy for him, of course—Remus started pulling ahead in classes, quickly becoming
one of the top students. But…he hadn’t realised how much he’d actually enjoyed their private
reading sessions until they were over. Remus didn’t even ask for his help with Lectiuncula Magna
anymore.

It might not have been so bad, studying together. Except Sirius didn’t want to spend his time
studying. McGonagall had split them up for their detentions, and purposely chose some of the most
difficult tasks to perform without magic. Peter had it easiest, he was just polishing trophies, but
James had to recalibrate all the telescopes in the astronomy tower by hand, and Sirius was forced to
scrub out the cauldrons in the Potions classroom. Poor Remus had it worst of all, mucking out the
owlery every night.

So when they weren’t in classes or detention, Sirius preferred to spend time planning pranks or
exploring the castle using James’ invisibility cloak. Inspired by Remus’ initial discovery of the
passageway in the girls’ bathroom, he was determined to catalogue every hidden passage that they
could find—and there was supposed to be a monster somewhere in the castle, which sounded
devastatingly cool.

James and Peter were happy to go along with these adventures, eagerly whispering about dung
bombs and colour-changing taffies and huddling under the cloak to sneak out at night. But every
time they tried to include Remus, he ignored them, pretending to be sleeping or giving some half-
hearted excuse about studying.

Sirius was at a loss for what to do. Over Christmas break, he’d thought they were making progress.
Remus had opened up more, and they’d both grown much more comfortable around each other.
Sirius thought back on the long hours they’d spent listening to T-Rex and playing games of
exploding snap, missing his friend. Hanging out with James and Peter was great, but it wasn’t the
marauders without all of them there.

Despite his best efforts, as January drew to a close, Remus was still very much giving them the
cold shoulder. Sirius couldn’t shake the feeling that the other boy was upset with him about the
prank—but he didn’t act angry. On the contrary, he was perfectly polite, and would still eat dinner
with the other boys, smiling at their jokes and sharing his notes when they asked. But he was still
distant, some impenetrable barrier once more separating him from the rest of them. When he
wasn’t adventuring with James and Peter or cursing Snape’s name in detention, Sirius was trying to
figure out what he could do to make Remus snap out of his funk—and wondering if he would ever
understand the infuriating boy.
 First Year: Astronomy

It was nearing the end of February when Sirius finally managed to crack the code. Well—“crack”
might be a bit of a stretch, as he wasn’t sure exactly what it was that made Remus decide to join
them. But he had managed to find a prank that the other boy was willing to be a part of, and he felt
almost giddy as they crowded under the cloak and made their way to the Defence Against the Dark
Arts classroom.

“Good to have you back, Lupin,” Sirius said, once they had safely reached their destination.

“What d’you mean?” Remus asked, eyes on James, who was scaling a ladder in the corner. Their
goal was the cage of pixies on the highest shelf, which Sirius had noticed earlier that week in one
of their classes. “I haven’t been anywhere.”

“Come on, mate,” Peter said, holding the ladder steady, “It hasn’t escaped our notice that you’ve
been avoiding us like the plague.” Sometimes Peter’s tactlessness came in handy.

“I haven’t,” Remus frowned defensively, “Just been busy. You know, studying and stuff.”

“Well, I hope you’re over that phase now,” James said cheerfully, clutching the cage in both hands
as he navigated slowly back down the ladder, “I’d really appreciate it if you stopped working so
hard – it makes me have to work hard, you see, and I’m not used to the competition.”

“Oh, do one, Potter,” Sirius rolled his eyes, rummaging through some of the desks to keep busy.
He beat Potter half the time in classes, and they both knew it.

Remus seemed ready to change the subject, crouching down and gazing at the little blue pixies.
“How are we going to get them into the dining hall?” The creatures were sleeping right now,
curled up at the bottom of the cage.

“Under the cloak,” James said, spreading it with a flourish so that they could crowd back under,
“Come on Sirius.” Sirius was on his hands and knees, double-checking under the teacher’s desk to
make sure there were no hidden levers or switches.

“What are you even looking for?” Peter asked, muffled under the cloak.

“One of the Ravenclaws told me there was a trap door under here,” Sirius said, sighing when his
search failed to reveal any incriminating secret-passage-entryways. He dusted off his knees,
frowning. “Liar.”

“This is Black’s newest obsession,” James explained for Remus’s benefit, pinching the cloak
closed over their heads, “Finding secret doors.”

“Hogwarts: A History says there are loads of undiscovered passages!” Sirius insisted, “Like that
one you found, Lupin. There are definitely more, I want to find at least one before we leave.”

“There’s also supposed to be a monster hidden somewhere in the castle,” James whispered back, as
they made their way along the halls towards Gryffindor tower. Peter shivered.

“A risk I’m willing to accept,” Sirius declared, although he had to make the declaration in a
whisper, “My legacy is much more important.”

“Typical,” James laughed.

 * * *

The cloak worked like a charm. They managed to get the cage of pixies undetected into the great
hall, arriving early so that there would be fewer students. James levitated the cage carefully under
the table, and they all sat down, buzzing with barely-contained excitement.

Peter, who was good at Astronomy, began checking over their homework, which was just busy-
work—they were supposed to label every star on their chart. Sirius had looked it over half-
heartedly before just filling in any names he remembered with whichever star, knowing that Peter
would fix it for him later. Besides, when it was actually time for the test it would only take thirty
minutes of studying to actually memorise the correct names.

Still, it meant that his homework was in a sorry state. Peter sighed, scribbling something out and
saying, “Honestly, you’d think you’d get your own bloody star right…”

Sirius just laughed, shrugging,

“What can I say? I’m hopeless.”

“You have your own star?” Remus asked, frowning. Apparently, although he spent almost every
waking minute studying, astronomy was not one of the subjects he dedicated time to.

“Sirius,” Peter replied, “Come on, Lupin, we’ve done this. It’s the brightest star in the sky? The
dog star?” He gave a long-suffering sigh, although Sirius was pretty sure that he actually enjoyed
being the best at something for once. Glancing down at Remus’s homework, Peter shook his head,
“Yep, you’ve missed it too.”

Remus shrugged,

“I just thought it was his name.”

“The Noble and most Ancient House of Black has always been a bit arsey with its naming
conventions,” Sirius mused, “Half of us have astronomical names – there’s Bellatrix, of course; my
dad’s Orion, my brother’s Regulus…Mum isn’t a star, I think she’s an asteroid – pretty apt, if
you’ve ever seen her in a bad mood. Then there’s good old uncle Alphard, uncle Cygnus…
Andromeda’s named after a whole galaxy.”

“Wizards are so weird.” Remus sighed.

“Remus,” James raised an eyebrow, snickering, “You do know that Lupis is a constellation too,
don’t you? The wolf.”

“The what?!” Remus yelped, coughing a bit on his dinner. Sirius’s heart stuttered—during the last
full moon, he’d managed to distract James and Peter from the fact of Remus’s absence with a
night-time exploration mission around the castle, but really. He’d think Remus would be more
subtle about his secret after…well, Sirius actually had no idea how long he’d been a werewolf. (If
he was a werewolf.)

(Which he definitely was.)

Sirius slapped his friend on the back, changing the subject quickly,
“If you’re nearly finished telling us all how stupid we are, Pete, can we get on with releasing the
you-know-what’s? My lovely cousins have just started eating, I’d call that perfect timing…”

The others agreed, and James gave the cage a sharp kick to wake the pixies up before whipping the
cloak off and whispering a quick unlocking charm. The creatures burst out immediately, an
explosion of bright blue chaos.

Sirius had heard plenty of stories about how annoying pixies could be—his aunt had once had a
particularly nasty infestation in her garden shed, and it had taken two magical pest removers from
the Ministry of Magic’s Magical Creatures department to safely get rid of them.

Now, Sirius could see why. They burst out from under the table, scattering in every direction and
jabbering incessantly in their squeaky, high-pitched voices as they zipped around the hall. They
dove into soup tureens, grabbed forks from students’ hands and wielded them like tridents, ripped
up homework and tugged at students’ hair and robes.

“Quick!” James ducked under the table, and they all followed suit. Once they had crouched down,
he pulled the invisibility cloak over the group so that they could safely watch the anarchy unravel
around them.

“Brilliant!” Sirius said, repeatedly, grinning at the chaos.

“C’mon,” Remus nudged them forward, ever the pragmatist. They needed to make sure they snuck
out of the hall unnoticed if they wanted to avoid being caught.

It was an awkward bit of navigation to get out from under the table, but they managed, despite the
students diving for cover left and right around them. At least they didn’t need to worry about the
pixies; the invisibility cloak kept them unseen and unbothered.

Even without the cloak, Sirius thought they might have been able to sneak out unnoticed in the
uproar. All throughout the hall, boys and girls were screaming and shouting, trying to dodge pixies
or else wrestling with the surprisingly strong little beasts for their stolen items.

Sirius looked over at the Slytherin table, and burst into excited laughter.

“OH YES!” He crowed, gasping.

An entire group of the pixies had descended on Bellatrix, yanking her wild hair in every direction.
One had even stolen her wand and was now waving it at her, shooting little sparks of blue
lightning.

“Get off me! You filthy—you disgusting—you—aaargh!” She wailed. Her sister was hiding under
the table, clutching her own wand with both hands.

Just before they made it to the door, Peeves the Poltergeist whisked in, creating even more
mayhem. He zoomed through the room with the pixies, cackling and guiding them towards the
hiding students.

“Under here, piskies! Lots of ickle-firsties down here!”

Barely able to contain their laughter, the marauders fled from the room when they heard
McGonagall’s shrill voice ringing out,

“Petrificus Totallus!”
“She’s definitely going to know it was us,” Peter wheezed as they made their way back to the
tower.

“Nah,” James replied, casually, “I bet she blames it on the Prewetts, they always do big stuff like
that. Something to aspire to.”

* * *

“Please,” Sirius begged.

Remus shook his head, exasperated, “No.”

“Pleeeeeease!”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“It would just feel…weird! I don’t want you to.”

“But it’ll be fun! I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“Ha.”

The conversation had carried on in much the same way for about three corridors now. Remus,
stubborn as ever, tried to hurry ahead. Next to him, James chastised,

“Leave Lupin alone, will you?”

“I will not! This is too important!” Remus was too pig-headed to let anyone do anything nice for
him, but Sirius was determined anyway.

He’d gotten the idea after a long study session in the library, where they’d spent all afternoon
completing zodiac charts for the Astronomy revision. Even though exams still weren’t for ages,
James said he wanted to get a head start, and Sirius wanted to make sure that he got the highest
scores. Peter followed them, as usual, and since they were all going, Remus came along, too. He
seemed to be past his cold-shoulder phase. Frustratingly, Sirius still wasn’t quite sure what had
brought it on or ended it, which made it more difficult to figure out how to stop it from happening
again.

But as they’d been musing over their star signs, inspiration had struck. It came up that Remus was a
Pisces, which meant his birthday was around the corner. Privately, Sirius had been wondering
whether Lupin’s withdrawal was, at least in part, because he still felt like a bit of an outsider
amongst them—Peter had gotten better about his comments, and Sirius thought that after
Christmas break their friendship had been solid, but still. It was hard to know with Remus. And
throwing a birthday party would be an excellent way to show his friend how important he was to
the marauders.

“It’s obviously not that important to Remus,” James insisted, “Do something for my birthday, if
you have to, it’s not long after.”

“You’ll get your turn,” Sirius said dismissively, “But first – Lupin.”
“I really don’t care, Sirius,” Remus sighed, as they reached the portrait of the fat lady. “Don’t
make a fuss.”

“But it’s your birthday!” Sirius reiterated, “We should make a fuss.”

After all, that was the point of birthdays, wasn’t it? They were the day that your friends and family
showed you how much they cared about you. Sirius knew what it was like to have a birthday go
uncelebrated (his ninth—but he didn’t want to think about that), and it wasn’t fun. In fact, this
year’s birthday had been the first one that he truly enjoyed; it had been wonderful, having all his
friends fawn over him for the day. It had made him feel…special. Wanted. Good.

“Why does it matter so much?!” Remus snapped, shoulders hunching up as he climbed into the
common room. Sirius paused, stung by the irritation in his friend’s tone.

Had he misread? Was he only upsetting Remus more? For a moment, he was at a loss for words.
But Remus turned to face him, expectantly, so he did his best to explain.

“You lot all did stuff for my birthday and…well it was really nice. I never much looked forward to
it before but…well, it was great, wasn’t it?”

Remus blinked, as if this wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. He held his ground for a
moment—but then his face softened, and he sighed, and Sirius knew he had him.

“Oh…ok, fine. But not a big party or anything, just marauders, right?”

“Right!” Sirius agreed, elated, mind already spinning with ideas.

 First Year: Twelve
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

There was plenty to do in preparation for Remus’s birthday, even without throwing a big party.
Sirius had to bribe a third-year Hufflepuff into showing him where the kitchens were so that he
could give the house elves a detailed request, and he spent a week tracking down every Gryffindor
—even the seventh years—to sign a joint birthday card. The most time-consuming part, though,
was trying to talk James out of forcing them all to go watch the Gryffindor quidditch practice after
lessons.

Sirius liked quidditch—loved it, even—but James was obsessed with it. Every Friday, he dragged
his friends down to the pitch to watch the older students darting about on their brooms. Sirius
didn’t mind it, much; he liked spending time with James, and it was relaxing to just lean back in the
stands and chat. But he didn’t think Remus enjoyed it as much as the rest of them—he always had
his nose stuck in a book. So when Sirius discovered that, although their friend’s birthday fell on a
Friday, James didn’t see any reason to change their usual plan, he’d had to have a stern
conversation and put his foot down.

When the big day finally arrived, Sirius and James woke at the crack of dawn, dragging Peter out
of bed. They waited until the sun was just rising before crowding around Lupin. Sirius held up
three fingers, mouthing,

1…2….3…

“Happy Birthday, Lupin!” They shouted, leaping onto his bed. Remus woke with a start, sitting up
quickly. He smiled at them, yawning as he said,

“Cheers, lads.”

They gave him the full treatment at breakfast, marching in front of him and shooing other students
away, blustering,

“Out of the way, please!”

“Birthday boy coming through!”

“Move along, nothing to see here!”

Some of the older students rolled their eyes, but most seemed to find their antics entertaining. It
was almost the weekend, and everyone was in a good mood.

At the table, they slapped Remus’s hands away when he reached for the food, insisting on serving
him. Peter poured his tea, James loaded up his plate, and Sirius buttered his toast. Remus looked
like he wanted to crawl under the table.

“Do you have to?” He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Absolutely,” James said.

“Definitely,” Peter nodded.

“Unquestionably,” finished Sirius.

Remus shook his head, blushing hard. But he was smiling as he looked down at his food.

As soon as they’d finished eating, Sirius nodded to Peter and James. The three of them stood in
unison, grinning at their anxious friend.

“What?!” He asked, eyes darting about nervously. He tried to stand, but Peter and James each put a
hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down into his seat. Sirius pulled a pitch pipe from his
robes with a flourish, smiling wickedly as he blew a long note. Remus shut his eyes, bracing
himself…

“Haaaaaaaaaahhh-ppy birthday to you!” They bellowed as loud as they could, “Haaah-ppy birthday
to youuuu! Haaaah-ppy birthday dear Reeeeeeeeeee-mus!”

At their eager (and slightly pitchy, despite the pipe) serenade, the rest of the hall began to join in.
Remus covered his head with his hands.

“Haaaaaah-ppy birthdaaaaaaaay tooooooooooo youuuuu!”

James leapt onto his chair. “Hip hip!”

“Hooray!” The Gryffindors cheered.

The entire table was laughing as James stepped back down, and though Remus continued to groan,
he had a reluctant smile on his face.

* * *

Unfortunately, Sirius couldn’t cancel classes, and they still had Potions as their final lesson of the
week. Tromping down to the dungeons left a bad taste in the back of his mouth that was only made
worse by seeing Snape. He narrowed his beady eyes at them, glaring through lank curtains of
greasy hair. But he didn’t say anything—he'd been avoiding them, mostly, since the rain prank,
which made Sirius think he must’ve learned his lesson about messing with the marauders.

Slughorn droned on endlessly about the five key components of sleeping draughts, and Sirius had
to keep flicking Remus’s elbow to stop him dozing off. It was a dreary end to the week, especially
when the old professor refused to hear any of James and Sirius’ protests that they shouldn’t have
any homework on account of it being a holiday.

Luckily, they were able to pick things back up again at dinner, where they performed their loudest
rendition yet of “Happy Birthday.” Dumbledore even joined in, conducting the entire school until
everyone was bellowing at the top of their lungs. Sirius presented the joint card from Gryffindor,
and Remus grinned as he read each name.

Back in the common room, Sirius brought his beloved record player down and stuck on Electric
Warrior. He had all the words memorised at this point, and was glad for an excuse to force James
and Peter to listen. Marc Bolan’s melancholy voice crooned through the speaker,

I was dancing when I was twelve...

Sirius caught Remus’s eye, smiling.

The cake was the piéce de résistance, beautifully decorated in red and gold Gryffindor icing and
sporting twelve pink candles.

“Make a wish!” They cheered. Remus blew out the candles with one strong breath. When he went
to cut the cake, his eyes widened in surprise—it was composed of four different flavours: a quarter
chocolate, a quarter lemon drizzle, a quarter Victoria sponge, and a quarter coffee and walnut.
Sirius had given very specific instructions to the house elves.

“Like your toast!” He explained giddily, thrilled with the results of his efforts, “Thought you might
get bored if it was all one flavour.”

“Wow...thanks!” Remus raised his fork happily in acknowledgement, digging in.

“So what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” James asked, innocently, “It still looks
light enough if you did want to go and watch the—”

“He doesn’t, James! Bloody hell, you’re going to have to start developing some other interests,
mate, you’re getting boring.”

“I don’t mind if you want to go and watch the quidditch practice,” Remus said, hurriedly, “You’ve
already done plenty, honestly. Three songs in one day, what more could a twelve-year-old ask for?”

James looked torn for a moment, but then he bravely shook his head. “No, Sirius is right, it’s your
birthday. We’ll do something you like doing.”

They fell silent, and there was an awkward pause before James cleared his throat, “Err, Lupin?
What do you like doing?”

Remus frowned, lip sticking out as he thought. Sirius waited, wondering what his friend might say
—he knew that Remus liked listening to music and eating, but they’d already done that. When they
were all together, the marauders were usually involved in either mischief-making or, when
absolutely necessary, studying, so neither of those felt specific to Remus. All the other boys had
their own hobbies—Peter's was chess, James’s quidditch, and Sirius bounced from project to
project. But he still didn’t know what Remus got up to, even though he wandered off on his own
quite a bit.

“Reading?” Peter suggested, “You read a lot.”

“Do I?!” Remus blinked, as though he hadn’t realised it was true—but ever since Christmas, it had
been almost impossible to find him without a book in hand.

“Oh yeah, great,” James rolled his eyes, “Happy birthday, Lupin, let’s start a book club.”

Sirius sniggered. Pete looked annoyed,

“Well I don’t know! Other than reading, you seem to really like detention, Remus.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, frustrated with Peter—Remus hadn’t got detention since their prank on
Snape; he’d transformed himself into a complete swot. But Remus just laughed apologetically,
holding up his hands,

“Sorry lads, I reckon I must just be really boring.”

“What about when you disappear off?” Sirius pressed, intent. Remus balked.

“What do you mean?! I told you, I’ve been sick, I go to the hospital wing.” The words came out in
a rush, and Sirius realised his mistake. He hadn’t meant to bring up—well, that. He waved a hand,
saying,

“No, not then – sometimes you go off after lessons, or while we’re watching the quidditch. What
are you doing?”

This seemed to be a sensitive topic, too, from the way Remus was blushing. How many secrets did
he have? Regardless, Sirius was determined to get to the bottom of this one. He waited, watching
expectantly.

“I just sort of...walk around.” Remus hedged.

“Where, though?” Peter asked, “In the grounds?”

“Everywhere,” he shrugged, “I just like to look about. So I know where stuff is.” He reached into
his pocket, pulling out a map—it was the one they’d given to first years when they arrived in the
fall. Sirius had lost his ages ago; he was surprised that Remus had held onto it.

“It’s stupid, I started adding stuff to the map they gave us at the beginning of the year and
whenever I see something interesting I put it in.”

He handed the map off to James, who unfolded it. Peter and Sirius huddled closer, looking down
over his shoulder.

Sirius was stunned. Each portrait had a small name written underneath, and various staircases and
hallways were color-coded. It was marked with symbols and notes, many of which he couldn’t
understand, but assumed must be indicating secret doors or hidden passageways. His pulse kicked
with excitement, mind immediately spinning with ideas for how they might use the map to aid their
marauding missions. Remus was a genius, and he didn’t even seem to realise it. He must have put
hours of work into this.

“You’ve added all of the portraits...and labelled them and everything.”

“My spelling’s rubbish,” Remus said bashfully, still blushing.

James squinted, point to one of the little symbols. “What’s that?”

“One of the trick steps,” Remus explained, “That’s the one you can sink into. That one,” he pointed
to a mark on a different step, “is the one that vanishes. The staircases with arrows are the ones that
move. I colour-coded so you can see where they end up.”

“Merlin!” Peter exhaled, “D’you have any idea how much time this would save me?! I swear I get
trapped on the wrong corridor twice a week because of those flipping stairs.”

“And me,” James agreed.

“Sod getting to lessons on time!” Sirius raised his eyebrows meaningfully, “Please try to recognise
the extremely important implications of this map. The possibilities now available to us for practical
jokes.”

A smile spread across James’s face, then Peter’s. But Remus’s gaze shuttered, and he snatched the
map back.
“It’s not finished yet,” he said quickly, folding it back up, “There’s loads to do. I wanted to do
some spells on it, once I figure out how.”

Sirius wasn’t sure how to interpret his sudden edginess. Was he embarrassed at the map’s
incompleteness? They could all see how much work he’d put into it.

“What sort of spells?” He asked, encouragingly, hoping to emphasise that they all thought the map
was an absolutely brilliant idea.

Remus hesitated. Again, Sirius was frustrated, trying to understand his friend’s wariness. Was he
shy? Insecure? Did he resent Sirius? Had he accidentally forced Remus to share a secret that he’d
wanted to keep? But he’d seemed excited to explain all his symbols...

“Just some improvements,” Lupin’s voice was stilted, “You’ll think it’s silly.”

“No we won’t,” Peter assured him, earnest, “We can help!”

“I s’pose...it’s my map, though.”

Was that what this was about? Sirius thought Remus was being silly—obviously only he was
creative enough to come up with this. The map had Remus’s own personal brand of genius
stamped all over it.

“Of course it’s yours,” James spoke soothingly, “Like the cloak is mine, right? But in the service of
mischief...”

“It’s the marauders!” Sirius finished, leaning forward.

“The marauder’s map.” Remus echoed, still looking a bit sceptical. Sirius rushed to reassure him,

“It’s still yours, Lupin! We’ll put your name first and everything!”

“Not sure if we want our names on it...” Peter mumbled, nervously.

“Our nicknames, then.” Sirius acceded.

“We don’t have nicknames,” Remus pointed out, musing, “Well, I s’pose I sort of do, but I really
don’t want ‘Loony Lupin’ written on it.”

They burst out laughing, and Remus grinned, tension bleeding away. When they had calmed down,
he unfolded the map shyly, pointing out an area on the third floor that he hadn’t had time to
catalogue yet.

Armed with the invisibility cloak, they spent the rest of the evening roaming unseen through the
halls. They were getting better at shuffling around together under the cloak, and though it was a bit
awkward, Sirius made it worth their while; he smuggled out five dung bombs, which provided
great entertainment en route through the castle. It was especially fun to creep up and leave them
behind snogging couples, and Peter managed to get one into the pocket of a bedraggled seventh
year that was hurrying to the library.

As they walked, Remus showed them everything he’d worked out so far, pointing out all the
passages and shortcuts he’d discovered, along with a few hidden corners and rooms. Sirius listened
with a mix of awe and jealousy—a full month of searching, and he hadn’t been able to find even
one hidden door! Remus had six marked on his map.
 He even told them about his plan to try and put a tracking spell on Mrs. Norris, the cat that
belonged to the horrid caretaker, Filch. With a spell, they’d be able to see her coming on the map
and steer clear—she had some sort of uncanny ability to communicate with her master, and he
always showed up not long after to spoil any fun being had.

“Why stop there?” Sirius whispered eagerly, “Why not track everyone?” They were on their way
back to the common room, rounding the corner that led to the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Everyone?”

“Yeah, then we’d know when anyone was coming, we could get away with anything.” No more
Peter complaining while he kept watch—it would be brilliant.

But Remus didn’t seem as enthusiastic, mumbling, “I dunno...” Again, there was that wary look in
his eyes—Sirius wondered what he was hung up on this time.

Luckily, James and Peter both agreed wholeheartedly with his idea, pointing out that they’d be able
to see what Dumbledore was up to, or where Snape was lurking. Sirius was sure that whatever it
was that was bothering Remus, they’d be able to bring him around. Then it was only a matter of
finding the right spell—and with everything they’d already accomplished, he was sure they could
manage that!

Chapter End Notes

song referenced is Cosmic Dancer by T. Rex!

 First Year: Revision

James’s birthday came only a few weeks later, and although their peers seemed to have less
tolerance for another round of the marauder’s rowdy antics, no one could begrudge Gryffindor’s
golden boy a bit of a birthday celebration. His cheery confidence and reputation as de facto leader
of the marauders had already made Potter something of a celebrity to the first years, and even
amongst the older students he was well-liked for his sense of humour and impressive knack with
magic.

With anyone else, the popularity might have gone to their head. But although James certainly had
an ego, its growth seemed only to bolster his acute sense of right and wrong; what he lacked in
humility he made up for with genuine kindness and an eagerness to help others. So although twice
in one month was a bit much, they still managed to get most of the dining hall singing during their
repeated renditions of “Happy Birthday,” and Sirius finagled an hour on the quidditch pitch with
some of the current Gryffindor team members. James was so thrilled, you’d’ve thought he’d been
invited to play in the League itself.

As March drew to a close, however, Sirius found himself occupied with something much duller
than party planning: exams. The entire school whipped into a frenzy, and you couldn’t find a single
corner of the castle where there weren’t students frantically revising.

James threw himself into revision with the steady determination that he applied to any endeavour,
which of course meant that Sirius had to buckle down, as well. He didn’t much care if James
surpassed him when it came to homework assignments, but exams were another thing entirely.
Sirius delighted in turning their revision into a competition, making bets with James about who
would get top marks.

Remus tagged along for their study sessions, but refused to be swept into any contests. Unlike most
of the student body, he didn’t seem to feel any pressure at all when it came to his grades,
apparently satisfied in his ability to simply pass his classes. Sirius thought, privately, that Remus
might be able to give both him and James a run for their money if he applied himself a bit more,
but he wasn’t about to push his friend to study more now that he finally seemed to be easing up on
the swot phase that had taken up so much of his time.

Peter, on the other hand, was under quite a bit of pressure. Since his sister had run off to muggle
college—a scandal of epic proportions in the wizarding community—it was apparently up to him
to carry on the family legacy. From what Sirius understood, Peter’s parents were social climbers
who felt strongly that their blood status should count for more than it did—although they would of
course never say so directly. Unfortunately, what the Pettigrews boasted in blood purity they
lacked in power, which often left them on the fringes of high society.

Sirius might have felt bad for him, except that he thought the scrambling of social climbers in
wizarding circles was ridiculous, and he didn’t understand why Peter tried so hard to please his
parents. Having always been at the top of the wizarding food chain, Sirius didn’t think it was all
that it was cracked up to be, and he didn’t much care to try and understand why someone else
might. Also, Peter was incredibly annoying about the whole thing.

“How much do we need to pass the year?” He asked, desperately, at least four times a day.

“Peter, calm down,” James would soothe, “You’re going to be fine; you know all the theory
backwards now, it’s just putting it into practice.”
Sirius refrained from rolling his eyes, but once the others were out of earshot, he leaned over and
whispered to Remus,

“I don’t blame him for being a bit twitchy. There’ve been at least twelve squibs in the Pettigrew
family – and that’s just in this century.”

“Squibs?”

“Non-magical wizards,” Sirius clarified, “You know how muggle families sometimes have magical
kids? It works the other way, too – no one likes to talk about it much. My great, great uncle
actually had this mad theory that muggles were swapping their children with ours so that they
could infiltrate the wizarding world. Completely bonkers, obviously.”

“Right,” Remus said slowly, processing, “So that’s why Peter’s magic is a bit…wonky?” This was
a nice way of saying what was painfully obvious: that Peter was leagues behind the rest of the
marauders when it came to spellcasting. He struggled to perform magic that the others could do
without thinking.

“I dunno,” Sirius shrugged, “Maybe. I don’t know if they can actually prove that squibbishness
runs in families. But it’s the reason the Pettigrews aren’t in the sacred twenty-eight.”

Remus gave an exasperated sigh, fixing Sirius with a withering look,

“You know I don’t know what that is.”

Sirius did, but he liked it when Remus asked him things. He poked the other boy’s side, smirking,
“Well I don’t know, Lupin, what with all that reading you do these days. Nice to know there are
some things I’ve got over you.”

Remus snorted and looked back down at his work, clearly unwilling to give Sirius the satisfaction
of actually voicing the question. Hoping to hold his friend’s attention, Sirius quickly continued,

“The sacred twenty-eight are the purest of the pure-bloods. The last remaining ‘un-tainted’
families.”

Remus shot him another glare, as if this was the stupidest thing he had heard in his life. Sirius held
up his hands, hurrying to explain,

“Their words, not mine! You know I don’t believe any of that blood purity rubbish.”

“Right,” Remus raised an eyebrow, “Bet the Blacks are top of the list, though.”

A smirk curled at the corner of Sirius’s lips. “Actually,” he said, “The Abbots are first. It’s
alphabetical.”

Remus groaned and turned back to his book—but Sirius caught the twitch of a smile on his face.

* * *

Aside from his ongoing competition with James, Sirius had another reason for throwing himself
into revision: as long as he was focusing all his energy on exams, he didn’t have time to think
about what came after exams.
Summer vacation.

While other students could be heard chattering about holiday plans and family reunions, Sirius
only scowled anytime the subject of summer came up. He preferred to think about it as little as
possible, even as it became harder and harder to ignore.

He hadn’t spoken to Regulus since their fight at Christmas, and he no longer had any idea what to
expect when he returned home. He thought about trying to write again, maybe even apologising—
but he was sure that his mother would read any letters that he wrote, and even if he knew the
missives would reach his brother untouched, Sirius couldn’t quite bring himself to swallow his
pride.

He was still upset with Reg for what he viewed as a fundamental betrayal; in Sirius’s view, he had
sided with their parents when they were always supposed to side with each other. At the same time,
his own guilt threatened to chew through him whenever he thought of the scars on his brother’s
legs, and the accusatory way he’d spat, “Leaving you alone?” Sirius couldn’t shake the feeling that
he’d led his brother down, that he’d abandoned Regulus as much as Reg had abandoned him, even
though neither of them had really had any choice in the matter. It made him feel utterly powerless.

Sirius thought about it more and more as summer loomed closer. It was the drain at the centre of
his mind, around which all his thoughts swirled—he could keep his mind spinning for as long as
possible, but eventually he would be pulled back towards that dark pit.

He was eternally grateful for James Potter, who did his best to understand and was always ready
with a comforting word on the nights that Sirius crawled into his bed, unable to sleep. Sometimes
he broke down completely, unable to stop the tears that fought their way out of their eyes. But
James was so understanding that he hardly even felt embarrassed, although he could hear his
mother’s voice in the back of his mind. Have some dignity! Boys don’t cry!

On the night that Sirius revealed his scars, needing desperately to talk about what he’d seen on
Reggie’s legs over Christmas break, James gasped.

“That’s evil,” He whispered, righteous fury alight in his eyes.

Sirius wasn’t sure how to process his reaction to the word. He hated what his mother did, of course
—he thought it was awful, terrible, horrible. But he recoiled from the word evil, his first instinct to
become defensive—everyone disciplined their children, after all. His family was just a bit more
extreme than most.

“She thinks it’s what’s best for us,” he heard himself say—and realised with a start that he was
echoing his brother’s words. James looked sceptical, so he continued,

“It’s not—obviously, I know that it’s wrong, but it’s not like I can stop her. I just—I thought I’d be
able to keep her from doing it to Reg. It’s not like he was ever as bad as me, he never did anything
to really deserve it—”

“Sirius,” James interrupted him, a strange look in his eyes. “Nobody deserves that. You don’t
deserve that. You know that, right?”

Sirius wanted to respond, but his throat had closed up.

“You shouldn’t have to go back there,” James continued, “It isn’t right.” His eyes lit up, suddenly,
the way they did when he got an idea.

“Stay with me for the summer!”

Sirius blinked, reaching up to scrub at his suspiciously damp cheeks. “What?”

“You can stay with me! I’m sure my parents would love to have you.” He was smiling eagerly,
clearly excited by the solution.

“I can’t,” Sirius responded, heart sinking, “My family would never let me.”

James started to speak again, but Sirius shook his head.

“Look, just—leave it, alright? Let’s talk about something else.”

His friend acquiesced, reluctantly. But the next day, James brought it up again. They were in the
common room, watching Peter try to turn a banana into a slipper.

Sirius frowned, sighing. “You know they’ll never let me.”

“Cheer up, mate,” James said, slinging an arm around his shoulder. He was unshakably confident
that he’d found the solution to Sirius’s summer problem, certain that he’d be able to make it work.
Sirius didn’t know how to convince his friend that it simply wasn’t possible.

“They won’t though. Bellatrix’s bloody wedding is in June, you can bet I’ll have to be around for
all of it.”

“We got an invite to that,” Peter chimed in, looking up from his work. The banana looked halfway
to a slipper, now, but it was still bright yellow and unpleasantly squishy-looking. “Probably see
you there.”

“Yeah, great.” Sirius muttered darkly, unable to muster up any enthusiasm at the thought of Peter
attending one of his awful family gatherings. “If I haven’t been turned into a newt. Or cursed into a
portrait for the summer – they actually did that to Andromeda once. She’s never been the same,
hates wizard paintings now.”

“After the wedding,” James said, steering the conversation stubbornly back to his original point,
“Then we’ll work something out. I’ll break you out of there if I have to, I swear.”

Sirius did his best to smile, not wanting to argue with his friend. James grinned back, and he
looked so confident that it was impossible not to feel a small stirring of hope. If anyone could
figure out how to smuggle Sirius away from his family, it was James Potter.

“You, too, Lupin,” James threw in. Remus was lying on his stomach on the floor, only half-
listening.

“Hm?” He lifted his head, arching his back slightly. Sirius thought he saw him wince as he moved,
but his features quickly settled into a neutral expression.

“You should come and stay over the summer. We’ve got loads of room, and mum doesn’t mind.”

“Can’t,” Remus shook his head, looking back down at his book. He seemed distracted, tense.
Sirius wondered what he was thinking about. “Matron won’t let me. Legal guardian stuff, muggle
law.”

“There’ll be a way around it,” James replied, unable to take no for an answer, “Both of you are
coming, right? I’m making it happen.” Sirius wished that it wasn’t so easy to believe him—he
didn’t know if he’d be able to handle getting his hopes up, only to have them come crashing down
once he was actually stuck in his parents’ dreary manor again.
Luckily, Peter gasped, effectively distracting them from the conversation. “I think I’ve done it!” He
held his bright yellow slipper aloft.

“Well done, Pete,” Sirius said, not quite able to muster up the enthusiastic encouragement James
was so good at procuring, “Try it on to see if it fits.”

Peter leaned down, fitting the slipper to his foot. As he did, Sirius noticed Remus moving in the
corner of his eye, straightening into a sitting position, then suddenly jumping to his feet. His eyes
were wide, as if he’d just had an idea.

“Eurgh!” Peter yelped, drawing attention back to himself. His bare foot was now covered in
banana slime—James burst out laughing, shaking so hard that his glasses almost slipped off his
face.

“He was joking, Pete! You’ve got to stop doing stuff just because we tell you to.”

Remus was still standing, a strange look on his face. “You ok, Lupin?” Sirius asked, curious.
Remus hesitated as the attention turned to him.

“Yeah, just…think I might go for a walk.”

“Where? It’s almost curfew,” Sirius asked—then felt a spark of excitement, realising that Remus
must be up to something. “What are you planning?”

“No no, nothing…I just fancied…”

“We’ll come!” James stood up too, “I’ll get the cloak.”

“No!” Remus shouted.

They all froze, even Peter, who was halfway through picking banana strings from between his toes.

“I…” Remus stammered, “I don’t feel well. I just want to go to Madam Pomfrey, that’s all.”

Oh. Sirius realised his mistake immediately. He’d been doing his best to keep James and Peter
from noticing all of Remus’s strange disappearances, but they had started questioning more and
more why their friend was so periodically sick. Sirius tried to avoid calling attention to the matter,
but it looked like he’d done the opposite tonight. He cursed himself, silently.

“All right mate,” James said gently, holding his hands up. They’d all gotten used to Remus’s
sudden mood swings by now, “Calm down. Want us to come with you anyway?”

“I’ll go,” Sirius said quickly. He stood and took Remus by the elbow before he could protest,
steering him towards the portrait hole.

“Sirius…” Remus started, once they were safely out into the empty corridor. Sirius could guess
what he was going to say—he likely wouldn’t want his friend going into the hospital wing with
him, not if this was anything werewolf-related. Remus still had no idea that Sirius had figured out
his secret.

“S’all right, Lupin,” He quickly reassured his friend, “I’m just walking you there. Won’t go in with
you or anything.”

Remus looked a bit confused, but he seemed to accept this. They started walking, moving more
slowly than usual. Sirius realised that Remus was in pain, and trying to hide it. His jaw was
clenched, his shoulders stiff with tension. He wondered once more what exactly went on during his
friend’s monthly transformations—whatever it was, it always seemed to take something out of him.

“Are you all right?” Sirius asked, carefully, “You’re walking stiffly.”

“I don’t feel well,” Remus repeated, forcing the words through gritted teeth. Clearly, he didn’t
want to talk about it—but then, he never much wanted to talk about himself, in any context. Sirius
knew better than to push it.

“Ok,” he replied, nonchalant, and they continued their walk in silence. When they arrived at the
hospital wing, there was an awkward pause outside the door. Remus stared him down, glaring
defensively as he waited for his friend to leave. Sirius looked back, unruffled.

“Hope you feel better,” he said, “Can we come and visit you tomorrow, if you’re not out?”

Remus blinked, as if that hadn’t been what he was expecting. His glare softened a bit, but he was
still wary as he muttered, “S’pose so.” With a shrug that made him wince—definitely in pain.
Sirius was careful not to let his expression change.

He wished, for a moment, that he could just tell Remus he’d figured it out—that he didn’t have to
keep this secret, that he could ask for help. That he wasn’t alone. But Sirius knew that wasn’t a
good idea, so he only said,

“Look after yourself, Lupin,” before turning and hurrying off without looking back.
 First Year: End of Term
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

At the end of his first year at Hogwarts, Sirius discovered that there was no better place for
mischief-making than a castle full of students during exam period. With two weeks off lessons, he
had more than enough time for any last-minute revision, and he intended to put his newfound
freedom to good use.

Most of their peers were frantic with anxiety, including Peter, who spent hours staring helplessly at
his notes and pulling his hair out in the library. Luckily, James seemed to share Sirius’s
confidence, and since they had already spent weeks revising it wasn’t too difficult to convince him
to turn his attention to other endeavours. They discovered the wonders of flameless firecrackers
and delighted in vanishing unsuspecting students’ books bags in the library—the two of them
would duck behind the shelves and stifle their laughter as they watched their victims desperately
searching for their things. One fifth year Slytherin leapt out of his seat so quickly that he ended up
tripping over his invisible bag and falling flat on his face, which sent James and Sirius into
hysterics and got them both kicked out by Madam Pince.

Privately, Sirius didn’t mind that Peter was too busy studying to join them—he was so worried
about exams that he was becoming an unbearable nuisance, always muttering to himself about
potions ingredients or asking them to quiz him on historical dates. Even James was losing patience
with constantly consoling his nervous friend.

Remus, on the other hand, was more relaxed than Sirius had ever seen him. But he also seemed
disinclined to join in all the pranking, preferring to spend his days lounging around the castle with a
book or wandering about with his map. Sirius would have enjoyed his company much more than
Peter’s, but at the end of the day he still had James, and that was more than enough.

The exams themselves went just as smoothly as Sirius had expected. First up was Charms, where
they had to enchant a coconut to dance an Irish jig—child's play. He, James, and Remus all
executed their task flawlessly. Peter’s coconut, on the other hand, refused to move at first and lost
control once it actually did begin to dance, spinning off the desk and smashing itself on the
flagstones. Sirius didn’t blame it—with the way Peter had been acting recently, he’d been about
ready to do the same.

Transfiguration was a breeze; they were turning stag beetles into pepper shakers. Sirius finished
within five minutes, flawlessly transfiguring the insect into a beautiful glass number. McGonagall,
who was walking about the room and watching the other students struggle, stopped by Sirius’s
desk and declared that it was the best example of small scale transfiguration she had ever seen from
a first year, which made Sirius feel as if he might burst with pride. It took his friends longer to
finish, but they all eventually managed, with varying levels of success. Remus’s pepper shaker was
still shiny and black, and James’s looked porcelain, but it spread its wings and flew off when
McGonagall tried to shake some pepper out of it. Peter managed to get his to remain still, but it still
had legs and antlers, even after an hour.

Herbology was boring but easy, a written exam. History of Magic was the same, although Sirius
was a bit shocked when he looked over and saw Remus furiously scribbling on a third roll of
parchment, first two already set aside. He was pretty sure that their textbook chapter on the goblin
riots wasn’t half as long as his friend’s essay. Potions was, frustratingly, one of the harder exams,
only because they had to brew a cure for warts from memory and Sirius knew that if even a single
measurement was off it could ruin the whole thing. He still did alright, but it was one of the only
classes where he wasn’t expecting top marks.

Between exams, Sirius continued his reign of terror with James, slipping trick quills into students’
bags, creeping about under the invisibility cloak, and putting the last of their dung bombs to good
use. They were almost caught by Filch a few times but managed to evade capture—although Frank
Longbottom did threaten to give them detention if they didn’t stop levitating inkwells in the
common room.

The days grew steadily warmer, and by the time June rolled around and exams finished up, Remus
and Peter were finally ready to join back in on the mischief making. This was good, as James
wanted to ensure that their last prank was memorable.

“It’s got to be big,” he said decisively, as they lounged by the lake, “Our last hurrah.”

“Not our last,” Sirius reminded him, “We’ll be back in two months.”

“You lot might be,” Peter said drearily, “I know I’ve failed everything.”

James waved a hand, dismissing the other boy’s worrying. At this point, they had all gotten fed up
with reassuring him, and it was too nice outside to get dragged into Peter’s sulking. They were in
their new favourite spot, under a big shady tree. Peter was sitting beneath the branches to stop
himself burning—the sun was full-bellied and bright in the sky. James and Sirius were enjoying
the sunshine, lying in the grass with their robes off and their sleeves rolled up. Remus lay with
them, although he still had his robes on.

“Have we got any dung bombs left?” He asked, squinting up at the sky briefly, then closing his
eyes and relaxing back, arms folded beneath his head. He reminded Sirius of a cat, dozing lazily in
the sun.

“Yeah, a few. Not enough for a big send off, though.”

“How big are you thinking, exactly?”

“Bigger than dung bombs.” James shrugged, cleaning his glasses, as he often did when he was
thinking. “Big enough so that everyone knows it was us.”

“They’ll know it’s us,” Sirius pointed out, “McGonagall always knows.” He stood and began
skimming stones across the lake, managing to bounce it five times. When he was younger, he and
Reg had made a contest of skipping stones across the pond in their garden—but Sirius didn’t want
to think about that.

“They might think it’s the Prewetts,” James replied, “They’ve been beating us all year.”

“Nothing beat the pixies!” Sirius said, defensively. He threw another stone. This time, on its fourth
bounce, the giant squid that lived in the lake reached up a long, silvery tentacle to bat the stone
back towards him, which made Sirius grin.

“And the itching powder was pretty good, you have to admit.” Remus murmured. He had his arm
flung over his face now, blocking the sun.

“Exactly,” Sirius agreed, nodding, “You’ve got to give us points for ingenuity there.”

“And the raincloud!” Peter squeaked, inserting himself into the conversation—as usual—in the
worst possible way. There was a tense silence following his comment. They had all carefully
avoided speaking about that incident since January.

Sirius shook his head, annoyed, and quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway, the point is, the four of us have had more detentions than the rest of Gryffindor
combined this year. What more do you want us to do, James? Sign our work?”

He was just about to skip another stone when James leapt to his feet and grabbed his shoulder,
forcing him to drop it.

“Oi!” Sirius frowned, irritated, “What are you playing at?”

“That’s it!” James said eagerly, “We sign our work!”

“You what?” Remus asked, squinting up from under his arm.

“SIGN OUR WORK,” James repeated, and Sirius started to smile. Remus still looked baffled;
James sighed, explaining impatiently, “We put our mark on Hogwarts, literally.”

“Are you talking about defacing school property, Potter?” Sirius arched a brow, mind already
spinning with ideas about what they might write, and where.

“I might just be, Black.” James wiggled his eyebrows back, delighted that Sirius understood. (They
always understood each other, even when the others didn’t.)

“Well, I say, old man,” Sirius adopted an even more plummy, aristocratic accent, grin creeping
across his face.

“What do you say, old bean?”

“I say it’s a simply ripping idea.”

“Oh, spiffing!”

“Good show!”

“Rather!”

They both found themselves giggling, and Sirius dragged James down to the grass, wrestling.
Beside them, Remus stood with a sigh, moving out of the way to sit by Peter. He never seemed
eager to join in on their roughhousing.

Peter and Remus continued to chat in the shade of the tree, but Sirius ignored them, doing his best
to pin his friend in the grass. James was bigger than him, and (though Sirius refused to admit it) a
bit stronger, but he believed in fighting under what he called “honourable terms.” Sirius thought a
fight was a fight, and had no qualms about flinging some dirt or utilising a sharp, well-placed
elbow when he needed to.

He had just tried to knock James’s glasses off his face when Peter jumped up, calling for their
attention. “Lads!” He squeaked excitedly, “I’ve had an idea!”

“Blimey!” They both froze. James had him in a headlock, but Sirius had been about to get the
upper hand by using his ankle to trip his friend, knocking them both off balance. Elbow still around
Sirius’s neck, James asked, “Are you feeling ok, Pettigrew?”

“The lawn!” Peter ranted, pacing, “It’s the biggest canvas, and it wouldn’t have to be permanent, it
could be...if we used a quick-gro potion...”

Sirius started to grin despite himself as Peter’s plan began to make sense...

* * *

They had two weeks to plan it—Peter and James were in charge of hoarding supplies, while Sirius
and Remus spent time researching the spells they’d need. It wasn’t too difficult to find colour-
changing incantations, and they were a breeze once you got the hang of them. As they organised
their final mission of the year, the marauders learnt that they had all passed their exams—even
Peter. Sirius had gotten top marks across his classes, beating James in half their subjects. He came
in first in Transfiguration, and tried not to show how thrilled he was by it. He was also a bit
surprised to learn that Remus had beat him in Charms and a History of Magic (where he’d come
first); Lupin seemed to continuously reveal new levels of genius.

On their final night at Hogwarts, the four boys crowded back under James’s invisibility cloak and
made their way out onto the grounds once everyone else was asleep.

“Ouch! That was my foot!”

“Sorry!”

“I can’t see a thing.”

“It’s dark out, idiot.”

“Ouch! That was my foot!”

“Can we take the cloak off now?”

“Yeah, I think so...”

Freed from the cloak, Sirius took a deep breath of the fresh summer air. He turned to look back at
his friends—Peter and Remus were holding a sack a hydrangea seeds, and James was folding the
cloak under his arm.

“Right,” James said, getting down to business, “Did we agree to write ‘love’ or ‘from’?”

“From," Peter said.

Sirius sniffed. “I prefer ‘love.’”

“Aww, ‘course you do, Black,” James teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Sirius ducked away,
grimacing. “Love it is, then. C’mon gentlemen, to work!”

It took them an hour to empty the sack of seeds, James leading the way and Remus bringing up the
rear, drizzling quick-gro potion over the trail they left.

“Are we sure we spelled everything right?” James asked, looking back at the seeds scattered over
the ground.

“Too late now,” Sirius pointed out, “Look, we’d better go, sun’s coming up.” He gestured at the
sky, where rosy pink was beginning to bleed onto the horizon.

“The colour changing spell, quick!”

“I did it already,” Remus said, emptying their final bottle of potion, “While they were still in the
bag.”

Sirius grinned. “Good thinking, Lupin!” He slapped the other boy’s shoulder, “Knew you were the
logical one."

“Let’s not go in yet,” James said, staring at the sky. “Look, we can watch the sun rise.”

“Merlin,” Sirius laughed, “You big poof.”

But he stood with the others, watching in quiet awe as pink deepened, turning orange. The sun rose
triumphantly over the lake, reflection shimmering golden across the water, and the deep orange
faded into a lighter yellow, hinting towards blue.

“Next year’ll be even better lads,” James grinned, glasses shining with the reflected light of the sun
as he threw his arms around Sirius and Peter. Sirius smiled back at him, chest tight as he watched
the light shatter over the faces of his best friends and the castle walls that had so quickly become
home.

They were all more subdued as they returned to the common room, almost forgetting to put the
cloak back on. Back in Gryffindor tower, James and Peter curled up in their beds, drawing curtains
to block out the rising sunlight. Sirius yawned, wishing he could do the same—but he hadn’t
started packing, and the train would be leaving in a matter of hours. He sighed and began throwing
his things haphazardly into his trunk.

Remus didn’t sleep, either. Instead, he curled up on the windowsill, staring down at where they’d
scattered the seeds below. He remained quiet, introspective as he peered through the glass,
although Sirius had no idea what was on his mind.

Once his trunk was stuffed full (he’d worry about closing it later), Sirius walked over to join
Remus as the window. The flowers had sprouted below, a curled mess of stems.

“Looking good!”

Remus smiled dryly, “Still think it should have been ‘woz,’ and not ‘were’.”

“Bad grammar, Lupin,” Sirius yawned, “Couldn’t have lived with myself.” He stretched, letting
exhaustion settle over his limbs as he backed onto the closest bed—Remus’s—and curled up to
sleep.

Sirius knew that when he woke, he’d be boarding a train back home. He knew he’d be leaving his
friends behind and facing his parents alone, without even Reg to count on. He knew that he
wouldn’t be allowed to use magic, and that the punishments for mischief would be much more
severe than they were at Hogwarts. He knew that when he opened his eyes, he’d come face to face
with the moment that he’d been dreading for months.

But until then, he was tired, sleepy with the satisfied sort of exhaustion that came after an
exhilarating night on a mission with his friends. He was safe, curled up in the room that he had
grown to love, where he could truly be himself. And the bed smelled like Remus, something earthy
and familiar—a reminder that for now, Sirius wasn’t alone.
 As he drifted off to sleep, flowers bloomed outside. Fifty feet below, the hydrangeas unfurled their
petals, flashing Gryffindor crimson and gold as they proudly declared:

THE MARAUDERS WERE HERE!

Chapter End Notes

the end of year one! yay

 Summer 1972
Chapter Summary

more regulus content <3

He hadn’t let himself think it, but Sirius had been hoping—secretly, unconsciously—that
somehow, once he arrived home, things could just go back to normal between him and Reg. He
hadn’t forgotten their fight, although he’d been doing his best not to think about it. But what he
really wanted more than anything as he approached the doors of his family home was to see his
brother laugh again, and know everything was forgiven between them.

Unfortunately, any hopes he’d had for a joyful reunion were quickly dashed. There was no one
waiting to greet Sirius when he entered the house with his mother—who had spent the entire
journey back from Platform 9 and ¾ lecturing viciously after she saw her son stepping onto the
platform, side by side with James Potter.

When he sought out his brother, Regulus was sullen and withdrawn. He had always tended towards
melancholy, and had a bad habit of isolating himself when he was upset. But this was different.
Reggie greeted Sirius with a sneer that he had never seen on his brother’s lips before, an expression
that twisted his features in a mean way. In the past, Sirius would only have needed to apologise
once to see the adoring light flood back into his brother’s eyes and know that everything was okay.
But now there was resentment, a thorny bramble that thickened the longer they were separated, and
Sirius realised that he had no idea how to unpick it.

Thus began some of the most miserable days of Sirius’s life. Without his brother, life at home
became unbearable. At Hogwarts, Sirius had always been surrounded by friends. Suddenly alone,
he felt as though some protective covering had been ripped away; a blanket or cocoon peeled back,
exposing him to the bitter cold of loneliness.

Sirius found himself spending quite a bit of time squirreled away in the library, taking refuge, as he
so often had growing up, in books. He managed to distract himself by browsing some of the tomes
his father kept on hexes and curses—really nasty ones, the kinds that he couldn’t find in the books
at Hogwarts. His father’s collection was full of them. Sirius tried not to think about what this
meant.

He was aware, as anyone who had grown up in the wizarding world inevitably was, of Dark magic.
He had heard vague references to Dark wizards, past wars and atrocities. But though the term
frequently came up, Sirius had never been able to find any clear explanation about what, exactly,
made a wizard “Dark,” with a capital D. It seemed that in the history books, whatever witch or
warlock was the enemy was labelled Dark with no further discussion.

Even in Defence Against the Dark Arts, the professor never came out and said what, exactly, fell
under the umbrella of his expertise. Curses, certainly, were dark magic—but students at Hogwarts
cursed and jinxed each other all the time, and none of them were Dark wizards. As far as Sirius
could tell, there was no clear line in the sand; the term was nebulous, shifting depending on what
politician was in power.

Still, he knew that many of the books in his family’s library would likely be banned from the
shelves of Hogwarts, and he was coming to realise that in the eyes of many wizards, the Black
family was full of Dark magic. That it was this Darkness, in fact, that contributed so heavily to their
reputation and shaped the tangled fear and respect with which many approached them.

Sirius had never thought of his family as Dark. Certainly, they were involved in quite a bit of
magic that might raise eyebrows at Hogwarts. They were politically shrewd, ambitious and power-
hungry. They were hated by many, including, oftentimes, Sirius himself. But—well. He didn’t
think his parents were Dark wizards, for all their flaws. It wasn’t like they were evil. Even if they
owned quite a lot of creepy books.

When he wasn’t reading, Sirius spent a large part of his time trying to bully Regulus into liking him
again. It was hard to know what, exactly, from their disastrous Christmas break was the root of
Reg’s current grudge, but Sirius thought that if he insisted enough on acting like they were still
friends (they were, for Merlin’s sake, they were brothers, after all!) then eventually, Regulus would
have to give in and admit that one fight couldn’t undo a decade of being thick as thieves. He
cajoled, he wheedled, he ambushed his little brother when the boy clearly wanted to be left alone
and forced him into games of exploding snap or gobstones. He joked, obstinately, determined to
make Regulus laugh. He played pranks on Kreacher that he knew would make his brother smile—
even though they got him into trouble.

By the time Bellatrix’s wedding rolled around, Sirius thought that he’d made significant progress.
Reg was no longer glaring resentfully at him every time he walked into a room, and though he still
seemed withdrawn, he was beginning to relax a bit more around Sirius.

The wedding itself was awful—Bellatrix had piled her hair into so many loops on top of her head
that it looks like a pack of particularly ferocious owls had tried to roost there, and Rodolphus
Lestrange was just as creepy as Sirius remembered. But it brought the brothers even closer; they
complained to each other in the morning about the awful new dress robes, and Sirius had Reg
giggling throughout the reception with his whispered commentary on their great-aunt's choice of
hat.

So although being in a room with so many of his relatives made Sirius’s skin crawl, he was smiling
broadly when he heard a familiar squeaky voice calling his name.

“Sirius! Sirius!”

He turned to see Peter hurrying towards him (almost every pureblood family had been invited to
the reception—Bellatrix wanted a lavish celebration), looking awkward in dress robes that were
clearly too long for him.

“Pete!" Sirius grinned, happy to see one of his friends—even if it was just Peter. He turned to his
brother, saying, “Reg, this is Peter Pettigrew. My friend from Hogwarts—I told you about him,
remember?”

Regulus, who had previously been in a good mood, was now frowning, looking Peter up and down,
unimpressed. Sirius felt a twinge of embarrassment, although he wasn’t sure if it was because of
his friend’s shabby appearance, his brother’s snobbish expression, or some mixture of both.

“Nice to meet you,” Regulus said, although the judgmental expression on his face made it clear
that he felt otherwise. Luckily, Peter didn’t seem to notice.

“You must be Reggie!” He said, enthusiastically, “Sirius told us all about you.”

Regulus blinked, spiteful expression sliding away for a moment. “He did?”
“’Course I did!” Sirius jumped in, slinging an arm around Reggie’s neck and mussing up his hair,
“Couldn’t very well forget about my annoying little brother, could I?”

Regulus shrugged him off, but there was a tentative smile on his face, and his eyes were bright. He
looked like he wanted to say something, but Peter was speaking.

“Listen, Sirius,” his voice was hushed, but still eager, “James has had a brilliant idea!”

“Really?” Sirius turned away from his brother, so he didn’t see his eyes shutter at the mention of
James Potter’s name.

“Yes! Listen—you know how you keep saying your family won’t let you visit him?”

“They won’t.”

“I know, but what if you weren’t visiting James? What if you were visiting me?” Peter raised his
eyebrows, excited. Sirius blinked, then—

“Brilliant! Bloody genius! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it—”

“I know!” Peter laughed, excited, “I can ask my mum now, we’re already here—and I stay over at
James’s all the time, I’m going to the beach with his family in July, if you just tag along, it’s not
like anyone will notice.”

“Yes, brilliant! Maybe we can even get Remus to come, too!”

They exchanged a few more excited whispers before separating, and Peter ran off to find his
parents. Sirius’s heart felt like it might balloon out of his chest with joy—a whole summer with his
friends, suddenly in reach! No more lonely hours in the library or tiptoeing around his parents—it
would be just like he was back at Hogwarts!

He turned back to his brother, face split into a wide smile—and was met with Regulus’s stony
glare. Sirius froze, taken aback. Then, carefully,

“Isn’t that great, Reg? James has been trying to get me to visit for ages, but it’s not like mum and
dad would let me—”

He was cut off by a snort of derisive laughter from his brother. Sirius prickled, defensively.
“What?”

“Are you joking?”

“What?”

Regulus stared at him for a moment, incredulous. Hurt washed over his features—but it was
replaced so quickly by anger that Sirius wasn’t sure what he’d seen.

“You’re leaving.” His brother’s voice was flat, the words hissed. Guilt ground its jaws—Sirius
stifled it with anger of his own.

“It’s not as if you want me around, anyway,” he snapped, “You’ve made that abundantly clearly.”

Reggie’s brow furrowed. “That’s not—” He cut off, abruptly, and they stared at each other,
frowning.

When the tension was too much, Sirius pushed, “What? Got something to say about my blood
traitor friends? Mum’s got you completely brainwashed, you know.”

Regulus flushed. “That isn’t what I was going to say.”

“What then? What is it?” Sirius allowed all of his frustration with Reggie’s ridiculous grudge to
seep into his voice, knowing as he did it that he was ruining everything again. But he couldn’t stop.

Regulus glared, and there was something sharp in his eyes—something mean. It was familiar, like
looking into a mirror.

“I could tell her,” he said.

Sirius felt as though he’d been slapped. He recoiled, shocked by the venom in his brother’s voice.
He tried to respond, but there was a snarl in his throat, a stone in his chest. By the time he opened
his mouth, one of their uncles had stumbled over, wine-drunk and talkative, declaring how much
they’d both grown. They were no longer alone, and besides, there was really nothing to say
anyway.

* * *

They didn’t speak to each other on the journey home, nor when the door shut behind them. The
silence grew, a living thing, as they both withdrew to their bedrooms. Sirius was sure he could hear
it breathing sickly, in the hallway between them, unbearably conscious of its wet, thumping pulse.

He was livid. Furious, hot with anger, enraged. Sirius couldn’t believe that Reggie had said that,
had threatened to tell on him to their mother. It was the ultimate betrayal, made worse by the fact
that they both knew exactly what she would do as punishment.

He paced the floor of his bedroom, wanting to hit something. The rage was clarifying, burning
away any guilt that he might have felt about going away for the summer. Clearly, Regulus was a
back-stabbing coward who had no qualms about abandoning Sirius—so why should he feel bad for
leaving to visit his friends, who actually cared about him? Whenever his temper started to cool,
he’d see Reggie’s sneer and hear the echo of his voice—I could tell her—stoking the flames high
once more. Sirius held onto it, gritting his teeth against the blaze.

Because underneath the fiery anger, shifting in the ash and embers, there was something much
more vulnerable, and much more afraid. A small voice that asked, How do we fix this? When did
we get so out of step?

Sirius slept fitfully that night, dreams full of dark magic.

The next day, he continued to ignore his brother, hiding away in the library and writing letters to
his friends. He had to be careful on his way to the owlery, hurrying down the halls and glancing
about furtively to make sure he wasn’t intercepted. He was sure that his parents wouldn’t be happy
to see who his letters were addressed to. Fortunately, the journey was without interruption, and he
watched the three birds he had chosen as they disappeared off into the distance.

The next three days were torture—Sirius was constantly on edge, unsure whether Peter’s family
had already invited him, and, if so, whether his own parents had responded. He was on his best
behaviour, not wanting to give his mother any excuse to deny an invitation. Regulus was still
avoiding him, so there wasn’t much to do other than hang about the library, anyway.
When his mother finally summoned him, Sirius was a mess of nerves—his heart kicked, hopefully,
in his chest, even as his throat went dry and his palms grew clammy with sweat. Walpurga
summoned him to the sitting room, where she seemed to be very involved with some sort of
paperwork. His parents had both seemed busier, as of late—political business at the Ministry, from
what Sirius could tell. It was always about politics, with his family.

When he stepped in, she set down her work, steepling her fingers and trapping him with her gaze.

“Do you know why I called you here, Sirius?”

He swallowed, not sure how much was safe to give away. “No.”

She pursed her lips. “I’ve received an invitation from the Pettigrews. It seems that they want you to
visit their son.”

“Peter?”

“That’s the one. Were you expecting an invitation?”

Sirius hesitated, then said, “Er…Peter did mention something about me visiting.”

“Hm.”

She was staring at him, silent, so he said hopefully, “I’d like to visit…if that’s alright…” His
mother still looked sceptical, so he tried a different tack, saying, “I think Peter’s mum might be
worried, what with his sister running off and all that, so maybe she’s trying to—erm, make sure
he’s got…y’know, a good influence…” he trailed off.

“A good influence.” His mother was frowning, deeply. She clearly thought he was up to something
—which he was. But was it really so unusual for a friend to invite him to stay?

Suddenly, he felt the familiar sensation of his mother’s hand in his mind—like a claw, sifting
through his thoughts. It had been a long while since Walpurga had used her legimency, and Sirius
had to suppress a shudder. It always made him feel helpless, powerless, with his most private
thoughts outside his control. Even his mind wasn’t his own, not in this house.

He bit back the panic that rose like bile. Above all, he could not let his mother know that Peter was
just a means to spend the summer with the Potters. She would never let him go if she figured that
out. But Walpurga was clearly expecting to find something incriminating in her son’s mind, and
wouldn’t stop until she thought she had figured out what he was up to.

So Sirius thought, desperately, about Remus. He thought about his half-blood friend, the boy who
grew up with muggles. He thought about how badly he wanted to see Remus again, and how he
and Peter were going to try and convince him to visit. He thought about how fun it would be,
listening to muggle music again and seeing that bright spark of mischief in Remus’s eyes. He
thought about laughing together, heads close, and—

It worked. His mother withdrew, and Sirius was left gasping and shaking. He always felt ill after
she’d picked through his mind, like someone had poured oil down his throat—a choked, greasy
aftertaste.

“Oh, get a hold of yourself!” She said, sharply. He did his best, staring up at her and hoping with
everything he had that she wouldn’t crawl back into his mind again.

She was still frowning, but something had shifted in her gaze. If Sirius didn’t know better, he might
think she looked a bit nervous, as if what she’d seen in his head had disturbed her in some way.
He supposed it must be the knowledge that one of his friends was a half-blood—but he’d thought
his parents already knew about that, thanks to Bellatrix.

Walpurga sighed, rubbing her temples. When she met his eye again, the cold glare was firmly in
place.

“You are not to see that half-breed, am I clear?”

Sirius nodded, mute. She gave him an assessing look, then said,

“Your father and I will allow you to stay with the Pettigrews. They’ll be here to pick you up
tomorrow, so pack your bags.”

Sirius was floored. Really? It seemed too good to be true. Was it really going to be that easy?

“Of course,” Walpurga continued, “We shall expect you to return no later than two days before the
Hogwarts Express departs. We will go to the station as a family, do you understand?”

Sirius nodded again, enthusiastically, and had to stop himself from leaping for joy when she
dismissed him. He almost felt like skipping as he hurried back to his room, eagerly grabbing his
trunk and beginning to pack.

When he looked up, Regulus was in the doorway.

He paused. Reg was watching him pack, features undecipherable. When his brother remained
silent, Sirius said, defensively,

“Here to threaten me again?”

Regulus continued to hover, seeming torn about whether to speak. When he did, it wasn’t what
Sirius had expected.

“It’s because of me, you know.” His brother’s voice was quiet.

“What?”

“I heard them talking. They don’t want you…influencing me.”

Sirius snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Another pause. Then, as if he was steeling himself to say it,

“It means you’ve already mucked it up, and they need me to get things right. So they don’t care if
you leave, because you’re already a lost cause.”

The words were hurled like arrows, meant to draw blood. Sirius was surprised by how much they
stung. For a moment, he was speechless.

When Regulus saw his expression, his face softened with regret. He stepped forward, into the
room, and said, “Look—I’m sorry, it’s just what they said—”

Sirius stepped back, away from his brother’s approach, and shook his head. “I already know what
our parents think of me,” he said, voice flat. “Just didn’t realise that you thought it, too.”

Regulus cringed. “I don’t, Sirius, I’m just trying to—”

“No—no, stop it. You’re just jealous that I have friends, and you don’t. So you know what?” He
strode forward, shoving Regulus backwards, out of the room.

“Have fun on your own this summer, because it’s very clear that you don’t want a lost cause
hanging around.”

Reg was opening his mouth to say something, but Sirius slammed the door in his brother’s face.

* * *

The rest of the summer was something out of a dream. The Pettigrews had less space at their
house, so no one batted an eye when the boys suggested that Sirius just bunk up at the Potters’.
After all, they were neighbours—it wasn’t like it made any difference, right?

James’s parents were the nicest people Sirius had ever met, like something out of a fairy-tale or
postcard. Euphemia Potter was round-faced, kind-hearted woman who baked them cookies and
treated Sirius like a son, and Fleamont was a spry man who shared James’s love of mischief,
despite his age. Within the first two days, Sirius felt as comfortable at the Potters’ as he did his
own home—more, even, as he didn’t have to worry about sulking brothers or angry parents or
creepy house elves muttering to themselves.

They spent hours playing quidditch, as James was determined to get onto the team. Peter came
over every day, filling in as Keeper, and Sirius quite enjoyed playing the position of Beater—he
was even toying with the idea of trying out for the team himself. In July, as Peter had promised,
they all went to the beach together. The Potters had a summer home near the shore, and the boys
spent days swimming and building sand sculptures that Fleamont enchanted to move around. As
the summer drew to a close, they all went to Diagon Alley, and Euphemia bought them ice creams
and let them go wherever they wanted.

The only thing that would have made it better was the presence of Remus, who remained
conspicuously absent. All three of the other marauders tried to reach out to him, inundating him
with letters, but they didn’t receive anything back. That is—until the very end of the summer, just a
few days before Sirius had to return to home. He was the only one to receive a hastily folded paper,
on which he recognised Remus’s chicken-scratch:

Dere Sirius,

Please dont send me more letters. Can’t read them and matron getting annoyed by the owls.

See you on the train.

Remus
Immediately, Sirius felt guilty—he had completely forgotten that without magic, Remus struggled
to read. He thought back on the long missives he had penned and groaned internally, annoyed with
himself for his thoughtlessness. Honouring Remus’s wishes, he didn’t send a letter back, and he
didn’t say anything to Peter or James—Remus clearly still wanted to keep his reading a secret.

Aside from this one snag, however, it was altogether an amazing summer. Sirius immersed himself
completely in the time spent with his friends, playing quidditch, planning pranks, laughing late into
the night, and definitely, definitely not thinking for even one second about his little brother.
 Second Year: Regulus Black
Chapter Summary

second year begins!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Cry baby

Cry baby

Cry baby

Honey, welcome back home

I know she told you

Hon’, I know she told you that she loved you

Much more than I did...

Sirius returned from his summer with the Potters refreshed and in high spirits, ready to make
amends. His anger towards his brother had cooled considerably—after all, it wasn’t like Regulus
was entirely to blame. The real problem was their parents, and once Reg was away from them at
Hogwarts Sirius was sure things could go back to normal.

Unfortunately, Regulus was not in an equally forgiving mood. He greeted Sirius with stony silence
and sullen stares, resentment firmly back in place. This time around, Reg refused to let go of his
grudge no matter how Sirius cajoled, obstinately angry.

Luckily, when it came to a battle of wills, Sirius would always win. So on the night before they left
for Platform 9 and ¾, he marched stubbornly into his brother’s room, even though Regulus had
ignored him all day.

“Sirius?” he whispered furiously, “What are you doing?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Get out!”

Sirius was, at this point, clambering onto his brother’s bed, and he paused to stick out his tongue.

“No.”

“You’re going to get me in trouble!”

“Not if you shut up,” Sirius rolled his eyes, making himself comfortable. Reg was sitting up to
glare at him.

“This is my room,” He said, petulantly.

“Yep.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Regulus continued to glare at him. It was clear that
there was nothing he could do about the situation, unless he wanted to try and physically push his
brother off the bed—but Sirius was bigger, and stronger, and not afraid to draw their parents’
attention.

He let the silence marinate, waiting. Finally, Reg settled back and muttered,

“I’m still angry with you.”

“Yeah,” Sirius smiled, “I’m angry at you, too.”

They lay side by side, as they had so many nights before, breathing in tandem. Sirius was quiet,
allowing some of the tension between them to bleed away.

“D’you remember when we used to talk about running away?” He whispered. A smile ghosted
Reggie’s face.

“Yeah. To live in a cave.”

“The one out in the woods behind Uncle Cygnus’s place, remember?”

Regulus nodded. Sirius could feel the blankets shifting under both their heads.

“And then one summer you convinced me to sneak off and explore it—”

“Did not! That was your idea—you said we had to get it ready!”

“Did I?”

“Yes! You made me carry that blanket!”

Sirius laughed quietly, “Right, okay, I remember that.”

“And then we got there, and I got attacked!”

Now Sirius was pressing his face into one of the pillows, trying to muffle his laughter. “That bat!”
He gasped, “It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen—you were terrified!”

“I thought I was going to die!”

They were both laughing now, shushing each other and giggling into the pillows. When they’d
both calmed down and caught their breath, Sirius turned to face his brother, smiling. Reg smiled
back.

After a moment, Sirius whispered,

“Are you nervous?”

Regulus hesitated, then nodded. Sirius gave him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t be. I was scared shitless, especially at the sorting—but it really doesn’t matter. You’re
going to love Hogwarts, I promise.”

“Thanks,” Reg whispered, smiling back. Sirius grinned, bolstered by this breakthrough—finally, he
was getting somewhere with his brother. He continued to talk, excited,

“The Gryffindor common room is amazing, you can see all of the grounds from the tower, and you
have to share a room but it’s okay because everyone is really nice—and I know my friends’ll be
excited to meet you, we’ve been working on this map, and you can help—”

“Wh--wait, wait, Sirius, stop.” Regulus shook his head, sitting up again, and Sirius paused.

“What?”

Reggie was staring at him with an unfamiliar expression—a strange mixture of exasperated guilt
and irritation. He scanned Sirius’s face, as if he was searching for something.

“I’m...you know I’m not going to be in Gryffindor, right?”

Sirius snorted. “Well, you’re certainly not going to be in Slytherin.”

His brother recoiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Regulus looked hurt, so Sirius rushed to explain,

“It's not a bad thing, Reg! It’s good! I mean, me and you, we’re just not like...y’know...” His voice
trailed off. He’d been trying to say, We’re not like the rest of our family, but now that spark of
resentment was back in Reggie’s eyes, and he was frowning deeply.

“You might not be,” he whispered harshly, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not.”

Sirius finally sat up, staring incredulously. “Oh, come on,” he tried to smile, “It’s not like you
really want to be in Slytherin, do you?”

Of course they both felt like they were supposed to be in Slytherin—they'd grown up in the same
household, after all. But Sirius thought he understood what Reg was going through. He
remembered the pressure he’d felt to get sorted into the right house, and what a relief it had been
when he was finally able to let go of an expectation that he’d never actually wanted to live up to.
He only wished that he’d had someone to tell him that it was alright to not want to be in Slytherin.

But Regulus shook his head. “So what if I do?” His voice was defensive. Sirius blinked.

“But...you don’t, do you?” he leaned forward, searching his brother’s face, trying to understand.
But Regulus pulled back, looking away. “Reggie? You don’t want to be in Slytherin?”

“I think you should go back to bed.”

“No, answer my question! You don’t seriously want to, do you?”

Now Reg was even more defensive, glaring petulantly. “Just because we’re brothers doesn’t mean
we always have to want the same things!”

Sirius fell silent, stunned. He tried to process what Reg was saying, but his mind rebelled against it.
There was no way that Regulus—his Reggie, his little brother—actually wanted to be in Slytherin,
right?
When he didn’t respond, Regulus huffed and lay back down. He curled up, turning his back to
Sirius, and whispered,

“I think you should go.”

This time, Sirius didn’t argue.

* * *

The next day, Walpurga fussed over Reggie at the train station, smoothing his hair and making
sure he’d brought his wand. Before they boarded, she even leaned down to kiss the top of his head,
murmuring,

“Make us proud, darling!”

Sirius rolled his eyes. His mother didn’t even spare him a parting glance as they boarded the train,
Regulus falling into step behind him.

Reg was still annoyed with him, and he only grew more irritated when Sirius disobeyed their
mother’s instructions to sit with their cousin and dragged Regulus into an empty carriage. He took
a seat in the corner, grumbling and crossing his arms, and Sirius sighed in exasperation. He was
just about to give Reggie a piece of his mind when the compartment door slid open.

A head poked in, messy black hair and crooked glasses and a broad grin.

“Thought we saw you come in here!” Crowed James, strolling in. Peter followed after, saying, “Hi,
Sirius!”

“Long time no see!” Sirius grinned back, “Where’s Remus?”

“Dunno,” James said, hauling his trunk onto the luggage rack, “We didn’t--oh, hang on, I think I
see him out there!” He left his trunk hanging haphazardly, only halfway onto the rack, and threw
open the window to yell,

“Oi, baldy!” James waved furiously, and when he pulled his head back in his eyes were bright.
“Got his head shaved again. D’you think that’s a muggle thing?”

Sirius and Peter both shrugged, but they didn’t have much time to speculate. A few moments later,
the door opened again, and Remus stepped in.

“Lupin!” Peter leapt to his feet, excited. There was an awkward moment as both boys stood there,
clearly unsure of what to do, until Pete stiffly patted Remus’s shoulder.

“Hiya lads,” he was smiling, eyes bright, “How’s it been?”

“We should be asking you!” James teased, punching his arm, “Not one owl all summer!”

Sirius noticed Remus’s furtive glance, but he didn’t say anything. He’d known better than to tell
the other boys about Remus’s letter, as it would have revealed his reading secret—and besides, it
made Sirius feel sort of special that he was the only one Lupin had written to.

“You know I’m practically a muggle over the holidays,” Remus hedged, “Couldn’t even get into
my trunk to do homework; they locked it up.”

James looked as if he were about to respond, but Regulus, sitting in the corner, made a quiet noise
of disgust, lip curling. Remus looked over at him, frowning, and Sirius wanted to throttle his little
brother. Would it kill him to be civil?

“This is Reg,” Sirius nodded nonchalantly, not wanting to give the satisfaction of a reaction, “Say
hello, Reggie.”

“It’s Regulus,” he sniffed, indignant. Since when? Sirius wanted to say, and didn’t. Instead, he
raised an eyebrow.

“My darling brother.”

“Hi, Regulus,” James gave a friendly smile, offering his hand, “I’m James.”

“Potter.” Regulus stared down at the hand like it was a dog that might bite him.

Sirius slapped him around the head,

“Stop being such a little prick,” he snapped, “These are my friends.”

“I didn’t want to sit here,” Regulus pouted, “You made me.”

“Oh, go on, piss off, then. Dunno why I bothered.”

Sirius tried to tamp down on the anger that was now boiling in his veins. Reg seemed just as upset,
shooting him a stony glare as he exited the car and slamming the door on his way out.

“Wow, he really has that Black family charm.” James joked, after a moment of awkward silence.
Sirius knew that his friend was trying to cheer him up, but he could only shake his head and slouch
against the window as the train pulled out of the station.

“Shouldn’t have expected anything else,” Sirius muttered, “He’s totally brainwashed. And annoyed
with me. I shouldn’t have been gone all summer.”

“Reckon he’ll be in Slytherin, then?”

Sirius knew that James was just trying to sympathize, but the question left a sour taste in the back
of his throat.

“Probably,” he glowered, “He knows I won’t talk to him, if he is. Rather he was in Hufflepuff.”

The others didn’t seem to know how to respond to his dark mood—luckily, the train was picking
up speed, giving Sirius an excuse to stare out the window and away from his friends. James
carefully steered the conversation away from brothers and Hogwarts houses, chatting with Peter.

Across from him, Remus was pulling a book and his wand out of his suitcase. Sirius perked up,
remembering that Remus had been unable to read all summer. As the other boy pretended to
scratch at his ear, subtly casting the spell, Sirius leapt out of his seat and pulled his broom off the
luggage rack to distract the others.

James and Peter didn’t seem to notice anything—they were just relieved to see that Sirius was
finished sulking. Of course, talking about brooms led to talking about quidditch, and pretty soon
the three of them were telling Remus all about their summer. He listened politely as they talked
about fishing and flying kites, but he left the book open on his lap, and his smile was tight. Sirius
wondered what was bothering him—but whatever it was, it was forgotten when the trolley came
around. He and James pooled their pocket money, and the four of them feasted on chocolate frogs
and pumpkin pasties.

* * *

The Sorting ceremony that year was almost as excruciating as the previous one. Sirius tried not to
let his anxiety show, but he was on the edge of his seat as Reggie’s name was called.

He knew what his brother had said—knew that Regulus insisted he would be in Slytherin. But
hadn't Sirius said the exact same thing?

He held his breath as the hat slipped over his brother’s head. Reg just had to be in Gryffindor, he
knew it, that was his brother, and they’d always done everything together, and they were supposed
to be housemates, anything else just wouldn’t make sense, because Reggie wasn’t like—

“Slytherin!”

Sirius released his breath, feeling as though he’d just been punched in the gut. He watched Reggie
hurry over to the Slytherin table, where Narcissa was beaming at him. He watched as Reg sat
down, smiling, watched as Severus bloody Snape leaned over to pat his brother on the back,
sneering.

“What’s his problem?!” Peter asked peevishly, as the feast appeared across the table, “You’d think
he’d get over a few stupid pranks.”

Look at me, Sirius was thinking, staring at his brother’s back, Come on, you traitor, turn around!

“More like he needs to get over Evans,” James said in a low voice. That got Sirius’s attention—he
turned, along with Peter and Remus, to look at James, awaiting an explanation.

“Ol’ Snivellus is clearly madly in love with a certain carrot-topped Gryffindor,” James grinned
mischievously, winking at Lily. She rolled her eyes and turned around pointedly, putting her back
to him. Sirius was glad for the distraction.

“So because we got the bird he fancies, he’s going to be a pain in the arse for the next six years?”
(At the beach that summer, they’d overheard a group of older muggle boys talking about birds. It
had been a very confusing eavesdropping session, until Sirius figured out that “birds” just meant
girls. Now, he felt very mature slipping the word into casual conversation.)

“Exactly.” James confirmed, nodding decisively.

“Nah,” Sirius disagreed, wrinkling his nose, “No one could care that much about a girl.” James
shrugged.

“If you say so. Must still be annoyed about that time Remus punched him, then.”

Sirius laughed, remembering how stupid Snape had looked clutching his bloody nose. He felt a bit
better as he started to eat, though the extra space he’d left on the bench next to him remained
conspicuously empty. Who gave a toss about Reg? He had all the friends he needed anyway, right
here at the Gryffindor table.
Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "Cry Baby", originally recorded in 1963 by Garnet Mimms
and the Enchanters but I'm thinking of the 1971 version by Janis Joplin (SO good)
Second Year: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

By the time dinner ended, Sirius was feeling much more like himself. James was telling a story that
made Peter laugh so hard that he snorted pumpkin juice out of his nose, which sent all the boys into
hysterics. Sirius could almost forget that his little brother was sitting just a few feet away—almost.

So Reg had been sorted into Slytherin—fine. It was over and done, and Sirius told himself firmly
that there was no changing it now, so there was really no use in dwelling on it (or trying to unpick
the tangled snarl of emotions it had created in his chest). Instead, he decided to do what he did best:
find a new distraction. Luckily, he already knew what that would be.

Over the summer, Sirius had had a much easier time reaching Andromeda—she was able to send
mail directly to the Potters, instead of using the much slower muggle post. Hoping to take
advantage of the situation, Sirius had begged her to send him more muggle music. As his favourite
cousin, she had, of course, obliged.

Sirius had no way of knowing, when the flat brown package showed up on the Potters’ doorstep,
that his life was about to change. He didn’t realize, as he tore off the paper, that what he held in his
hands was not a simple record, but a door to an entirely new world. He didn’t think, as he set the
needle on his record player, that the entire course of his future would irrevocably change.

It was unlike anything he had ever heard. The first song took his breath away—the second gave it
back. He was transported, body glued to the carpet as his soul dipped up and down with the music.
Sirius was sure that there must be some sort of magic imbued into the sound.

David Bowie—that was the name of the artist. He stared at the picture on the album cover. Bowie
stood with his leg hitched up and a guitar slung over one shoulder, clothed in an electric blue
jumpsuit that was unbuttoned nearly to the waist. He was the coolest person Sirius had ever seen—
his heart did a funny little flip, looking at him.

He begged Andromeda to send him any and all things Bowie—she obliged, passing along a poster
and some magazines and promising to pick up his other albums when she could. Sirius flipped
through the pictures of the rockstar, awestruck. He was unlike anyone, striking and alien and so
bloody cool.

James and Peter didn’t get it, of course. Sirius had all but given up on converting them—they
clearly lacked all sense of taste when it came to the finer things in life. James only had room for
quidditch in his brain, and Peter was entirely focused on James. But Remus—Sirius had been
looking forward to the moment when they were both back at Hogwarts and could listen to the
album together, knowing that Remus would understand.

But Lupin shook him off after dinner, mumbling something about the hospital wing and hurrying
away. Sirius frowned at his retreating form, mentally counting the days—but it wasn’t a full moon
that night. Still, he knew better than to question Remus about anything having to do with his
mysterious illness, and returned sulkily to the dorm to wait.

As he set up his record player, James shot him a look.

“Not this again,” he moaned, “You’ve already made us listen to that Stardust bloke a billion times
this summer.”

“Yeah, but Remus hasn’t heard it,” Sirius shot back, laying out his new albums on the bed. James
sat up.

“Where is Remus?”

“Hospital wing.”

“Huh. He’s sick quite a lot, isn’t he…”

Sirius turned, and was a bit alarmed to find a pensive expression on James’s face. He tried to brush
it off, saying quickly,

“Bet you’d be sick too, if you’d had to spend the whole summer around muggles.”

James chuckled. “Yeah, s’pose so.” He let it drop, turning to Peter, who wanted to play chess.
Sirius breathed a sigh of relief.

When Remus finally returned to the dorm, Sirius sat up, excited.

“Lupin!” He exclaimed, “You have to hear this!”

“Thank Merlin you’re here,” James groaned. He had finished his game of chess with Peter, and
was flipping through a quidditch magazine on his bed. “He’s been banging on about that muggle
singer all summer.”

“He’s not a muggle!” Sirius insisted, irritated, “He has to be a wizard. Has to be! You should see
the clothes he wears…”

Remus crossed the room and looked down curiously at the record sleeve, picking it up. A small
smile crossed his lips.

“Oh, Bowie! Yeah, I like him. I don’t think he’s a wizard, though.”

Sirius deflated a bit. He’d been excited to introduce Remus to the music—but of course he’d
already heard it, living with muggles all summer. Catching his expression, Remus said quickly,

“I’ve heard Starman a lot, on the radio, but no one at St. Eddy’s has the album!”

Sirius perked up again—Starman was good, but Remus was going to be blown away when he
heard the rest of the record! He eagerly fixed the needle in place, ignoring James’s long-suffering
sigh. Their friend pointedly left the room, magazine under his arm, but Sirius kept his eyes on
Remus. He wanted to see his face as he heard the music for the first time.

The slow, airy drumbeat of Five Years began. Remus got comfortable on the edge of the bed,
closing his eyes to listen.

Pushing through the market square

So many mothers sighing

News had just come over

We had five years left of crying…

Sirius watched his friend’s face greedily. An awestruck smile tugged at his lips with the crescendo,
until Bowie was shouting,

Your face! Your race! The way that you talk!

I kiss you! You’re beautiful! I want you to walk!

As the song ended, fading out in a chaotic swirl of violins, Remus opened his eyes and met Sirius’s
gaze. They grinned at each other, and didn’t need to say anything at all.

Once the closing bars of Rock n Roll Suicide were reverberating, Sirius lifted the needle and
moved it back,

“Listen to Suffragette City again, that’s my favourite!”

It was one of the bouncier tracks, with gritty guitar and an upbeat tune that made them nod their
heads and tap their feet. Hey man, my schoolday’s insane! Hey man, my work’s down the drain!

Remus said that he liked Moonage Daydream best, which Sirius thought made sense—it started off
brash and aggressive, but then resolved into a soulful ballad.

Keep your ‘lectric eye on me, babe

Put your ray gun to my head

Press your space face close to mine, love...

They played it all the way through again, then re-listened to their favourites—and by that time, it
was almost dinner. The two boys sat cross legged on the bed, scouring the album notes.

“Maybe he is a wizard,” Remus murmured, smiling, “He’s not like a normal muggle.”

“Told you!” Sirius grinned, delighted that someone agreed with him, “I’m going to get more, too,
all of his albums.”

“T. Rex had a new one,” Remus said, “Slider.”

“Cool! I wish Mrs. Potter had let us leave Diagon Alley, I even got some muggle money from
Gringotts.”

“What is Diagon Alley?” Remus asked, after a moment.

Sirius blinked—it hadn’t even occurred to him that someone might not know what Diagon Alley
was.

“Bloody hell, Lupin,” he tutted, “It’s a wizard street, in London. Muggles can’t get in – like
Hogsmeade.”
“Oh, right.” Remus said, turning back to the album notes.

“Where do you get all of your stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“School stuff – your books and your robes…” Sirius glanced down, trailing off as he realized just
how worn Remus’s clothes were. The cuffs of his robes were all badly frayed—Walpurga Black
would’ve had an aneurysm if her sons ever stepped outside wearing something so shabby.

“Second hand, I think,” Remus shrugged, “Dumbledore sends them. Dunno how I’d get to a wizard
street; I’m not allowed into London alone.”

“Next summer,” Sirius said, firmly, “You have to come to James’s place and stay, we can take you
to Diagon Alley, you’ll love it.”

“You know I can’t,” Remus mumbled, looking away.

“We’ll sort it,” Sirius insisted. “Talk to Dumbledore, McGonagall – the Minister of Magic, if we
have to!”

“Yeah, great. Thanks, Black.” Remus smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
 Second Year: Brotherhood

Sirius woke up happy the next morning, with Suffragette City still stuck in his head. He hummed as
he brushed his teeth and got dressed, which made James groan and throw his pillow over his head.
As they headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast, Sirius teased,

“Just you wait, Potter! One of these days, I’ll make you see the light—you can’t live in ignorance
forever!”

James rolled his eyes, taking a seat at the long table. “Music’s just music! S’not like this Bowie
guy’s doing anything that hasn’t been done before.”

“You wound me!” Sirius slumped dramatically onto Remus’s shoulder, “At least I have you,
Lupin. Honestly, what are we going to do with these two?”

Remus only smiled and shrugged in answer—his mouth was already full of food.

James was about to offer a retort when the post arrived, owls swooping in to drop off their letters
and packages. Sirius tried not to look, but he couldn’t help it—over James’s shoulder, a brand new
eagle-owl was settling onto the Slytherin table, right in front of Regulus.

Of all people, his brother had chosen to sit next to Snape. The older boy picked up the letter that
the owl had dropped, unfolding it quickly over Reggie’s protests. As he started to read, a delighted
grin spread across his features, and he looked up at Sirius with a mean glint in his eye.

“Wow, Regulus, your parents are really proud!” Snape drawled, speaking just loud enough to
ensure that Sirius and his friends could hear, “Listen to this: Our dearest son, we were so pleased
to hear the results of your sorting. The entire family commends you on upholding our noble
traditions, and congratulations are in order...”

Regulus was blushing, trying to snatch the letter away from Snape, but the second year kept
stubbornly reading. It was clear that the owl was a reward for Reg, since he had gotten into the
right house. Every word that came out of Snape’s mouth was a barb, a stinging reminder to Sirius
that, unlike his brother, he was still the family disappointment.

His face felt hot. He stared down at his porridge, not wanting to let the Slytherins see the effect that
his parents’ words had on him. I don’t care, he reminded himself, furiously. But shame was a fist
around his throat, making it impossible to eat.

“Didn’t your parents confiscate your owl again?” Peter asked, bluntly. Reg had managed to snatch
the letter back now, but Snape and his friends were still snickering, and the owl was still perched
imperiously on the Slytherin table. Sirius gave a sharp nod and muttered,

“Said I can have it back when I remember my duty to the family and started acting like a ‘true
Black.’ I don’t care, I don’t need an owl.” He felt sick, angry. He wanted to get out of the hall,
away from Snape and his stupid laughing friends.

“What exactly is your family duty, again?” James mused, loudly, making sure the Slytherins could
hear him, “Go ‘round with creeps like Snivellus and Mulciber? Marry your cousin?”

Despite his embarrassment, Sirius smiled, eternally grateful for James Potter.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, matching his friend’s tone, “Inbreeding and creeping are key aspects of my
noble heritage. And picking on kids smaller than me, of course; cheating, lying and cursing my
way into power...”

Snape and the other laughing Slytherins had quieted down, now, and were narrowing their eyes at
the obliquely hurled insults. Regulus was red-faced, brow knotted as he listened. Sirius couldn’t
tell if the expression was angry or hurt, and he decided he didn’t care.

“Well, mate, I’m sorry to break it to you,” James said, not sounding the least bit sorry, “But it
doesn’t sound like you’re a Black at all.”

Now Sirius was beginning to enjoy the performance, and he brought his hand to his face in a
caricature of surprise. “Goodness,” he gasped, “What on earth am I?”

“It’s obvious,” James smiled impishly, “You’re a Marauder.”

Sirius laughed, as did most of the Gryffindors sitting nearby, which lifted his spirits considerably.
What did it really matter if their parents sent Regulus a new owl? Who cared? This was Hogwarts;
his parents couldn’t hurt him here.

“Come on,” Snape sneered, “We’d better get away from all this filth if we want to keep our
breakfast down.”

This sent Sirius and James into near hysterics—it was much too funny to hear Severus commenting
on filth when his hair was so greasy that it looked like he’d washed it with oil. Snape stuck his
long nose in the air and attempted a dignified exit. He didn’t quite succeed, but Mulciber and a new
first year, Barty Crouch, followed all the same.

Regulus hung back. He glanced nervously at his new friends, then at Sirius. The owl sat preening
on his elbow, condescending and unblinking. Sirius waited to see what his brother would do,
hoping desperately that Reg would walk over even as he cringed from the thought. Sure enough,
his brother edged towards him.

“You can borrow it, if you want.” Regulus said, quietly. “I never asked her to send me anything,
but you know what she’s like.”

“Yeah,” Sirius snorted, “I know.”

They hadn’t spoken since their spat on the train the previous day, but Regulus no longer seemed
annoyed with him. The curled lip, the petty disdain—it had all disappeared from his features, like
shedding a cloak. He looked more like himself again, staring at Sirius with wide eyes that were a
little unsure, a little hopeful.

Something loosened in his chest, dangerously. Sirius realized that he missed his brother—that he’d
been missing him for a long time.

Regulus opened his mouth to speak. “Look, I’m sorry, ok – you knew I’d end up in Slyth—”

Before he could finish the sentence, Sirius leapt to his feet. “I don’t want your owl,” he bit out, the
words clipped and awkward, “If I need to send a letter, I’ll borrow James’s.”

He pushed past Reg, needing to get away. He was barely aware of his friends following as he
hurried out of the hall, acid bubbling in his heart. His brother’s words echoed in his head.

You knew I’d end up in...

Sirius felt very stupid, and very small. Reg had said it like it was obvious, like they’d both known
all along. But Sirius realized, as he stormed back to the common room, that it wasn’t true. Because
the truth was that—despite what he’d told James on the train—Sirius had honestly believed that his
brother would end up in Gryffindor, with him.

* * *

Sirius didn’t speak to Regulus again for the next week. Instead, as they waited for lessons to start,
he played The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars on repeat. Eventually,
even James was humming tunelessly along to Bowie.

In exchange, James had them out on the quidditch pitch every day, running the same drills they’d
been doing all summer. He was a maniac on a broom, zipping around like he controlled the air
itself, and anyone could see that he was basically guaranteed a spot on the team with that kind of
skill. Still, Sirius didn’t mind the extra practices—he adored flying, even if it was a bit annoying
having James shouting at him every few minutes to stay on task. It wasn’t like they were actually
in the middle of a game—and hitting bludgers over and over again got boring after a while when
there were no immediate stakes.

So despite James’s admonishments, Sirius continued to loop and swerve, trying to impress Remus
from where he watched them on the stands. Lupin had managed to avoid getting roped into the
quidditch frenzy—he was the only one who could go toe to toe with James when it came to pure,
unadulterated stubbornness. He flatly refused to join in the drills, although he still kept them
company on the field, where he would sit in the stalls and read.

In fact, it was almost impossible to find Remus anywhere without his nose in a book. Even before
lessons began, he wasted all his time doing homework. On Saturday afternoon, Sirius tagged along
to the library (Peter and James were playing chess in the common room), only to discover that
Remus was doing extra reading for their subjects—he'd already finished the set text for History of
Magic, and claimed he wanted to learn more about the medieval alchemists.

Sirius groaned, thumping his head against the bookshelf. “Come on, Lupin, you aren’t going to
have any time for marauding if you keep up at this pace!”

Remus shrugged absentmindedly, eyes flicking over titles. “You’ll be fine.”

“But we need you!” Sirius slung an arm over his friend’s shoulder, trying to get his attention.
Remus glanced around before responding, with a wry smile,

“You know, you’re the one who gave me the reading spell.”

“I know,” Sirius groaned again, “I’ve created a monster!”

No amount of complaining could sway Remus, however. He was just as eager once lessons started,
answering questions in class and completing homework immediately after it was assigned. It was a
complete 180 from the previous year. Sirius and James, who had both grown used to competing
with each other, suddenly found that they had to keep on their toes to make sure they didn’t fall
behind Remus. Poor Peter was left floundering, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about
that.

All in all, there was so much to do that he hardly had time to even think about his brother. Sirius
threw himself into schoolwork and quidditch and spent his spare time planning out pranks. If he
ever found himself with nothing to do and needed to drown out his thoughts, Bowie was there—
and on the nights that he lay awake, unable to sleep, he had James.

When he’d stayed with the Potters over the summer, Sirius had been given his own room. But he’d
ended up falling asleep in James’s bed most nights, talking until they were so exhausted that they
couldn’t keep their eyes open. It had become almost routine, and so at Hogwarts it didn’t feel
unusual at all for Sirius to crawl over to James’s bed. They would draw the curtains and whisper
about their ideas for spell combinations or creative dung-bomb uses or quidditch strategies, trying
to keep quiet while the other boys slept.

Near the end of September, though, Sirius was a bit surprised to find James climbing into his bed.
He scooted over quickly—it wasn’t like there was a rule, but usually Sirius was the one going to
James, and not the other way around. It was two days after the full moon, but for some reason
Remus was still in the hospital wing, so they only had to worry about waking Peter. Unfortunately,
that was exactly what James had come to talk about.

“Lupin isn’t back yet,” he said, getting straight to the point.

Sirius yawned. “He’s been feeling sick—probably still at the hospital wing.” Remus had, in fact,
spent the days leading up to the full moon telling his friends that he wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t a
fantastic lie, as he’d seemed to have loads more energy than usual, but Sirius was glad to have
something to fall back on.

“Yeah, but don’t you think it’s strange that Madam Pomfrey won’t let us see him?”

Sirius shrugged. “Maybe he’s contagious.”

“Yeah, I guess, but...don’t you think he goes to the hospital wing quite a lot?”

A pause; then, “No.”

“Really?” James had clearly been expecting agreement. Luckily, his overabundance of confidence
led him to attribute the discrepancy to his own attentiveness, and he didn’t seem to notice how
nervous his friend was. “He’s in there once a month. And it’s always on the full moon.”

Sirius’s heart sank. Oh no.

“So?”

James leaned in, whispering furtively,

“I think…Remus is a werewolf.”

For a moment, Sirius didn’t know what to say.

Of course, he did his best to cast doubt on the theory, but that only led James to dig in his heels. He
became more and more certain as he laid out all the evidence, piece by piece. After a while, there
was nothing that Sirius could do but ask what James intended to do about his discovery. The
question seemed to catch his friend off-guard.

“I dunno,” he frowned, thinking, “S’pose we should ask him about it.”

Sirius blanched. “Ask him about it? Why?”

“So that we know if it’s true or not,” James said, as if it were obvious, “And…er, if there’s,
y’know…anything we need to do. About it.”

“What d’you mean by that?”

“Well, you know…” James shifted uncomfortably, “In case it’s dangerous.”

Sirius snorted. “If Remus was dangerous, Dumbledore wouldn’t have let him into Hogwarts.”

Now James was frowning again, thinking. “You reckon Dumbledore knows, then?”

“’Course he does, Lupin’s in the hospital wing every month. Reckon the nurse knows about it too,
and probably McGonagall. Not sure about the rest of the staff, though.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right, it’s not as if he could keep it a secret
from Dumbledore…”

“Exactly! So it’s not dangerous, and we don’t need to say anything.” Sirius leaned forward, excited
to be making progress. But James shook his head.

“We still need to talk to him about it.”

“James,” Sirius groaned, “If you were a werewolf, and you were keeping it a secret, and your
friends figured it out, would you really want them to confront you about it?”

James looked baffled. “Why would I keep it a secret from my friends?”

* * *

Despite his best efforts, Sirius failed to dissuade James from his plan to confront Remus. To make
matters worse, the other boy insisted on telling Peter everything they’d talked about in the
morning.

“You can’t just go ‘round telling everyone!” Sirius hissed, “You don’t even know if it’s true!”

“I’m not telling everyone! It’s Pete.”

It was hard to stay mad at James Potter, but on that morning, Sirius did a pretty good job. He gave
James the cold shoulder during breakfast, barely speaking to the boy. When they left to walk to
class, he made up an excuse about forgetting his Defence Against the Dark Arts essay in their
room. As the other two boys made their way to Transfiguration, Sirius ran as fast as he could to the
hospital wing. He had to warn Remus.

When he arrived, Madam Pomfrey informed him that Remus had just been released, although she’d
instructed him not to go to class. Sirius thanked her, then hurried all the way back to Gryffindor
tower. He was panting and out of breath by the time he had climbed all the stairs and reached their
room.

The curtains were drawn around Remus’s bed, fluttering in the breeze from the open window.
Sirius rushed over, ripping them back.

“Lupin!”
He was lying peacefully with his eyes closed, curled on his side. As the light flooded over his face,
he groaned and shielded his eyes.

“Ugh, what?”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, rubbing his arm. He had been in such a frantic rush to find Remus, but now
that he was actually standing in front of his friend, thinking about what he had to say, the words
lodged in his throat.

“What is it?”

Sirius took a deep breath. “Remus, I have to tell you something.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, as Sirius tried to think of how he should say it.
Remus sighed, still half-lying on the bed,

“Well?”

“It’s James!” The words burst out of him, “He…he wants to talk to you.”

“…What?”

“It’s…blimey, this is hard to say, Lupin…”

“What are you on about?”

“He knows! James knows! And he wants us to confront you.”

Remus sat up quickly, eyes widening.

“He…he what? Knows what?”

“About your…you know. Where you go. Every full moon.”

Remus’s face went white. For a moment, he only stared up at Sirius, horrified. And then something
clicked.

“…You knew.”

“I knew.”

“How long?”

“Since last Christmas. I…I didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to make it harder for you.”

Remus just continued to stare as he shook his head, frustrated, and tried to explain, “But James
worked it out too, the lanky idiot, and now he’s decided we all need to confront you about it. I’m
really sorry, I tried to get him off it, but you know how pig headed he is.”

“Yeah,” Remus said in a strangled voice, leaning forward. He buried his face in his hands, and it
was such a posture of utter defeat that Sirius didn’t know what to do.

“It’s ok…” He said, lamely, “I think it’s going to be ok.”

“How?” Remus asked harshly, lifting his head again, “Might as well start packing now.”

“No! Don’t. Look, he wants to talk to you about it, he’s not going straight to Dumbledore or
anything, doesn’t that mean something?”

But Remus had already stood up, pushing past him roughly to open his trunk. He began dumping
things into it, completely ignoring his friend. Sirius felt his heart pounding with adrenaline,
nervous energy fizzing in his veins. Remus couldn’t leave Hogwarts—he just couldn’t! They
wouldn’t be the marauders without him! And who would listen to Bowie with him if Remus was
gone?

“Remus!” Sirius grabbed his shoulders. The other boy flinched, but Sirius didn’t let go, catching
his eye and holding it.

“Listen to me,” he said gently, “Just wait, ok? Just wait and see what James says – he’s your
friend. We’re marauders, all of us!”

“That’s bollocks,” Remus said coldly, shoving him away, “That’s complete bollocks. You two are
the marauders, you and him. Me and Peter are just your pet charity cases.” He turned his back,
muttering, “I’m not that much of an idiot, Black. I’m probably better off going back where I
belong.”

Sirius was frozen; stunned; too hurt to speak. Anything he might have said died in his throat,
leaving a bitter taste on the back of his tongue.

Did…did Remus really think that? A cold pit settled into his stomach as he watched his friend
pack. What about all the time they’d spent listening to music together? What about the reading?
What about last Christmas?

Sirius stared, mute, as Remus continued tossing things into his trunk. He knew his relationship was
different with James, but that was because James was a different person. James didn’t keep secrets,
or disappear off on his own, or draw back inexplicably whenever Sirius tried to get close to him.
How could Remus act like that was his fault? Sirius wanted to say, I thought we were friends, but
even in his head, that sounded pathetic.

“Just wait,” he said, finally. His throat felt tight—he needed to leave. “Just wait and see what he
says.”
 Second Year: Potions, again

He had already bunked off Transfiguration, which would mean detention from McGonagall.
Although his head was still a mess, Sirius knew he probably couldn’t get away with skipping all
his lessons, so he reluctantly made his way to his next class.

Luckily, it was History of Magic, which meant he hardly had to pay attention. In his mind, he
played Remus’s words over and over again, on loop. I’m not that much of an idiot, Black…

Sirius tried to be reasonable. He knew all too well that his friend had a tendency to lash out—it was
one of the things they had in common. Remus was probably just scared—he probably didn’t mean
it.

Except…except Sirius remembered his friend’s face as he’d said it, the slight sneer curling his lip,
the deep anger in his eyes. It hadn’t felt like something drawn purely from the heat of the moment;
it had felt like something that had been building, slowly, for a long time.

James kept trying to pass him notes behind Professor Binns’ back, which didn’t improve Sirius’s
mood. As far as he was concerned, his fight with Remus was entirely Potter’s fault. He ignored the
notes, pointedly, and remained withdrawn and unresponsive during lunch. Eventually, James threw
his hands up and left Sirius to his sulking, whispering,

“I know you don’t like it, but we have to talk to him!”

Sirius disagreed, but he’d already made his objections very clear, to no effect. Besides, he’d warned
Remus already—and James was set on his course of action.

As classes ended and the three boys headed back to their room, Sirius steeled himself. What the
others didn’t know was that he had come to his own, private decision: he was not going to let
Remus leave Hogwarts. Even if it meant gagging James until he could knock some sense into the
other boy’s head, Sirius was firm in his conviction that Lupin had to stay. He had to stick around
long enough for Sirius to prove him wrong—to show him that he wasn’t a charity case (as if Sirius
had the patience for that), and he was a marauder. If his friends had all lost their heads, Sirius
would just have to force them to see sense. They were all he had, now that Reg—well. It didn’t
matter.

James entered first, with Sirius close behind. Peter followed after, wringing his hands, edgy and
nervous. Remus was sitting on his trunk, but he stood when they walked in, staring them down like
he was ready for a fight.

“Hiya, Remus,” James said, with forced cheer. They were all standing, facing each other. Sirius
kept his face blank—the tension was unbearable.

“Hi,” Remus replied, wary.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Look mate, I’ll get right to it, ok?” James ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous tic that left it
sticking up even more. “We’ve noticed…well we couldn’t not notice that you’re away a lot, in the
hospital wing. Every month, pretty much.”
Something hardened in Remus’s face, something sharp and a little mean. For a moment, his eyes
flashed dangerously. Sirius felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Ok.” His voice was sullen, the syllables clipped.

“Yeah,” James nodded, ignoring Remus’s tone and continuing on as if this were any old chat,
“Every month…around the full moon.”

He let the words hang there, sucking the air out of the room. Remus released a sharp breath.

“Just say it, James.”

“Are-you-a-werewolf?” The words spilled out, running into each other. James looked down as he
said it, as if he were embarrassed.

Remus’s eyes darted to Sirius, who held his gaze. I’m going to prove you wrong, he thought, just
wait. Remus squared his shoulders.

“Yeah.” He stuck his chin out, like he was ready for James to try and punch him. But James just
exhaled, silent for a moment before saying,

“Right.”

“That it?”

“Yes—I mean no—I mean…bloody hell…” James ran his fingers through his hair again, turning to
look back at Sirius, as if he expected his friend to save him. You’re the one who wanted to have this
conversation, Sirius thought, keeping quiet.

“It’s ok.” Remus said, voice cold and unyielding, “I’m off. Just let me go and tell McGonagall.”

James whipped his head back around, alarmed. “Off? Off where?!”

“Back to St. Edmund’s, I s’pose.”

“You can’t leave Hogwarts!” James exclaimed, taking a half step forward. Sirius blinked—finally,
something they agreed on.

“I can’t stay if everyone knows,” Remus snapped.

Surprisingly, it was Peter who responded. “We won’t tell anyone!” He said, hurriedly. James
nodded along, and Sirius sighed quietly, relieved.

“We won’t,” James confirmed.

The hard look softened a bit as Remus shook his head, perplexed. He stared at them as if he
couldn’t quite believe what they were saying—as though he had never even entertained the option.

“This isn’t a game. ‘Keep the secret’, or whatever. If other people find out, I will have to leave. It
could be worse than that, they might…” His voice trailed off, and he stared at them, helplessly.

“We won’t let it happen.” Sirius said firmly, taking a tentative step forward. He turned to look at
Peter and James, voice stern, “Will we?” They both shook their heads, wide-eyed.

“Trust us,” James said. “Please?”

 * * *

He agreed to give them a month. Or they agreed to give him a month – it wasn’t entirely clear who
was promising what, or what would happen if any of those promises were broken. The way Sirius
figured, Lupin just needed some time to adjust—he already knew that he could keep a secret, and
he’d make sure that James and Peter kept it, too. All Remus had to do was stick around.

Which he did—sort of. He remained, physically, at Hogwarts. But after James’s confrontation,
Remus withdrew completely. It was just like last winter—worse, even, because now James and
Peter contributed to the tension, walking on eggshells whenever they were all together. Sirius felt
caught in between. He wanted to grab all his friends and shake them.

Of course, he could always talk to James. They spent many nights in whispered conversation, as
Sirius tried to convince his friend that they should all go back to normal and James argued that they
needed to give Remus space. Sirius didn’t understand what the point of the confrontation had been
if they were all going to go on avoiding the elephant in the room, but James insisted that it was best
not to inundate the wary boy with questions or try to force their help on him.

“Give him time,” he said, “Lupin’ll talk to us once he’s comfortable with it.”

Sirius had his doubts about that, remembering their fight. Still, he wasn’t sure what to do except
take James’s advice. So for an entire week, they didn’t say a word about what had happened or
their momentous discovery. It drove Sirius mad. He was just about ready to give up and try to
force Remus to talk to them—to talk to him, at least—but as luck would have it, he didn’t have to.

It happened during a Potions class. Slughorn wanted them brewing ‘pleasant dream’ potions, which
would have to be accomplished over a number of weeks.

“You’ll need to come back regularly in the evenings to check on your potion’s progress – I shall be
marking you on persistence and attentiveness. To that end, I think it’s best if you all pair up so that
you can take it in turns.” Slughorn announced.

Chatter broke out as students began choosing their partners, moving about the room. James turned
to Sirius, grinning, not even needing to ask—but Slughorn raised his voice again,

“No no, I’ve learnt my lesson,” He shot the marauders a look, “You may not choose the same
partners you had last year.”

Sirius looked at James, then turned to Remus and Peter. It seemed obvious enough to him: he’d be
with Remus, and James could work with Pete. But Slughorn was still speaking,

“In fact, I think I shall assign the partners…”

Sirius groaned. It wasn’t enough that Slughorn had to run the most boring class, but now he was
going to force them to work with partners they didn’t even like? Sirius hoped he wouldn’t be paired
with a Slytherin.

He got his wish when Slughorn split up Mary and Marlene, two Gryffindor girls who were
basically joined at the hip, and told them to pair up with James and Sirius. Before anyone else
could say anything, Mary squealed,
“I want Sirius!”

Marlene nudged her friend slyly, and the two of them burst into giggles. Sirius was appalled—he
didn’t want to work with a girl, especially not one that was always giggling and whispering!

He slouched over to Mary’s table, as Marlene went to take his spot next to James. Mary smiled at
him, but he just grumbled and dropped his book on the table, flipping open to the page Professor
Slughorn had written on the blackboard.

“Oooh, Sirius, can you dice the rat tails? Stuff like that skeeves me out.”

He tried not to roll his eyes. This was why he didn’t want to work with girls – they never wanted to
get their hands dirty. (The rat tails grossed him out a bit, too, but he wasn’t about to admit that.)

As he diced, Mary kept up a never-ending stream of chatter. He tuned most of it out, until she said,

“You’re the one that’s always playing Bowie in the common room, right?”

Sirius had just started stirring—he paused.

“You know Bowie?”

Mary rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Duh. Everyone knows Bowie.”

Right—he’d forgotten that she was muggle-born. Sirius perked up a bit.

“Really? What’s your favorite song?”

As they began to discuss Ziggy Stardust, Sirius decided that maybe Mary wasn’t so bad, after all.
Before he had time to question her about Bowie’s other albums, though, their conversation was
interrupted by an exclamation from Snape.

“Eurgh! Look at him!”

Sirius turned. Severus was a few tables back, speaking loudly enough for about half the class to
hear him while still avoiding Slughorn’s notice. He was pointing at Remus, who had his sleeves
rolled up. His forearms were crossed in pale scars, some fresher than others.

“What sort of disease does that?!”

Remus yanked his robes down to cover his arms, flushed and glaring at Snape. He had been paired
up with Evans, and to Sirius’s surprised, the redhead barked sharply,

“Shut up, Severus! Why do you have to be so horrid?!”

“Lily, just look!”

“Mind your own business!”

Sirius swallowed. He needed to say something, to stick up for his friend, but his throat had gone
dry. He remembered seeing Remus’s scars last year, in the quidditch changing rooms...but Remus
said he’d gotten them at home. Why were there new ones? People weren’t supposed to get hurt at
Hogwarts.

James’s voice broke Sirius out of his spiraling thoughts. “Oi, Snivellus, what are you saying about
our mate?”
“Oh, stay out of this, Potter!” Lily groaned, “You’ll only make it worse!”

All the shouting had finally drawn Slughorn’s attention, and he clapped his hands briskly. “Silence,
please! You’re not first years anymore, I should think you’re able to concentrate on the task at
hand.”

Quiet settled over the classroom. Sirius turned back to his cauldron, scowling. Next to him, Mary
was frowning, as well.

“He’s so awful,” she leaned close and whispered, “Snape, I mean. Can’t believe Lily’s friends with
him.”

Sirius grunted in agreement. He didn’t really care either way about Lily, but he supposed she and
Mary were friends.

“He acts perfectly civil in front of her, but the second she’s not around he and his friends say the
most horrible things!” Mary continued, frowning down at the herbs she was weighing. “I’ve told
her a thousand times, but she just says we don’t know him like she does.”

At that moment, Lily spoke up again, calling out, “Oi, Potter!” At the next table over, James’s head
snapped up immediately, glasses fogged over from his cauldron’s steam.

“Huh?”

Sirius glanced back at them, briefly curious, but Lily just said, “Oh, nothing,” and went back to
work. Sirius huffed a laugh at his friend’s confused expression.

“Ooh,” Mary giggled, still leaning in close, “Does James f—"

She didn’t get to finish her question, because at that moment, Snape’s cauldron exploded. A huge
wave of purple foaming bubbles spilled over the brim, dousing Severus and his partner. Sirius
burst into astonished laughter, as did the rest of the class. Snape’s face twisted with rage.

“Oh dear!” Slughorn tutted, hurrying over, “A bit overeager with the beetle husks, eh Severus?”

“It wasn’t me!” Snape shouted, furiously trying to wring out his robes, “He did something!” He
pointed at Remus, who winced away, “He must have!”

This was obviously true—Snape never made mistakes in Potions; he was by far the best student in
their year. But Remus was a marauder, and he knew better than to get caught.

“Did you see Mr. Lupin tamper with your potion?”

“No, but...”

“Come now, boy,” Slughorn said jovially, tossing a green tea towel to the bubble-covered boy,
“We all make mistakes – even you!”

Severus spluttered incoherently, which just set off a new round of laughter—even Lily’s shoulders
were shaking as she tried to keep a straight face.

After the lesson, the rest of the marauders ambushed Remus in the hallway, whooping and
cheering.

“You did it, didn’t you!”

“Brilliant!”

“How did you do it? You’re crap at potions!”

Remus just grinned silently, refusing to share his secret. His eyes were bright with mischief, for the
first time in weeks.

“Didn’t I tell you?!” Sirius proclaimed, heart pounding with joy as he threw his arms around Remus
and James, “He’s still a marauder!”
 Second Year: After Hours

Friday 6th September 1972

Now that Remus was talking to them again, they were finally able to ask him all the questions that
James had insisted they hold on to. That evening, after dinner, all four boys sat on Remus’s bed,

“When did it happen?”

“Does Dumbledore know?!”

“Have you ever, y’know, attacked anyone?”

“What’s it like?”

“Where do you go, when it happens?”

Remus hugged his legs to his chest, looking a bit overwhelmed by their curiosity. But he didn’t
push them away, or snap at them, which Sirius took as a good sign. Instead he mumbled, “Er…”
and appeared to be processing the flood of questions they’d hurled at him.

“I was five years old, when it happened. I don’t really remember much before that. Yeah,
Dumbledore knows. I don’t think I’ve ever hurt anyone. I think I’d probably know, if I did.”

“So when you turn, you can remember what it’s like?” Sirius leaned forward, the curiosity eating
him alive, “Being a wolf?”

“Um…not really?” Remus furrowed his brow, lip poking out as he thought, “Maybe I can
remember feeling stuff, but I don’t think I have a human brain while I’m like that. It’s more like a
really bad dream.”

Sirius’s mind was spinning. He wished he could know what it was like, to turn into a wolf—he bet
it was really cool.

“I always thought werewolves were more…” Pete studied Remus, “I dunno, scary?”

A predictably stupid question from Pete—Remus just shrugged. Sirius spoke up again, asking the
next thing that popped into his head.

“So is that what happened to your dad? Did he get killed by the werewolf that bit you?”

Remus flinched, a bit, on the word “werewolf.” Sirius realized that none of them had actually said
it out loud, yet.

“No. My dad, he…uh…well, he killed himself.” He said it without any discernible emotion, voice
flat, “After I was bitten, so I s’pose it was because of me. My mother – you know, she’s a muggle,
I think it was probably a bit much for her, so she packed me off to St. Edmund’s.”

No one seemed to know how to respond to that. Sorry to hear your dad offed himself, my
condolences? It had happened a long time ago, and Remus didn’t seem particularly upset about it,
so Sirius figured he probably wasn’t looking for a pity party. Another question popped into his
head.
“Have you ever met—” He started to speak, but James cut him off with a sharp look,

“That’s enough, Black, leave him alone.”

Sirius wanted to point out that they’d been leaving him alone all week—but Remus was looking at
James gratefully; he didn’t seem too keen on remaining the centre of attention. Sirius sighed and
dropped it—there would be plenty of time for questions later.

With nothing else to do, they split off to start their homework. Sirius kept darting glances at
Remus, trying to imagine what he’d look like as a wolf. Did werewolves look the same as regular
wolves? He’d have to look it up…or ask Remus, but he supposed his friend might not exactly have
access to a mirror during his transformation.

Eventually, James stood up and stretched, announcing to the room that he was going for a run
before it got dark. With quidditch trials coming up, he was becoming more and more obsessive
about fitness. He pestered Peter and Sirius to join him, but they begged off.

“Bloody slave driver,” Peter muttered as the door shut behind him, “I’ve told him I’m not even
trying out.”

“I think I probably will,” Sirius said, nonchalant, “They need a beater, anyway.” He kept his voice
casual, but all the training with James had rubbed off on him—he desperately wanted to make the
team. For the past few weeks, he’d been fantasizing about walking out onto the quidditch pitch, red
robes billowing, crowd cheering, broom gripped in his fist.

After fifteen minutes of work, Sirius managed to convince the other two boys to abandon their
academic pursuits in favour of a game of exploding snap, which became rowdy quite quickly. They
put a record on in the background—Peter begged for anything but Bowie, and though Sirius shook
his head in disgust, he benevolently agreed to settle for the Beatles.

Later, after lights out, Sirius crept over to James’s bed. There was wand light emanating from
behind Remus’s curtains, so Sirius cast a silencing spell over them. As he settled onto the blankets,
James gave him a stern look.

“What was that earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“With Remus! You’ve got to be more careful about what you say sometimes, Black, honestly!”

Sirius blinked. “What did I say?”

“He was talking about his dead dad!” James whispered, exasperated, “You can’t just keep
pestering him—he was upset!”

Sirius frowned, thinking back on the conversation. Remus had looked a little uncomfortable, but
that was just because he didn’t like attention. Right?

“He was fine, s’not like it happened recently. Besides, he didn’t look sad about it.”

James rolled his eyes. “You can be really dense, sometimes. Just because someone’s hiding it
doesn’t mean they’re not upset. It was his dad, for Merlin’s sake!”

Sirius pondered this. He had never been very good at hiding his emotions, so he usually didn’t
bother trying—if someone upset you, why not just let them know? But he supposed that Remus
was a very private person, with a tendency to keep things secret. Had Sirius’s question really
bothered him?

“Nah,” he shrugged, after a moment, “Lupin’s fine.”

James rolled his eyes again, giving up and switching topics to talk about the upcoming quidditch
trials.

When Sirius lifted the silencing spell and slipped back out from behind the curtains, there was still
light glowing in Remus’s bed. He paused for a moment, considering what James had said.

Remus looked up, surprised, when Sirius pulled his curtains open a crack. He was sitting up,
reading one of Uncle Alphard’s muggle books—he liked to borrow them. Sirius grinned.

“Hiya.”

“Hi…” Remus whispered back, slowly shutting his book. “What’s up?”

“Saw your wand light. Can I come in?”

“Erm…ok?”

He slipped inside quickly and knelt on the bed, getting comfortable. Remus watched with a wary
look, pulling his legs up to his chest and putting his book aside.

“Sonoro Quiescis,” Sirius whispered, casting the same sound proofing charm that he often used
with James. He glanced down at the paperback resting on the pillow next to Remus—it had a
picture of a desolate, craggy landscape on the cover, and a funny-looking metal contraption.
“How’s the book?”

“Good,” Remus replied, noncommittally, before repeating, “What’s up?”

“I was just talking to James,” Sirius shifted, settling cross-legged on the covers, “He reckons I’ve
upset you, asking questions about your dad.”

“Oh,” Remus blinked and cocked his head, confused, “No, I’m ok. It doesn’t upset me; I’m used to
it.”

“That’s what I told James,” Sirius whispered, vindicated. He knew Remus was fine. James was just
too sensitive.

“Right.”

They both fell silent for a moment. Sirius used the time to study his friend—he was only wearing a
thin vest, leaving his arms and shoulders bear. His skin was a patchwork of red and silver scars,
some long healed and some fresh. There was no pattern, no rhyme or reason; they danced like
lightning across his skin. Snape had acted like they were repulsive, but that wasn’t true—Sirius
thought they were sort of beautiful. Harsh and unforgiving, but beautiful all the same. Like the
jagged landscape on the cover of Uncle Alphard’s book.

“How did you get your scars?” He asked, admiring them. But Remus drew back, pulling the
bedsheets up to cover himself.

“How did you get yours?!” He snapped. Sirius recoiled, caught off-guard. Remus’s voice was cold
and sharp. Had he offended him? Sirius didn’t want to talk about his scars—about his family—but
he supposed it wasn’t fair to ask Remus to trust him if he wasn’t willing to return the favour.

“I…from my parents,” He kept his voice even and controlled, “The Lacero curse, it’s how they
discipline us.” The word left a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Remus’s face softened. “Sorry,” he whispered, dropping the duvet. He extended his arms, inviting
Sirius to look again. “I do them to myself, when I’m…when I change, see?” He twisted slightly,
pulling down one shoulder of his vest. Four long, white claw marks ran through the skin
there.

“Wow,” Sirius breathed, kneeling again so that he could lean forward, studying them. “Why do
you do it?”

“I don’t know, I’m not exactly myself. Madam Pomfrey reckons it’s frustration – because it’s in
my nature to attack people and I don’t have anyone to attack.”

“Where do they put you?”

“There’s this old house…McGonagall and Pomfrey take me there every month, there’s a
passageway under the Whomping Willow.”

“Does McGonagall watch you?!”

“No! It’s too dangerous. I think they use spells to keep me locked in.”

Sirius tried to imagine his friend, locked inside an abandoned house, clawing at his own skin.

“Sounds horrible.”

Remus shrugged,

“Nah, it’s not as bad as back at St. Eddy’s, they have a cell for me there, with a silver door. When I
first got there – Matron thinks I was too little to remember, but they put me in a cage.”

Sirius jerked back in shock. “That’s disgusting!”

Remus frowned, surprised. “I dunno,” he said neutrally, “It was to keep everyone else safe. And I
can only have been the size of a puppy.”

“Cub,” Sirius corrected.

“Huh?”

“A baby wolf is a cub. Dogs are puppies.”

“Oh.”

“So were did you get bitten?” Sirius leaned forward again, curious.

“Oh, um, here.” Remus patted his left side, just above his hip. Sirius watched him, waiting. After a
moment, he gave a resigned sigh and asked, “Do you want to see?”

Sirius nodded, eagerly, holding up his lit wand to see better as Remus lifted the hem of his shirt.
There, dimpling the pale skin, was a huge scar. It was different than the others, bigger, each tooth
clearly marked. It had grown with Remus, stretching and distorting a bit. Sirius leaned in even
closer, trying to imagine the huge jaws closing down.
“Oh wow…” he breathed. He had the strong urge to reach out and trace his fingers over the teeth.
But Remus pushed him away, suddenly, saying,

“God, Black, you’re so weird.”

Sirius just grinned, knee bumping into his friend’s leg.

* * *

Friday 13th October 1972

“So what exactly are we doing here?” James asked, bemused.

“And why did we have to bring the stupid cloak?” Sirius grumbled, “It’s hours until curfew.”

“I’m hot,” Peter complained.

“Shut up, all of you,” Remus said sternly, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Concentrate on wha—ouch!”

Sirius yelped as Remus kicked him in the shin.

“I said shut up.”

“Bloody oik,” he muttered, sulkily, before falling silent.

Remus had dragged them all out under James’s invisibility cloak, insisting that he had a mission
for them. But so far the mission had only involved shuffling slowly through the halls, and now
they were just standing in front of a grotesque statue a hunch-backed witch in the middle of an
empty corridor. To make matters worse, Remus kept sniffling every few seconds, and it was
getting on Sirius’s nerves.

“Have you brought us here to meet your new girlfriend, Lupin?” James teased. Remus was staring
intently at the one-eyed witch.

“Why’d you keep sniffling like that?” Sirius asked, petulant, “I don’t want to be this close to you if
you’re getting a cold.”

“Can’t any of you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“…chocolate. Definitely chocolate.”

“Chocolate? Where?” Peter perked up, glancing around.

“I can’t smell anything,” Sirius said, losing patience.

“Me neither,” said James.

“It’s coming from the statue,” Remus mumbled, only half listening to them. He reached out,
touching the stone through the cloak.

“What?” Sirius asked, irritated, “Reckon the old bint’s hump is packed with sweets or something?”
He was quickly growing bored—when Remus said he had a mission, Sirius had expected
something exciting.

“No,” Remus snapped, “I reckon it’s one of those secret passages from that book of yours.”

Sirius perked up. “Really?!” He looked at the statue again. “Can you actually smell chocolate? Is
that some…special thing you can do?”

“Yeah.”

So bloody cool. Sirius wished that he had super senses—he wondered what else Remus could do.

“It doesn’t lead to the kitchens,” Peter mused, “They’re on the ground floor, a Hufflepuff told me.”

“How can we get in?”

“Password?” James suggested, “Like the common room.”

“Scallywag!” Peter shouted immediately, overeager. Nothing happened. Sirius and Remus burst
into laughter.

“I didn’t mean it would be the exact same password, Peter,” James said, kindly—but he was
chuckling a bit, too.

“What about Alohomora?” Sirius suggested, once he could breathe again. Remus tried it, but
nothing happened.

“That’s for locks, anyway,” James pointed out, “Isn’t it something else for revealing unseen
entryways?”

“Oh yeah!” Sirius nodded, excitedly, “Yeah there is…ummm…Dissendium!” He tapped his wand
on the witch’s hump.

It slid open immediately, leaving a gap big enough for them to file through, one at a time. A secret
tunnel! Sirius’s heart leapt in his chest. They slipped inside immediately, and the hump closed
behind them.

“Lumos!” They chanted in unison, finally heaving off the cloak. James folded it up and tucked it
under his arms, striding out ahead.

“C’mon then,” he urged, holding his wand in front of them to light up the dark passage, “Let’s go!”

They followed after him eagerly.

It was a long walk, down a flight of cold stone stairs, through a tunnel that was earthy and damp.
Sirius wondered who had dug it, and when, and why. His mind spun with all the possibilities
behind their discovery. When they finally reached the end, there was another staircase. This one
led up to a wooden trap door. After exchanging glances, it was silently agreed that James should
go first. They watched him push open the door and poke his head through, holding their breath.

“I don’t believe it!” He laughed, voice slightly muffled, “You have to see!” He hauled himself the
rest of the way through the door, disappearing above. Sirius hurried up after him, adrenaline
coursing through his veins. He heard Remus clambering up behind him.

“Where are we?” Sirius asked, studying the dark room as Peter hesitantly poked his head through
the opening in the floor. Everywhere he turned, he was confronted with stacks of boxes and crates.
It was clear what Remus had been talking about, now—the entire room smelled overwhelmingly of
chocolate and sweets.

“I think we’re actually in Hogsmeade!” James whispered, excitedly, “This is the storeroom at
Honeyduke’s!”

“The sweetshop?” Remus asked—but no one bothered to answer, as Sirius had just ripped open a
box to reveal what appeared to be hundreds of chocolate frogs.

Remus was the only one of them who hadn’t actually been to Hogsmeade, one of the only entirely
magical villages in Britain. All the others had gone on family holidays, and were quite familiar
with the Honeyduke’s merchandise. Sirius was absolutely thrilled as he opened another box, this
one containing boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

It took some time to coax Peter all the way up, but once they’d pulled him through the trap door
the boys spent a good hour exploring the shop. Remus took charge of the mission, directing them
on how much they could skim without being noticed. Apparently, this was not his first experience
with a bit of shoplifting. Sirius felt like a real marauder, sneaking through the store with his friends.

The marauders returned to the Gryffindor common room with their bounty, pockets heavy and
faces aching with grins. One of the prefects took points from them for missing curfew, but not even
Peter could be bothered to care. They ate until their stomachs hurt, and as they all lay in bed later
that night, Sirius called out,

“That’s definitely going on the map!”

 Second Year: Quidditch

Sirius was going to kill James Potter.

It’s all his fault, he thought to himself, seething as he climbed behind the tapestry. If it weren’t for
James, he would never be in this mess—would never have had to suffer the indignity that he had
been made to suffer. If it weren’t for James Potter, and his stupid happy confidence, and his
persistent cajoling, and his enthusiastic assurance that everything would always turn out exactly as
planned, then Sirius would never, ever have gotten into this position. He curled up, alone, angry
tears pricking at his eyes.

It had all started that morning, when James had dragged him out of bed an hour before the
quidditch trials to go down and practice. They’d woken Remus and Peter, too, harassing the boys
until they were all trudging together down to the pitch.

So Sirius was already tired by the time he was pulling on his flying kit—never mind the nervous
adrenaline racing through his veins, James had made him waste all his best flying energy on that
ridiculous, unnecessary, last-minute practice! And James kept whispering about how much fun it
would be when they were both on the team, putting all this pressure on Sirius, like he’d be a failure
if he didn’t make it.

Sirius was jittery with nerves by the time they actually headed out to the pitch for trials. The
chasers were up first, and James was in top form. He swooped through the air like he’d been born
to fly, executing precise turns and sharp dives that nobody else could pull off, zipping about like he
was untouchable. It was clear within the first minute that he was leagues ahead of the other
hopefuls trying out. When he finally landed, flushed and grinning, he shot Sirius a broad, self-
satisfied smile, like they both already knew he’d make the team.

There were only three students trying out for the position of beater—a burly fifth year, Sirius, and
Marlene McKinnon

Marlene was best friends with Mary—Sirius knew because Mary mentioned her all the time in
Potions, and because the two were pretty much inseparable, going everywhere together. But where
Mary was brash and talkative, Marlene was much more withdrawn. In fact, Sirius wasn’t sure that
he’d ever actually heard her speak—it seemed as if the only sound she made was when she giggled
with Mary.

So Sirius wasn’t too worried about Marlene, in terms of competition. She was so quiet and shy, he
couldn’t imagine her brutally smacking around bludgers. In fact, she looked like she might cry if
one even came near her.

The fifth year was much more concerning; he had at least six inches on both of them, and his arms
were thick with corded muscle under the sleeves of his quidditch robes. Beaters needed to big and
powerful enough to knock away the nasty bludgers, and at first glance the older student certainly
seemed to fit the bill more than either Sirius or Marlene.

However, once Madam Hooch blew her whistle and sent them soaring into the sky, it quickly
became clear that there was no need to be concerned about the older student. While he certainly
had the build for a beater, he lacked the precision necessary for quidditch while flying. He couldn’t
dodge quickly enough, and he swung his bat wildly, failing to hit anything except his own leg.

Marlene McKinnon was a different story. She was like a machine, brutally smacking away any
bludger that strayed near her. Not only that, but her willowy frame lent itself to speed—she could
dodge around easily, an important skill for a beater. Sirius felt his face heating in embarrassment as
she flew circles around him.

It wasn’t that he was doing badly—he was almost as good as James when it came to speed, though
he lacked quite the same amount of precision. He managed to smack a few bludgers away, doing
altogether much better than the struggling fifth year.

But Marlene was a monster. It wasn’t even a competition, with her in the trials. When Sirius landed
his broom, he already knew what the outcome would be.

He crossed his arms, ignoring his friend’s nervous smile as they gathered to hear the results of the
trials. It wasn’t as if James had anything to be worried about, Sirius thought to himself bitterly.
Sure enough, the captain, a lanky sixth year named Ranveer Singh, called out, “Potter – Chaser!”
almost immediately.

James broke into a grin, and some of the students around him patted him on the back and
murmured congratulations. Sirius kept his arms folded, stubbornly.

“And for beaters…” Singh continued. For a moment, despite himself, Sirius hoped desperately that
he would hear his own name—but then,

“McKinnon!”

There it was.

Sirius had never been so embarrassed in his life. He couldn’t believe that he’d spent all summer
practicing, just to get beaten by a girl. He was a Black—he was a marauder! He wasn’t supposed
to be second-best.

As the students began to disperse, Marlene and James hung back at Singh’s request so that he could
give them their practice schedules. Sirius was about to leave when he called out,

“Oi, Black, hang back a minute, too!”

Sirius waited, growing more and more irritated as he listened to the Gryffindor captain
congratulating the other two second-years, explaining the practice schedule and talking about
getting them fitted for their uniforms. James was practically glowing with excitement, which just
made Sirius glower more. By the time Singh turned to him, he was ready to storm off the field.

“You did great out there,” the sixth-year smiled encouragingly, placing a hand on Sirius’s shoulder.
He stifled the urge to shrug it off. “We could use a beater for our reserve team, what d’you say?”

James’s eyes went wide, and he smiled eagerly. Sirius gritted his teeth. “No thanks.”

“…are you sure? It would be great to have you at practices, especially because Ardal is—”

“I said no, okay?” Sirius snapped. Singh frowned at him, holding up his hands in a gesture of
surrender.

“Alright, mate.”

Sirius was fuming as he trailed Marlene and James back to the stands. Their friends were waiting,
which just embarrassed him more—everyone had seen him screw it up. He’d been completely
humiliated!
“I got in!” Marlene said eagerly. Evans, the annoying muggle-born girl, was waiting for her, and
the two squealed and hugged. Sirius wanted to throttle them both.

Peter and Remus were both standing awkwardly next to Lily, eyes darting between James and
Sirius like they weren’t sure what to do. Sirius snorted.

“Yeah, well done, McKinnon,” he said bitterly, looking at the ground.

“Thanks…er…you were really good too, Sirius.” She said, awkwardly. He grunted in response.
Marlene clearly didn’t believe it—she thought he was rubbish, with her stupid smug smile.

James shot him a look, but Sirius couldn’t be bothered. He was mad at James, too—he was the one
who’d convinced Sirius to try out, and look what had happened!

His traitorous friend reached out and shook Marlene’s hand. “See you next week for the first
practice?”

“Yeah, great!” She smiled at him brightly, “See you Potter!”

The two girls set off back to the castle, arm in arm, chattering incessantly.

“Sirius, mate, it’s not the end of the world,” James said patronizingly, turning back around.

“I know.” Sirius kicked a tuft of grass.

“You could have been on the reserve team if you wanted, Singh did offer.”

“I know. I don’t want to be on the bench.”

There was a short silence, and then James sighed. “Shall we go for breakfast?” The question was
directed to the other two boys. Peter nodded sycophantically. But before they could start walking,
Remus caught Sirius’s eye.

“Well done, James,” he said, pointedly, “You were amazing, congratulations.”

Sirius flushed, ashamed. What, so James had done amazing and deserved to make the team, but
Sirius didn’t? Was that what Remus was saying? James had done well, but Sirius had just
embarrassed himself?

“Cheers, Lupin,” James grinned. Traitor.

“Yeah,” Peter said, punching him on the arm, “Nice one, Potter.”

“Thanks!”

Sirius walked a few steps ahead of his friends on their way back to the castle, not in the mood for
all the jolly congratulating. But James just jogged to keep up with him,

“You can try again next year, Ardal will have left by then, he told me he was dropping out to focus
on his NEWTs.”

“I don’t care, it’s fine,” Sirius muttered, wanting to be left alone. He sped up, lugging his broom,
leaving his friends behind. This time, James didn’t try to catch up.

Sirius skipped breakfast, not in the mood to hear everyone fawn over James for his new position on
the team. In fact, he didn’t want to see his friend at all—the resentment bubbling in his chest had
hardened into a solid mass of fury, and Sirius thought that if he had to see James’s self-satisfied
smile one more time he might punch his friend in the face.

So he left Gryffindor tower, making his way to one of the spots they’d found while adding to the
map. It was a small alcove, tucked behind a tapestry of a unicorn. There was just enough space to
curl up, and it made an excellent hiding place when they needed to get away from Filch. Now, as
the tapestry fell into place behind him, Sirius tucked his knees to his chest, grateful for the
darkness.

He didn’t want to cry, but his body didn’t give him much of a choice. The tears were hot pinpricks
in his eyes, and he scrubbed at his cheeks as they fell. His nose had started running, and his
breathing was going funny, so he cast a silencing spell and let himself succumb to the emotion
spilling out of him.

He couldn’t explain why he was so upset—James was right, it wasn’t the end of the world, and he
could try out again next year, and it was just quidditch. But Sirius felt as though he kept trying to
make plans, kept getting his hopes up for the future—only to be let down. Playing quidditch for
Gryffindor would have shown that he really belonged here, and he didn’t need Slytherin or his
parents or Reg. But he couldn’t even manage to hit a stupid bludger right; he kept screwing up. It
felt like everything was out of his control, and there was nothing he could do about any of it.

He had mostly cried himself out by the time Remus found him, but it was still embarrassing to be
caught when his face was obviously tear-stained. Sirius scowled and turned away, curling into a
ball in his little enclave.

“G’away Lupin,” he sulked, “You can’t cheer me up, ok.”

But Remus just rolled his eyes and clambered in with him, forcing him to scoot over,

“Budge up,” he said, firmly, “I’m not here to cheer you up, you prat.”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“What you sitting here moping for? Your best mate just had all of his dreams come true at once, go
and be a good sport.”

He couldn’t believe it. First Remus rubbed it in about James making the team earlier, and now he
was here to try and force Sirius to get over it? To just pretend everything was alright?

“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered indignantly, anger flaring back up in his chest.

“I s’pose not,” Remus agreed neutrally, “But I do understand that James really, really wanted to be
a chaser, and he worked really hard for it, and he got it. And Marlene really wanted to be a beater,
and she worked really hard too – Evans told us. So she got it. She was just better than you.”

“Piss off!” Sirius hissed, shoving him away. But Remus continued, undeterred,

“You didn’t even care that much!” He shoved Sirius back, “Not as much as Potter. You only did
the trial because he was doing it, but you don’t always have to be the same. You still beat him in
Transfiguration. You still get the best marks in the year. Everyone likes you. Well, except the
Slytherins and um…maybe your family, but who cares. Peter’s family don’t like him either.”

Sirius laughed weakly, despite himself. Remus made everything seem so simple; it helped Sirius
feel a bit more grounded.
“So stop acting like a little kid and go and say well done.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

They hopped down from the ledge together, letting the tapestry fall back into place. The silver
threaded unicorn used the disturbance to escape, leaving the tiny embroidered knights to shake
their fists angrily at the boys.

Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling a bit embarrassed with how he had acted. Now
that he’d had a good cry, he was feeling much better—it really wasn’t all that bad, not making the
team.

“Did you all have breakfast?” He asked as they walked back to the common room.

“Yep.” Remus said, “James saved you some toast, though.”

Sirius smiled. “He’s a good mate.”

“Yeah,” Remus snapped, “He is.”

They were both quiet after that, walking side by side. Just before they reached the portrait of the
fat lady, Sirius caught Remus’s eye, pausing.

“I don’t try to copy James.” He didn’t want Remus to think he was like Peter, just following along
with whatever their friend did.

“Didn’t say you did.” Remus said. “You compete, though.”

Sirius couldn’t deny that. He looked up again, speaking in a low voice.

“And I don’t care what my family thinks.” He said it fiercely, determined that his friend
understand. Sirius didn’t want his family to ever hold the sort of power over him that they had over
Reg.

“I know, mate.” Remus said, gently. “I know that.”

 Second Year: A Birthday Engagement

Friday 3rd November 1972

Of course, James Potter forgave easily, and when Sirius finally did congratulate him, it was as
though the entire meltdown had never happened. It still stung a bit, seeing James go off to practices
without him, but Remus had given Sirius a lot to think about. He didn’t want to push away his
friends, or let his own emotional turmoil spill over onto other people. A victory for one marauder
was a victory for them all; by the time his thirteenth birthday rolled around, Sirius was determined
to enter his teenage years with a more mature outlook.

The day kicked off with a rowdy round of “Happy Birthday” at breakfast, which by this point had
become a tradition for the marauders. The Potters’ owl flew in to drop off a huge basket of
chocolates from Fleamont and Euphemia, and James had ordered half of the Zonko’s catalogue as a
birthday present. Even more exciting was Remus’s gift; he shyly passed over a small stack of
muggle magazines, Melody Maker and NME. They were full of articles about muggle music, artists
that Sirius had never heard of before, and one even had an interview with Marc Bolan. They spent
most of breakfast flipping through the pages, laughing at the unmoving pictures and admiring the
strange and gaudy outfits that the rockstars wore.

Sirius was in high spirits as they finished their meal, grinning as they made their way to their first
lesson. But it wasn’t to last—as they went to leave the Great Hall, they found their way blocked.

“Sirius.” A familiar voice said.

The last time Sirius had spoken to his cousin was during her sister’s wedding that summer. At
fifteen, Narcissa still had a good six inches on him, and she looked down her nose at his friends
with disgust. She’d dyed and straightened her hair, one long platinum sheet, which still threw him
off every time he saw her. It wasn’t—well, very Black of her, trying to stand out like that.

Even worse, Reggie was skulking at her side, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. He’d
started hanging out more with Snape and that Crouch kid, which infuriated Sirius to no end. He’d
tried to talk to his brother about it a few times, but their conversations now always seemed to end
with one of them yelling at the other. Eventually, they’d just stopped speaking.

“Cissy,” Sirius nodded briskly, refusing to acknowledge Reg. His cousin flinched at the nickname.

“It’s your birthday,” She said, in the same tone of voice someone might use to say, It’s time to
muck out the owlery, or It’s flobberworm-dissection day.

“Well, I was aware.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t snap at him the way Bellatrix would have. Narcissa had always been
less intense than her sister.

“You’re to eat with us this evening.”

“Come and sit at the Gryffindor table if you absolutely have to.”

“No.” She narrowed her grey eyes, “Your mother has given strict instructions. We’ll eat privately,
in the Slytherin common room, like last year.”
“No!” Sirius insisted, frustrated, “I want to eat with my friends.” His parents weren’t even here—
Narcissa could just lie and say they’d eaten together if she really wanted to! He hated the way his
family kept trying to push him around.

“You can eat with them any time you want,” his cousin said sharply, raising her voice a bit,
“Birthdays are family occasions.”

Sirius looked over at his brother. Regulus was staring at his feet, brow furrowed. He looked…
nervous about something. Irritation prickled over Sirius’s skin, but ultimately he knew that
Narcissa could make his life very nasty if he didn’t agree to do what she said.

Turning back to his cousin, he nodded. James reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder,
sensing his frustration, and at the gesture Reggie’s head snapped up. He stared at the hand on his
brother’s shoulder like it had personally offended him, like Sirius was doing something wrong or
hurtful by having other friends. Which was unfair, because it wasn’t as if Regulus was trying to do
anything to help. He hadn’t even said happy birthday.

After setting a time for dinner, Narcissa flounced away. As usual, Regulus trailed after her, and
Sirius watched them go. James turned to him,

“Bad luck,” he said sympathetically, “Want to bunk off lessons?”

Sirius considered it, then shook his head. “Nah. I’ll just take a few dung bombs with me to dinner.”

“We can see if that time-bomb spell works!”

“Perfect.”

* * *

Sirius couldn’t decide which was worse: Bellatrix’s steady stream of insults, or his brother’s
painfully awkward silence. After a few minutes at a table in the Slytherin common room with no
sound other than their forks scraping their plates, Sirius was leaning towards the latter.

Narcissa didn’t make much of an effort to speak, either, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. There
was something odd about the quiet—she and Regulus kept exchanging glances, like they knew
something that Sirius didn’t. He stubbornly ignored them, scarfing down his dinner as quickly as
he could so that he could leave. By the time he was done, Regulus still had half a plate to finish,
and Narcissa had barely touched her food at all.

“Well,” Sirius started to stand, breaking the painful silence, “This has been lovely, truly delightful
conversation, thank you, but you two seem very busy trying to develop some sort of telepathic
communication and I’d hate to interrupt that, so—"

“Wait!” Narcissa grabbed his arm, keeping him at the table. He shook her off, annoyed.

“What?”

“Sit back down,” She hissed. When he hesitated, she released an exasperated breath. “Just sit
down, Sirius, there’s something we need to discuss!”
“Fine,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, “What is it?”

She was staring down at her plate, lips pressed into a thin line. When he glanced over at Reggie,
his brother also refused to meet his eye. Sirius began to feel nervous. Had something happened
with Andromeda? Had one of their great-aunts died?

“Your parents are concerned,” Narcissa finally spoke, and Sirius settled in for a lecture. “You’ve
been blatantly disrespectful of our family and our traditions, and your behaviour reflects poorly on
all of us.” She sounded as if she were reciting from a script.

“Yes, I know,” Sirius interrupted, “I’m bringing ruin to the entire family, I’m going to destroy the
noble Black name with my blood traitor friends, I’m letting everyone down, blah blah blah…”

“This is serious!” Narcissa snapped. There was a fierce look in her eyes that made Sirius sit up a bit
straighter. She seemed—furious. Not just annoyed, but genuinely angry with him. “Your mother
wrote to inform me that they think they’ve been too lenient—that they need to ‘guide you with a
firmer hand.’ Our parents have spoken, and they say they’ve found a solution.”

Sirius frowned—he couldn’t really see what his family could do, as long as he was at Hogwarts.
It’s not like they could stop him from playing pranks, and they couldn’t force the school to let him
switch houses. He got top marks, so they couldn’t complain there. He supposed they could try to
prohibit him from seeing his friends on breaks, but he’d already been able to get around that
mandate once…

“We’re getting married.”

Sirius waited, expecting a punchline. Silence—he looked at Reg, waiting for the joke, but his
brother was staring at his feet and refusing to make eye contact. Sirius turned back to Narcissa. Her
face was entirely serious, drawn with anger and exhaustion.

“…what?”

“Our parents have arranged the engagement. The betrothal ceremony is this summer, so you’re to
buck your ideas up by then,” Her voice was completely devoid of emotion as she said, “We’ll have
the wedding as soon as you graduate.”

It didn’t make any sense. He was thirteen! The Blacks married young, sure, but not before they
were of age…and Narcissa?!

“But we’re cousins,” he said, numbly.

She laughed, dry and humourless. “Hasn’t stopped our family before.”

“No, that’s disgusting! I’m not marrying you!”

Something snapped behind Narcissa’s eyes; she flushed with rage. “You think I want to marry
you?! This is all your fault, you stupid little prat!” She hissed, “You just had to be the centre of
attention, playing rebel with your little friends—you and Andromeda, you’re as bad as each other,
getting herself knocked up by a bloody muggle—and now you’ve gone and dragged me into it,
when I already have Luc—” Her voice choked off abruptly, and Sirius was shocked to see tears in
her eyes. She shoved away from the table, throwing him one last murderous glare.

“Happy birthday, Sirius.”

Narcissa strode off to her room without another word. He watched her go, curtain of pale hair
swinging behind her.

In the silence left behind, he turned to Reg.

“S’pose you knew about this then?”

His brother shook his head, helplessly, “Narcissa showed me the letter, but I—”

“Right. Yeah. Great.” Sirius stood, too, shaking his head in disgust. “Some brother you are.” He
left before Regulus had a chance to respond.

As he made his way back to Gryffindor tower, Narcissa’s words rang in his head. This is all your
fault, you stupid little prat!

It couldn’t be real, could it? Marriage? Of all things, his parents expected that to fix him? Sirius
felt numb, trying to imagine himself placing a ring onto his cousin’s finger, the way Rodolphus
Lestrange had at Bellatrix’s betrothal ceremony. He shuddered.

Peter and James found him like that, stricken and wandering the dungeons. He’d ended up going
the opposite direction than he was supposed to; he hadn’t even noticed, just kept walking. They
ushered him under the invisibility cloak with them, and Sirius was too numb to even ask why
they’d brought it—there was still plenty of time before curfew. James kept asking what had
happened, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to speak the words out loud. I’m getting married.

“They’re insane,” he mumbled, distantly, “My family’s insane. It’s horrendous, my mother’s gone
crazy—she’s lost her mind. Disgusting, appalling…”

He was still distracted as they returned to their room, remembering how Narcissa’s face had
twisted up as she snapped at him. And Andromeda—she was pregnant? When had that happened?
Remus sat up, shooting James a concerned look.

“What’s up?”

“It’s terrible,” Sirius said, “Really, really terrible. Vile. The worst, most unthinkable…Horrific.”
He collapsed, face down, on his bed.

“He’s been like this since we found him in the dungeons,” James explained, “Nothing but
adjectives.”

“Superlative adjectives.” Sirius corrected, speaking into his pillow.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re being dramatic.” James sighed from somewhere behind him, “Want to tell us
why?!”

Sirius rolled onto his back, staring up at the canopy of his bed. Just say it, he thought, just tell
them. You’ll have to tell them, eventually.

“I’m getting married.”

The words sounded all wrong, sour on his tongue, heavy where they fell into the quiet of the room.

“What?!” All three of his friends spoke simultaneously, shock evident in their voices. Sirius
couldn’t bring himself to look at them, yet. It was easier to speak when he couldn’t see their faces.

“Narcissa told me,” he kept his voice flat, emotionless, “Usually they wouldn’t make a match until
I was of age, like with Bellatrix, but Cissy says they’ve decided to tighten the reigns in my case.”
“Make a match?!” James sounded flabbergasted, “The Blacks don’t still have arranged marriages,
surely?”

“Of course we do,” Sirius sighed, numb, “Noble and most ancient, et cetera, et cetera…They want
to hold the betrothal ceremony next summer. I’m supposed to ‘buck my ideas up’ in time for it.
Then the wedding is happening as soon as I finish Hogwarts. Doubt you lot’ll be invited.”

“That’s mad! That’s medieval! That’s…”

“My mother,” Sirius supplied, glumly.

“Um,” Remus spoke up, cautiously, “Who are you supposed to be marrying?”

Sirius sat up.

“That’s the twist in the dragon’s tail, isn’t it,” he said bitterly, anger bleeding back into his voice,
“That’s my mother’s pièce de résistance!”

“Who?!”

“Cissy.”

“What?!”

“Narcissa?!”

“Your cousin?!”

“Narcissa Black?!”

Sirius nodded. His friends’ faces displayed a mix of outrage, shock, and disgust. He suddenly felt
very tired, and lay back down on his bed.

“Apparently they’re looking to reign her in too. Andromeda – her sister, y’know, the normal one –
she’s pregnant, according to Cissy. They’re closing ranks, trying to prevent any more dirty blood
from getting in.”

“But there have to be other pure blood girls out there,” James reasoned, “And I thought she and that
Malfoy creep were going out?”

“They are,” Sirius said, remembering his cousin’s watery eyes, “She’s as pissed off about it as I
am, believe me. Talk about wedded bliss.”

“What about Regulus?” James asked. Sirius frowned.

“What about him?” He said sourly, “Think he fancies her instead?”

Before James could respond, Peter piped up,

“She’s quite pretty.”

Sirius glared at him with all the venom he could muster. “She’s my cousin you dolt.”

“All right,” James said sternly, holding up a hand as if he could sense his friend’s dangerous mood,
“No need for name calling, we’re just trying to help.” Sirius bit his tongue as James continued, “I
meant, did Regulus say anything? He was there, wasn’t he?”
“Not. A. Word.” Sirius growled. His friends seemed to think better of mentioning his brother again
after that.

“Right, well.” James pushed his glasses up his nose, “We’ve got until next summer. And we’ve got
Narcissa on our side, believe it or not. So I’d say it’s not hopeless.”

But Sirius wasn’t in the mood for Potter’s blind optimism. “You don’t know what hopeless is until
you’ve met my mother,” He muttered, voice dark.

“And she doesn’t know what a marauder is.” James retorted, unperturbed. “Gentlemen,” he
clapped his hands together, decisively, “We have a new mission.”
 Second Year: Assumptions
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The problem with trying to find a solution to his upcoming betrothal was that anytime Sirius
thought about it, his chest got tight, and his throat closed up, and he felt very hot and very cold all
at once. It was much easier not to think about it at all; to pretend it wasn’t happening, or that it was
happening to someone else. In fact, the more Sirius tried to picture it, the more he became sure that
he would never be getting married. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to spend the rest of his life
cooped up in a house with some girl.

So although James had tasked the marauders with a new mission, they didn’t spring into action
immediately. Instead, they spent most of the weekend after his birthday indulging Sirius’s whims.
They listened to Bowie; they explored a new secret passage that led from a fourth-floor broom
cupboard to a painting near the astronomy tower; they dropped ink-spraying quills into
unsuspecting students’ bags. He knew that his friends were all treading carefully, exchanging
worried glances behind his back and treating him a little more gently than usual. But Sirius was
perfectly willing to take advantage of the special treatment if it meant he got his way for a full
weekend—Peter didn’t even whinge once, and he could always be counted on to complain.

Besides, the only way to show his friends that he was fine and that they didn’t have to tiptoe
around him was to act fine. Sirius plastered on a smile and dragged them all into a whirlwind of
activity that left them too exhausted on Saturday night to discuss anything having to do with his
family. He slept deeply, dreaming that he was choking on platinum blonde hair.

It wasn’t until Sunday afternoon that his luck began to run out. James was endlessly patient, but
Remus and Peter had begun to have enough of doing whatever Sirius said. After lunch, he
suggested that they test out the time-delay spell on the dung bombs (he’d forgotten to leave them
in the Slytherin common room, what with everything that had happened). Remus groaned.

“I do have homework, y’know.”

They were lying in their dorm room, Ziggy Stardust playing for the thousandth time in the
background. Sirius threw a sock at him.

“Swot.”

“Tosser.”

Peter swallowed, darting a nervous glance at Sirius, “I actually really need to get started on my
Herbology essay..."

“Ugh, not you, too.”

“I know for a fact that you haven’t even started that essay,” Remus pointed out, “Why don’t we go
to the library?”

“Does marauding mean nothing to you?” Sirius threw an arm dramatically over his eyes, “Our
noble mission, trampled beneath the feet of academic drivel!” He could feel Remus rolling his eyes
from across the room.

“I’ll help you, Sirius,” James said gamely, “You lads can run along to the library if you want.”
“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go on Pete! At least one of us has to write that Herbology essay—otherwise who’ll the rest
of us copy?”

So they split up, Remus and Peter heading off to the library while Sirius and James took the
invisibility cloak down to the dungeon. Once there, they ended up splitting up again—the
downside to the time delay spell was that they couldn’t guarantee there’d be a victim around when
it went off, and if they wanted to cover as much ground as possible before James’s quidditch
practice in the evening, they couldn’t stay together.

James suggested that they just leave half the passageways untouched, but Sirius insisted that he’d
be sneaky enough to avoid getting caught, even without the invisibility cloak.

“Besides,” he added, “If someone sees me skulking around I can just say I came down here to pay
a visit to my lovely family, can’t I?” It didn’t come out quite as light-hearted as he meant it to—his
voice was too bitter on the word “family.”

Maybe that’s what jinxed it, or maybe his luck just ran out. Either way, Sirius had just finished
tucking his last dung bomb behind a torch when he rounded a corner and ran straight into none
other than Regulus Black himself.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then,

“Where are your friends?”

“Where are your friends?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Regulus huffed. “I’m on my way to my room. Obviously.” Right—Reggie belonged here. Sirius
didn’t. He tried not to let it sting (it still did).

“So? Why are you down here?” Regulus crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.

“I—came to see you.” It was the first excuse that popped into his head. Sirius watched his
brother’s face transform, spite turning to shock turning to confusion turning to something guarded,
something wary. Since when does he look at me like that? There was a pause, then,

“Why?”

He grinned, affecting nonchalance, “What, do I need a reason to talk to my brother?”

The words had a strange effect on Reggie; he seemed to droop a little, becoming smaller. “I thought
you were mad at me,” he said, still somewhat guarded, scuffing one foot against the stone floor.
Sirius shrugged.

“I am, sort of. You’re mad at me, too.”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

More silence. It was incredible, how difficult it was to speak to each other. Reggie used to be the
only person in the world he could talk to—now it felt like all their words slid past each other, never
really touching.
Finally, Sirius spoke. His voice was quiet, even though there was no one around to hear them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was like pulling teeth, saying it—but Sirius had to. He was glad that
Reg didn’t ask what he was talking about, because he wasn’t sure that he knew himself. Why didn’t
you tell me about the wedding? About wanting to be in Slytherin? About the scars? Why did you
stop talking to me?

Regulus smiled a small, unhappy smile. “Would it have made a difference?”

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

* * *

James had to leave for quidditch practice, so Sirius found himself alone in the common room. He
listened to Bowie again, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

It ain’t easy…

It ain’t easy…

It ain’t easy to get to Heaven

When you’re going down…

Eventually, he turned off the record and went to the library to find his friends. Being alone with his
thoughts left him too vulnerable. He felt as though he’d been trying his best to hold a door shut
while someone banged on the other side—as long as he’d had people around him, helping him,
distracting him, he’d been able to manage. But when he was alone, everything he’d shut away
threatened to spill back out.

Peter was still in the library, working on his Herbology essay, but Remus was gone—down to the
dungeons to check on his potion. Sirius didn’t want to hang out alone with Peter; he was already in
a darkening mood, and the small boy tended to grate on his nerves even more when there was no
one to act as a buffer between them. Sirius didn’t entirely trust himself to be civil—even the way
Peter was holding his quill annoyed him, at the moment.

He couldn’t stay in the library, and he couldn’t go back to the dungeons. So Sirius ended up back in
the common room, feeling very sorry for himself as he lay on the floor with a book. It was
something he’d brought from home, full of nasty hexes—as he read each one, he imagined using
them on some nebulous enemy, sometimes Snape, sometimes Mulciber, sometimes his mother, his
family, his brother. This only served to worsen his mood, and by the time James returned from
practice Sirius didn’t want to do anything but sulk.

James tried to strike up a conversation, but he was still in his quidditch robes, which didn’t improve
Sirius’s mood. Sensing his friend’s agitation, James eventually quieted, seemingly deciding that it
was best to let him sulk in peace. He settled onto one of the sofas, flicking Zonko’s bursting beans
into the fireplace and watching them burst into colourful miniature explosions.
Remus found them like this when he returned through the portrait hole, side by side with Lily
Evans.

“Alright, Lupin?” James grinned, raising his eyebrows a bit. Sirius frowned. Since when did
Remus hang out with Evans? He nodded to the ginger girl before joining his friends, and she gave
him a smile and wave.

“Dumped us for Evans, have you?” James asked, smirking.

“Potions,” Remus replied.

“Right. You friends with her now?”

“Sort of,” Remus shrugged, “She’s all right. Hates you two.”

This got Sirius’s attention. He sat up, affronted, as James exclaimed,

“What?!”

“But everyone likes us! We’re loveable rogues!”

“She thinks you’re show-offs.”

James gasped, dramatically.

“How dare she! We’ll have to win her over.”

“Why bother,” Sirius rolled over, going back to his book, “She’s friends with Snivellus, she clearly
has no taste.” He didn’t honestly care much either way. But James seemed to—he asked,

“Did she really say that?”

“She said you think you’re god’s gift,” Remus responded, sounding amused.

“What does that mea—”

“It’s a muggle expression. Means she thinks you’re full of yourself.”

James considered this for a second. “She thinks that?”

“Well,” Sirius could hear the smirk in Remus’s voice, “You sort of are, to be honest.”

James laughed at that, and Remus sat down next to him. He grabbed a handful of the Zonko’s
beans and started flinging them, too, and pretty soon they’d made a game of it, trying to see who
could create the biggest explosions by hitting the embers just right. Once they ran out of beans,
James cleared his throat.

“Forgot to say,” he said casually, “Got the owl from dad today – he’s spoken to McGonagall and
got permission for us to have you over Christmas.”

“What? Really?!” Remus sounded astonished. Sirius frowned down at his book, where he’d re-read
the same sentence four times. He didn’t want to think about Christmas right now.

“Yeah, doesn’t think he can get you for the summer, though. Sorry.”

Remus made an incredulous noise in the back of his throat, and when Sirius looked up he was
 staring at James like the boy had saved his life. It made something twist in Sirius’s chest.

“Just waiting for you now, mate,” James nudged Sirius with his foot, “Have you sorted it out with
your mum? Say you’re going to the Pettigrew’s again.”

“Not bothering,” Sirius said, turning back to his book, “Just going to go to yours without saying
anything.”

He could feel in the pause that followed that his friends were worrying about him. It only served to
irritate him further—there was no way he was going abandon his dignity and plead with his family
for the right to spend time with his mates. In fact, he didn’t want to speak to his mother ever again.

“Mum won’t like it,” James said, hesitantly.

“Don’t tell her, then.” Sirius turned his page, even though he’d hardly processed a single word. He
was going to have to go back and reread later, if he really wanted to learn how to curse someone so
that all their food tasted like toad spit. His friends’ nervous energy was still palpable from where
they sat above him; Sirius dug his nails into the binding of the book.

I’m fine, he insisted to himself, as if thinking it hard enough could somehow transmit the thought
outside his body, and make it true.

Chapter End Notes

song is "It Ain't Easy" by David Bowie

 Second Year: December Moon

On December 16 th, James, Sirius, and Remus waved goodbye to a glum-looking Peter as he
boarded the Hogwarts Express by himself. He’d wanted to stay back with them, but he couldn’t
exactly tell his parents that their werewolf friend needed to wait for the full moon to pass.
According to Remus, McGonagall had already given him a stern lecture about sharing his secret
with anyone else.

Since the other three boys were all going to the Potters’, James had decided that it was best for
them to stay together. This worked fine for Sirius—if Narcissa and Regulus thought he was staying
at Hogwarts, it was less likely that his parents would find out about his true plans. He made sure to
catch their eye as they boarded the train, daring either of them to try and make him leave with
them.

They didn’t.

It was decided that the three marauders would use the floo network in McGonagall’s office to get
to the Potters once the full moon had passed. In the meantime, they had free reign of the castle and
spent a lot of time exploring, adding to Remus’s map. The Gryffindor common room was almost
empty (only two seventh-years had stayed behind, and they spent all their time in the library
revising for NEWTs) which meant they could play music whenever they wanted and didn’t have to
worry about getting too rowdy during games of exploding snap.

There was another reason to be thankful that Gryffindor tower was sparsely populated: every single
morning after the 16th, Sirius received a howler from his mother. He threw them all into the fire,
and Walpurga’s voice screamed demands that he return home into the chimney.

It made James uneasy and irritated Remus, creating tension that grew like a tumour into what
should have been a delightful Christmas break with his friends. Remus got more irritable as it got
closer to the full moon, and Sirius grew angrier with every letter his mother sent, and neither of
them knew when to back down from a fight—James had to step in more than once to stop their
bickering.

On the morning of the 20 th, things came to head. Sirius had just thrown another howler into the
fire, but he couldn’t stop it from screaming and waking his friends. Remus groaned from his bed.

“Just write back to her for god’s sake.” He threw a pillow at Sirius, a bit too hard to pass off as
playful.

“IF YOU THINK YOU CAN ESCAPE YOUR BIRTH RIGHT IN THIS COWARDLY
FASHION THEN YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMING!” Walpurga Black’s voice wailed
from inside the chimney, echoing. Sirius’s stomach was a twisted knot.

“Stay out of it, Lupin,” He snapped, flinging the pillow back at his friend.

“How am I supposed to stay out of it when it’s in our bloody bedroom every morning?!” Remus
growled, getting up now.

“I’m so sorry to inconvenience you!” his voice dripped with sarcasm as he spoke. Remus was being
completely unfair—it wasn’t as if he could force his mother to stop! Why couldn’t his friend
understand the amount of pressure he was under?
“How about not acting like a spoilt brat for five minutes?!” Remus said, raising his voice, “You’re
so bloody selfish.”

Sirius felt like he’d been slapped. He didn’t think, just lashed out, wanting to hurt his friend,
wanting to make Remus feel just as awful as he himself was feeling.

“I’m not asking her to send them! At least I actually get post, at least people care enough about me
to—”

He didn’t get to finish, because Remus had launched himself across the room and knocked Sirius
back onto the bed, where he started hitting him with all his might.

“SHUT. UP.”

His friend’s face was a mask of rage. Sirius had never seen Remus so angry—or, more accurately,
he had never seen Remus so angry at him. Sirius tried to push him away, but Remus was a lot
stronger than he looked; he landed a blow on Sirius’s left cheek that knocked his head back. Sirius
gasped and grabbed for his wand, moving on instinct,

“Mordeo!” He aimed directly at Remus’s face. His friend immediately let go, tumbling backwards
onto the bed, clutching his forehead. It was one of the curses out of the book he’d brought from
home, and for a moment Sirius’s stomach clenched—he’d never used it before, and didn’t entirely
know how bad it was.

“You wanker!” Remus yelled, furious.

“You deserved it!”

“Sirius!” Now James had clambered out of bed, “You cursed him?! You bloody cursed him?!”

Sirius faltered, crossing his arms defensively. “He started it!”

“He didn’t even have his wand on him!”

Remus was now staring at himself in the wardrobe mirror. Half of his face was swollen and red,
the skin stretched shiny and taut. It looked painful. Sirius felt a stab of guilt.

“Does it hurt?” James asked, moving over to stand by Remus. The other boy shook his head,
unconvincingly.

“I’m going to the hospital wing.” He said, and then, “Don’t come with me,” when James started to
follow. He didn’t even look at Sirius as he left the room. As the door shut behind him, James
muttered,

“Attacking someone who’s unarmed is really fucking low, Black.”

* * *

Sirius sat, alone, on his bed. James had gone out to the quidditch pitch to fly a few laps on his
broom, leaving Sirius by himself to think about what he’d done.

The guilt gnawed at him, making him angry. James wasn’t being fair—it wasn’t his fault! Remus
had punched him clean in the face; he’d had every right to defend himself! His friends knew how
awful his parents were, so Remus was being a prat for acting like the howlers were something he
could control. And he had been the one that started it!

But as the anger burned itself out, and Sirius thought about how Remus’s face had looked—shiny
and red, skin pulled tight—he was left with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. James was
right; cursing someone wasn’t the same as punching them. If his first instinct whenever he was
angry was to start throwing around hexes, then how was he any different from the rest of his
family?

By the time James returned, Sirius was thoroughly abashed. He apologized as they headed down
for lunch.

“Look, you were right. What I did...” He swallowed, “It wasn’t okay. I was just—I was angry, and
I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

James gave him a half-smile. “I know, mate,” he said, “But I’m not the one you should be
apologizing to.”

Once they finished eating, they headed straight to the hospital wing. Sirius was nervous, cringing
as Madam Pomfrey rounded on them.

“I cannot believe the two of you!” She glowered, hands on her hips, “Cursing your fellow house
mate! Cursing your dorm mate, for goodness sake! In my day you’d have been flogged! And
Professor McGonagall has informed me that you know about his special circumstances! One might
think you’d have more sense!”

Sirius’s throat felt tight. He hung his head as James apologized, copiously, for both of them—even
though he wasn’t the one who’d cursed his friend. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey gave a small shake
of her head and shooed them over to where Remus was lying in his pyjamas. They stood
awkwardly at the end of the bed, staring at the floor.

“We’re really sorry, Remus,” James started. Remus clicked his tongue.

“You never did anything.”

James kicked Sirius. He forced himself to look up, trying to keep his composure.

“I’m really sorry, Remus.” He hadn’t even thought about the full moon that night—he hadn’t
thought about anything when he’d cast the spell, except hurting his friend. He hated himself for the
cruel twist of satisfaction it had brought when Remus flinched away. But as Sirius met his eyes,
Remus’s face softened.

“I started it. Sorry I hit you.”

“Sorry about the howler.”

“Sorry your mum’s a nightmare.”

“Sorry you’re a werewolf.”

They both laughed, and Sirius felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Will she let you out now?” James asked, “Few hours still ‘til the moon.” Remus’s face looked
much better—the skin was still a bit red, but it was no longer so swollen and irritated. Still, he
shook his head,

“Nah, she wants to try some new potion.”

“I didn’t know there was a cure!”

“There isn’t,” Remus said, quickly, “This is just a... I think it’s to make the transformation,
y’know...easier.”

They stared at him, uncomprehending. Remus shifted self-consciously,

“Like a painkiller, I think. Muggle ones don’t work.”

“Does it hurt, then?” Sirius asked, curious and a bit shocked. Remus had told him about the scars,
but he had never considered that the transformation itself might be painful. He really needed to do
some more research.

“Well, yeah.” Remus said, like it was obvious. He didn’t look inclined to elaborate, and the other
boys knew better than to ask.

Since Remus was stuck in the hospital wing, they decided to spend the rest of the afternoon there.
After all, there were no other students around, so it was just as good as the common room. They
played a few riotous games of exploding snap, before Madam Pomfrey admonished them to quiet
down, making them switch to gobstones. When dinnertime came around, they kept Remus
company, eating the same hospital food that he did.

By the time McGonagall came and chased them out, all the drama of the morning had been
forgotten, and Remus grinned and waved at them as the left. Sirius went to bed that night feeling
very grateful for his friends, smiling dreamily at the full moon out the window

* * *

The next morning, Sirius woke up feeling refreshed. He dragged James out of bed, unable to
contain his enthusiasm—in a matter of hours, they’d finally be arriving at the Potters’! The sun
was bright outside, freshly risen, no moon in sight. Even the howler from his mother couldn’t
dampen his mood—he tossed it in the fire on their way out the door, screams fading behind them
as they made their way out of Gryffindor tower.

Sirius led the way into the hospital wing, a jaunty spring in his step—

And stopped dead at the end of Remus’s bed. James drew up next to him and gasped, sharply,
when his eyes landed on their friend. Before either of them could process what they were seeing,
Remus yawned, eyes cracking open. Sirius forced a smile onto his face, not wanting to cause
alarm.

“Alright, mate?” James asked, with forced cheer.

“Alright,” Remus croaked, hauling himself up. He frowned as he took in their expressions, and
reached for a mirror that Madam Pomfrey must have left on the side table. Sirius held his breath as
he lifted the glass.
His eyes widened slightly, but his face remained otherwise blank as he studied his reflection.

The cut was vicious, although it had already been half-healed thanks to Pomfrey’s ministrations. It
started at the inner corner of one eye, stretching up over the bridge of his nose and diagonally
down towards the centre of the opposite cheek. Sirius felt a bit ill as he tried to imagine what it had
looked like fresh—Remus must have nearly clawed his own face off. It had scabbed over, hard and
black, the surrounding skin red and tender. Sort of like it had been yesterday, after the curse...

“My beautiful face,” Remus said, weakly. He was clearly trying to make light of it, but the smile he
attempted didn’t touch his eyes, which were dark and flat.

“It’s not that bad,” James said, too quickly, “It’ll heal really fast, I bet...”

“How did—” Sirius began to speak, but was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey. She marched over
with a stormy look on her face,

“You two back again!” They backed away quickly, as if they’d been caught committing some sort
of crime. She pulled the curtains sharply around Remus’s bed, blocking them off from their friend.
James blinked and exchanged a shocked glance with Sirius.

From behind the curtain, they could hear the nurse speaking much more gently to Remus. “Ah,
you’ve had a look, have you?” She tutted and there was the sound of a lid unscrewing, “I know it
looks bad, but it’ll pale just like the others. Should be barely noticeable by the new year.”

It was hard to imagine—the scar was so prominent, so angry, insisting you look at it. But Madam
Pomfrey was still speaking,

“Take this with you,” there were the soft sounds of movement, something set down on the table,
“Apply every morning and evening. Does it hurt, still?”

Remus didn’t respond, but he must have shaken his head, because the nurse clucked her tongue
sceptically and said, “Well, even so. It might itch a bit as it heals. Perhaps we could try trimming
your nails down next month? Though I suppose the claws come in anyway.” She released a
frustrated sigh, “Your face must still have been irritated even after we got the swelling down.”

Sirius was going to throw up.

“It’s fine,” Remus said, the words a familiar mantra from his mouth. “Can I go now? I feel ok.”

“Wouldn’t you rather get a bit more sleep?”

“No. I’m hungry – I want to go down for breakfast.”

“Well...fine. Get dressed and off you pop.”

Sirius’s brain was turning slowly into quicksand. All of his thoughts dragged him down, filled his
lungs with silt and made it hard to breathe.

It’s my fault, he thought as the three of them walked down to breakfast.

All my fault, as James tried desperately to maintain a conversation, asking Remus if he’d ever been
tobogganing before.

Scarred forever, because of me, as they returned to their room to pack.

Because I’m no better than the rest of my family, as James left to see if everything was ready in
McGonagall’s office, because even if I’m in Gryffindor, my first instinct is still to curse people.

Because I liked it, as he threw things into his serpent-embossed trunk, Part of me liked it, as he
remembered, again, the grim twist of satisfaction that had come with seeing Remus tumble
backwards onto the bed, Part of me likes hurting people.

He shut the lid of his trunk, wishing he could crawl out of his skin. He wanted to crack himself
open and reach inside, to hollow out all the dark parts. He wished he could blame his parents, but a
small, scared voice in the back of his mind whispered that this was just him. Just how he was—
selfish, thoughtless. Cruel.

He went to stand behind Remus, waiting for the other boy to finish packing. He hadn’t meant to
sneak up, but when Remus turned around he startled slightly, seeing his friend behind him.

“What’s up?”

Sirius took a breath. “It’s my fault,” he said, working to keep his voice even, “I heard Pomfrey say
so.”

“Eh?”

“Your face...I cursed it, then when you turned you scratched it...” He trailed off, throat tight.

“Oh.” Remus raised his fingers to his face, self-consciously, and Sirius had to look away. There
was an awkward pause.

“It’s not really your fault,” Remus said, words a bit stilted, “I mean, I scratch everywhere else, too.
Bound to happen eventually.” It didn’t make Sirius feel any better—they both knew it wasn’t true.

“Why do you do it?”

He’d asked it before, studying Remus’s scars. But he hadn’t understood then, not really—hadn't
been able to picture the pain, the desperation that must be behind such frantic self-mutilation. He
needed to understand. If he understood, maybe he could fix it.

“I dunno. I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember anything at all?”

“Not really. I know I’m always hungry – like I’ve been starving all my life. And angry.”

“About what?”

Remus shook his head,

“Just angry.” Sirius thought he knew the feeling.

“I’m so sorry, Remus.” He said, wishing there was anything he could do—that he had a time
turner, and could take it back.

“Oh, shut up,” Remus rolled his eyes, “You wouldn’t think twice about cursing James or Peter.”

“Yeah, but you’re...”

“Don’t say it.” Remus interrupted him, “Please don’t treat me like I’m sick, or different, or
whatever. It’s one night a month. If I punch you, you’re allowed to curse me, ok?”
Sirius smiled, despite himself.

“Are you saying you’re planning to punch me again?”

Remus threw a sock at him,

“If you don’t sort out those bastard howlers, maybe.”

* * *

Sirius was used to traveling by floo powder; he'd done it all the time, growing up, and the strange
twisting feeling no longer bothered him. He went last, following after Remus. It was his friend’s
first time, but the floo powder didn’t seem to have much of an effect on him, either—when Sirius
stepped out of the fireplace, Remus was firmly on his feet, watching James hug his parents hello.
Sirius was impressed; the first time he’d travelled by floo, he’d thrown up on his aunt’s carpet.

Remus shrank back a bit as the Potters turned to greet their son’s friends, but Sirius couldn’t stop
smiling—forgetting, for the moment, all the turmoil of that morning. Both Mr. and Mrs. Potter
swept him into huge, warm hugs, exclaiming happily about how good it was to see him again.
Sirius felt a swell of emotion—he'd never been welcomed home so warmly by his own family, and
he felt incredibly grateful for their kindness and sincerity.

As they separated, Mr. Potter turned to ask his son about how things were going on the quidditch
team. James shot a nervous glance at Sirius, but he was too happy to feel even a smidge of the
lingering resentment about his own failure during their trials.

“Oh, he’s brilliant,” Sirius said enthusiastically, launching into an account of their most recent
game versus Hufflepuff (a massacre—James had scored no less than two hundred points). His
friend beamed at him, and Mr. Potter’s eyes twinkled as they became immersed in conversation.

They made their way, chattering, through the sitting room, past the plush sofas and tall, wide
windows that allowed the winter sunshine to flood through. In the corner, a gigantic Christmas tree
twinkled with lights and shiny baubles, keeping guard over a massive stack of brightly wrapped
presents.

Sirius loved the way that the Potters decorated for Christmas. His own parents always chose the
bleakest décor—silver and black and deep emerald, dark and sharp and viciously polished. It was
the sort of decorating meant to display wealth, to put one on edge rather than at ease.

But although the Potters were certainly wealthy, their home felt cosy and warm. Colourful paper
chains and streamers draped the ceilings and picture rails, and the portraits were wrapped in softly
twinkling fairy lights. As Mrs. Potter ushered them to their rooms (“For goodness sakes’,
Fleamont, let the boys put their things away before you start planning whatever it is I know you’re
planning,”) Sirius couldn’t stop smiling, feeling completely at ease for the first time in months.
Christmas cards and tinsel were scattered in every room—visiting the Potters, Sirius could see
what all the holiday fuss was about.

They had their pick of the guest rooms, and Sirius immediately claimed the one next to James.
Remus took the next one over, so that they’d all be right in a row. It would feel a bit strange, after
they’d all gotten used to sleeping in the same room. But Sirius wasn’t going to miss James’s
snoring. He had just set his things down when he heard Mr. Potter’s booming voice from down the
stairs,

“Come on then, lads! It’s been snowing all afternoon and I’ve got the toboggans ready!”
 Second Year: Christmas Eve

By the end of their first day with the Potters, Sirius had decided that he definitely understood all the
Christmas fuss. He had always grimaced whenever people brought up the “holiday season,” which
in his experience was just as bleak and joyless as any other time at the Black household (although
with more family members milling about.) But if he had grown up spending Christmases as James
did, Sirius imagined that he would look forward to December with an almost religious fervour.

Before they’d even unpacked, Mr. Potter took them all tramping outside in the snow to toboggan
down the high slopes in the back garden—something Walpurga would never allow (snow got your
clothes all wet and left you dripping on the hardwood floors that Kreacher had just polished!).
Peter popped over from the main village to join them once he heard they had arrived, and they
spent the afternoon engaged in a thrilling and ferocious battle involving lots of snowballs and sneak
attacks that left them careening down the hills on their toboggans. Mr. Potter even joined in, using
magic to make up what he lacked in youthful vigour.

At lunchtime, Mrs. Potter called them all in and didn’t even care when they dripped water onto the
carpet—although she did make them change out of their wet clothes (“We can’t have you catching
a chill, dear!”). They sat around a roaring fire not unlike that of the Gryffindor common room, and
the teacakes she served were so flaky and buttery that they all but melted in Sirius’s mouth (Mrs.
Potter didn’t care if they got crumbs on their shirts, and she let them sit cross-legged on the floor to
eat).

Sirius and James were eager to go back out into the snow afterwards, but Peter had gone home for
lunch and Mr. Potter had gone to lie down. James’s mum didn’t want the three remaining boys out
on their own near dark, so instead she recruited them to help decorate the biggest Christmas cake
that Sirius had ever seen. They smeared white icing on in layers and stuck in tiny magical figurines
made of sugar (Mrs. Potter didn’t care if they got icing on their fingers or the countertop, and she
didn’t make James wash the dishes with scalding hot water when he snuck a bite of the cake, just
shook her head fondly and frosted over the dent). Once the cake was done, they moved on to
wrapping presents for the Potters’ friends and house elves.

As James twisted spell-o-tape around his fingers, Sirius said, “We never got anything for the house
elf. Mind you, Kreacher’s a moody git; I doubt he wants anything.”

“They’ll take gifts as long as it’s something edible, I find,” Mrs. Potter replied, smiling (she didn’t
care that James and Sirius had all but abandoned gift-wrapping and were wholly involved in
playing with the tape; she didn’t snap at them to stay on task or tell them to behave with decorum),
“No clothes, of course, that only upsets them.”

“Tell mum what your lot does to house elves, Sirius,” James piped up, reaching for more tape.
Sirius shifted self-consciously, but since James had already brought it up he laughed, lightly,

“Mounts their heads. Once they’re dead. At least, I think we wait until they’re dead…Kreacher’s
the only house elf I remember.” He hoped Mrs. Potter wouldn’t recoil, wouldn’t think that it was
too barbaric. He needed her to like him.

“Goodness,” her eyes widened a bit, but her features remained free of judgment, “I had rather
thought that tradition had died out.”

“Not with the Blacks.” Tradition had a way of clinging to life, in his household. Sirius thought of
Narcissa and sighed.
“You’re making a lovely job of that Remus,” Mrs. Potter turned to their friend, who was diligently
wrapping a book in striped paper. “Unlike some naughty boys I could mention…” She gave a stern
look to Sirius and James, who were taping their hands to the tabletop. But there was an amused
twinkle in her eye that let them know she wasn’t really upset, not even a little.

Remus only responded with a shy smile. He’d been quiet around James’s parents all day, as if he
wasn’t quite sure how to act. Sirius didn’t know how you could be uncomfortable around Mrs.
Potter—he was pretty sure that she was the kindest, most welcoming person in the whole world. If
you looked up the word for “mother” in the dictionary, you would probably find a little picture of
James’s mum.

After a few more minutes of wrapping (James and Sirius were racing to see who could untangle
their hands from the tape the fastest), Remus yawned. He tried to cover it with his hands, but Mrs.
Potter smiled.

“You’d better go up to bed, dear,” she said gently.

Sirius looked over, frowning. It was only 3 o’clock in the afternoon! They still had the whole rest
of the day to enjoy—he didn’t want Remus to sleep through it!

“Oh, you’re all right, aren’t you, Lupin?” He grinned, “Peter’s coming back in a bit, we can go out
again.”

Remus twisted his lips, hesitating, and shot a look at James.

“Leave him alone, Sirius,” Mrs. Potter chided, “The poor boy’s dead on his feet. Come on, dear,
off you go.”

Remus looked grateful as he stood up from the kitchen table and hurried off, and Sirius felt a kick
of guilt. He’d been having so much fun that he’d almost forgotten about everything that had
happened that morning, and that it had been a full moon last night…James’s past words echoed in
his head: You can be really dense, sometimes, Black.

When Mrs. Potter got up to pour a healing potion for Remus, Sirius jumped to his feet.

“I can take it to him!”

“Thank you, love,” Mrs. Potter smiled warmly, “Now you come here, James, let me see what
you’ve done to your hands.” Sirius carried the goblet carefully upstairs, leaving James and his
mother in the kitchen to untangle his fingers from the mess he’d made of his spell-o-tape.

Sirius’s heart jumped nervously in his chest as he knocked on Lupin’s door. He resolved to be
more sensitive to his friend—he felt bad that he hadn’t considered how tired Remus might be.
Especially after the night he’d had, what with his face…

The door swung open.

“Alright?” Sirius asked, voice a bit hushed even though Remus wasn’t yet in bed. He held up the
pewter goblet, “James’s mum sent you this. It’s a healing draught, I think.”

“Oh, thanks.” Remus nodded. Sirius set it down on the bedside table, studying his friend. There
were dark circles under his eyes, like there always were after a full moon, and he looked a bit pale
—he was clearly exhausted. The cut was still scabbed and angry on his face.

“You ok?”
“Fine. Just tired, mate.”

“Were we too…y’know, rough or something?”

“No!” Remus snapped, sharply, “It’s nothing to do with you two, it’s just the fact that I was up all
night long howling at the bloody moon and trying to rip my own face off. I’m tired.”

He sat down, pressing his fingers to his temples. Sirius’s throat was dry.

“Sorry,” he murmured, the guilt an itch he couldn’t scratch, needling him, “I’ll leave you.” He
slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Sirius never wanted Christmas break to end. He wished they could stay forever at the Potters’,
eating mince pies and playing cards and listening to Mr. Potter’s ghost stories around the fire at
night. Remus showed them how to make something called “snow angels,” and tried to explain what
an “angel” was—Sirius thought they sounded like ghosts, except sneakier, because apparently they
liked to stay invisible. Every night, Mrs. Potter sent them off to sleep with a warm smile and a
fond, “Sleep tight, loves.” Sometimes, as he lay in bed, Sirius closed his eyes and pretended that he
was actually home; that Mr. and Mrs. Potter were his real parents, and James was his brother, and
he would never have to leave.

This fantasy made him feel weak with longing. Sirius had always known there was something a
bit…off about his own family, something embarrassing and different. He knew, theoretically, that
parents were supposed to be loving and warm and kind to their children—at least, that’s how they
were in stories. But he had never really experienced such unconditional love before, and he had
always half-thought it was a myth. Staying with the Potters was wonderful, but it only reinforced to
Sirius that there was something fundamentally wrong with his own home. The thought of returning
made his insides twist.

As usual, Sirius’s solution was to think about it as little as possible. He kept himself firmly in the
moment, refusing to worry about next summer or the betrothal or even about returning to
Hogwarts. Instead, he pretended that he could stay at the Potters as long as he liked—forever,
even.

This fantasy was crushed, quite abruptly, on Christmas Eve.

They were sitting on the hearth rug and drinking warm butterbeer. Mr. Potter was teaching Remus
to play chess, and James and Sirius were engaged in a very competitive game of gobstones. A fire
crackled happily beside them, and the twinkling Christmas lights illuminated the room with a soft,
warm glow. It was dark outside; the clock had just struck nine, and Mrs. Potter was keen to send
them all to bed. Sirius had just pulled ahead in his game with James when a loud, unmistakeable
CRACK came from outside the window.

Sirius ignored it. He was focused on the gobstones, determined to beat James, who had been on a
winning streak for their entire break. The Potters knew all sorts of people; it wasn’t that unusual to
hear someone apparating to their door, although it was a bit late.

“Weren’t expecting anyone, were we, Effie?” Mr. Potter said, looking towards the entryway. Mrs.
Potter shook her, head, frowning a bit. They both paused what they were doing to listen as their
house elf, Gully, scampered towards the front door to answer it.

A low, familiar voice came from the hall. Sirius froze.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, she’s come for young master Black, she’s telling me she’s his mother!
I told them to wait there for you.” The elf was wringing his hands, clearly confused and upset.

No. Sirius’s blood was ice in his veins. It couldn’t be...

James was looking at him, alarmed. Sirius thought he might be sick. “She wouldn’t...” He
whispered, helplessly. Except he knew that she would.

Mr. Potter stood and hurried out to the hall. Sirius could hear his mother’s raised voice, sharp and
scathing.

“Sirius,” Mrs. Potter said, gently, “Did your parents give you permission to visit us, dear?” He
couldn’t answer; the words were stuck in his throat. She clucked her tongue. “Oh, sweetheart,” She
said, and the pity in her voice made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“Don’t make him leave, mum!” James stood up, “He hates them!”

“They’re his parents, James.”

“Sirius!” Mr. Potter called from the hall.

Sirius stood stiffly. James and Mrs. Potter were standing, too, and Remus got up and followed them
out to the hall. Sirius almost told them not to; whatever was coming, he wasn’t sure he wanted
them to see it. Howlers were one thing, but Walpurga Black was a thousand times worse in person.
Embarrassment over the thought of his friends watching battled with the fear of facing his mother
alone—fear won out, and he remained silent.

His mother stood, straight-backed and terrifying, in the hallway. She was staring at Mr. Potter with
open disgust, which only worsened when James and Remus appeared. By the time her gaze fell on
Sirius, she was like a blood-sniffing shark, eyes hungry and violent and flat.

“Sirius,” She said, in a voice that wanted to hurt him, “You will come with me at once. Kreacher!”
She snapped her fingers, and the withered old house elf emerged from behind her robes. “Go
upstairs and fetch master Black’s things.” Kreacher bowed deeply, kissing the silver capped toes of
his mistress’s pointed boots before he scurried up the steps.

“Good evening, Walpurga,” Mrs. Potter said pleasantly, ignoring the tension, “May I offer you a
drink? We were just about to crack out the mince pies, weren’t we boys?”

Mrs. Black ignored her completely, eyes boring into Sirius,

“Put on your cloak. We’re leaving now.”

Sirius steeled himself, gathering his courage. “But mother, I—”

“Don’t you dare speak to me,” She hissed, lip curling in revulsion. Sirius blanched. It was going to
be bad, once they were alone. His mother’s face was a small, horrible window into his immediate
future: it was going to be very, very bad.

“Walpurga, why not let him stay?” Mrs. Potter tried, “I know he’s been a bit naughty, but there’s
no harm done. We can have him for lunch and send him back before dinner tomorrow. They’ve all
been having such a nice time together.”

His mother let out a rough, mean laugh, the sort of laugh that sucked the joy out of the air around
her. She sneered at Mrs. Potter, then raked her gaze over James and Remus. His friends cringed
away, slightly, and Sirius’s blood boiled. It was one thing for his mother to look at him like that,
but these were his friends—he wasn’t going to let her terrorize them, too.

Kreacher came scuttling back downstairs, followed by a very affronted looking Gully. He had
Sirius’s trunk in tow, already packed. Walpurga turned,

“Come along, Sirius.”

“No.” His voice was quiet, but still firm, the anger a temporary shield against his fear. He clenched
his fists, determined to hold on to the surge of bravery that came with his rage, “I want to stay here,
with the Potters. You can’t make me—"

“SILENCIO!” Walpurga jabbed her wand at him as she spun, casting the spell half over her
shoulder. There was a sudden pressure in his chest, like the wind had been knocked out of him, and
when Sirius opened his mouth to speak nothing came out. He searched for his voice—he tried to
scream. But it was gone.

“Walpurga, really!” Mr. Potter gasped in dismay, and Mrs. Potter let out a small shriek as she knelt
beside Sirius. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, and part of Sirius wished he could
just turn and cry into her shoulder. “He’s just a boy!”

“He is my son,” Walpurga spat, looking at Mrs. Potter as if she wanted to use the silencing spell on
her, too, “And he is heir to the finest house in Britain. He will learn his place. Come, Sirius.”

There was nothing else he could do, and trying to stay would only make it worse for his friends.
Sirius straightened his shoulders and ignored his pounding heart as he hugged Mrs. Potter back.
When he stepped away, he gave James and Remus a small wave, unable to say goodbye. He didn’t
look back as he followed his mother out the door, but he felt them watching him, anyway.

* * *

His bedroom was very cold, and very dark. Sirius lay on his stomach, keeping pressure off his
calves. The pain was familiar, a slow, steady throb, like a second heartbeat. It was nothing he
hadn’t felt before.

Upon their arrival home, his mother had taken him straight to her office, where she’d sliced him
eight times—once for each day since the 16th. On the fifth, he’d started to cry, soundlessly. By the
eighth, he was shuddering with silent sobs, hating himself for his weakness. When it was over,
she’d dropped a roll of bandages into his hands and sent him off to bed, leaving him mute and tear
stained.

She didn’t give him his voice back the next morning. Instead, his mother declared that Sirius
would only be allowed to speak again once he had shown “proper repentance” for his actions. He
glared at her spitefully across the breakfast table, fuming, but she only smiled cruelly and added
that he was not to set foot in the owlery or leave the house—she didn’t want him contacting his
friends or trying to run off again.
Sirius sequestered himself in his rooms, plotting his revenge. Now that the worst had already
happened—ripped from the Potters’ home, lacerated and muted—he had nothing left to lose, and
was determined to make his mother pay. He was a Gryffindor—more than that; he was a
marauder, and he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

His parents were hosting a Christmas dinner, that evening. A separate event from the annual Black
family dinner, this party would include all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight (except, of course, the
Weasleys). Sirius wasn’t allowed to use magic away from Hogwarts, but he still had some dung
bombs squirreled away in the bottom of his trunk…

He was trying to figure out how best to hide the little spheres in the sleeves of his dress robes when
there was a knock at his door. There was only one person in the house who would actually knock,
but Sirius had no idea if he could trust his brother anymore, and so he hurriedly threw the dung
bombs back into his trunk and shut the lid. Not a moment too soon—as Sirius couldn’t exactly call
out to grant entrance, Regulus tentatively pushed the door open a few moments after knocking.

“Hi,” he said.

Sirius glared. He didn’t know how his parents had figured out that he had left Hogwarts, but he
suspected that his brother had something to do with it.

Regulus shut the door behind him, but stayed standing in front of it, awkwardly.

“Are you okay?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. Take a wild guess.

“Sorry. S’pose that’s a stupid question.” Reg hesitated a moment, then walked over to where Sirius
was standing, next to his trunk. He held out a self-inking quill and a small pad of paper. “I brought
this.”

Sirius snorted derisively. It was one of the only sounds he could make, in his current state. He
crossed his arms, and eventually Regulus was forced to set them down on top of the trunk.

There was a short silence, and then Reg leaned back against the wall, fidgeting with his hands.
“She’s done it to me, before, too,” he said, staring at his fingers, “’Silencio.’ When you were gone.
Last year. I think she forgot she’d cast it, because she didn’t undo it for three days.” He laughed,
even though it wasn’t funny. Sirius’s glare faltered.

After a moment, he leaned over to scrawl on the notepad. Reg looked down at what he’d written:
WHY?

He smiled tightly. “Because I was crying. Why else? We’d gotten your letter, and she wouldn’t let
me read it, and I was so upset that I just started blubbering. Pretty stupid, huh?”

When he saw the look on Sirius’s face, he rolled his eyes. “It was just the once—she hasn’t done it
since. I’m just saying, I get how it feels, and it sucks, but you don’t need to keep moping around
like a kicked dog. She’ll probably undo it before the dinner tonight.”

Sirius huffed through his nose again.

“Come on, just play nice for one night, okay? This dinner is really important to them. Mum’s been
really stressed, and dad too, even though he tries not to show it. Apparently there’s some new
politician shaking things up, the whole ministry’s been in an uproar. They say he could really make
a difference, he just needs the right support.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. He didn’t give a shit about his parents’ political battles—and Regulus never
used to, either. But he supposed a lot had changed.

“I mean it, Sirius. Don’t antagonize them, not tonight. Please.”

Sirius shrugged, and looked away. It wasn’t like he could answer, anyway.
 Second Year: Punishment

Monday 25th December 1973

Regulus was right—he got his voice back that evening, before the dinner party. His mother gave
him a scrolling look, making sure he was properly attired in his dress robes (she vanished his tie—
Gryffindor colours) before undoing the spell.

“I expect you on your best behaviour for our guests tonight,” she said as he gasped, feeling as
though someone had poured hot water directly down his throat, “This dinner is of the utmost
significance for your future, and the future of the wizarding world.”

Sirius refrained from rolling his eyes. He had the dung bombs tucked securely away in his robes,
and he didn’t want to risk getting told off before he had a chance to exact his revenge. His parents
were always so dramatic about any gathering they held, and though it was unusual to host all of the
Sacred Twenty-Eight, Sirius really didn’t see how this was going to be any different than all the
other parties where pureblood wizards strutted about in expensive clothes, making snide remarks
and judging each other.

He was seated next to Narcissa at dinner, which made his gut twist. Their betrothal hadn’t been
announced outside of their families—that would come over the summer—but Bellatrix shot him a
knowing look, frowning from across the table. To make matters worse, Lucius Malfoy was there
with his family, and he seethed throughout the dinner, glaring at Sirius with barely disguised rage.
As if it was his fault that his mental family wanted him marrying his cousin! Narcissa didn’t say a
single word to him throughout the entire meal, and every time she looked at him her face clouded
over. Miserable.

There was the expected amount of hand-shaking and arse-kissing. Sirius noticed that everyone
seemed a bit edgy, laughing too loudly at each other’s jokes or nodding sycophantically when
someone made a comment they agreed with. Some of the families were clearly more comfortable
in the Black manor than others, making it easy to see who had already thrown in with whatever
political bid his parents were making. There was a lot of talk about the “future of the wizarding
world” and the “encroachment of muggles” and a load of other bollocks that Sirius mostly tuned
out. He wanted to choose the perfect moment to set off his dung bombs, and felt jittery with nerves
as he waited for his opportunity.

It came when Rodolphus Lestrange, Bella’s new husband, stood up to give a speech before the
fourth course. His cousin was staring adoringly up at the young man as he spoke about his new
position at the ministry, and how he and his colleagues had been doing a lot of thinking regarding
the involvement of muggles in wizard affairs. Sirius wanted desperately to wipe the manic grin off
of Bellatrix’s face and ruin her husband’s moment. While everyone was distracted, looking down
the table at good ol' Rod, he slipped the dung-bombs carefully into his hands, pulling the small
tabs and rolling them under the table.

“…of course, I agree that we have a responsibility to help the less fortunate, but I have to ask
myself: can someone raised outside the wizarding world truly understand what’s be—”

BANG!

The first bomb went off, perfectly, right at the man’s feet, releasing a noxious cloud of fumes.
BANG! BANG!

As the others began to release their own malodorous vapours, the room erupted into confused
chaos. Wizards jumped out of their seats and stared down at the table that had now become
enveloped in a horrible stench, trying to figure out what was going on. Lestrange’s speech came to
an abrupt end as he coughed, having inhaled a lungful of the fumes. Bellatrix’s head whipped
around, hand pressed in front of her nose. Her eyes pinpointed Sirius, and she glared murderously.
He smiled back smugly at his cousin, feeling a rush of adrenaline and deep satisfaction at the
perfectly executed prank.

His victory was short-lived. Bellatrix was not the only one who had zeroed in on Sirius as the
culprit—a second later, he felt a hand come down on his shoulder, fingernails digging in like claws.

“Sirius.” His mother’s voice was tight, coiled venomously, a snake about to strike. “Come with me
immediately.”

He tried to push down the cold swell of fear. He’d expected shouting—usually, his parents would
tell him off in front of their family, letting his aunts and uncles join in on the screaming. But
perhaps they didn’t want to cause a scene in front of their guests—his father was already doing
damage control, casting spells to get rid of the stink and apologizing as he tried to calm the other
diners.

A few eyes snagged on them as he left with his mother, but half the room was still distracted by the
bombs. He glanced back once on his way out, making eye contact with Regulus. His brother’s face
had gone white, eyes wide and brow furrowed, although Sirius couldn’t tell if it was in irritation or
concern. He supposed it didn’t make a difference.

His mother led him to her office, where she closed and locked the door. Sirius straightened,
squaring his shoulders and keeping his chin high. Whatever she did, he could handle it—he wasn’t
going to let her terrorize him, this time. He was a marauder, and he refused to be pushed around!

He opened his mouth to speak. “I’m not going to—”

Before he could finish, his mother spun around and backhanded him, neatly, across the face.

The force of the blow knocked him back, teeth snapping together as he fell to the floor. He could
taste blood in his mouth—he’d bitten his tongue.

She hauled him roughly to his feet. Sirius forgot to be brave, for a moment—in twelve years, he
had never seen his mother so angry. She was practically shaking with rage.

“I have never,” she hissed, “Been so disgusted to call you my son. You are a worthless, pathetic,
juvenile little boy who insists on disrespecting your family, the family that has given you
everything you have, made you everything that you are. I had hoped that some time to reflect on
your behaviour would help you to understand your foolishness, but you’ve disappointed me once
again.” She let out a sharp, barking laugh, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

He stared at her, at a complete loss for words. Sirius was used to his mother’s insults, by now—the
daily howlers had almost numbed him to her vicious screaming. But these words lanced through
him, cutting just as effectively as the lacero curse. Maybe it was because she was standing in front
of him, rather than confined to a flat piece of paper. He could see her face as she spoke. He could
see that she meant what she said.

His mother drew back for a moment, studying him with cold eyes.
“Clearly, the usual methods of discipline are no longer working,” She gripped his chin, forcing him
to look at her, “So I’ll have to try something new.”

And then she was in his mind. There was no warning—he whimpered, involuntarily, as her claws
sunk into his thoughts. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. He wanted desperately to run, but he
was frozen.

She rifled through his head the way someone might peruse produce at the grocer, gutting him and
digging through the insides. Sirius was powerless to stop her as she flicked through memories—the
anticipation of holding the dung bombs in his hands at dinner, the exhilaration of tobogganing with
James, the warmth of Mrs. Potter’s hugs. He shuddered helplessly as she examined things that he
didn’t want her to see: his pathetic fantasy that the Potters were his real family, his conflicting guilt
and rage in his conversations with Regulus, the funny, prickling heat when he looked at pictures of
David Bowie or Marc Bolan in muggle magazines. His mind felt tainted, his mother’s oily disgust
leaving trails over everything she touched.

He was shaking by the time she had finished, weak and fighting back tears. For a moment, it was
silent. Then,

“Is that what this is about?” Walpurga’s lips curled cruelly into something that might have been a
smile, “You feel very cool playing the rebel, don’t you? Oh, you want so badly to impress your
friends, to make sure that they never find out what a despicable, worthless little creature you really
are. It terrifies you, doesn’t it?”

I’m not going to cry, Sirius told himself, No matter what she says, I’m not going to cry.

His mother laughed. “You’re so pathetic, it’s almost sickening! You weren’t good enough to
honour your family name, so you’ve made us the villains and convinced yourself that you chose to
become a disappointment! Did it make you feel heroic, dropping dung bombs under a dinner table?
Did it make you feel brave?”

Sirius’s eyes burned. His mother moved her fingers from his chin, cupping his face with her hand
and stroking his cheek with her thumb in a gesture approximating maternal affection.

“Oh, Sirius,” She said softly, “You are still the heir to this house. And because your father and I
love you, we only want what’s best for you, no matter how you continue to disappoint us.”

He hated himself for the way the words burrowed into him, numbing the anger, leaving him
blurred and confused. A desperate, stifled part of him wanted to apologize, wanted to promise he’d
do better, wanted her to keep stroking his cheek. Your father and I love you.

He was so focused on the gentle touch that he didn’t notice her other hand moving, wand rising as
she said,

“Everything I do, I do to make you stronger. To make you worthy of your family name. Never
forget that, Sirius.”

She cast the spell wordlessly, perhaps so that he wouldn’t know enough to find a counter-jinx. One
moment, his hair was brushing his neck, a familiar weight. The next—it was gone. At first, he
didn’t understand; but then he raised a hand to his head, and felt nothing but smooth scalp under his
fingers.

“No!” the cry slipped out, unbidden, and his mother’s smile became cruel and sharp.

“You need to learn your lesson, boy,” she said, pressing her thumb into his skin. A bruise was
forming where she’d hit him, earlier—he winced. She leaned in closer, still smiling.

“This is your last chance. If you step a single toe out of line, your father and I will be un-enrolling
you from Hogwarts.”

Sirius felt sick. “What? You—you can’t do that!”

His mother laughed, withdrawing her hand and tucking her wand back into her robes. “We’ve
already completed all of your paperwork for Durmstrang. They’re ready to take you at a moment’s
notice—your father only needs to give the word.”

Durmstrang. Sirius’s heart was a fist in his chest. He’d lose everything—he’d never see his friends
again. He had never felt so utterly powerless.

“Please,” he said quietly, hating himself, “I promise I’ll be good. Don’t send me away.”

“I don’t want to send you away, Sirius. Whether or not you return to Hogwarts is entirely up to
you.”

He nodded, throat tight, eyes glued to the floor. His mother sighed.

“You will return with me to dinner, where you will apologize to our guests for this disruption. Am
I understood?”

“But—my hair!” His head snapped up. Walpurga’s eyes glittered dangerously.

“What about your hair?”

He shrank back. “Just…please, can I have it back? I’ll behave, I promise.” The thought of
returning to that dinner, of having everyone see him…

His mother smiled, reaching out to run a hand over his scalp in a gentle caress. Her fingers settled
at the back of his neck, and he had to suppress a shudder.

“It’s much better like this,” she said, matter-of-factly, “I don’t want you getting any ideas about
looking like one of those nasty muggle queers.”

* * *

Sunday 7th January 1973

Sirius was almost relieved when his father declared that they would not be taking the Hogwarts
Express back with the other students. Instead, he and his brother would remain at the Black family
manor until the day before classes resumed, when their parents would arrange private
transportation back to the school. It meant a few extra days stuck at home—but for the first time
ever, Sirius was dreading his return to Hogwarts.

Two weeks had passed, and his hair hadn’t grown back. In fact, it hadn’t grown at all; there was a
thin layer of fuzz that his mother had left behind, but it hadn’t gotten any longer or even any
fuzzier, although he’d been checking every morning. Sirius was pretty sure that whatever spell
she’d use had stopped his hair from growing completely, meaning only magic would be able to
restore it. He cringed every time he looked in the mirror, barely able to stomach the sight of
himself. The thought that everyone at school would see him looking like this made his stomach
knot with nerves.

So he didn’t complain about the delayed return. Instead, he spent the few extra days as he had
every day after the disastrous dinner—immersing himself in books, ignoring his brother, and
behaving so perfectly that he made himself sick.

Of course, facing school was inevitable, and when the day finally rolled around Sirius found he
was unable to muster any enthusiasm at the thought of seeing his friends again—all he could think
about was how they would stare when they first saw him. He was privately relieved that his
parents waited as late as possible to send them off, traveling by port key after night had already
fallen. Sirius crept through Gryffindor tower in silence (after a futile detour to the hospital wing).

His friends were already in bed. Sirius put his things away and changed into his pyjamas, making
as little noise as possible so as not to wake them. He drew the curtains, heart pounding, a lump in
his throat, and was about to try and sleep when he heard a whisper outside his bed.

“Sirius?”

“James?” He sat up, hoping it was his friend—even though he dreaded the thought of anyone
seeing his hair (or, more accurately, his lack of hair), he desperately needed someone to talk to, and
James was the only one that he knew would never judge.

“Remus.”

“Oh…” Anxiety crept back in. He couldn’t let Remus see him like this—he just couldn’t. “…I just
want to sleep, Lupin. Speak tomorrow, ok?”

There was a slight pause; then, “Ok.”

* * *

Monday 8th January 1973

Sirius got up before any of his friends, changing into his school robes with quiet, hurried
desperation. There was a pile of wrapped presents at the end of his bed—he pushed them away,
unable to bring himself to feel any enthusiasm at the thought of opening them.

He skipped breakfast, purposely avoiding his friends and hiding away in the shelves of the library.
He tried desperately to find anything on hair-growth charms that seemed like it might work, but
came up empty handed.

His first lesson was Transfiguration. Sirius got to the classroom before anyone else, scurrying like a
fugitive through the empty hallways. His heart pounded with dread and anticipation as he sat in his
usual seat.

Ten minutes had passed when he heard footsteps in the hall outside. He didn’t turn as the door
opened, drawing up his shoulders instinctively, wanting to hide. There was a pause as whoever it
was halted in the doorway, then,

“Who’s that?!” Peter whispered loudly.

Sirius turned, surprised by his friend’s voice, and came face to face with the other three marauders.
They were staring openly, uncomprehending and shocked.

“Sirius!” James gaped.

Recognitions settled across his friends’ features, and embarrassment took him by the throat—Sirius
spun around, wishing he could disappear. James slid into the seat beside him,

“What happened? Where have you been? What did she do to you?!”

Sirius shook his head, throat tight. It looked just as bad as he’d thought, then—his own friends
hadn’t even recognized him!

“Later,” he murmured. Other students were walking in, stopping and staring at him. He wanted to
crawl under the desk and die.

“All right, settle down, please!” McGonagall swept into the room. Sirius stared firmly at his desk,
listening as the students around him whispered—about him, he knew they were whispering about
him. Their professor addressed the class; “Your end of year exams begin in three months, let’s see
who’s been paying attention…”

Sirius was the top student in Transfiguration, but he didn’t say a word all lesson. McGonagall
didn’t call on him once, which he was grateful for. The second it was over, he shoved his things
into his bag and hurried out the door. Unfortunately, his friends followed him.

“What happened?!” James asked again, insistent. Sirius gritted his teeth.

“I said later. Wait until break, ok?”

“But you – what did she…?”

“I’m fine.”

James wouldn’t give it up, passing him notes all through their History of Magic lesson. Sirius
ignored them, seething, focusing all his attention on his book. The second the class ended, James
grabbed his arm and marched him out to the courtyard, shooing away a group of first year girls that
were mucking about nearby.

“What happened?!”

Sirius sighed. James was a dog with a bone—he’d have to tell them all sooner or later.

“What’s it look like?” He waved to his head, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Your mum did that?”

“Well, I didn’t do it myself, did I?!” He snapped. James didn’t even flinch, just kept staring at him
with that concerned furrow in his brow. Sirius looked away, already feeling guilty for his tone as
he searched for his red Gryffindor hat. He shoved it over his scalp, muttering, “Bloody freezing.
Dunno how you cope, Lupin.”
Remus shrugged and gave him a small smile. Sirius leaned back against the wall, studying the toes
of his shoes. James was just trying to help—it wasn’t really his friends that he was angry at,
anyway.

“They let me come back,” he said, quietly, “They almost didn’t – one wrong move and they’ve
promised to send me to Durmstrang.”

James and Peter gasped. Sirius ploughed on, figuring it was better to get it all over with in one go,

“Didn’t get my voice back until Christmas dinner. Had to play my part for that; everyone was
there, all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight – except the Weasleys, obviously. Lucius Malfoy really
bloody hates me now, but he had to be really nice to me and Reg – slimy creep. Got away with
wearing my Gryffindor tie until mum noticed and vanished it. Then I…I um…I may have set off a
few dung bombs during the fourth course…” He trailed off, wishing he could back in time and just
sit through the whole bloody dinner silently.

“That’s why…the hair…?” James asked tentatively. Sirius looked up,

“She said seeing as the usual punishments weren’t having any effect she’d try something
different…I tried to get Pomfrey to grow it back for me, but the old bitch said she wasn’t a
beautician. Thought I’d done it myself by accident or something.”

“You could tell her—” Remus started to speak, but Sirius cut him off, shaking his head,

“Not worth it.”

“Regulus?” James asked, switching the subject, “Is he back too? He sent us a note to let us know
you got home, but we never heard anything else.”

Sirius blinked. He didn’t know Reg had done that—he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Yeah, he’s back. Kept his hair, obviously. Dad sorted out a portkey into Hogsmeade. He’s still....
y’know, a bit of a tosser, but…he didn’t choose to be a Black either. He just plays the game better
than I do.”

He thought about his brother’s earnest gaze, the notepad and the self-inking quill, the hurt look in
his eyes when he’d cornered Sirius after Christmas dinner and Sirius had shouted at him—Piss of,
Reg, I don’t need to hear you say ‘I told you so’!

Sirius stared out over the ground, looking past his friends, half speaking to himself as he said, “I
just wish…” But there were too many ways to end that sentence, and none of them were things that
he could say out loud.

The bell rang, and he pushed off the wall, letting his friends follow behind as he made his way
back to lessons.
 Second Year: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin

Sirius liked attention. Hell—he loved it. He loved the rush of knowing that people were watching
him, looking to him, noticing him. He loved performing, and he loved an audience. Normally, if
the entire school was whispering about him, he’d hold his head high and strut through the halls
with a smirk, drinking it in.

By the end of his first day back after Christmas break, that could not be further from the truth.
Everyone knew about his new hairstyle (lack of hair to style), and Sirius wanted nothing more than
to disappear.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” James lied, watching as he scrutinized his reflection. They were hiding
in the empty second floor girls’ loos during lunch to spare him from the staring.

Sirius knew that James was just trying to be nice, so he refrained from rolling his eyes. It was
really bad; anyone with eyes could see that. Sirius had never thought of himself as particularly
vain, but he had always known he was good-looking—he just hadn’t realized how much he
enjoyed knowing that he was good-looking until it was taken away. Without his hair to frame his
face, he was too pale, eyes overlarge, features too sharp. He hated it.

Sirius continued to stare at himself, reaching up absentmindedly to rub his head. Peter let out a
nervous laugh,

“You look like Lupin.”

James nodded quickly, latching on to anything that might make his friend feel better,

“Yeah, you do a bit.”

Despite himself, Sirius smiled. He liked the idea of having something in common with Remus, like
the two of them were in a club that set them apart from everyone else.

“Oh yeah, I think I see it,” he joked, reaching out to pull his friend over into the mirror’s frame.
They stood side by side, staring at each other. “We could be brothers.”

Remus laughed, distracting Sirius from his own reflection.

His real brother was waiting outside the Gryffindor common room later that evening. Reggie was
sitting on the floor, knees folded against his chest, staring into space. His creepy little friend, Barty
Crouch, was leaning against the opposite wall. He seemed bored, lazily levitating a paper
aeroplane with his wand.

Sirius frowned. He didn’t like his brother’s friend—Crouch had a mean streak longer than the
tables in the Great Hall, and usually seemed happiest when he was tormenting one of his
classmates. He was a bad influence on Reg, who’d become more sullen and judgmental since
they’d started hanging out.

His brother stood up as they approached, lifting his chin haughtily as he eyed Sirius’s friends.
Sirius scowled at him, and the arrogant expression faltered slightly,

“There you are,” Reg said, trying to sound imperious—but he was nervous, Sirius could tell. He
kept glancing over at James. Crouch sent the paper plane circling around their heads, staring.
“What d’you want?” Sirius asked, gruffly. He was in no mood to talk with his brother.

“Just seeing if you’re…seeing how you are.”

“No different from last night.”

“I didn’t see you at dinner.”

“Wasn’t at dinner.” He folded his arms, waiting to see what Reg wanted. At the beginning of the
year, he might have been happy to know his brother was seeking him out—there had been so many
times that he thought if they could just talk, if they could just have the right conversation, things
would click back into place.

He wasn’t so sure that was true, anymore.

“Can I talk to you?” Regulus asked, taking a half step forward.

Sirius spread his arms and raised his eyebrows, indicating that they were already speaking. Reg
rolled his eyes, and the familiar exasperated expression sent a pang through Sirius’s chest.

“I mean alone,” he specified, glancing pointedly at James, Peter and Remus.

“No.”

Regulus sighed. Behind the irritation, there was a flicker of that same wounded expression he’d
worn when Sirius had snapped at him to go away—or maybe Sirius was just reading too much into
it.

Above their heads, Barty Crouch’s paper plane was spinning faster. He ignored it.

“Fine.” Regulus huffed, folding his arms. “I just wanted to let you know that mother and father
asked me and Narcissa to watch you. And report back to them.”

Sirius snorted. As if they hadn’t already been doing that! He glared, but Regulus held his gaze,
continuing, “And we’re not going to. We’re both staying out of it, ok?”

Really? They were both defying his mother?

Sirius shook off his surprise, covering it with a sneer. “How noble of you,” he replied, dryly. Next
to him, James grinned.

Regulus just rolled his eyes again. “I’m telling you I’m not your enemy, idiot. Nor is Narcissa. You
can do whatever you like, that’s between you and our parents.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They stared at each other. Sirius was very aware of his friends, watching them. He wanted to say
something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Ow!” The silence was broken by Peter, who suddenly yelped in pain. Sirius turned. It appeared
that his conversation with his brother was not enough to hold the attention of Barty Crouch, who
had decided to seek entertainment elsewhere. Namely, by dive-bombing Peter with the pointed tip
of his plane. He was giggling meanly, preparing for a second attack when James pulled out his
wand,
“Incendio,” He drawled, with a lazy flick of his wrist. The plane caught flame immediately, turning
abruptly in mid-air and soaring towards the younger boy. Crouch’s smug smile melted away,
replaced by terror as he covered his face with his arms, cringing away from the fiery missile—
which fizzled out just before it hit him, crumbling into ash half a centimetre away from his nose.

Crouch looked like he wanted to retaliate, but Regulus muttered, “Let it go.” He grabbed his
friend’s arm, and they turned to head back towards the dungeons. As they left, Regulus said
casually, “Narcissa said to tell you good luck for Saturday, Potter.” Sirius was pretty sure that it
was the first time he’d ever heard his brother speak directly to James.

The older boy didn’t respond, instead following Sirius through the portrait hole. Seeing his brother
had put him in a dark mood—he didn’t want to think about Narcissa, or his family, or even
quidditch. Unfortunately, the topic couldn’t be avoided; as they settled near the fire, Remus asked,

“What’s Saturday?”

One would think that, because he was such a fast learner, and because he spent so much time
around James, Remus might have already memorized the game schedule by now. But he seemed
quite to determined to live in ignorance. In fact, James talked about each upcoming game so
incessantly that it was almost impressive that Remus had to ask.

Sure enough, James promptly answered, “Quidditch match. Gryffindor v Slytherin.”

“I hope you thrash ‘em, mate.” Sirius mutter darkly, collapsing into an armchair. He was still a
mess of nerves and tense, frustrated energy.

“Plan to,” James said cheerfully, settling onto the arm of his chair, “S’long as she doesn’t get the
snitch too early – and Marlene’s the best beater we’ve had in years, so—”

He stopped abruptly, realising what he’d said. Sirius groaned—he knew James didn’t mean to
upset him, but he wasn’t in the mood to be reminded just then about how much better than him
Marlene bloody MacKinnon was at quidditch. He stood up.

“I’m going to bed.”

* * *

Saturday 13th January 1973

Sirius woke the next morning feeling invigorated. He had lain awake the previous night, thinking
about what his brother said. You can do whatever you like, that’s between you and our parents.

So Narcissa and Regulus wanted to take the high road, to act like there was such a thing as neutral
ground in their family? Fine. Sirius would do whatever he liked, and first up would be showing his
brother exactly how things were: either he supported Sirius, or he supported their parents. Reg
couldn’t do both.

The rest of his friends were still asleep when he woke up, and he snuck out of the dorm without
disturbing them. Sirius already had a vague idea of what he wanted to do, but he needed to be sure
he could find the right combination of spells. He only had a few hours before the game, but he felt
confident that he could do it.

He skipped breakfast in favour of research, sequestering himself in the library as the sun crawled
higher in the sky. It was a stroke of luck that he managed to find what he needed—he was trying to
find a book on temporary animation spells when he noticed a title related to wizard portraiture. On
a whim, he paged through, nearly jumping out of his seat when he found an explanation of the
enchantments that went into paintings to keep them moving.

It was a very complicated process, but Sirius didn’t need to use all the steps—after all, his plan
didn’t involve any permanence, it only needed to last through the game. And he certainly didn’t
need to worry about “imbuing his creation with the subject’s personality,” which seemed to be the
most complicated part of portraiture.

Sirius dashed back to their room, which was empty—everyone was down at breakfast, or else
filing out to the quidditch pitch. The game would be starting in the next half hour. He grabbed one
of the muggle magazines Remus had given him for his birthday, flipping it open to random page
and choosing a picture to practice.

It took a few tries, but Sirius actually jumped in excitement when he managed to get the picture of
a Rockstar dancing and bobbing up and down the page. The previously stagnant man strolled off
one page and onto the next, moving seamlessly. Sirius watched him, grinning as he hissed, “Yes!”

He spent the next twenty minutes practicing, trying to find the perfect combination of spells. First
he managed to get multiple pictures in the magazine moving at once, then he added in sound—by
the time the teams were lining up on the pitch outside, Sirius was confident that he’d be able to put
his plan into action. He threw on his cloak and grabbed his cap, ready to run out the door—and
paused, staring down at the red and gold Gryffindor hat in his hands. An idea popped into his head
—he was the best in their year at transfiguration…

By the time he made it down to the pitch, the game had just started. The stands were packed with
students, awash in gold and red, silver and green. He scanned the field, selecting the perfect spot,
and positioned himself at the bottom of the spectator’s stands. He’d have to crane his neck a bit to
watch the game, but that was alright.

James had just got possession of the quaffle. Sirius watched, brimming with excitement and
adrenaline, as his friend soared through the air. He had it through the hoop in under a minute—the
crowd of Gryffindors exploded in cheers, and Sirius raised his wand.

“RRRRRROOOOOAAARRRR!”

It was perfect; deafening, thunderous, silencing the students in the stands. Everyone turned to look
at the Gryffindor banners, where the lions had come to life, strutting back and forth. They tossed
their heads restlessly, shaking their glossy gold manes and letting out periodic, ear-splitting roars.
Sirius was thrilled.

Above him, students began to murmur. He heard his name shouted a few times—people began to
catch sight of him, pointing and laughing. He grinned, happy once more to have an audience; after
all, he had certainly made sure he’d stick out. The red Gryffindor cap had been transfigured into an
enormous golden wig resembling a lion’s mane, which now perched on the top of his head. The
students started laughing, and Sirius strutted like the lions on the banners, waving his wand
dramatically.

On the pitch, James was invigorated by the lively show of support. He scored three more goals,
flying circles around the alarmed Slytherins who had been distracted by Sirius’s handiwork. Sirius
began chanting, hoping to keep up the momentum,

“We are Gryffindor!” He pointed his wand at his own throat, using a voice magnification spell.

“Might mighty Gryffindor!” The crowd screamed back. Sirius felt invincible—he felt like a
Rockstar.

It was the most fun he’d ever had at a quidditch game. On the pitch, the Gryffindor team was in top
form. Marlene was an animal, her bat like an extension of her arm as she blocked every bludger
coming her way and sent them hurling towards Slytherins. James was a blur of red, inhumanly fast
as he streaked across the sky, the other chasers supporting him seamlessly. The lions on the banner
continued to strut, and Sirius continued to rile up the crowd. He half expected one of the professors
to try and stop him, but it seemed that the only people bothered by his display of house pride were
the Slytherins. Good.

Unfortunately, try as he might, Sirius wasn’t able to distract Narcissa. He supposed that she already
had years of experience ignoring his antics, which gave her an advantage. She remained ruthlessly
focused on finding the snitch, never pausing, dodging about to confuse the Gryffindor seeker (he
was their weakest member by far—Sirius wondered if he should have tried out for seeker rather
than beater).

Still, Sirius thought proudly, his cousin was no match for James. Gryffindor drew ahead by fifty
points, then seventy, then a hundred. When Maisy Jackson, another one of Gryffindor’s chasers,
scored a goal and brought their total to 130 (Slytherin still only had 20 points), the crowd went
wild. Sirius whooped and cheered, waving his wand and concentrating on another incantation,
hoping it would work.

It did. The lions leapt clean off their banners, materializing as golden shadows, striding across the
pitch. Sirius laughed, incredulously, ecstatic. But his joy was short lived—the stupid Gryffindor
seeker tried to dodge them, alarmed, even though they were as insubstantial as dust and vanished
just above his head.

“No, you idiot!” Sirius shouted, voice still magically amplified.

But it was too late. Narcissa had caught sight of the snitch, and she chose that moment to make her
move. While the Gryffindor seeker was distracted regaining his balance, she swooped down and
plucked the little gold ball from where it had been hovering in the air. She then took a victory lap
around the pitch, holding her prize aloft to the cheers of her Slytherin classmates. They burst into
applause, sending up green and silver sparks with their wands, chanting,

“Black, Black, Black!”

Which was a bit confusing for Sirius, as the Gryffindors were also chanting,

“Black, Black, Black!”

Sirius grinned, too high off the energy of his wildly successful performance to even feel upset that
Slytherin had technically just won—Gryffindor would still be going through to the final, so it really
didn’t matter. And the spell had clearly been worth it. Sirius bowed with a flourish, shaking out his
golden mane. James swooped down to land next to him, ruffling the wig and smiling broadly. Now
the crowd was chanting,

“Pot-ter! Pot-ter! Pot-ter!”

He urged his friend to take a bow, and James did, laughing riotously.

As the other students poured out onto the quidditch pitch, all shouting and chattering excitedly,
Remus and Peter came running down from their spot in the stands. They both punched Sirius’s arm
playfully, exclaiming,

“You never told us!”

“We could have helped!”

Sirius’s only response was a mischievous smirk. He didn’t know how to explain that this was
something he’d had to do alone. Before his friends could say anything else, though, a sharp voice
broke through the crowd.

“Sirius!”

They all turned. Narcissa was striding towards them, emerald robes billowing behind her, silver
medal glinting around her neck. Sirius turned, squaring his shoulders, ready for a fight. Whatever
his cousin had to say to him, he could handle it—surrounded by his friends, with the cheers of the
other students still echoing in his ears, he felt strong and brave.

But as Narcissa stopped in front of him, she smirked. It wasn’t mirthless, like his mother, or manic,
like Bellatrix. If anything, it reminded him of Andromeda; Narcissa had the same humorous
twinkle in her eye, although she kept her expression haughty.

“Take off that obscene wig,” She commanded, all confidence.

Sirius complied, rubbing his bare head self-consciously. He wasn’t sure what Narcissa wanted, and
his heart kicked when she pulled out her wand and pointed it at him—

—only wave it sweepingly before tapping his head, declaring, “Crescere.”

For a split second, the crowd around them held their breath. Sirius felt a strange tingling across his
scalp, and his friends gasped.

“What the—?!” He reached up, feeling the tickle of hair as it slid down over the back of his neck
and the sides of his face. Sure enough, his fingers grasped familiar black curls. Narcissa grinned.

“That’s for your help in ensuring a Slytherin victory,” she said, twinkle still bright in her eye. With
that, she turned on her heel, platinum hair braided into two long, silvery whips that swung behind
her as the flounced back over to her team. Sirius watched her go, stunned.

James reached over and tugged on one of the curls, shaking his head.

“I’m never going to understand your bonkers family, mate.”

 Second Year: Discoveries

Narcissa and Regulus may have promised not to report back to his parents, but Walpurga Black still
had a source of information somewhere at Hogwarts. A few days after the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin
game, Sirius received a howler at breakfast. He kept his composure as it screamed, grinning when
James put his hands on his hips and imitated his mother’s severe expression. The boy opened and
closed his mouth, comedically exaggerated, as if he were the one screaming. By the time the letter
had ripped itself up, Sirius was laughing too hard to care about anything it had actually said.

With his hair restored and the knowledge that the worst his mother could do was send a howler,
Sirius felt untouchable once more. He hadn’t forgotten the threat of Durmstrang, but while it had
felt very real and very immediate when he was back home, that simply wasn’t the case at
Hogwarts. Surrounded by friends, spending every night in the cosy Gryffindor common room,
chatting with professors and laughing in the Great Hall—Sirius just couldn’t believe that his
parents would actually ever send him away. Every Black had gone to Hogwarts, and he already
knew how his family felt about breaking tradition.

So Sirius returned to mischief-making with a vengeance. He raided the kitchens, he left ink-
spraying quills between the pages of library books, he scattered dung bombs frequently throughout
the dungeons. He and James spent half their time together under the invisibility cloak, either
pranking students or exploring the castle and adding to the Marauders’ Map. They snuck out to
Honeyduke’s at least three times a week, eating so many sweets that Sirius started to get sick of
chocolate frogs.

His mother continued to send howlers, but this only bolstered his confidence. Sirius became more
and more convinced that Durmstrang was just an empty threat; after all, he’d stepped many toes
out of line at this point, and he was still at Hogwarts. He began to wonder—if Durmstrang had
been a fiction to keep him in line...perhaps the betrothal wasn’t quite so set as his family might
have him believe? Surely, if his parents saw that nothing could rein him in—not even that awful
Christmas break—then they would realize that he wasn’t fit at all to be married, and it was better
to leave him out of family matters altogether?

Either way, James seemed delighted to have Sirius back to his old self. The two of them were thick
as thieves; any time not devoted to mischief-making was devoted to mischief-scheming. Peter tried
to involve himself wherever he could, of course, which Sirius still found a bit annoying. But even
Pete was growing on him, especially after one night when the nervous boy managed to distract
Filch by pretending that he had been locked in a closet by Peeves.

Remus, on the other hand, had returned to being a swot. He actually started spending time in the
library, which had previously been the only spot in the castle that he avoided. It wasn’t the same as
last year—he wasn’t using schoolwork as an excuse to ditch them, and would still join in every
now and again on a prank. He just seemed to really care about his grades for some reason, and was
too pig-headed to be peer-pressured into slacking off. And although Sirius would have liked to
spend more time with his friend, it was quite nice to know that they could count on Remus to lend
his notes or let the rest of them copy his homework if they’d been out late marauding.

Of course, Sirius couldn’t dedicate all of his time to mischief. There were still classes to attend, and
assignments to complete (or copy); James had quidditch keeping him busy, and Peter had chess,
and Remus had his academic pursuits. But that was alright, because after his success with the lions,
Sirius was ready to move on to his next big project.

He’d been thinking about it since Christmas break, and had come to a decision: he was going to fix
Remus. Or, well—not fix, exactly, but—help. He was going to find a way to stop Remus from
hurting himself when he transformed.

He’d been turning the problem over in his mind since their conversation about the scars. Remus
thought he attacked himself because there was nothing else around to attack—but Sirius thought it
must be more than that. It wasn’t as if every werewolf in the country managed to attack someone
every full moon (at least, he didn’t think so), and he’d never heard about werewolves hurting
themselves before (although, to be fair, he’d never really learned much about werewolves, aside
from the basics). So when he wasn’t prowling about under the invisibility cloak with Peter and
James, sitting in class, or bothering Remus for his notes, Sirius was undertaking a comprehensive
study of werewolves.

To be honest, there wasn’t much. Most of the books in the library repeated the same information:
lycanthropy was a disease spread through biting; it could only be transmitted from werewolf to
human; the transformation was caused by the full moon; there was no cure. Sirius learned about a
couple of interesting differences between werewolves and regular wolves, and there were a few
illustrations—but they were so wildly varied that they didn’t give him much of an idea what
Remus might look like.

The best information he was able to find was from a chapter in an upper-level Defence Against the
Dark Arts book, which dealt primarily with how to battle dangerous magical creatures, non-human
and half-human beings. The author wrote that any wizard hunting a werewolf should be wary,
because the creatures often travelled in packs.

I speculate that this has something to do with their animalistic nature. More beast than man, they
appear driven by the pack instincts of the wolf to seek safety in numbers. This is, of course, to the
detriment of any wizards who may cross into their territory.

The passage made Sirius think. Remus seemed sure that he would attack anyone nearby when he
transformed, but if werewolves didn’t attack each other...what about other animals? The disease
could only be transmitted from human to werewolf—what if Remus had another wolf in the house
where they kept him, or even a dog? What if he was let out to roam the woods (away from any
students, of course), so that he wasn’t all cooped up? Sirius thought that being locked away by
yourself sounded horrible, even if it was only for a night. He couldn’t imagine how Remus got
through it every month.

But getting his friend a puppy didn’t seem very practical, and Sirius almost abandoned that line of
thought—until one day in class, when McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat in front of their
very eyes. She was explaining the difficulty and dangers of human transfiguration, but Sirius had
stopped listening; he was sure that he’d just found the solution to Remus’s problem.

An animagus. Sirius Black was going to become an animagus. Even before the period ended and
he dashed off to the library to research, his resolve had already hardened. No matter how difficult
or dangerous it was, he was going to do it.

Sirius had to borrow James’s invisibility cloak and sneak into the restricted section of the library to
find what he needed. Animagi magic was some of the most complicated and risky magic to
perform, and the results if the spell went wrong were awful—there were several pages of
descriptions that turned Sirius’s stomach. But no matter; Sirius would just do everything exactly
right.

He sat in the common room with his forbidden bounty, reading. To his dismay, it appeared that
what animagi magic really came down to was potion-making, his least favourite sort of magic by
far. There was a lot of ingredient-gathering and waiting around involved; the whole process would
take at least two months from start to finish, longer if he included the time it would take to make
sure he had collected all the ingredients and found all the materials needed for the potion to brew.

Sirius grabbed a spare piece of parchment and began scribbling down a list: mandrake leaf,
Death’s-head Hawk Moth chrysalis, a silver teaspoon...

James and Peter returned to the common room as he was writing— James from quidditch, Peter
from chess club. Sirius beckoned them over, and when James saw what he was working on, he
groaned.

“Ugh, not homework!” He flopped down on the couch next to Sirius, “Bloody Lupin’s bad enough,
don’t tell me you’re becoming a swot, now, too!”

Sirius gave him a playful shove. “Oh, ye of little faith! This isn’t homework—it's our next
mission.”

James perked up. “Really? A new prank?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, seating himself in one of the cosy armchairs, “But we just did that one
with the levitation last week...”

“No, no,” Sirius waved a hand, dismissively, moving the book from his lap to the table so they
could all crowd around it, “This is much more important. It’s for Remus.”

James and Peter listened attentively as he explained his idea, growing more and more animated as
he broke down all of his research and the inspiration that struck when he saw McGonagall turn into
a cat. When he was done, he sat back in his chair, awaiting his friends’ reactions with a self-
satisfied smile.

“You...want us to become animagi?” Peter frowned.

“Brilliant!” Crowed James, “Absolutely brilliant!”

“But wouldn’t we need to register with the Ministry? And don’t you have to be of age?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “We’re marauders, Pete,” he said, “We don’t have to do anything.”

“But isn’t it really dangerous?”

“If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to!” Sirius snapped, annoyed. Peter cringed, and James
jumped in.

“Yeah, Pete,” he said soothingly, “It’s completely up to you whether you want to do it, mate. If
you’re not comfortable, you could always just help with collecting the ingredients—your choice.”

Peter bit his lip, eyes darting between James and the open book on the table. After a moment, he
said bravely,

“No, I’ll do it.” He nodded, and added, “I mean, it’s for Remus, right?”

“Right!” Sirius grinned mischievously, “Plus, imagine everything we could get away with as
animals!”

The three of them were bent over the book, discussing the list of ingredients in hushed voices,
when the portrait hole opened. Remus stepped through, followed by Lily Evans and her two
friends, Mary and Marlene. He’d been spending more and more time with them in the library,
though Sirius didn’t understand why anyone would want to hang out with girls.

As Mary and Marlene burst into a fit of giggles and Remus bid goodbye to Lily, James whispered,

“Let’s not tell him just yet—not until we’re sure it’s something we can do.” Sirius and Peter
nodded, and Peter hurriedly covered up the book with a sheet of parchment. He wasn’t very subtle
about it, and Sirius cringed internally.

“Alright lads?” Remus asked, craning his neck to see what Peter was hiding, “What you doing?”

“Nothing!” James said cheerily, “Where’ve you been?”

Before Remus could answer, Sirius said dryly, “In the library. With his fan club.” He wiggled his
eyebrows, but Remus just smirked.

“Piss off, Black, I know when you’re jealous.” He glanced back down at the table, refusing to
change the subject, “Seriously, what you hiding there?”

Sirius exchanged a look with Peter and James, panicking—they couldn’t be caught! What if Remus
got his hopes up and then for some reason they weren’t able to do the spell? Sirius needed more
time to research, more time to plan, he needed to think of an excuse—

“Your birthday!” Peter suddenly burst out. "It’s coming up.”

“Yeah,” Remus said, looking confused about what this had to do with anything, “Next week.”

“We’re planning a surprise!” Peter declared, grinning—he looked very proud of himself for
coming up with the lie. To be fair, it wasn’t really the content that was lacking—it was the
delivery. Sirius caught the look on Remus’s face, and knew he didn’t buy it for an instant. Still, he
dropped it, smiling a slightly forced smile as he said,

“Oh, right. Well, you’d better not be planning to embarrass me like last year.”

“Oh no, never!” Sirius said jovially, picking up the book and pressing it to his chest with the title
hidden, “Are we the sort of friends that would want to embarrass you, Lupin?”

“Yeah, you are.” Remus replied immediately, narrowing his eyes, “No singing. No big parties.
Nothing that’s going to—”

“Get you into trouble, we know,” James finished, standing up too. “Hey, why don’t we invite your
new friends, eh? Do us good to mix with the fairer sex, don’t you think?”

“Right,” Sirius said sceptically, “More like you want a chance to get Evans on her own.”

“How dare you!” James replied indignantly, blushing as he said it.

Sirius could tell from the look on Remus’s face that he knew they were hiding something from
him, but he dropped it for the moment. As they set in on teasing James about his fascination with
Lily Evans, Sirius clutched the animagus book to his chest, thinking,

Just wait. It’ll be worth it, I promise.

 Second Year: Thirteen

Sunday 4th March 1973

Sirius tried to delegate research assignments regarding animagi magic to both James and Peter—
they needed to make sure that they got everything exactly right before brewing the potion, or else
they could end up as strange half-human half-animal mutants (which, according to accounts of
animagi-gone-wrong, was a very painful and very short existence). But as March approached, their
attention turned to other, more immediate matters: namely, Remus Lupin’s birthday.

They would have planned something anyway, but since Peter had promised a surprise, Sirius
wanted to make sure that they delivered. The weekend before their friend’s birthday found them
lying on the floor of the common room next to an abandoned game of exploding snap,
brainstorming.

“We could map some more of the castle?”

“No, we did that last year.”

“Well, what if I asked Madam Hooch—”

“No quidditch, James, we already agreed!”

“Honeyduke’s?”

Sirius rolled his eyes in exasperation. “We go there every week! It has to be a surprise, something
he’s not expecting!”

They all fell quiet, thinking. James stared at the fire, which cracked with sparks in the grate.

“Oh!” He sat up, “I’ve got it!”

“What?!” Peter and Sirius asked, enthusiastically, in tandem. James grinned.

“Fireworks!”

“…what?”

“Let’s set off fireworks! Come on, we’ve been wanting to try out those new lettered ones from
Filibuster’s, what if we wrote ‘Happy Birthday’ or something?”

Sirius scratched his chin, thinking. “Yeah…yeah, that’s brilliant! It would have to be at night,
though, to get the full effect.”

“Midnight! We’ll wake him up at midnight, and then we can—er…sing happy birthday?”

“And what, go back to sleep?” Sirius frowned; James shrugged.

“We can do something else that Remus likes? Maybe a prank?”

“Yeah…” Sirius lay back down, thinking, “It should be something Remus would want to do.
Something he likes.”
Peter snorted, grumbling, “The only thing Remus likes anymore is revising. And food.”

James laughed. Remus had promised Peter that he’d quiz him on History at dinner, but he kept
trying to talk around bites of food, and eventually Peter had just told him to stop. The smaller boy
was still a bit annoyed about it, but James and Sirius both thought it was hilarious.

“Hang on,” Sirius said, a slow smile creeping across his face, “Peter—that’s it!”

* * *

Saturday 10th March 1973

They ended up inviting the girls, although Sirius wasn’t too keen on the idea. James got it in his
head that since Remus was friends with them now (friends! With a group of girls!) he’d enjoy
having them there, and once James Potter made up his mind about something there was very little
the rest of the world could do about it.

James maintained that it had nothing to do with wanting to spend time with Lily, but Sirius
suspected otherwise. More and more, recently, he’d been noticing changes in the way his friend
behaved towards her—while James had always seemed to get a kick out of antagonizing the poor
red-head, now he seemed to be doing it less to impress his friends and more to get Lily’s attention.
He blushed madly whenever one of the other marauders called him on it, and he’d got into the
habit of sitting up straighter and mussing up his hair whenever she was around.

Sirius found it all incredibly annoying. He had older cousins, of course, and he knew that there was
supposedly some sort of nebulous draw between men and women that made them go all stupid and
moony over each other as adults. The older boys on the quidditch team did a lot of talking about
girls, and James frequently reported back the things they said to Sirius, giggling nervously and
whispering behind the safety of a silencing spell at night. So Sirius knew, subconsciously, that it
was cool if you could get girls to like you (which made sense, as Remus was probably one of the
coolest people he knew, and he seemed to do it without even trying); that it was something he was
supposed to want. But every time he saw Mary and Marlene giggling next to Remus, or James
losing all rational thought in his attempts to impress Lily, he just got annoyed. He didn’t want all
his friends getting distracted when they had important marauder business to attend to!

Still, he gave in eventually to inviting the girls, and they all seemed very excited about the surprise.
Mary even volunteered, at James’ request, to test whether it was safe for them to get into the boys’
room (Sirius thought about explaining why that wasn’t necessary, but he was pretty sure that
James was angling to get Lily alone, and he didn’t want to upset his friend—even though it didn’t
work; Lily just rolled her eyes and stomped off when he asked.)

By the time Saturday rolled around, they had finished a week’s worth of preparations, and all three
boys bid Remus goodnight with broad, excited smiles. Just before the clock struck twelve, he and
James snuck over to their friend’s bed, where Lupin was sound asleep. Sirius held up a finger,
wand out, indicating that they should wait. The clock struck twelve, and—

“LUMOS MAXIMA!”
A shock of bright light flooded the dorm room, and they ripped back the curtains around their
friend’s bed, chanting,

“Happy Birthday, Lupin!”

Remus rubbed his face, looking groggy and startled. “It’s still dark out, you pricks.” He grumbled,
squinting against the light.

“It is precisely one minute past midnight,” Sirius declared, “and therefore officially your thirteenth
birthday.”

“Where’s Pete?” Remus climbed out of bed, looking around the room. They’d decorated it with
extra fairy lights from Christmas and the streamers typically used on quidditch match days.

“On a mission,” James answered cryptically, “C’mon, up and dressed.”

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere,” Sirius grinned, “But you’ll want to be properly attired for when your guests arrive.”

“My guests?!”

“Of course,” Sirius said jovially, “We tried to keep it marauders only, but so many people wanted
to celebrate with you, see.”

Remus gave him a look like he wasn’t sure if he was joking, but he pulled on jeans and a long-
sleeved t-shirt all the same. The timing was perfect—he'd just finished when a short knock came at
the door.

“Come in!” James shouted, causing Remus to wince. Sirius quickly explained,

“It’s ok, we put a silencing spell on the room.”

Remus frowned,

“So..whoever’s on the other side of that door can’t actually hear us?”

James smacked his forehead,

“We are complete idiots,” He groaned at Sirius, pulling open the door.

Peter was outside, smiling and blushing, accompanied by Lily, Mary, and Marlene. Remus’s mouth
fell open as they entered the room, all grinning broadly and clearly elated with the surprise. The
girls had all brought small cards and packages with them, neatly wrapped.

“I didn’t think girls were allowed in here?”

The lovely Mary tested it for us last week – nothing bad seems to happen,” James answered.

Sirius shook his head, sighing dramatically, “One day you’ll all read Hogwarts: A History, and I
can finally rest.”

James began pulling out packages from under his bed, ripping them open. They had amassed a
veritable wealth of sweets from Honeyduke’s: Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate
Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees, Droobles Best Blowing Gum, sherbert lemons, cauldron cakes – not to
mention the haul Peter had brought up from the kitchen; ham sandwiches, egg mayonnaise,
coronation chicken, cheese and pickle, packets of Remus’s favourite flavour crisps (salt and
vinegar), scotch eggs, sausage rolls, pork pies, cheese and pineapple sticks, plus some perfunctory
fruit. As the two other marauders spread out the food, Sirius lay down blankets and scattered
velvet cushions over the floor.

“Lupin,” he said, smiling at his friend’s shocked expression, “Welcome to your midnight feast!”

“Happy birthday, Remus!” The girls chanted together.

They all settled down on the floor, and Sirius placed a record onto his player – once he’d gotten
around to opening his Christmas presents, he’d discovered not one, but two Bowie albums from
Andromeda: Hunky Dory and The Man Who Sold the World.

“Sit next to me, Sirius,” Mary chirped as he moved back over. He wasn’t sure what difference it
made, but he shrugged and did as she said, leaning over to hand Remus his present,

“Open this first!”

He’d made a mess of the wrapping, but he figured it didn’t matter much when it was just going to
be thrown out anyway.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Remus mumbled, predictably. But he obediently untwisted
the ends.

“A poster?” Lily asked, watching Remus unfurl the thick glossy paper. It was one of Sirius’s
favourites—a huge A2 print of David Bowie in black and white, wearing a spangly silver costume
and giving a slightly jerky high kick.

“I got Andromeda to send it to me at Christmas,” he explained enthusiastically, “But I enchanted it

to move myself!” He’d spent a bit more time studying the portrait book where he’d found the spell
for the lions—the poster couldn’t speak, only move, but he still thought it was bloody cool.

“Wow!” Remus’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, “Thanks! It’s amazing.”

The girls had all brought packets and sweets and cakes, which were added to the enormous pile in
the centre of the room. Lily gave him a book on Potions, which Sirius thought was stupid—all of
Remus’s friends knew that Potions was his least favourite subject. Remus himself looked sceptical,
but Lily just grinned,

“Can’t keep giving Severus a reason to lord it over you.”

“Please do not mention Snivellus’s name on this most sacred occasion,” James said with mock
horror. Lily rolled her eyes and ignored him, returning to her jam tart. Her dismissal didn’t seem to
bother James, though; he cleared his throat and looked at Remus, dark eyes full of mischief, “My
present is coming later...once we’ve all stuffed ourselves to bursting.”

“Oh, Merlin, Potter,” Marlene let out a high-pitched giggle, “What have you got planned?”

James mimicked locking his lips, and pretended to throw away the key.

While Sirius still found the girls’ frequent giggling annoying, he had to admit that they grew on
him as the night went on. He already knew Mary from their Potions assignment together, and the
two of them quickly fell into comfortable banter. Lily wasn’t so bad when she wasn’t hanging
around Snape, and Marlene—as much as he wanted to resent her—was able to do the most
hilarious impressions of the faculty. It was much harder to dislike her when her imitation of
McGonagall had Sirius laughing so hard that he had to gasp for breath.

“Starting to see why Remus’s been abandoning us for you lot,” James said, wiping tears of laughter
from the corners of his eyes. It was about one thirty at that point, and Sirius caught James’s eye
and gave him a meaningful look before turning back to Mary.

“Yeah, you’re not bad, for girls,” He said, winking. Mary scoffed and shoved him, playfully.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s got nothing to do with me wanting to get my homework done.”

“Oh, how times have changed!”

“You’ll all be laughing on the other sides of your faces when Remus beats you all in our exams,”
Lily said slyly.

“Pah!” James stood, stretching elaborately, commanding the room’s attention, “Exams! We
marauders have higher concerns. My dear Mr. Black, Mr. Pettigrew,” he swept his arm towards
the dorm window, “Shall we?”

“By George!” Sirius leapt to his feet, “Is it time?!”

James nodded solemnly,

“Indeed it is.”

“Then make haste!” Peter cried, clambering up as well.

The girls exchanged nervous looks with each other and Remus, who only shrugged. Sirius hurried
to the window with James and Peter, heart pounding with excitement, buzzing with energy from all
the sugar. They flung the window open, snickering deviously.

“Come on!” Peter urged, waving the others over, “You’ll want to see!”

James had pulled out the box of bright red fireworks from under his bed, loading up both his own
arms and Sirius’s.

“Are those...” Marlene scrunched up her nose, “Not Dr. Filibuster’s?!”

James grinned maniacally.

“Oh no!” Lily cried, dismayed, “We’re not supposed to! You’ll wake up the whole castle!”

“Get lost if you don’t like it, Evans,” Sirius snapped, passing a few rockets to Peter. He didn’t care
how much James liked her—he wasn’t about to let a stupid girl ruin Remus’s birthday surprise.
“You promised not to spoil anything.”

“Remus,” Lily turned to plead, “Tell them, they’ll listen to you!”

“No they won’t,” Remus said happily, “Anyway, I want to see! I’ve never seen wizard fireworks.”

“You’re in for a treat!” Sirius winked.

“How many do you need?!” Mary stared, clearly impressed.

“Thirteen, obviously.”
“You’re all going to get in so much trouble...”

“Oh, stop being such a goody goody, Lil!” Marlene threw an arm around her friend.

“We won’t let any of you girls get in trouble,” James said chivalrously, hands too full to push his
glasses up as they slipped down his nose, “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Lily scoffed, folding her arms, “I just think you’re all being—”

“Ooops!”

BANG!

“Peter!”

They all leaned out of the window to see the rocket Peter had dropped tumbling down towards the
ground in a torrent of green and gold sparks.

“Sorry...” Peter looked down, sheepish. Sirius laughed,

“No, great work – now we’ve started we may as well continue, eh?” Without waiting for a
response, he began to hurl his own fireworks out the window, clear into the night air. James and
Peter joined in, and Lily finally fell silent as they all stared, awestruck, at the magnificent display
of lights exploding in the starry sky.

The fireworks exploded multiple times, changing colour as they did so, from red to green to blue.
They twisted and writhed, finally curling into letters that spelled out, ‘HAPPY THIRTEENTH
BIRTHDAY REMU’.

Sirius shook his head, irritated. He had wanted to leave out “thirteenth,” but James had insisted.
“Knew it was too many letters.”

In addition to being beautiful, the fireworks were appallingly loud. They cracked through the still
silence of the night, bursting triumphantly with harsh pops and bangs, crackling as they fizzled out.
Throughout Gryffindor tower, lights came on and footsteps could be heard as the other students
were jolted out of their sleep.

Inevitably, McGonagall came to put an end to their antics, pounding on the door and shouting
shrilly,

“Potter! Black! Don’t think I don’t know you’re behind this, OPEN THIS DOOR!”

“Oh shit!” James grimaced, “Better get under the beds, ladies...”

They received a thorough telling off, followed by a series of stern reprimands and a final promise
that included two months' detention and letters home to all of their parents. Once McGonagall
finally left, still fuming, the girls snuck out and reluctantly returned to their own dormitory. It was
two o’clock in the morning by then, and the sugar had worn off—they were all dead on their feet.

“Happy birthday, Remus!” Peter called out as he drew his curtains, yawning.

“Yeah,” Sirius echoed, yawning as well, “Happy birthday, Remu.”

 Second Year: What's in a Name?

Monday 19th March 1973

The full moon that month fell on a Sunday night, so none of the marauders were surprised when
Remus didn’t show up for class in the morning. More often than not, he spent the entire day after a
full moon in the hospital wing, downing sleeping potions and being fussed over by Madam
Pomfrey. She usually let them visit, although she sometimes turned them away. On those days,
Sirius knew that his friend had had a particularly bad night—but Remus never complained, even
when he returned to their dorm with freshly healed wounds and new bandages.

The marauders tried to visit their friend at lunch, but Madam Pomfrey sent them off, immune to
their heartfelt pleading. It had been a bad one, then.

As classes wore on with no sign of their friend, Sirius felt a bit guilty. He’d intended to do more
with his animagus research, but he’d been so busy marauding with Peter and James that he’d let it
fall to the wayside. It wasn’t that he was giving up—he was going to do it, nothing could stop him
—it was just that to get started he needed to sit down and really focus on his research, and that was
very difficult to do when you were friends with James Potter.

Of course, James cared just as much as Sirius about becoming an animagus. He had more than
enough drive and passion when it came to helping their friend. But while James was great at taking
charge and inspiring those around him to follow his lead, he often got so caught up in the big
picture that he forgot to pay attention to any of the details—and animagi magic was very, very
detail oriented.

So Sirius had resigned himself to doing the bulk of the research they needed to get started—which
was fine. He just had to find the time to actually sit down and do it...

The moment their classes ended, the three boys hurried to the infirmary to check on their friend. In
fact, they were in such a rush that Peter, in a moment of distraction, walked smack into a cabinet
door that had been left open, causing a couple of bedpans to come clattering out. He winced at the
noise.

Madam Pomfrey’s head popped out from behind the curtains drawn around Remus’s bed.

“Mr. Pettigrew!” She barked, “What do you think you are doing?!”

“S-s-sorry Madam Pomfrey—we were just...”

“Pick those bedpans up right now and put them back in the cupboard! And you can wipe that smirk
off your face, Mr. Black, give him a hand.”

Sirius abruptly stopped snickering and frowned—but he wasn’t about to defy the stern medi-witch,
so he stooped to help collect the bedpans. James had gone over behind the curtains to talk to
Remus, so Sirius nudged Peter with his elbow.

“Look out, Pete,” he said, slyly, “There’s a spider on your shoulder.”

“What?! Where?!” Peter jumped, dropping the bed pans he’d collected with an awful CRASH.
Sirius attempted to stifle his laughter as Madam Pomfrey marched over, shouting, “MR.
PETTIGREW, WHAT DID I SAY?!”

Peter shot Sirius an irritated look as he apologized once more to the nurse, and Sirius hurriedly
shoved his own armful of bedpans back into the cabinet before dashing over to their friends.

“REMU!” He whipped back the curtain with a flourish, “You’re ALIVE!” Sirius collapsed
dramatically at the foot of the bed, “I was convinced she was trying to cover something up, the old
bat wouldn’t let us come over.”

“Don’t call her that,” Remus snapped, frowning, “And don’t call me that!”

“But you wanted a nickname,” Sirius protested, standing back up. Peter joined them, pouting,
hands shoved in his pockets.

“No, I didn’t,” Remus furrowed his brow, “When did I ever say th—”

“Last year,” Sirius interrupted him, “Almost exactly a year ago, you said you wouldn’t mind being
called anything as long as it wasn’t Loony Lupin.”

“God, you’ve got a memory like an elephant,” Sirius had no idea what that was supposed to mean,
but he could figure it well enough from context, and Remus was still talking. “Anyway,” he said in
a hushed voice, “The whole point of having a nickname was so no one knew who wrote the map. I
don’t think ‘Remu’ is going to fool anyone.”

“He’s got a point there,” James acceded, “As much fun as it’s been.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius sighed, “But can we call you Remu until we come up with something
better?”

“No.”

“Boring.” He tried not to stare at Remus’s bandages (a very bad night, it seemed), searching for
something else to say. “So are we getting out of here or shall I settle down for a rousing game of
snap?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Madam Pomfrey bustled in, “I’m keeping Mr. Lupin in for observation
overnight.”

This was apparently the first that Remus was hearing of it, because he immediately protested. “No!
I’m feeling much better!” Sirius couldn’t blame the old nurse for not trusting him—he was pretty
sure that if Remus was bleeding to death, he’d still insist he was fine.

“I’m not being deliberately unkind, Remus,” the medi-witch sighed, “This is for your health.”

“I’ll go straight to bed!”

“We’ll look after him!” James piped up, earnestly. Next to him, Sirius nodded. Madam Pomfrey
didn’t look convinced.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but no.”

“Fine,” Peter spoke suddenly, “We’ll stay here then.”

“Yeah!” Sirius and James agreed.

“You’ll miss dinner!” Remus protested.

“I’m sure we can arrange something just this once,” Madam Pomfrey said, finally softening. “All
right, boys – but you’re to keep quiet. And get on with your homework, I’ll not have you using Mr.
Lupin here as an excuse for not handing anything in.”

She waved her wand, and suddenly three more chairs and a long pinewood desk had materialized
next to Remus’s bed. There were even inkwells for their quills. Sirius was impressed—he hadn’t
realized the old nurse was such a powerful witch.

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak Madam Pomfrey shot him a
look. “And no, Remus, no homework for you. Just rest.”

Remus lay back down, looking thoroughly disappointed. Weirdo.

“Can I read my book?” He asked, meekly.

“As long as it doesn’t strain your eyes.”

She finally left, and the marauders sat down and began diligently working on their homework, as
instructed. This diligence lasted all of two minutes, when James caught Remus craning his neck to
try and see what they were doing. He covered his work with his sleeve and wagged his finer
scoldingly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” James tutted, grinning, “No looking, Remu, you just rest.”

“Ugh, call me Loony!” Remus groaned, “Anything but Remu!”

“But it suits you!” Sirius smirked devilishly, “Reeeeeemuuuuuu.”

“Stop it or I’ll bite you.”

“Reeeeemuuuu.”

“Reeeeemuuuu!” Peter joined in, all three boys trying to stifle their hysterical giggles so as not to
upset Madam Pomfrey.

“I hate my name,” Remus moaned, covering his face with the book he was reading. “You might as
well call me anything you like, I dunno what could be worse.”

“Loony Remu?” James suggested, helpfully. “Remoony?”

Sirius was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.

“REMOONY!” He snorted, collapsing into giggles on the desk.

“Moony is actually quite good,” Peter said suddenly, brow furrowed in thought.

“Eh?”

“Moony. As a nickname.”

Remus stared at Peter, lower lip poking out as it always did when he was thinking. He appeared to
consider the name, before saying grudgingly,

“I don’t hate it.”

“I love it,” James declared, “Moony. Suits you.”

“Won’t people...y’know, catch on?” Remus asked, chewing his lip.

“Nah,” Sirius waved a hand dismissively, “We’ll tell them it’s after that muggle in The Who.”

“They’re all muggles in The Who.” Remus pointed out. And then, “But I don’t play the drums.”

“You like hitting things.” Sirius shrugged.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Remoony.”

* * *

After dinner (delivered by Madam Pomfrey), James had to leave for quidditch practice, and Peter
for a detention. Sirius was left alone with Remus and his homework—neither of which proved very
entertaining. Remus just wanted to read, and professor Slughorn wanted an essay on the seventeen
different uses of beetle shells.

Sirius decided to complete the essay later, instead attempting a tentacle-arm jinx that he’d once
seen Narcissa use. McGonagall had warned them all about the dangers involved with transfiguring
humans—even partially—but he figured that since he was already in the hospital wing, there was
no better place to try it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite get the spell right. He wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong, but
the most he succeeded in was making his arm slightly slimy. He wiped it off on his robe, giving
up, and propped his feet up on Remus’s bed.

“What you reading, anyway?”

“The Epic of Gilgamesh.” Remus replied automatically, turning the page. He didn’t even glance
up, completely immersed in the book.

“What’s it about?” Sirius tried again.

This time, Remus looked up. “It’s yours!” He said, surprised, “I got it off your shelf!”

“Oh, one of the muggle ones? I haven’t read many of them, to be honest. They were my uncle
Alphard’s.”

“Right.”

“So?”

“So what, Black?!”

“What’s it about?”

“A man called Gilgamesh.”

“Ok, you have to agree that’s a worse name than Remus Lupin.”

This earned a smile,

“Yeah, all right. It could always be worse.”

“So tell me about this Goulash bloke.”

“Gilgamesh. He was a king. A long time ago.”

“See, now I’m hooked, that’s how all good stories start.” Sirius got comfortable, cupping his head
in his hands and waiting for his friend to continue.

“No, you’re just putting off your Astrology essay.”

“Pfft, I’ll copy James’s.” Sirius grinned, “Tell me more, oh keeper of knowledge. I’ve read to you
plenty of times.”

Remus sighed, but there was still a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Gilgamesh was a king.”

“Yes, a long time ago, you’ve established that.”

“Look, shut up or piss off.”

“Ok, ok!” Sirius held his hands up, surrendering, “Carry on.”

“So he was a king, but not a good one. He wasn’t fully human – he was two thirds god, so he was
stronger than everyone else and his people were frightened of him. He was dangerous. So, his
people prayed – um...that’s when you ask the gods for help – and the gods sent another man to
help control Gilgamesh.”

“Was he even stronger?”

“No, but he was part animal,”

“So this beast-man killed Gilgamesh?”

“No. They fought each other for a really long time, but Gilgamesh still won. He didn’t kill Enkidu,
though – he...he sort of recognised that they were equals. And they become friends – best friends.
They have all these adventures together, fighting other monsters and stuff. It’s cool.”

“I want to know more about the beast-man.”

“Enkidu. He was master of the animals, and he was happy living in the wild, but then after he’s
sent to control Gilgamesh he can’t ever go back to nature. So he never really belongs.”

“But he had his friend, right?”

“Yeah, but...well I don't want to spoil the ending for you.”

“S’ok, I hardly ever read muggle stuff.” He wanted Remus to finish the story.

“You’re missing so much!” Remus exclaimed, “Well, ok then. Enkidu dies.”

“What?!”
“Yeah, it’s sort of sad, he was my favourite character too.”

“But why?”

“To teach Gilgamesh about death, I think. Before Enkidu he was too arrogant to believe anything
could hurt him. But after he loses him, he realises that he’s not the master of everything. No one
can control death.”

“That’s a really depressing thought, Moony.”

Remus shrugged, ducking his head. As he returned to his book, Sirius leaned back, thinking about
the story. If he were Gilgamesh, and he had a friend like Enkidu, he would never let the ending get
so bleak. He’d make sure they both lived, and they’d keep having adventures and fighting
monsters together, right up to the very last page.
 Second Year: Love & Marriage
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

What are we coming to?

No room for me, no fun for you

I think about a world to come

Where the books were found by the Golden ones

Written in pain, written in awe

By a puzzled man who questioned

What we work here for

All the strangers came today

And it looks as though they’re here to stay

Oh! You Pretty Things (Oh you pretty things)

Don’t you know you’re driving your

Mamas and Papas insane?

Friday 20th April 1973

Sirius was on a roll. In the past week alone, he and James had changed the colour of all the
Slytherin banners in the Great Hall (bright pink), enchanted the torches on the third floor to start
sneezing whenever someone walked past (absolute chaos during passing periods), and plotted a
new secret passage on the map (the switch was inside a suit of armour outside the Ravenclaw
common room). James had threatened that they were going to have to seriously buckle down and
focus on revising starting next Monday, but first they had decided to round out the week with a
prank involving a time-delay spell and Spitting Tulips from the greenhouse.

It was an unusually warm day, and most students were outside on the grounds enjoying the
sunshine, leaving the halls relatively clear. Sirius ran through the empty corridors with an armful of
flowers, on his way to a rendezvous with James. They had timed everything precisely, and he
couldn’t be late.

So of course, he rounded the next corner and ran straight into Severus Snape.

He skidded to a halt just before they collided, breathing hard. Snape wasn’t alone; to Sirius’s
irritation, Regulus was walking right next to him. It was a side passage, narrow enough that the
two boys standing next to each other took up most of the space.
“Well, well,” Severus sneered, eying the flowers in Sirius’s hands, “What do we have here?”

“Out of the way, Snivellus,” Sirius said roughly, ignoring his brother. He couldn’t risk trying to
push past Snape—the flowers were delicate, and one wrong move could set them off.

“What are you up to?” Snape narrowed his eyes, “Are those for your boyfriend, Potter?”

Sirius flushed—something about the way Snape said boyfriend made him nervous and
uncomfortable. “Actually, they’re for Evans,” he shot back, “Remus told me they’re her favourites.
The two of them have been spending quite a bit of time together lately, d’you reckon she fanc—”

“Shut. Up.” Snape hissed, face white with rage. He whipped out his wand, pointing it menacingly
at Sirius’s face—he had obviously touched a nerve.

“Oh, come on, Severus, just let it go,” Regulus interceded, sounding almost bored.

“Piss off, Reg, I don’t need you to defend me!” Sirius snapped, fumbling for his own wand as he
tried to juggle the flowers.

Snape let out a sharp bark of laughter. “As if he’d ever defend a blood traitor like you!”

Sirius didn’t think much of the insult—he’d heard it plenty before, and he was more focused on
somehow getting into a duelling stance while still protecting his precious cargo, half-distracted
trying to calculate his remaining time before he missed the rendezvous with James. But Regulus
stiffened.

“What did you say?”

His brother’s voice was low and even. It sounded calm, if you didn’t know him well.

“I said that he’s a filthy blood traitor!” Snape snarled, glaring hatefully at Sirius, “Everyone knows
he’s the disgrace of the Black—”

“Legarikko!”

Sirius watched, incredulous, as Snape’s tongue began to swell and elongate, writhing out past his
lips and physically tying itself into knots.

“Mmmph! Mmmmph!!” Severus turned to stare at Regulus, shocked and horrified. The younger
wizard slipped his wand back into his robes.

“Keep my family's name out of your mouth,” he said icily, “And in the future, don’t presume to
discuss business that has nothing to do with you.”

Snape’s eyes darted between the two brothers, gaze laced with hatred—but he had no choice but to
turn and hurry away to the hospital wing, as his tongue continued to writhe.

Sirius watched him go, dumbfounded. After a moment, he turned back to Reg. The two regarded
each other warily.

“I didn’t need your help.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

A pause; then,
“That was disgusting.”

Reggie’s mouth tugged up on one side, a half-smile. “I learnt it from Narcissa.”

“Of course you did.”

Reg nodded towards the flowers. “Are those for a prank?”

“Maybe,” Sirius shifted, still not letting his guard down entirely, “Why?”

His brother hesitated, looking down at the floor. For a moment, the haughty expression slipped,
and he looked as Sirius remembered him: bashful, earnest, a little insecure.

“Look…Sirius,” he spoke slowly, as if choosing the words carefully, “I know this—marauder

stuff…means a lot to you, but—” he broke off, sighing as if in frustration.

“But what?”

“But…look, could you just—ease up a bit?”

Sirius huffed. “Ease up?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” Reg said, “It’s not just about you anymore. Mum and dad are really upset, and you
keep making things worse. If you’d just stop being so stubborn—”

Sirius shook his head, disgusted. “I can’t believe you’re taking their side.”

“I am not taking their side!” Reg was glaring at him like a kicked dog, “You never listen to me—
I’m trying to help you!”

“Great, feel free to volunteer to marry Narcissa for me.”

“No, see—that’s exactly my point! You act like the things you do only affect you, but they don’t!
Just once, could you consider that your actions might have consequences?”

Sirius glanced down at the flowers in his hands. He only had a few minutes left before they’d
explode—at this point, he probably wouldn’t make the rendezvous with James. The prank was
already ruined.

“Look, Reg, I’m busy. And I’m already engaged against my will, so trust me when I say that I’ve
thought plenty about the consequences of my actions. This has been delightful as always, but I have
to go.”

He started to walk past his brother, and Regulus made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“There are worse things they can do to you,” he muttered, almost under his breath. Sirius paused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Reg held his gaze for a moment, but then his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Nothing.”

“No, go on—d’you know something? Did they say something to you?”

Regulus refused to meet his eye. He stared stubbornly at the floor, opening his mouth as if he were
about to speak—and then closing it. Sirius searched his brother’s face.

“What did they tell you?” he asked again; and then, more quietly, “What are they going to do?”

Reg just shook his head, turning away. “That depends on what you do,” he muttered, “I’ve been
trying to tell you that.”

* * *

Monday 30th April 1973

“Moony, what are all of these books for?” James asked, tripping over a hazardously tall pile
stacked right in front of the door.

“Just some research,” Remus said casually, nose buried in the pages of another book, “Where’ve
you been?’

“Plotting.” Sirius picked his way over the scattered tomes as James bent down to try and restack
them. Remus raised an eyebrow,

“Plotting? Map or mischief?”

“Bit of both,” Sirius grinned and threw himself onto Remus’s bed, picking up yet another book to
examine the title.

“Wizard Wedding Rituals?!” He laughed, “Who you marrying, Moony? Not Evans, James’ll have
to challenge you to a duel.”

“I do NOT fancy Evans.” James insisted—it was becoming a common refrain. He picked up the
final book he had knocked over and placed it on top of the pile, taking a moment to scan the cover.
“Magical Marriages.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, “Seriously, Remus, what’s all this
about?”

Remus gave a long-suffering sigh, setting his book down and rubbing his eyes,

“I’m trying to help you,” he nudged Sirius with his foot. “Someone’s got to get you out of this
stupid engagement.”

Sirius’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t realized that Remus was doing all this research for him. He
covered his surprise with a scowl.

“Oi! I’m doing everything I can.”

Remus gave him a sceptical look. “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t I had more detentions than anyone else this year? I must get a howler a week. And my
lions, don’t forget my lions at the quidditch match.”

Remus knotted his brow, perplexed.

“How is any of that supposed to help?”

“I’m proving that I’m not the marrying type.”

“No offence, mate,” James said, joining them on the bed, “But I don’t think your lot really care that
you’re not the marrying type.”

“Exactly,” Remus agreed, “You’re the heir. You have to marry another pureblood. And the Black
family have a long history of inter-marriage, even your parents are cousins.”

Sirius shifted self-consciously. It felt weird, hearing Remus speak so clinically about the situation
—about his family. “Er…how do you know?”

“I’ve been reading,” Remus said, gesturing to the books as if it were obvious. “There’s loads of
stuff in the library on your family. One of the oldest wizarding houses in Britain, traced all the way
back to the middle ages, where the family seat was in Inverness in Scotland—”

“I know all of this.” Sirius interrupted, starting to feel a bit irritated. He didn’t need Remus of all
people to school him on his family history—he got enough of that from his bloody parents!

“Yeah, but did you know that you aren’t the first Black who wanted to get out of a marriage?”

“Well obviously Andromeda – though that was more that she did want to marry, only Ted was the
wrong sort…”

“Not just her – Lyra Black defied the family’s wishes in 1901 to marry into the Crabbe family, and
Delphinus Black was supposed to marry his niece in 1750 but left her at the altar and married
Fidelia Bulstrode. And your Uncle Alphard never married either, though there’s no explanation—”

“Yeah, we’re not supposed to talk about him,” Sirius interrupted again, “I’ve heard mother ranting
about him and I’m pretty sure he was a queer.”

Neither of the other boys seemed to know what to say to that. After an awkward pause,

“My dad knew Alphard,” James offered, “Said he was an alright bloke.”

“He was always nice to me,” Sirius shrugged, “Left me his money and everything, made sure no
one else can touch it until I’m of age. Makes my parents furious, you know, that he didn’t return all
his cash to the family vault, so I have to give him credit for that, even if he was…well, whatever.”

He could hear his mother’s voice echoing in his head: Absolutely vile, disgusting, impure—
abandoning his family! Shirking his sacred duty to continue the Black line, just to debase and
defile himself with—

Remus cleared his throat.

“So anyway, it just goes to show that you can get out of this sort of thing. Only problem is, I can’t
find any good details on how they all got away.”

“Don’t bother,” Sirius said darkly, “Even if you did find out – none of them had my mother to
contend with. You don't know what she’s like. She’s probably going to make us take the
unbreakable vow.”

“She wouldn’t!” James gasped.

“She’d do anything.” Sirius said firmly.

 Remus ignored them, lost in thought and chewing on his lip. With the conversation effectively
ended, James and Sirius both clambered over to their own beds, a sombre silence settling over the
room.

The truth was, Sirius had pretty much given up hope on getting out of the engagement. He’d been
thinking a lot about his conversation with Reg, and he was sure that there was something his
brother wasn’t telling him—which only made him feel more powerless. He really had done
everything he could think of to get his parents to change their minds, to give up on him—if he’d
done his best and it hadn’t worked, what more could he possibly do?

Thinking about it just made his thoughts spiral, remembering how helpless he was in the face of
his parents’ wrath, how outmatched in this futile battle for—respect? Freedom? The right to live
his life as he saw fit, rather than dictated by years and years of ridiculous bloody traditions? Sirius
wasn’t even entirely sure what he was fighting for, which only made defying his family that much
more exhausting.

So although a part of him was grateful to Remus for his efforts, and understood that his friend was
just trying to help, the discussion of all his research mostly just made Sirius feel sick. He didn’t
want to think about engagements or betrothal ceremonies or marriage—he just wanted to enjoy his
last few months at Hogwarts, pretending that nothing was ever going to change.

Chapter End Notes

Song is "Oh! You Pretty Things" by Bowie

 Second Year: Exams

May 1973

Unfortunately, it became more difficult for Sirius to ignore the looming future once exam season
came around. Every student at Hogwarts was frantically revising, test schedules were posted, and
professors kept harping on about year-end grades. To make matters worse, all of Sirius’s friends
seemed to have lost their minds—James no longer had time for any pranks, Peter looked like he
was about to cry every time he opened a book, and Remus—well, Sirius wasn’t quite sure what
was going on with Remus.

The normally quiet boy seemed edgier than usual, and less in control of his magic. Normally,
Remus was able to cast spells as easy as breathing (it drove Sirius mad, how quickly he picked up
on things). But for whatever reason, as exams drew closer, it was as if every bit of magic he cast
went overboard; he’d try to levitate a book and send it soaring up to crash into the ceiling, or
mutter a simple Lumos and nearly blind everyone in the vicinity.

Sirius might have found this impressive if it wasn’t so annoying. The constant distractions from his
own revision grated on his nerves; James and Remus had both pulled ahead of him in classes, and
Sirius wanted to make sure they didn’t beat him in every subject. He gritted his teeth as Remus
tried to levitate his gobstone set (for a third time) and sent it crashing through the dorm window.

“Reparo,” Sirius muttered, attention pulled away from his Astronomy revision. The shattered glass
knit together seamlessly. He turned back to his notes as Remus sighed.

“You really need to relax, mate,” James suggested (as he had before, about five thousand times),
“We don’t have any practical exams until next week anyway.”

“I’m so behind, though!” Remus frowned, collecting up his gobstones and putting them back in
their box. Sirius rolled his eyes from behind his papers. ‘Behind’ for Remus meant that he hadn’t
gotten around to doing a second reading of the texts, paired with some independent research in the
library.

“If you’re behind then what am I?!” Peter said miserably from the floor, making everything about
himself, as usual. He was desperately trying to review the texts for no less than five different
subjects, taking up all the space with his books. “I know I’m going to fail Transfiguration, my
rabbit hasn’t changed at all this year, and I know she’s going to make us do something really hard.”

“At least you’re good at Potions.” Remus shot back. “And Herbology, I can’t ever remember
which leaves mean what…”

“You beat me on our last Herbology quiz,” James reminded him, “And you’ve got us all by the
bollocks when it comes to History of Magic, I’ve been copying your homework all year.”

“But you’re best at Transfigur—” Remus started to reply, and Sirius felt a rush of anger. Why
couldn’t they just shut up about who was best at what! He threw his Astronomy book to the floor,
where it landed with a loud, satisfying, thump. Peter flinched.

“Will you all shut up?! I’m trying to revise!” He shouted, standing up. “Like a bunch of old women
nattering. I’m going to the library.” He yanked his satchel over his shoulder and stormed out of the
room before any of them could respond.
He knew, even as the door slammed shut behind him, that he wasn’t being fair to his friends. But
he couldn’t bring himself to care as he stomped to the library, letting the dark mood settle over his
shoulders like a familiar cloak. By the time he’d thrown his things down on a table and opened his
astronomy text, he was so frustrated that he could barely concentrate.

What was he even studying for? It wasn’t like his parents would care—he’d never hear the end of
it if he got bad grades, of course; they’d call him a disgrace all summer. But they already did that
anyway, and even if he came top in every subject, his mum and dad would hardly bat an eye. Sirius
was pretty sure that they’d have him locked up in the house no matter what he did—at least until
the betrothal ceremony.

Even so, the thought of letting his friends beat him in every subject was more than his ego could
handle. Sirius had always prided himself on his intellect, and the fact that James was currently
beating him in Transfiguration was more of a sore spot than he cared to admit. Transfiguration had
always been Sirius’s best subject, after all.

He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. He shouldn’t have been taking out his feelings on
his friends—it wasn’t as if he could blame James for doing well in school. Especially when the
other boy had been so supportive, a steady shoulder for Sirius to lean on and a faithful ear during
their night-time conferences. James had even told Sirius that he had an open invitation to come visit
during the summer, to stay as long as he liked—which Sirius greatly appreciated, even if he knew
it was never going to happen. It was nice to feel like there was some place where he was actually
wanted.

Sirius resolved to apologize to his friends that night, turning back to his books and doing his best to
put the upcoming summer out of his mind.

* * *

Sirius stifled a twinge of jealousy as McGonagall gushed over James’ transfigured rabbits.
“Excellent, Mr. Potter!” She said, examining the red velvet slippers enthusiastically.

Sirius turned his own rabbits into a pair of black wool booties, which also received a
commendation from their professor, although without quite as much gusto. Remus, who seemed to
have gotten his magic back under control, looked quite nervous before uttering the incantation, but
he did a fine job—the colour hadn’t changed, but he was otherwise able to completely transform
his rabbits. Peter, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to get rid of the ears and tails—even after three
attempts. To make matters worse, his slippers left droppings on the desk; McGonagall frowned and
shook her head at the mess.

Sirius yawned as their professor finished her survey of the classroom, walking to each student’s
desk. They had already handed in their theory papers (something Sirius wasn’t worried about at all;
he was excellent at writing essays as long as the topic was interesting), and he was anxious to have
the exam over with. They had finished with the rest of their classes (Sirius was very confident with
his work in History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and reasonably happy with the
rest of his subjects); Transfiguration was the final hurdle.

When she’d finished grading every student, McGonagall transformed all the rabbits back and
herded them into their hutch at the back of the room, ready for the next exam. Before dismissing
them, she passed around sheets of parchment with what looked like blank timetables stamped onto
them.

“You will be aware,” she said, peering down her nose at them, “that in your third year you may
choose a minimum of two additional subjects to take up to ordinary wizarding level. Here are your
application sheets. If you will please think very carefully, reviewing each subject’s merits, then
complete the form and return it to my office no later than the last day of term.”

Sirius looked down at his paper, scanning the subjects listed. Around him, the other students began
to murmur excitedly.

He was still reading his sheet as they made their way into the hall, where Peter immediately began
interrogating James about which courses he was going to take – so that he could copy the schedule
exactly.

“Muggle Studies,” Sirius announced, as they headed outside to the summer sunshine, “Definitely
going to take Muggle Studies.” It would drive his family mad—plus, maybe he’d be able to
understand Remus better. Sometimes the boy would make references or use figures of speech that
Sirius had never heard before. And if he ever visited Andromeda in the muggle world, he’d be able
to blend in!

“D’you think Evans will take that?” James mused, reading his own paper. It was becoming more
and more obvious that he fancied her—which still irritated Sirius, sometimes. At this point, though,
it had become so farcical that it was almost entertaining, seeing as Lily Evans was probably the last
person on earth who would ever end up with James Potter.

“Doubt it, mate,” Sirius answered his friend’s question, “She’s muggle born. You could impress
her with your knowledge though.” He meant it as a joke, but James seemed thoughtful.

“Yeah…yeah, maybe…”

“Are you going to take that, then, James?” Peter squeaked, “Do you think it’ll be difficult? I s’pose
we could just ask Remus for help…are you taking it, Moony?”

“Nah,” Remus shook his head, “What’s the point? You lot do it, though, then maybe you can stop
asking me stuff.” Sirius glanced over at him—he wasn’t even attempting to read his paper yet; he
must not have had a chance to cast Lectuincula Magna back in the classroom.

They sat down on the grass, getting comfortable. James shrugged out of his robes, saying,
“Divination…that’s like fortune telling, right?”

“I think so,” Sirius set his schedule down to fling off his robe, as well, rolling up his shirt sleeves,
“Crystal balls and tea leaves.”

“Sounds like a right doss. Let’s do that.”

He and James leaned down to scribble on their papers, with Peter following suit immediately.
Remus reached up with his wand and pretended to scratch behind his ear, the way he always did
when he was trying to be subtle about casting his reading spell. Sirius wasn’t sure how nobody else
noticed the habit, but so far neither of their other friends seemed to have a clue about Remus’s
struggles with reading.

He started scanning his paper, frowning thoughtfully. “Arithmancy…” he mumbled, “Is that like
arithmetic?”

“Numbers, anyway,” Sirius shrugged, “It’s supposed to be really difficult.”

“Care of Magical Creatures…dunno about that,” James snorted, “Have you seen the teacher? He’s
got more scars than Moony.”

“Oi!” Remus half-heartedly kicked his friend’s ankle, still studying his paper. Sirius turned back to
his own sheet.

“I think I’ll do Arithmancy, if you are,” he said, nodding at Remus.

“Will it be really difficult?” Peter asked nervously, even though Sirius hadn’t even been talking to
him.

“We’ll help you, Pete, don’t worry,” James assured him. “Anyway, there are better things about
third year than extra homework – Hogsmeade!”

“You go to Honeyduke’s three times a week,” Lupin pointed out, absentmindedly.

“Yeah, but Zonko’s!”

Remus looked up and grinned at him, a concession. Sirius watched his two friends for a moment,
smiling to himself, and then turned his face up towards the sun. He closed his eyes, letting the
summer heat soak into his skin. The grass was soft beneath his fingertips, and there was a lovely
whispering breeze coming from off the lake.

“Oi, oi, Evans!”

Sirius opened his eyes to see James sitting up quickly, getting ready to act like an idiot again.

“I’m not a dog, Potter,” the redhead responded tartly, “Don’t yell at me like one.” She was walking
across the grounds with Marlene and Mary, who shot Sirius a cheeky grin.

“Hi, Sirius.”

He leaned back, sweeping his hair behind one ear and trying to act casual. “All right, MacDonald.”
Remus sat up, looking over, and Marlene gave him a shy wave.

The three girls were clutching ice cream cones, which were quickly melting in the warm weather.
Mary was still staring at him, which made Sirius feel very aware of himself—did his hair look
alright? Did he look cool? He wasn’t sure, exactly, what girls were supposed to find attractive, only
that you were supposed to attract them.

“Give us a lick, then,” James cajoled Lily, winking lewdly. Marlene turned beetroot red and
dissolved into giggles, but Lily kept her cool, arching a single brow.

“You do look like you need cooling off. Aguamente!”

Her wand snapped towards the marauders, spraying them all with icy cold water. Remus managed
to dodge out of the way, but James and Sirius were completely drenched. Sirius shouted angrily,
instinctively holding up his hands in defence. All three girls were cackling, their voices shrill and
irritating. Sirius glared at them.

“What’d you do that for?” He demanded, trying to get his dripping hair out of his face. He hadn’t
even said anything—why didn’t Lily just go for James?

“Thought you lot liked practical jokes?” She asked, innocently, turning with a wink and leading her
friends back towards the lake.
“Complete nightmare, that one,” Sirius grumbled, attempting to dry his hair with a hot air charm.
Why’d his best mate have to fancy the most annoying girl in school?

“That’s my future wife you’re talking about,” James grinned dopily, watching her saunter away.
He’d finally stopped trying to deny his crush, at least. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, you’ll dry out
in half an hour in this heat.”

“Where’d you think they got the ice cream?” Peter asked, distantly.

Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes, looking over at Remus. He had gone back to reclining in the sun,
a peaceful expression on his face, hardly a drop of water on his robes.

Bastard, Sirius thought, smiling fondly.

 Second Year: The Long Last Day (Part One)

Friday 29th June 1973

“D’you think we’ll be able to pull it off?” James asked, stifling a yawn. They were lying side by
side on their backs, staring up at the heavy red drapes surrounding the bed. Sirius scoffed.

“’Course we will! We’re marauders, aren’t we?”

The silencing spell around the bed muffled outside sounds, slightly, but he had still heard the clock
strike midnight. It was officially their final day at Hogwarts.

“We certainly are,” James grinned, closing his eyes. His voice was beginning to take on that
sluggish, dreamy quality that it usually did right before he fell asleep. Sirius shifted a little, jostling
him, and his eyes fluttered back open.

“Mmm?” He mumbled, drowsy. Sirius hesitated.

There was something he needed to say—something he’d been meaning to talk to James about. A
seed of fear that had grown, slowly, over the last few months, worming sickly roots into his mind.
But it had never felt like the right time; and, honestly, the thought of speaking the words aloud
made him feel as though they might come true.

James mumbled, “Reckon we should—” he broke off to yawn, “head to bed, yeah? Got an early
morning tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, “Yeah, right.” But he didn’t move.

“Er…everything alright?”

James was staring at him, clearly fighting to keep his eyelids from drooping. He was obviously
about to pass out.

Sirius took a quick breath, and opened his mouth,

“Idon’tknowifI’mcomingback.”

The words came out in a rush, spilling into each other. James sat up, blinking.

“What?”

“I…d’you remember how my mum threatened to send me to Durmstrang?”

“Yeah, but—you don’t think she’d—”

“She might.”

James opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure of what to say. Sirius could see that it had
been the last thing his friend was expecting to hear. He spoke quickly, trying to explain,

“It’s just—well, with the betrothal and everything, y’know…it’s a big deal. A big ceremony. And
once they’ve announced it to everyone, they’ll need to make sure that I—that I don’t, I dunno, ruin
it. Somehow.”

“How would you coming back to Hogwarts ruin it?” James demanded, indignant. “You’d already
be—well, you know!”

Sirius looked down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers. “You don’t know what my parents are
like. Everything’s about appearances with them. If they announce to the entire wizarding world
that the Black heir is engaged, it’ll be like—everyone’s suddenly watching.”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“I know.”

“I mean, who do they think even cares that much about what you do!”

“I dunno.”

“Where is this even coming from? I thought you said Durmstrang was an empty threat?”

Sirius sighed, helplessly. “I know. I thought it was! Since she was just sending me howlers…but,
well, I had a sort of. Conversation. With Reg.”

“What! When?”

“Er…a few months ago.”

James looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sirius shrugged, looking away. For a tense moment, there was silence; then James reached out and
grasped his shoulder.

“I won’t let them send you away,” his voice was low, urgent, “No matter what. Okay?”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he whispered, wishing he could believe it.

* * *

The next morning he woke up early, as promised. The Marauders’ final mission would take the
entire day, and required them to sneak in and out of every bathroom on every floor of the castle. He
and James would be in charge of spell-casting, and had already divvied up all the targets that they
needed to hit—they had decided that it would be best for them to remain conspicuously separated
all day, to avoid suspicion.

Peter and Remus were still asleep as the other two boys headed down for breakfast, which wasn’t
surprising—Peter always forgot to set his alarm, and Remus was slow and grumpy in the mornings.
Sirius finished his own food quickly, anxious to get started with his task. James was still eating, so
he took the time to make a plate for Remus, coating four thick slices of toast with four different
spreads, the way he liked. Halfway through the meal, Peter came scurrying down to join them.
Sirius frowned at the entrance to the great hall.

“Where’s Lupin?”
“He was just waking up when I came down,” Peter said, around a mouthful of fried egg, “Probably
going to be a bit.”

“At this rate he’ll miss breakfast,” Sirius muttered, standing. “I’ll just take this up to him.”

Back in the dorm, the bathroom door was shut. Sirius checked the clock—he didn’t have time to
hang about, so he knocked and called out,

“Toast out here for you, Moony! Thought I’d save you some time.”

“Oh, great, cheers!” Remus answered through the wood.

“Good luck! See you this afternoon!”

“Yeah – you too!”

He needed to stop by McGonagall’s office and drop off his timetable before he got started on his
mission, so he paused on his way down the hall to knock on her door. There was the sharp sound of
footsteps, and it swung open a moment later.

“Mr. Black.” She peered down her nose through her spectacles. He grinned.

“My timetable, professor.”

McGonagall plucked the paper from his hand, scanning it.

“Arithmancy…one of the most difficult subjects we offer here at Hogwarts, but I’ve no doubt you
can handle it if you choose to apply yourself.” She raised an eyebrow, meaningfully, and went back
to reading the paper, “Divination…and Muggle Studies.”

McGonagall glanced up, surveying him for a moment with pursed lips. Her stern look typically
made students shrink away—McGonagall was one of the strictest professors at Hogwarts, with
zero tolerance for mischief, disruption, or tomfoolery. Her classes were notoriously difficult; her
tests left little room for error. As she eyed him, Sirius stood up straighter. He would never admit it
—but she was his favourite professor.

“Are these your final decisions?”

“Yes, professor.” He nodded firmly.

She waved her hand absentmindedly, sending the paper floating over her shoulder to her desk.

“Well, go on then, run along.”

As he started to leave, she added,

“And Mr. Black! Stay out of trouble.” The severe expression had softened; her eyes twinkled as she
said it. He smiled, the picture of innocence.

“Yes, professor!”

* * *
Sirius felt as though his legs might fall off. He’d spent the past hour tromping around the upper
floors of the castle, going up and down stairs, in and out of each bathroom. He had to use detection
spells outside each one to make sure they were empty; he couldn’t have someone catching him in
the middle of his incantations. It wasn’t difficult magic, but it was time-consuming.

After climbing what felt like his fiftieth set of stairs, Sirius paused, trying to gasp for breath as
quietly as possible. He had the invisibility cloak, which made it less likely he’d be discovered—but
he didn’t want his heavy breathing to give him away. Once his heart had stopped pounding, he
muttered the detection spell outside the sixth-floor boys’ bathroom, craning his neck to check the
clock on the opposite wall. He’d need to hurry down to the first floor soon to pass off the cloak to
James, who was in charge of getting all the bathrooms on the lower levels of the castle.

So far, everything was going according to plan. James and Peter had gone off to infiltrate the
kitchens after breakfast, where they would be laying the groundwork for the marauders’ spell that
night. Once that was done, James would take the invisibility cloak from Sirius and finish off the
bathrooms. Peter would then collect the cloak from James, using it to transport any magical
cleaning supplies from Filch’s cupboard (the only thing that might foil phase one of their plan)
outside, where Remus would be waiting. Peter would hide the supplies and pass the cloak off to
Remus, who would steal all the umbrellas from the storage shed and hide them in the dorm room.
After that, it was only a matter of enjoying the chaos and preparing for phase two…

Sirius took the stairs two at a time, rushing to make sure he wasn’t late for his meeting with James.
He slowed down as he neared the empty classroom they had selected, waiting until the hall was
clear to knock.

The door opened immediately, revealing James’s grinning face.

“Did you finish it?!” He whispered, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm. Sirius pushed past and
shut the door behind him, flinging off the cloak.

“’Course I finished!” He tossed his hair, “Now it’s your turn. How’d things go in the kitchens?”

“Perfectly,” James took the cloak from his outstretched hands, “Marvellously, Wondrously,
Magnificent—”

“Okay, okay! I get the picture.” Sirius shook his head, laughing. James smiled back impishly,
swinging the cloak around his shoulders so that it looked like his head was floating in mid-air.
Before he could finish his disappearing act, Sirius said casually,

“And we’re sure Peter’ll be okay? With the closet and whatnot?”

“Yes,” James answered, emphatically, “Have a little faith, Black! He’s a marauder, too.”

“I know, I know,” Sirius assured him, backtracking hastily. He wasn’t entirely comfortable
delegating such a responsibility to Peter—he was worried the anxious boy would back out before
he actually had to break into Filch’s closet—but he didn’t want to get into a fight with James on
their last day at Hogwarts. His frequent disdain for the smallest marauder was still a bit of a sore
spot between him and James, though Sirius thought he’d gotten better about reigning in his snarky
comments. After all, he did consider Peter a friend, now; but they would never be as close with
each other as either of them were with James.

“Wish me luck!” The floating head disappeared; the whisper appeared to be coming from an empty
classroom.
“Good luck!” Sirius whispered back, turning to open the door. He kept it ajar a moment longer
than he normally would, making sure James had time to slip out unnoticed before he closed it.

“Sirius!”

He spun around, shutting the door quickly. Mary and Marlene were walking down the hallway,
arms linked together—it was Mary who’d called his name, and she flashed him a pearly smile.

“Oh—hi, Mary.”

“Hiya!” She stopped in front of him, still linked with Marlene. Sirius nodded.

“McKinnon.”

“Black.”

“What were you doing in there?” Mary peered over his shoulder, as if she could see through the
door.

“Nothing!”

“Reeeeeaaallly?” She dragged the word out sceptically, with a playful smirk. “Is Potter around,
then?”

“No!”

“Oooh, he is, isn’t he! Come on then, what are you two up to? Is he hiding in there?”

“No,” Sirius snapped, starting to get annoyed, “Have a look, if you’re so curious.”

She just giggled blithely, unphased by his tone, and reached around to push the door open. Marlene
was silent, blushing furiously next to her friend.

“Hmm…empty.” Mary let the door swing shut, “But I still think you’re up to something.”

Sirius shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, and tucked his hair behind one ear. “I’m always up to
something.” (He knew it was something Remus and James would laugh at him for saying, but it
sounded cool in his head). Mary just giggled again, so he changed the subject,

“Where are you two headed?”

Marlene shrugged her shoulder, gesturing to the books nestled in her right arm (the left was still
intertwined with Mary’s right). At the same time, Mary chirped,

“Library! Got to return these books, or else Madam Pince’ll have our heads.” She lowered her
voice conspiratorially, “I heard from a fifth year that those screaming books in the restricted
section are actually the souls of students that she trapped when they didn’t return their books on
time.”

Sirius laughed. He liked Mary—she was actually pretty funny, when she wasn’t being annoying.
The laughter seemed to boost the girl’s confidence; she leaned forward and poked his arm, teasing,

“You haven’t got anything overdue, have you? Wouldn’t want you to end up trapped in those
shelves forever.”

“Er…” The smile slid away from his face as he considered the question, “Actually, now that you
mention it, I’ve got some I’d completely forgot—”

“Oh, well, we can’t have that!” Mary spun around, beckoning him, “Come on, you can pick them
up from the dorm and come with us to the library!”

Next to her, Marlene frowned. “We’re…going back to Gryffindor tower?”

“That’s alright, really, you don’t need to—”

Mary shushed him, cutting him off, and gave Marlene a gentle slap on the arm. “Don’t be silly!
Wouldn’t want you to get lonely on the last day of term!” She set off, leaving him no choice but to
follow.
 Second Year: The Long Last Day (Part Two)

Sirius didn’t exactly want Mary and Marlene following him up to their room—Remus’s birthday
had been a special occasion, but it would be weird to have girls in the room if his friends weren’t
there—so he told them to wait in the common room while he went to grab the books. Marlene
looked a bit put out, but Mary dragged her over to sit down on one of the couches all the same.

Sirius raced upstairs, trying to stifle his irritation with Mary. He did need to return the library
books at some point, and they still had some time while James finished up his end of the prank.
But he wanted to make sure that he was out in the halls to witness it when all their work that
morning finally came to a head.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t exactly left his room in perfect order. It looked like Remus had tried to
pack a bit that morning—his bed was entirely devoid of everything except his pyjamas, and James,
who was the tidiest of all of them, had already made his bed and neatly packed his trunk. Peter’s
area was still a mess, clothes half-packed and trunk flung open, as if he’d been interrupted halfway
through trying to tidy his things away.

Unlike his friends, Sirius hadn’t even begun to pack. His records were sprawled across the room,
his posters were still up, and his clothes lay in haphazard piles. Books, quills, papers, stray
gobstones, chocolate frog cards, and various other items were strewn about, cluttering his space.
He sighed in frustration, glancing at the clock again as he began frantically searching for his
forgotten library books.

There were three of them, all related to transfiguration, all checked out in hopes that they would
contain information helpful to his animagus pursuits. Sirius felt a twinge of guilt whenever he
thought about how little headway he’d made in his research over the past year; while he’d spent
quite a bit of time looking more into the theory behind animagi magic, he hadn’t had the patience
to do a deep-dive into the potion ingredients they’d need. Sirius knew that he’d probably have to
dedicate ample time to looking up each individual ingredient, where it could be found, and how to
properly collect it. He’d told himself he had plenty of time, but now, on the last day of term, he
hadn’t even started.

He resolved to spend the entire summer researching as he tore apart his trunk, tossing out nearly
everything inside—onto the floor, the bed—until he finally found the last book, abandoned in the
bottom corner. He checked the clock again—if everything had gone according to plan, it was only
a matter of minutes before their prank began. Sirius tossed the books into his satchel and ran
downstairs, where Mary and Marlene were still waiting in the common room.

“There you are!” Mary bounced up from the couch, “We were just beginning to wonder if we’d
have to come check on you.” Marlene stood more slowly, a sullen expression on her face.

“Sorry,” Sirius said quickly, hurrying them towards the portrait hole, “Had to find them all. Let’s
go!”

“Someone’s in a rush,” Mary shot him a bemused smile, but she looked delighted as he grabbed her
arm to pull her out into the corridor. Marlene followed behind them, staring at the floor.

Sirius tried to contain his excitement as they walked down the hall towards the library. Mary was
chattering on about something, but he was hardly listening to her, too busy glancing at every clock
and bathroom doorway they passed. Any minute now…
Suddenly, Marlene gave a little shriek and stopped short. Sirius spun around—he’d been craning
his neck to look at the clock on the wall. His face split into a broad grin. Further down the hall,
huge waves of pink foam were spilling out of the boys’ bathrooms. Along with Marlene, there were
a few other exclamations of surprise.

“What is that?”

“Eurgh!”

“Hurry, get away!”

Sirius laughed, unable to help himself, and Mary narrowed her eyes.

“Are those…bubbles?”

The other students in the hall, once the initial shock had passed, were beginning to investigate as
well, giggling as they approached the massive mounds of foam. The pink bubbles fizzed and
popped as they hit the air, only to be instantly replaced by new ones. Every tap inside every
bathroom in the castle was spilling out identical mountains of the rosy froth.

“Is this what you’ve been up to?” Mary demanded, sounding delighted.

“Of course not!” Sirius said with mock indignance, “I would never deface school property in such
manner! For you to even suggest that—Oi!”

Mary had interrupted him with a handful of pink foam, flung like a snowball to splat directly in his
face. Sirius spluttered, rubbing away the bubbles, which left his skin damp and smelling slightly of
strawberries. Even Marlene was giggling now, the sour look melting off her face.

“Oh, you’ve done it now, MacDonald!” Sirius yelled, grinning, “Just you wait!” He flung his
satchel to the side, using both hands to gather up foam, and Mary shrieked and danced away, trying
to avoid his bubbly assault. Pretty soon, other students were joining in, until the hallway had
become immersed in a full-fledged foam war.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later—cheeks flushed and clothes still wet from the bubbles—that
the three Gryffindors finally arrived at the library. Madam Pince glared ferociously as they passed
over their books, covers slightly damp despite their attempts at drying spells. For a moment, Sirius
almost believed Mary’s story about the trapped souls of students—the dour old librarian certainly
looked as if she’d like to trap them forever in the pages of her precious books.

Fortunately, she let them go, hissing warnings about making sure they returned their any future
checkouts in pristine condition. Mary let out a breathless laugh as they made their way back to the
dorm. Sirius expected her to split off with Marlene once they were back in the common room, but
instead she asked,

“What are you up to now?” And proceeded to wait expectantly for an answer.

“Oh. Er…” Sirius glanced around, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to keep
hanging out with Mary—he’d actually had quite a bit of fun with her and Marlene, which surprised
him—but…well, they only had a few hours before he had to start getting ready for their grand
finale at dinner, and even though they’d agreed the marauders should remain separate, Sirius had
sort of been hoping to find James. After all, it was their last day before summer, and then—well.
Sirius didn’t want to think about what might happen after the summer.

Luckily, Mary misread his hesitation, smiling mischievously. “You’re still up to something, aren’t
you?”

Sirius blinked, then smirked. “I’m afraid that I can neither confirm nor deny your accusation.”

“Oooh, what’ll it be? Never mind, don’t tell me—I love surprises!” She grabbed her friend’s arm,
saying enthusiastically, “See you at dinner!” Before the two of them headed off to their own room.
Marlene gave him a tentative smile and a little wave over her shoulder, which he returned.

“Oi, Black! Don’t tell me you’re abandoning us for that lot, too!”

Sirius turned, grinning, to see James climbing through the portrait hole. His hair was a mess,
sticking out crazily, and his glasses were slightly askew. Judging from the dampness of his robes,
he had also been taking advantage of their foam prank.

“It’s a curse being this beautiful,” Sirius flipped his hair out of his face, smirking, “The ladies just
can’t stay away.”

James snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, mate. Hey, have you seen Peter?”

“Nope.”

“Damn. Told him I’d help him pack, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Probably got lost on that moving staircase again.”

James laughed. “Yeah, probably.” He looked away briefly, then back. “Y’know…I could help you
pack, too, I really don’t mind—”

“No.” Sirius frowned. James had been subtly (at least, what he thought was subtly) hinting that
Sirius should get started on packing for about the last week, and Sirius had staunchly refused every
time. They still had all night, and he wanted to take full advantage of his final day at Hogwarts.

“It’s just that it's our last day, and we probably won’t have time in the morning—”

“No! Just drop it, okay?” Sirius snapped without meaning to, and James hesitated, studying his
face.

“Alright, mate. No packing, got it.”

There was a moment of tense silence—Sirius kicked himself, mentally, for making things
awkward. Why couldn’t he just control his temper? Why couldn’t James just mind his own bloody
business? Anger prickled under his skin, and he was about to open his mouth again when—

“Fancy a turn around the grounds, then?” James smiled benignly, acting as if he couldn’t sense his
friend’s dark mood, “Perfect day for flying. I think I saw some other students grabbing their
brooms, reckon we could get enough people together for a game of quidditch…”

Sirius grinned, the anger receding immediately. “What are we waiting for, then?” The tension
broke, and they raced upstairs to grab their brooms—James always knew exactly what to say.

* * *
Sirius spent two glorious hours speeding across the quidditch pitch, wind in his hair and sun on his
skin. True to his word, James had managed to gather a group of students for an impromptu game,
and Madam Hooch had even let them use one of the quaffles from the game shed—though she
refused to release any snitches or bludgers. Still, they had a fantastic time chasing after each other
and trying to score goals. Peter found them eventually, and though he seemed self-conscious about
filling in as a keeper when it wasn’t just the three of them, he finally acquiesced after much
reassurance from James.

Eventually, the game broke up, and James made a half-hearted excuse about needing to return to
the castle. Sirius was pretty sure he was going to pack for him—James Potter excelled at many
things, but lying wasn’t one of them. The boy didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body; it was a
wonder he could keep secrets at all, and likely only possible because of the fierce loyalty he had
towards his friends.

Even so, Sirius couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. The earlier spat felt ridiculous, now that he
was out in the sunshine, and he knew that James was just trying to help. So he didn’t question the
flimsy excuse, instead simply electing to stay outside and continue flying. His parents had
confiscated his broom in the past as a punishment, so there was no telling if he’d have the chance
to practice his flying over the summer.

Surprisingly, Peter decided to stay outside, too, declaring that he’d spent too much time cooped up
in the castle. Sirius suspected that this decision was motivated in part by a fear of Filch, who had
been raging through the halls over the pink foam and swearing revenge on whoever had stolen his
cleaning supplies.

He was a bit worried that it might be awkward, but flying with Peter was actually quite nice. A few
other students remained on the pitch with them, and they made a game of racing from one end to
the other. Without James to compete against, Sirius won every time—it almost got boring. Peter
didn’t seem upset at all that he kept losing, happy to be included, and he followed along willingly
with all of Sirius’s suggestions. By the time they were heading back into the castle, Sirius was
beginning to think fondly to himself that maybe the boy wasn’t so bad—though his tendency to
whinge was still quite annoying.

They reunited with James and Remus in the common room before making their way down to the
Great Hall. The Gryffindor boys were some of the first students there, huddling on the bench and
whispering to each other to make sure everyone was on the same page for their final prank of the
year. Listening to the others recount their days, it sounded as if everything had gone off without a
hitch—Sirius was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement as the other students began to
filter in. Mary and Marlene sat down a little ways away from them, and Mary flashed him an
excited smile, which Sirius returned.

The feast was amazing, as usual—the house elves had outdone themselves with the pudding, and
Sirius felt sated and happy as the final scraps vanished from their plates. Ravenclaw had won the
house cup that year, so the hall was decked out entirely in royal blue and bronze silk banners that
shimmered in the flickering candlelight, making Sirius feel a bit like he was underwater. He turned
away from the waving banners to watch as Dumbledore stood and made his way to the podium,
beaming out at the students.

“What a wonderful year it’s been,” he began, voice ringing out and silencing any lingering chatter,
“I am immensely proud of all of you, of course. Now we are all well fed, I have a few words I
would like to say…”

“Ready, lads,” Sirius whispered, feeling as though he might burst with excitement. Dumbledore
continued,

“…congratulations once again to Ravenclaw…”

“Now!”

“…winning this year’s house—"

A shriek from the far end of the hall cut off the headmaster’s voice abruptly, and everyone spun
around to look. Gasps of shock could be heard as every single goblet on the Ravenclaw table
simultaneously erupted in fountains of red and gold bubbles. They shot towards the ceiling like
geysers, bursting and showering bright droplets down onto the students below, staining everything
they touched with streaks of Gryffindor crimson.

“Keep going!” Sirius whispered eagerly, as his friends flicked their wands together, concentrating
with single-minded determination on their joint task. Immediately, every other goblet on every
other table erupted in identical streams of red and gold. Around them, students shrieked and ducked
for cover, their robes, hair, and skin dyed with vibrant streaks of red and gold.

Even the students at the Gryffindor table found themselves showered in their house colours—
James had insisted on it. Somehow, Lily Evans had gotten her hands on an umbrella, and Marlene
and Mary fought to cram underneath it as she laughed. Sirius grinned, tilting his head back so that
the droplets streaked through his hair, staining the inky black curls with shimmering gold.

When he looked over at the Slytherin table, he was met with Narcissa’s ferocious glare—the red
and gold easily stained her pale hair. Sirius grinned back at her, tilting his chin up and laughing as a
droplet of red spattered against his cheek.

“Omnistratum!” Dumbledore said, calmly, aiming his wand at the ceiling.

At once, the bubbles burst, evaporating into nothing as if someone had opened a giant, invisible
umbrella over the Great Hall. “Scourgify!” The headmaster smiled pleasantly, now turning to wave
his wand over the entire hall. The red and gold paint vanished without a trace, not a single mark left
anywhere. The chaos dissipated as students retook their seats.

“Aw,” James sighed, disappointed.

“An excellent way to celebrate Gryffindor’s victory on the quidditch pitch this year,” Dumbledore
cleared his throat, reclaiming the attention of the room, “And while I welcome and encourage
displays of house pride, I would like everyone to remember that true sportsmanship lies in the
ability to gracefully cede victory. Please join me in raising your glasses to Ravenclaw, winners of
the Hogwarts house cup of 1973.”

Sirius might have rolled his eyes, if he hadn’t been in such a good mood. Instead, he clapped
gamely with the rest of the students, thinking privately to himself that there were much cooler
things than winning the house cup.

James leaned forward, whispering,

“Brilliant! Bloody brilliant! We’ll have to do something really big next year to top that!”

Sirius grinned and leaned in, too, brainstorming in hushed voices with his friend. Next to him,
Remus was smiling, and Peter was nodding along as he and James shot ideas back and forth. For
the moment, Sirius let himself forget his worries, forget that he might not be returning to Hogwarts
in the fall. For the moment, everything was perfect; he let himself pretend that things would never
change.
 Summer 1973

Sirius had never liked the portraits adorning the walls of his ancestral home. They were all of
stuffy old relatives, always frowning, and the whole lot were notorious snitches. But usually they
wouldn’t deign to speak with him, instead turning up their noses and shooting him dirty looks—
which was easy to ignore, once you got used to it.

That was no longer the case in the summer of 1973. When Sirius arrived home, he was horrified to
find that in addition to his mother’s usual vicious lecture, the portraits of his ancestors had decided
to take it upon themselves to remind him what a disgrace he was. He could barely leave his room
without hearing a snide remark about how he was bringing shame to his family—Sirius wished he
could use magic; he and James had been cooking up a spell to temporarily change the appearance
of paintings. He would’ve quite liked to turn his great-aunt Muriel into a selkie, or perhaps a troll.

Regardless, the vocal disapproval of his family only made Sirius more determined to prove that he
didn’t care about a single word any of them said. The day he arrived home, he immediately
unpacked the Gryffindor banners and flags that he had stuffed into his trunk, hanging them all on
his walls with spell-o-tape. He felt a bit better once his bedroom was draped in red and gold—he
could almost pretend he was back in the Gryffindor common room.

The respite didn’t last long; Kreacher must have seen the paraphernalia when he came in to clean
and told Sirius’s mother, because within twenty-four hours she was tearing everything down and
shredding it with magic. She forced Sirius to carry the scraps out to the backyard, then handed him
a box of matches and told him to burn it.

He refused.

Once his legs had healed and he was able to make the trek to the family owlery again, Sirius began
writing regular letters to his friends. This was a much needed distraction, especially because Remus
was actually writing back this summer—apparently Lily Evans, of all people, had enchanted some
sort of clear paper so that he could use it to read. This bothered Sirius (he was supposed to be the
only one who knew Remus’s secret, so he didn’t understand why he’d gone and told Lily) but he
tried not to think about it too much, because it was nice to be able to communicate with his friend.

The letters made the next few weeks of summer bearable; James complained constantly of
boredom, Remus reported that he was spending all his time doing homework, and Peter announced
that his family was going to visit France. Sirius would smuggle the missives covertly to his room,
where he would clutch the pages and imagine he could hear his friend’s voices, and that they were
all back together once more.

Halfway through July, his mother intercepted a letter from James; she was predictably furious that
Sirius was still in contact with “that Potter whelp.” His father got involved this time, lecturing in a
low, dangerous voice that made Sirius feel as if ants were crawling up and down his spine.

“The Potters are not your friends, son,” he said coldly, “They may want you to think that they care
about you, but I can assure you that they do not. People like them are determined to stamp out the
way of life that our family has spent hundreds of years protecting—they would see you cower
before muggles, suppress your magic for what they consider ‘the greater good.’ They would see
our communities polluted; our children’s minds poisoned…”

And just like that, Sirius was no longer allowed the privilege of using the owlery.
There was still the muggle post—the large black mailbox at the outskirts of the Black Estate’s
grounds was mostly just for show, and nobody ever checked it except Sirius. He had already
perfected his system for sneaking out and knew exactly which times no one would miss him. Still,
it made things more difficult; he didn’t know Remus’s address, so he had to stop sending letters—
and Remus stopped writing to him, as well. Luckily, he’d learned James’s address after visiting,
but the other boy was horribly confused by the muggle post and only managed to get one more
letter through during the entire month of July.

Without regular communication from his friends, Sirius quickly grew lonely. The house was too
big, and too empty. He and Regulus had come to a sort of truce, which mostly involved them
ignoring each other and was broken only occasionally by fragile smiles or resentful remarks. It was
hard not to begrudge his brother, who still had unimpeded access to the owlery and was able to
communicate with his slimy little friends. Sirius tried to picture weaselly, mean-spirited Barty
Crouch sitting down to compose an epistle, and suffered a total lack of imagination.

But still, at least Reg was there. At least he left clean bandages outside Sirius’s door. At least he
looked the other way when he caught Sirius defacing one of his father’s books in a moment of rage
—although later Orion would know immediately who had done it, and would not be lenient with
his discipline. At least Reg snuck into his room that night, and didn’t say anything, just lay next to
him, side by side, breathing in tandem until Sirius fell asleep. The next morning, they both acted as
if it had never happened.

Sometimes, Sirius wished his brother would just—pick a side. It was incredibly confusing, when
Reggie was laughing with him one moment and sneering at him the next, and Sirius was never
quite sure what he’d done to flip the switch. Reg often acted sympathetic when they were alone,
but their conversations would inevitably loop back to the point that Sirius simply needed to clean
his act up a bit and play by the rules, and why couldn’t he stop pushing boundaries, and couldn’t
he understand that their parents were just under a lot of pressure? During one particularly nasty
fight, Regulus suggested that Sirius only insisted on treating their parents like villains because it
made him feel important to play the tortured hero. It was the first time Sirius had ever truly wanted
to hurt his little brother.

The week of the betrothal ceremony, Reg was back to being sympathetic. He could defend their
parents all he wanted, but he couldn’t deny that being forced to marry your cousin was objectively
awful. He tip-toed around Sirius the entire week, sensing his brother’s dire mood. It wasn’t exactly
helpful, but it was better than the alternative.

On the morning of the ceremony, Sirius woke feeling numb. No matter how he had tried to deny it,
the day had finally come: he was to be betrothed, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to
stop it. He briefly considered refusing to leave bed, but he was sure that his parents would force
him to go through with the ceremony, even if it meant dragging him (literally) to the altar
(metaphorically).

He was numb as he dressed in the hideous green dress robes. He was numb as his mother yanked a
comb through his hair, which he’d purposely mussed up. He was numb as he greeted the flood of
relatives, all invited to witness the joyous occasion. He was numb as Regulus squeezed his hand
and whispered,

“It’ll be okay—I promise. Just wait.”

He barely processed the words. Narcissa didn’t even look like a real person in her dress; she looked
like a character from the pages of a history book or horror story. There was something tragic about
all the lace, something final about the fierce glint in her eye. They were marched to sit in front of
the spectators, side by side. She was still taller than him.

Sirius wondered if he’d be able to write letters to his friends from Durmstrang. His father was
speaking.

He wondered if there might be a way out of this whole mess, once he came of age—surely his
parents couldn’t force him into marriage once he was legally an adult? He wondered if he should
have spent more time studying the minutiae of wizard marriage law. But Remus had checked out
all those books, and he hadn’t found anything…

Now his uncle was talking, saying something about the sanctity of tradition and hard times ahead.

Sirius wondered, vaguely, what his mother would do if he just stood up and ran. He could
disappear into the woods, live in a cave like he and Reg had always talked about…

Narcissa stood up.

Sirius blinked, coming back to himself. He sat frozen, staring dumbly at his cousin. Was he
supposed to be standing, too? Was this part of the ceremony?

“We have to stop this at once.”

Narcissa didn’t raise her voice, but it rang clear and sharp over the crowd. The silence was a
corpse, heavy and stiff. Sirius could hear his own heartbeat.

What?

He looked around, seeking an explanation. His mother’s face was a mask of rage; Bellatrix was
grinning maniacally. Reg caught his eye, smiling almost as broadly as Bella, though he was clearly
trying to stifle it. What was going on?

It appeared that Narcissa’s father was equally confused. He stepped closer to his daughter, hissing,

“What do you think you’re playing at?!”

Narcissa kept her chin high, mouth a thin, tight line. She leaned towards her parents, whispering
something, and Sirius had the pleasure of watching his aunt faint immediately onto the lawn.

Behind them, the gathered spectators were beginning to mutter, whispering amongst themselves.
Sirius watched, perplexed, as his mother stormed over and demanded to know what was going on.
Narcissa turned to her, not a trace of fear on her face.

“I made an unbreakable vow.”

Her voice didn’t even waver as she said it, staring Walpurga Black dead in the eye. The crowd fell
silent, straining to hear.

“What.” It wasn’t a question—his mother’s voice held no curiosity, only venom.

“I vowed to marry Lucius Malfoy as soon as I finish my NEWTs.”

Sirius felt as though he’d been kicked in the teeth. He couldn’t believe that Narcissa—perfect,
haughty, straight-laced Narcissa—actually had the guts to defy their family so drastically, and so
publicly. It was a scandal of epic proportions—perhaps even worse than his sorting into
Gryffindor. He felt as though he was seeing his cousin in an entirely new light.
The silence only held a moment longer before chaos erupted. Everyone was shouting, his uncle
was trying to stop his mother from attacking Narcissa, and there were sharp flashes of light as
curses were suddenly fired from wands. His parents could talk about decorum all they wanted, but
Sirius had gotten his temper from somewhere—watching the ceremony fall to pieces in front of his
eyes, it was abundantly clear that hot-headedness ran in the family.

He managed to slip away, dodging his relatives to scurry back over to Reg. The two of them
ducked behind a decorative statue, peeking around the side to watch their family members
screaming at each other.

“Did you know?” Sirius asked, feeling slightly giddy. His brother nodded.

“Narcissa wrote me last night—said I shouldn’t tell you, that we couldn’t risk giving anything
away. But I told you everything would be alright!”

Sirius was so relieved and delighted with the turn of events that he couldn’t even find it in himself
to be angry that he’d been left out—instead, he laughed with his brother as they watched their
great-aunt flailing about for the hat that their third cousin had knocked off her head.

* * *

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, after the fiasco with the betrothal ceremony. He thought
his parents might lock him up even tighter, level a new barrage of restrictions. He worried about
Durmstrang, wondering if they’d use it as a last resort. He waited, anticipating the moment that
their anger with Narcissa inevitably bled over onto him.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, his parents seemed to be ignoring him. They still lectured him, still scoffed at his
behaviour. But the vicious methods of discipline were abandoned, and for the most part they left
him alone. He was even able to start using the owlery again, though neither of them had officially
reinstated the privilege—they just didn’t seem to care enough to stop him. Sirius could hardly
believe his good luck.

He began to understand the sudden change in attitude on the evening that he overhead his parents,
speaking in hushed voices in his father’s office. Sirius had snuck out of his room to see if he could
find any will-o-wisps in the back garden—he knew well enough not to follow them, and it was fun
to watch them darting about. As he passed the office door he paused, surprised that his parents
were still awake. Very carefully, he pressed his ear to the door.

“…not sure we can just ignore years of tradition—”

“Oh, please, Orion! We wouldn’t be ignoring tradition—there’s precedent! You know just as well
as I do that he’ll never be fit to shoulder the weight of such responsibility.”

His father sighed, deeply. Sirius felt a sticky twist of nausea in his gut—he knew immediately that
they were talking about him.

“Regulus shows such promise; in a few years’ time, he would make the perfect heir. You can’t tell
me that you don’t agree.”
“No, no, you’re right…I truly hoped that he might mature, that a match with Narcissa might…well,
I suppose that doesn’t matter now. But we can’t be too hasty.”

“Of course not. I’m only suggesting that we realign our priorities; this isn’t only about their
futures…”

Sirius returned to his room. He didn’t want to hear any more.

* * *

It wasn’t like he wanted to be the heir. In fact, he’d never wanted it—it had always been a dark
cloud, bloated with lightning, waiting to strike the moment he turned seventeen. After all, wasn’t
that the source of all his grief? The only reason his parents tried so desperately to mould him into
the perfect Black? He didn’t care about the house, or the fortune, and he certainly didn’t care about
the stupid bloody traditions. He didn’t want to go into politics, or spend all his time worrying about
upholding the family honour, or struggling to keep up appearances. No, he didn’t care at all—not
one single bit.

So what if they made Regulus heir? He was much better suited—he obviously wanted it, with the
way he pranced around acting like the world’s greatest son. He was such a kiss-up, always on his
best behaviour, never stepping a toe out of line. If their parents said “Jump,” Reg asked how high.
That was what they wanted—a puppet. A mindless, cowardly little git who would do whatever
they said, even if it meant throwing his brother under the bus. So what if their mother doted on
Regulus, smiling proudly as she straightened his Slytherin tie, smoothing back his hair with a touch
that was gentle, maternal—loving. Who cared? Sirius didn’t need her—he didn’t need any of them.
He was much better off alone.

In fact, he liked being ignored. He liked being invisible, unnoticeable, untouchable. He liked being
left to his own devices, without his parents ever glancing his way. He liked that they’d given up
lecturing, that they hardly even spoke to him, that their gazes slid off him as if he repulsed them,
oil and water. He liked that they focused all their attention on Reg, and he obviously liked it, too;
he swallowed all the doting, all the praise, like a pig being fattened for slaughter. Sirius didn’t care.
He didn’t bother thinking about it.

Not even a little. Not one bit.

 Third Year: Home Again
Chapter Summary

third year begins!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Please don’t believe in me, please disagree with me

Life is too easy, a plague seems quite feasible now

Or maybe a war, or I may kill you all

Don't let me stay, don’t let me stay

My logic says burn so send me away

Your minds are too green, I despise all I've seen

You can’t stake your lives on a saviour machine

Saturday 1st September 1973

On the morning that Sirius finally returned to Hogwarts, his parents seemed to have decided that he
existed again. His mother shouted at him to go back to his room and not return until he was dressed
properly—his robes were purposely rumpled, his hair carefully mussed. She wouldn’t let them
leave until both her sons were the absolute picture of poise and decorum, which drove Sirius mad.

Just a few more hours, he reminded himself, clinging to the fact that he would soon be free of his
wretched family and reunited with his friends. He had spent the entire month of August counting
down the days, feeling as though he might crawl out of his skin if he had to spend another second
trapped in those awful halls.

When he finally caught sight of platform 9 and ¾, Sirius couldn’t stop the broad grin that split his
face in two. He could almost hear the crackle of the Gryffindor fireplace, could almost taste the
feast...

His mother grabbed his arm, digging her nails into his skin.

“Don’t go running off, now,” She hissed, quietly enough that none of the surrounding passers-by
could hear, “We have an image to maintain.”

Sirius tried to wriggle out of her grasp, muttering, “What?!”

“We will go as a family, and you will board the train with your brother, am I understood? There are
appearances to keep up, boy, especially after that stunt your cousin pulled.”

She finally released him, and he rubbed his arm, grimacing.

“Fine.”

Regulus stared at the ground, pointedly ignoring the exchange. Sirius scowled at him.

He slouched against a station pillar once they were inside, mussing up his hair again and re-
rumpling his robes. His mother was too busy fawning over Reg to notice—she crouched down to
smooth back his hair, whispering to him about family pride and “remembering what he’d learned
that summer,”—whatever that was supposed to mean. Regulus only nodded, white-faced, holding
himself stiffly as if he had to concentrate to keep from drooping.

The crowded station slowly emptied of people as students streamed onto the train, shouting
goodbyes and waving to their families. Walpurga waited until the last minute to send her sons off,
brushing her lips against Regulus’s forehead and acting as though Sirius were invisible. He rolled
his eyes as he boarded, not even bothering to wave.

In the narrow hallway, Reg hesitated for a moment. Sirius raised a brow.

“Well? Run along then, haven’t you missed all your creepy little friends?”

His brother flushed. “We’re supposed to sit—”

“Together, yes, I know, they say that every year. But you made it very clear last year that you have
no interest in sitting with my friends, and you’re mental if you think I’m going to spend a single
second in a Slytherin car.”

Reg looked as if he might say something, a dark expression clouding his face. But after a moment
he just muttered, “Fine. Do what you want.” He spun on his heel and stormed off, as Sirius called
after him,

“I plan to!”

He spent a moment longer in the corridor, waiting for the anger to dissipate before finally hurrying
off to find his friends.

They had already found a carriage and settled down in their seats during the time it took him to
disentangle himself from his family. Sirius pushed open the door, still irritated, muttering darkly,

“Keeping up appearances my arse.”

“No change there, then,” James responded cheerfully. Sirius perked up immediately, smiling—he
was finally, finally back where he belonged.

“I thought I’d never see you all again!”

“Godrick, you always have to be so dramatic.” James gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder as
they all stood to greet him.

“You don’t know what she’s like,” Sirius insisted, clasping his friend’s hand. James had grown a
few inches over the summer, and his round face had sharpened a bit, but he still had the same
warm smile.

Sirius felt a jolt of surprise when Remus stood up—previously the same height, his friend now
towered over him; it looked as though someone had stretched him out. He even stood taller than
James, who had always been the biggest of the group.

“Is that you, Moony?!” Sirius exclaimed, craning his neck comically and raising a hand as if to
shield his eyes while he peered up, “Can you hear me up there?”

“Ha, ha.” Remus said sourly, looking uncomfortable with the attention. “I’m the same height as
James.”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” James shot back, standing closer so that they could all clearly see that
Remus was a half inch taller.

“Yeah, how did I end up mates with two beanpoles, eh?” Sirius teased, slapping him on the back
playfully, “Lucky I’ve got you, eh, Petey-boy?”

“Hm?” Peter looked up from his pasty, oblivious. Unlike the others, he looked no taller than he
had been when they were all eleven, though he was considerably wider.

Sirius had grown a bit himself, over the summer—it had happened so gradually that he hadn’t
realized until he noticed that his robes no longer brushed the ground when he put them on. He was
secretly a bit jealous of his taller friends; he thought their growth-spurts made them look older,
more mature. And wasn’t he supposed to be the eldest?

“Right,” James rubbed his hands together as they all sat down, “Now all that’s out of the way – I
say we move onto new business. Plans for the year?”

“We have to finish the map,” Remus said eagerly, “It’s not far off, and I bet we can figure out that
homunculus charm if we really put the effort in.”

“Definitely,” James agreed, “The map is basically our legacy, right? We’ll work on it, I promise.”

“And that other thing,” Sirius jumped in, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

Left alone with little to do, Sirius had spent most of his free time researching over the summer. He
felt confident that he had mapped out every detail of the animagus process, and was sure that the
marauders would be able to do it—well, he and James would, at least. In his letters with James,
he’d suggested that they break the news to Remus. But James held off, insisting that they wait until
they were absolutely certain that the task was feasible.

“What ‘other’ thing?” Remus asked, frowning. James shot Sirius an irritated glance before turning
to their friend.

“Just something we were talking about last year. We’ll um...we’ll let you know if we decide to go
through with it.”

“Don’t want to get you into trouble, Moony,” Peter forced a nervous laugh, “Less you know the
better, eh?”

Remus looked annoyed, and Sirius didn’t blame him. He wished the others would just let him
come clean—but he’d been outvoted, and although he didn’t agree with James’ decision, he still
trusted his friend. Still, he shot the others a meaningful look as Remus turned to stare out the
window, sulking.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Peter sighed heavily.

“Where’s the trolley witch? I’m hungry.”

“I just saw you finish a pasty,” James said irritably—he'd been in the middle of explaining his plan
to bewitch the Slytherin team’s brooms at their next quidditch practice, and didn’t appreciate the
interruption.

“Yeah, but I fancy something sweet.” Peter whined, searching through his pockets and finding only
empty wrappers.

Remus perked up, finally looking away from the window.

“I’ve got you sorted, Pete,” he said casually, digging into his suitcase. He pulled out a handful of
colourful and unfamiliar chocolate bars, dumping them unceremoniously on the seat beside him.
Sirius stared, studying the bright wrappers and reading the funny names.

“What are these?” He picked up one with bold red text that just said MARS, wondering if it had
anything to do with Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders.

“Muggle chocolate,” Remus said, “They’re good! Go on, won’t bite.”

Peter had unwrapped one before Remus even had the chance to finish speaking, and grinned with
his mouth full, nodding encouragingly. Sirius tore open his own bar, excited—he had never tasted
muggle chocolate before! They spent the rest of the train ride digging through the pile and opening
one of everything, passing them around so that they could all take bites.

* * *

The Great Hall was just as grand as always, mahogany tables laid out with silver dishes for the
feast and candelabras flickering with warm light. They had just settled into their seats when Lily
Evans came marching over. She plopped down next to Remus, who looked a bit surprised to see
her, and said,

“You’re taking Runes, aren’t you, Remus?” She’d gotten a haircut over the summer, and she tilted
her head to the side to nudge the soft fringe out of her eyes.

“Yep.” He towered over her, even sitting down.

“Moony’s abandoning us!” Sirius wailed dramatically, falling onto James’s shoulder with an
exaggerated motion and pretending to sob uncontrollably.

“There, there,” James played along, patting his back solemnly, “I hope you’re happy, Remus. All
very well, you moving on to bigger and better things, but think about us little people you’re leaving
behind.”

Remus flushed, the way he often did when he was the centre of attention. “I’m not leaving anyone
behind,” he muttered, “Just didn’t fancy divination.”

“Ignore them,” Lily said, primly. She was always acting like she was so above it all—but this only
encouraged Sirius and James, and they mock-wept hysterically as if Remus was breaking both their
hearts. Lily tutted, obviously irritated, and turned back to the tall boy, “You lot don’t have to be
attached at the hip all the time. Anyway, I’m doing Runes too, have you done the pre-reading?”
Sirius felt like rolling his eyes. It was Remus—of course he’d done the pre-reading. Sure enough,
he nodded,

“Yeah, it looks really interesting.”

Sirius felt a twinge of annoyance that their friend was actually ignoring them in favour of talking to
Lily Evans—he knew Remus was mental, but there was just no way that the pre-reading for
Ancient Runes was actually that fascinating. He glanced between the two of them, slyly.

“Aha!” Sirius interrupted the conversation, “Now I see.”

Remus finally swung around to look at him, nervous. “What?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with furthering your academic career,” Sirius declared, “I think
our dear Remoony has been lured away from everyone’s favourite doss subject by the fairer sex!”

“Shut up,” Remus said, blushing so hard that the freckles dotting his skin looked like strawberry
seeds. He was purposely avoiding Lily’s gaze, and Sirius felt a twinge of anxiety. Remus didn’t
actually fancy her, did he? Sirius wasn’t sure what he’d do if both his best mates had a crush on
Lily bloody Evans.

The woman of the hour shot him a dirty look. “Yeah, shut up, Black,” she sighed, “Honestly, you
lot can’t even be nice to each other. Just because no girls would come near you with a five-foot
barge pole—"

“I’ll have you know I was very recently engaged to be married,” Sirius replied swiftly, swishing his
dark hair. James could hardly breathe from laughing so hard, snorting as he tried to catch his
breath.

“What else are you taking, Remus?” Lily ploughed on, determined to ignore the other marauders.

“Care of Magical Creatures,” Remus said, with a resigned sigh. James and Sirius had been teasing
him about it ever since they turned in their timetables.

“Oooh!” Marlene turned around suddenly, “Me and Mary are taking that!”

“A-HA!” Sirius crowed triumphantly, and James fell to pieces next to him.

Their teasing was cut short as the sorting ceremony began. Sirius kept his eyes on the table,
fiddling with his silverware as the nervous first years were called one by one to the rickety little
stool. He didn’t watch—the old hat still made him uncomfortable. He had nightmares, sometimes,
about the way it had felt on his head, heavy and warm, like a throat opening to swallow. Nobody
else seemed to mind it much, but the dusty old thing gave Sirius the creeps.

He was relieved when it ended, ready to dig into the delicious feast the moment it appeared. Remus
had double portions of everything; Sirius and James laughed at the shocked look on Lily’s face as
she watched him eat. When it was over, the hall was buzzing with happy chatter, tables full of
smiling students.

And then Dumbledore got up to give his speech.

He gave one every year—Sirius usually only half-paid attention, as it was typically the same pithy,
feel-good sentiments that any headmaster would remark on at the opening of the school year. But
this year was different. Dumbledore looked grave as he spoke about unity in the face of hardship,
acceptance in the face of difference, courage in the face of doubt. The entire room seemed to hold
its breath, and Sirius felt his stomach twisting into hard little knots.

“What was that all about?” Remus asked, as they began to file out of the hall, “’Unity in the face of
darkness,’ and all that?”

“Oh, right, you won’t know…” James said, voice low. Sirius could feel his friend glancing at him,
but he kept his eyes down, hands shoved into his pockets. He had a pretty good idea about the
“darkness” that their headmaster was referring to.

James hesitated a moment, then said, “Tell you when we’re alone, ok?”

They waited to get that year’s password (‘Codswallop’) and headed straight up the stairs to their
familiar dorm room. It was in pristine condition; neatly made beds standing guard over carefully
packed trunks. Sirius moved immediately to unpack, fishing through James’s trunk for his precious
muggle records and books (it had been a very long summer without Bowie). James pulled his
broom out and settled down cross-legged on his bed, polishing it religiously. For a moment, no one
spoke.

“So?” Remus prompted, “The weird speech?”

“Oh, yeah,” James swallowed, glancing at Sirius again. He ignored it—let James explain what was
going on to their friend, if he had to. Sirius didn’t want to think about it.

“It’s all politics, really,” James said, carefully.

This didn’t seem to satisfy Remus. He repeated, “Politics?” And waited expectantly for the other
boy to explain.

“Well, you know there are…um…well, dark wizards?”

“Yeah…”

“There’s been a surge in dark magic lately, that’s all. And my dad told me…there’s some stuff
going on at the ministry. Department heads pushing for stricter reforms against muggleborn
wizards and…people who are different. Dad said it was nothing to worry about, just the usual old
prejudices. But I s’pose Dumbledore thinks we need to be on our guard.”

The usual old prejudices. Sirius thought of family gatherings, work meetings, dinner parties—he
thought of the cold disgust in his parents’ voices when they spoke about muggles and muggleborn
wizards. He thought of his relatives ranting about ministry politicians and the need for reforms
after bottles of wine were passed around. He thought about politics, always politics. There’s been a
surge in dark magic, lately…

“Mother and Father called a meeting.” He heard the words leave his mouth, as if he was speaking
from underwater. He could feel his friends’ eyes on him. “They wouldn’t let me in, obviously.”
I’m not like them. “But Reg went.” They’re ruining him, and I don’t know how to stop it. “They
keep talking about this Dark Lord – I dunno, maybe a politician they want to back in the next
election.” I hated him for leaving me and for shutting the door behind him, and I hated that I was
on the other side of it. I hated that I wanted them to let me in. “All I know is if the Blacks are
supporting him then he can’t be good.”

He let the words sit, bait in a trap. He wanted them to say something—wanted them to agree or
disagree, to levy judgement one way or the other. He wanted them to say, “Your family are Dark
wizards,” so that he could say, “I know, and I hate them, and I’m not like them, I promise, I don’t
care about them.” Or maybe he’d say, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you don’t get to
 decide that, they’re not evil, they’re really, really not.” Either way, it would be spoken aloud. The
words would become something physical, something he could pulp between teeth and digest,
instead of an unsaid ghost in his throat.

But nobody spoke.

Finally, Peter broke the silence. “We’re at Hogwarts,” he said, “My mum always says that
Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain. And we’ve got Dumbledore.” He spoke firmly, as if he was
settling something. “C’mon, Black, bet you’ve got another awful muggle record you’re just dying
to assault our ears with.”

It wasn’t what he’d wanted, but in the moment Sirius was stupidly grateful for Peter. He even
managed a grin.

“Actually,” he turned back to his record player, dusting it off, “I have.”

Chapter End Notes

song is "Saviour Machine" by Bowie

 Third Year: Three, Four, Five
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Friday 7th September 1973

Sirius Black didn’t do homework. Not like other students did—frantic and scrambling, spending
hours to finish essays and assignments that he breezed through without breaking a sweat. School
had always been easy for him, and he took pride in deliberately slacking off yet still being able to
get top marks. Of course, he didn’t want anyone thinking he cared about schoolwork—he wasn’t a
swot. But he also felt a quiet, desperate need to prove himself; and besides, it was up to him to keep
James’s ego in check once exams rolled around.

So although Sirius would never admit it, he felt a bit overwhelmed by all the extra coursework that
came with taking three additional classes. He’d figured there’d be more to do—but since he’d had
such an easy time his first two years, Sirius thought throwing in a few more classes wouldn’t be a
problem. What he’d failed to factor in was that, as he grew older, his core courses would begin to
increase in difficulty, as well.

In Transfiguration, they were starting on bodily transformations—small stuff, but it was still more
dangerous and more complicated magic than transfiguring objects or even small animals. Defence
Against the Dark Arts was getting into upper-level jinxes, while in Charms Professor Flitwick
informed them that they’d start looking at combination spells—luckily, Sirius and the marauders
already had plenty of experience with combining incantations, but Flitwick was starting with the
underlying theory, which was a headache to read through.

Astronomy, Herbology, and Potions were all as boring as ever, but with even more reading and all
the professors insisting that “attention to detail” would be of the utmost importance in their classes
that year. History of Magic had also stayed mostly the same, although Professor Binns was
beginning to assign more reading than the previous years, as well. Sirius was usually incredibly
fast when it came to finishing his class texts (once he actually sat down to do them), but even he
struggled a bit when it all added up to over a hundred pages in a weekend.

Divination was a doss, as they’d all expected it to be. The hardest part of the class was getting up to
the classroom, which was in a high, secluded tower and required them all to climb up a ladder and
through a trapdoor. The professor was a tiny, ancient woman who the class first mistook for a pile
of abandoned laundry next to one of the desks—until she started moving, at which point they
realized that she was a wrinkled little witch who looked as if she was being swallowed by her
many layers of shawls.

She puttered around the classroom as she taught, mumbling about dreams and the symbolic hidden
within the subconscious. At the end of the class, she told them to read the first chapter of their
textbook (“What Are You Trying To Tell Yourself? Omens and Sleep”) and assigned them to keep
dream journals over the course of the next week. Only Peter seemed worried about the homework,
moaning as he shimmied awkwardly down the ladder,

“But I never remember my dreams!”

Sirius snorted. “Just make something up, mate.” Peter looked sceptical, shooting a nervous glance
back up at the trapdoor.

“You don’t think she’d…know?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “S’not as if she can read your mind.”

Peter didn’t look so sure.

Luckily, he wasn’t joining them for Arithmancy, which meant Sirius didn’t have to listen to him
whinge. Pete had initially put the subject down on his timetable, but dropped it once he realized
that they only needed to add a minimum of two extra subjects, not wanting to challenge himself too
much with the increased workload. Sirius didn’t think that backing down from a challenge was a
very Gryffindor thing to do, but then, it only confirmed what he already knew: Peter just wasn’t in
the same league as the other marauders.

Personally, Sirius had been looking forward to Arithmancy quite a bit—everyone talked about how
difficult it was, and he was eager to excel and impress his friends with how easily he could manage
complicated magical theory. So he was a bit disappointed to find that there wasn’t much magic
involved in the subject—in fact, it seemed more adjacent to divination, but with more logic and
numbers thrown in. It didn’t even sound as if they’d be casting any spells, which made Sirius groan
internally. They spent the first class period learning about the three primary numerological
methods of calculation, and then put it into practice by using the Pythagorean method to find their
character numbers.

Remus finished first, and Sirius craned his neck to look at his friend’s parchment.

“Oi! Finish your own calculations, Black!”

“I did,” Sirius said, quickly completing the final addition and scrawling the number on his
parchment, “Come on, what’d you get?”

Remus reluctantly uncovered his parchment.

“Four.”

“I got three!” James said, setting down his quill.

“Three and four…” Sirius flipped through the pages of their text, trying to find the explanations,
“A-ha! ‘Three is the number of wholeness or completeness; these individuals are well-balanced,
socially easy-going, lucky, and successful…’ Ugh, of course you’d get the best number.”

“What about four?”

Sirius scanned the page and grinned. “Oooh, Moony, says here that Fours are ‘logical and
reliable,’ but also, ‘stubborn, suspicious, prone to fits of anger…’ Sounds just like you!”

Remus scowled. “Yeah, yeah. What’s your number, then?”

“Five,” Sirius replied, already scanning the book again. “Let’s see…’Fives are adventurous,
energetic, bold, intelligent, devastatingly handsome…’”

“Let me see that!” Remus snatched the book from his hands, ignoring Sirius’s half-hearted noise of
protest. His eyes flicked back and forth, a mischievous grin creeping across his lips.

“It says that Five is the number of instability. ‘They may be drawn to many different pursuits, but
struggle to build lasting commitments. Fives are often self-centred, irresponsible, quick-
tempered…’”

James was laughing now, and he slung an arm around each of their shoulders. “S’pose this is why
you two are so hot-headed, then.”

“Oh, shut up, Mr. Perfect Three,” Sirius said, snatching his book back from Remus.

As far as new classes went, Muggle Studies was definitely Sirius’s favourite. He’d always been
vaguely interested in muggles—ever since Andromeda ran off with one and started sending him
their music—but it had never extended past a surface level curiosity and had always been more
about defying his parents than anything else. Sirius loved being a wizard, and even though David
Bowie and T. Rex were cool, he couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t centred around magic.

He began to rethink this perspective, slightly, in Muggle Studies. It was like discovering an entirely
new world—muggles had their own politics, and businesses, and histories. Of course, Sirius had
known that these things existed outside the wizarding world, but it was one thing to be vaguely
aware that they were there and another to actually learn about them. It wasn’t like he was biased
against muggles or anything, not like the rest of the Blacks—he’d just thought that muggle lives
were probably really boring, without magic.

Sirius wondered, privately, if perhaps this was why Remus seemed so different, sometimes. He
knew that the boy had grown up with muggles, and that he spent every summer in the muggle
world. But Sirius had never really given it too much thought; Moony was so full of magic that the
two were inseparable in Sirius’s mind, as if one couldn’t exist without the other. When he tried to
picture Remus without his wand, surrounded by ordinary people, with nothing to do but watch tell-
o-vision or play one of those funny sports where they stayed on the ground, he suffered a total
failure of the imagination. It just wasn’t right—Moony had magic dripping from his fingers,
scarred into his skin.

Still, it made him see Remus in a new light. It was strange to think of his quiet friend straddling
two worlds, living a second life that was completely incomprehensible. It was really no wonder
that Lupin was such a mystery. Sirius hoped that Muggle Studies might help him puzzle out some
of the oddities about the boy; it was his second priority, after learning how, exactly, muggle rock
concerts worked and how to go about attending one.

At the end of their first week, the marauders found themselves in the Gryffindor common room,
labouring over homework. Sirius was taking a break to covertly study Remus, trying to see if he
could glean any new insights now that he’d learned what “football” was (what a stupid name—it
was like calling quidditch “broomball”). Also, there was an eyelash on Lupin’s cheek, and it was
bothering him. He wanted to brush it off.

“It’s not fair,” Peter’s whiny voice interrupted Sirius’s thoughts, “This year was supposed to be
fun, with Hogsmeade and everything.”

“We’ll still go to Hogsmeade, Peter,” James murmured, only half-listening from where he was
trying to complete his star chart for Astronomy.

“I’m with Pete,” Sirius groaned, turning away from Remus to screw up his dream diary, “Let’s
sack this off and go and use the quidditch pitch while it’s still light.”

That got James’s attention; his head shot up.

“Yeah, go on then.”
They all stood—except Remus, who waved a hand absentmindedly.

“No thanks.”

He was hunched over a Transfiguration essay, which already exceeded the minimum parchment
length McGonagall had set.

“Don’t fancy looking over my muggle studies, do you, Moony?” Sirius asked, leaning forward so
that his shadow fell over the essay. Remus raised his eyebrows in long-suffering look of
resignation.

“If I have time. James, Pete, want me to look at yours?”

“Thanks Remus!” Peter chirped immediately, grinning.

“Nah,” James said, trying to sound casual, “Thought I might ask Evans for a bit of help on it later.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. While he had joined muggle studies for noble reasons (music, Moony,
making his parents angry), James had an ulterior motive: trying to woo a certain snobby ginger.
He’d gone from denying his crush to making it a key tenet of his personality, and it was almost
starting to get old, teasing him about it. Sirius didn’t understand what he saw in Lily; he thought
she was a goody-two-shoes and far too full of herself to be any fun. It was bad enough that Remus
was friends with her, but now he had to witness James making a fool of himself every time the girl
was within twenty feet of him!

“Losing battle, mate,” he shook his head, “Dunno why you’re so hung up on her.”

James just shrugged, not looking at all discouraged.

They left Remus behind with his beloved Transfiguration essay, tramping out to the quidditch
pitch. There were a few other students flying about, but it wasn’t too crowded—it was too early for
the house teams to have started their regular practices. Sirius was relieved to see that there weren’t
any Slytherins hanging around; he and Reg hadn’t said a single word to each other since they
boarded the Hogwarts Express. In fact, he’d been purposely avoiding his brother, preferring to
think as little as possible about his family and the awful summer they’d all spent together.

It was perfect flying weather: a clear, bright day, with only a lazy breeze curling fingers through
their hair. They spent a wonderful hour soaring through the sky, racing up and down the pitch and
twisting in dizzy, looping spirals. By the time they landed their brooms to head inside for dinner,
the sun had just begun to set. Orange light played across the treetops of the forbidden forest;
behind them, the clouds blushed.

* * *

That night, Sirius waited until he was sure the others were asleep before sneaking out of bed. He
opened his trunk carefully, withdrawing a rather large and surprisingly heavy sheaf of papers
before tiptoeing over to James’s bed.

“’Lo,” his friend yawned, clearly half-asleep but not looking surprised at all to see him. Sirius cast
a silencing spell as he climbed in.
“Hey.”

“What’s that?”

He’d set the stack of paper in the middle of James’s bed, and the other boy was pulling on his
glasses, squinting down at it.

“Research. From over the summer.”

“Research…?”

Sirius watched as understanding washed over James’s face, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh! Bloody hell, mate, I knew you’d found some stuff in your parents’ library, but I didn’t
realize…I mean, you’ve basically written a book.”

“You said we needed to be sure we could do it.” Sirius tapped a finger on the top page of
parchment. “This is proof—we can do it. I looked up everything: ingredients, rituals,
incantations…even charted the full moons for the rest of our time at Hogwarts.”

“Wow,” James murmured, dumbfounded, “Er…yeah, that’s…I mean, that’s really impressive,
mate. Good for you.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, impatiently. “So?”

“So…?”

“So, when should we tell Remus?”

“Wh—tell Remus?”

“About us becoming animagi?”

“No, I know, it’s just—it hasn’t even been a week back, yet.”

“So?”

“So…” James paused, choosing his words carefully, “It still feels a bit early.” When he caught
sight of the irritated expression on Sirius’s face, he said hurriedly, “Look, just let me read your
research, yeah? I’ll look over it, and Pete can have a look, and then we can all talk about—whether
it’s actually. Y’know. Possible.”

“It is.”

“I know! I know, I believe you. But this is really serious magic. We can’t risk anything going
wrong. Just let us look over it all before we decide, yeah?”

Sirius huffed, staring petulantly down at the covers.

“Fine. But then we tell Remus.”

James nodded. “Then we tell Remus.”

They sat in silence for a moment, stiff. Then James huffed a laugh,

“This is all because you’re a bloody Five. Always rushing into things.” He knocked his knee into
 Sirius’s, playfully, and the other boy answered with a grudging smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” He scooted towards the edge of the bed, getting ready to leave, “Just read fast,
okay?”

James mock-saluted, and Sirius shook his head, smiling as he lifted the silencing spell.

Chapter End Notes

for the most part i try to keep the chapter names the same as the original, but
obviously that doesn't always work out--so you might notice some changes here and
there!
 Third Year: New Secrets

Wednesday 12th September 1973

When Sirius had discovered that his friend was a werewolf, he’d expected a little danger. He’d
expected to keep secrets, and he’d expected that he’d have a lot of learning to do. He’d expected
that he’d notice things that were different about Remus because of his condition, like the way his
magic seemed stronger sometimes or how he could eat like a man on the brink of starvation.

What Sirius didn’t expect was how bloody annoying his friend would be once it got close to a full
moon.

“Ugh, go back to bed, Lupin!” He punctuated this complaint with a shoe, thrown at the offending
party’s head.

“Sorry!” Remus whispered, and there was the sound of the curtains whooshing shut, swallowing
the sunlight that had assaulted Sirius’s eyes.

It was five in the morning, far too early for any sane person to be awake. But Remus always had
more energy when it got closer to a full moon. Though he tried to hide it, Sirius had noticed; he
was more likely to be up for late-night strolls around the castle under the invisibility cloak, and he
could never sit still in class. When the other marauders went to bed, Sirius would see wandlight
coming from behind Lupin’s curtains, indicating that he was still wide awake. And then there were
mornings like this one, when he’d hop out of bed at ungodly hours and wake everyone else up by
opening the curtains and flooding their dorm with harsh morning light.

Sirius listened to the soft padding across the room, the tell-tale creak of door hinges, and the
receding footsteps down the staircase that indicated Remus had left. He had no idea what the boy
could possibly be doing at five in the bloody morning, but he was too tired to care. With darkness
restored, Sirius rolled over into a cocoon of soft blankets, drifting back to sleep…

* * *

His dreams were patchworked; sticky and nonsensical. The smell of pine, a bruising sunset, the
soft scrape of something slithering. In the dream, he listened, trying to pinpoint where it was
coming from, what was approaching him. He spun in circles, and the pine became maple, and the
sky turned dark. The moon was full. Whatever was coming for him was getting closer, and, with
the strange certainty one sometimes has in dreams, he knew that running would be useless. The
forest around him shifted imperceptibly; bloody leaves became bare branches; it was winter, and
there was snow beneath his feet. He couldn’t move.

The sunlight was skull-piercing, shaking him back into his body. James had opened the curtains.
He whistled cheerfully as Sirius groaned and rolled over, shoving his face into his pillow to block
out the light. James often got up early to go down to the quidditch pitch and practice, and though it
wasn’t so early as the ungodly hour at which Remus had woken him, it was still far too soon to get
up.
Behind him, he heard the quiet movements of Peter getting up, yawning as whispered, “Good
morning,” to James.

“Morning!” The other boy responded brightly, making no effort to lower his voice, and Sirius
groaned again in protest. James snorted.

There was the sound of footsteps; the door opened and shut, signalling James’s exit from the room.
Sirius breathed deeply and tried to sink back into sleep, half aware of Peter’s muffled movements.
He, at least, made an effort to stay quiet as he gathered his things and went into the bathroom to
shower.

The muted hiss of the water through the door was actually quite soothing, and Sirius began to drift
off again. But he was still half-awake when the door to their room opened; he recognized Remus’s
footsteps. Through the thickening fog of sleep, he heard the creak of the bathroom door—more
quiet footsteps—shuffling—it all blended together, fuzzy background noise, his duvet a warm
cocoon, and he was still so tired…

And then there was a heavy, decisive thud, jolting Sirius back into consciousness. He twisted in the
sheets, cracking bleary eyes open to locate the source of the noise.

He was just in time to catch a glimpse of Peter, snatching his bookbag off the floor and dashing out
of the room. On the next bed over, Remus collapsed in a fit of laughter, clutching his sides and
wheezing at the way their friend had fled. Sirius propped himself up, watching the hysterics as he
blinked sleep from his eyes.

Once Remus had calmed down enough, Sirius caught his eye.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Remus shrugged and nodded, grinning impishly and not looking guilty at all for the prank. Sirius
threw a pillow at him.

“Knob.”

“What? Pete looked like such a prat tiptoeing around you, couldn’t help myself.”

“Not very gallant of you, picking on the weak, Moony,” Sirius admonished through a yawn,
stretching.

“He’s fine,” Remus said dismissively, waving a hand, “I’ll take him his tie. Anyway, someone had
to get you up, c’mon, it’s breakfast.”

Sirius yawned again, limbs still heavy with sleep. There might be time to lie back down for just a
few more minutes…

“Bring me something up.”

“No.”

“James would.”

“James isn’t here.”

“Peter would.”

Remus snorted. “As we’ve established,” he said, hoisting his book bag onto his shoulder, “Peter’s a
coward.”

Sirius groaned loudly, hoping to impress upon his friend how deeply he suffered from exhaustion.
But Remus was unmoved.

“Fine, I’ll get up. Wait for me?”

“I’m hungry.”

“I won’t take long! Just treat it as penance for waking me up.”

Remus looked affronted. “You threw a shoe at me, this morning.”

“Did I hit you?”

“No.”

“Well, then,” Sirius pushed himself up, stretching and grabbing his uniform, “Serves you right
anyway, getting up at stupid o’clock.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Remus replied, “I think it’s the moon.”

Sirius paused outside the bathroom door, struck with guilt. He knew his friend acted a bit different
the closer it got to the full moon, but he’d never considered that it might prevent him from sleeping.
Sirius thought of the nights he’d lain awake, wracked with nerves—he thought of the research he’d
done over the summer, the interview with a werewolf who’d described the pain of the
transformation as tantamount to the cruciatus curse.

“Sorry, Lupin,” he said, searching for the words to comfort his friend, “Is it…I mean, do you
worry about it?”

Remus looked surprised, and a bit embarrassed—as if he regretted saying anything. “No, it’s not
like that,” he answered, hurriedly, “I just get restless. Hungry too, so hurry up.” He forced a laugh,
clearly wanting to move on from the subject. Sirius didn’t want to push him, so he just rolled his
eyes and smirked before heading into the bathroom.

“You ought to be grateful, Moony,” he called from behind the door, turning on the shower, “Not
many Gryffindors would be able to lie-in when they know they’re sharing a room with a restless
werewolf.”

“Wanker.” Remus called back.

* * *

Even though Remus had clearly been trying to make light of the situation, his words stuck with
Sirius. Lupin never wanted to talk about the transformations, insisting that he was fine even when
Madam Pomfrey kept him for days in the hospital wing. But Sirius knew the moons were painful;
there was his research, and the scars, and the titbits they’d overhear sometimes when they went to
visit him in the hospital wing—broken bones, fractured ribs, dislocated joints.

Yet it was easy to forget how deeply the condition impacted him. They never talked about it—if
they tried to, Remus brushed them off. He didn’t complain, and he’d always been so tough—if
Sirius was being honest with himself, he had a difficult time imagining that anything could hurt
Remus Lupin.

As he watched his friend scoop second and third helpings of breakfast onto his plate, Sirius
wondered how much Remus was hiding from them. He wasn’t always very good about considering
other people’s feelings—not like James, whose ability to detect when one of his friends was even
the slightest bit upset was like a sixth sense—but he tried to imagine how he would feel if he were
anticipating an imminent transformation into something not-quite-human.

Sirius thought that he would probably be scared. Anxious, at least, or nervous. He knew what it
was like to anticipate pain (the raised wand, the sharp sting, the runny heat of blood), to know
exactly what the body was bracing for, to understand that there was no way to avoid or diminish it.
Even after years of the same battering brutality, it hurt all the same. Tension came like a reflex; the
bunching of muscles like coiled springs.

Sirius tried to imagine that fear multiplied, the anxiety curdled. After all, what was a few little cuts
in comparison to your entire body breaking and reforming itself, piece by piece? Remus might not
want them to think he was worried, but Sirius thought that if it were him, he would be.

And because it was Remus, he’d no doubt have other concerns, too—figuring out how much
school he’d miss, how long he’d be in the hospital wing. He’d already asked James to get the notes
from all their classes, deeming him the most trustworthy (which was probably fair). But James
wasn’t in Care of Magical Creatures, or Ancient Runes…

Sirius resolved to collect the homework from Remus’s extra classes, even though he hadn’t asked
(Remus hardly ever asked for help, and Sirius wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to
inconvenience his friends or because he was just stubborn—probably a mix of both.) Regardless,
he was sure Lupin would appreciate it. Sirius thought that if he had an excuse to bunk off classes
and turn in assignments late he would take full advantage, but Remus had always been a bit odd.

Sirius felt a bit better after coming to this decision, settled in the fact that there was at least
something he could do. But he was still preoccupied throughout the day, struggling to concentrate
in his classes as he considered once more the problem of the full moons. The most infuriating part
of it all was that Sirius was sure that there was more he could be doing to help, if only he were an
animagus.

As soon as Remus left for the hospital wing that night, Sirius cornered James in their dorm.

“Have you read it?”

James blinked, looking up from where he’d been polishing his broom.

“What?”

“The research. Have you read it?”

“The re—you mean the animagus stuff?”

Sirius nodded impatiently, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Mate, you’ve written a bloody book! I mean, I started it, but I’m barely keeping up with classes as
is, what with quidditch practice and everything,” He ran a hand through his messy hair, “You can't
expect me to finish it in a week.”

Sirius groaned, throwing himself dramatically onto the mattress. James shifted over, moving his
broom handle out of the way.

“Hurry uppppppp,” He whined, dragging the words out petulantly. James laughed.

“We can’t all be geniuses like you, oh mighty Mr. Black.”

“When’ll you finish it?”

“Did you not just hear what I said?”

“Come on, this is way more important than stupid homework! At least pick a deadline—otherwise
you’ll keep me waiting forever!”

James rolled his eyes but acquiesced, putting his broom away as he thought.

“The end of the month. Reckon I should be able to finish it by then.”

Sirius pouted, considering. “What about next weekend?”

“Nope,” James smiled blithely, “End of September. Final offer.”

“Fine. But if you don’t finish it by then I reserve the right to try that new skin-scaled curse on
you.”

“Deal.”

Sirius grinned. End of September—he could wait that long. And then they’d tell Remus their plan,
and they’d finally be able to get started...he wondered what sort of animal he’d turn in to, hopefully
not something lame like a frog or a lizard.

“Of course, Peter’ll have to read it to...” James said, cautiously, interrupting Sirius’s line of
thought. He groaned even louder, burying his face in a pillow.

“Why? It’s not like he’d find anything we missed.”

“Oh, come on, he knows more about herbology than both of us. And besides, he’s got just as much
right to know what he’s getting himself into before he agrees.”

“We already told him he doesn’t have to do it!”

“Yeah, but give him a chance to make his own decision after seeing all the information. It’s not fair
to leave him in the dark and expect him to just follow along blindly.”

Sirius snorted, thinking to himself that following along blindly was already one of Peter’s favourite
pastimes.

“Just tell him it’s alright, you know he’ll do whatever you say.”

But James shook his head. “Sorry, mate. I’ll look over the research, then Peter’ll look over it, and
then we can make a decision. That’s the way it has to be if we’re going to do this.”

Sirius sighed, but didn’t argue any more. Once James Potter made his mind up, there was very little
anyone could do to change it.
 * * *

Thursday 13th September 1973

It wasn’t so hard to get the notes for Ancient Runes—the classroom was right down the hall from
Muggle Studies, and they were during the same time slot. Sirius just had to stop by after his class
ended and poke his head in to talk to the professor. Unfortunately, a certain know-it-all redhead
was just on her way out the door.

“Oh, Sirius!” She waylaid him, “Are you here to collect the homework for Remus? D’you know
where he is?”

“Sick,” Sirius said curtly, trying to brush past.

“Really? Is it serious? Here, I copied down my notes for him,” She shoved a sheaf of parchment
into his hands. Sirius felt a stab of irritation, even though it had been a very nice thing of her to do.

“No, he’ll be fine.”

“Oh, good. Is he allowed visitors? The material today was a bit confusing, it might be helpful if I
could explain my annotations...”

“No!” Sirius snapped, hurriedly, “He doesn’t want any visitors.”

Lily raised an eyebrow at his tone.

“Really? Then how are you going to get him his homework?”

“I’m his friend.”

She scoffed. “Right. We’re friends, too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Well, he doesn’t want you visiting.”

“He told you that?” It was more a challenge than a question. Sirius hesitated, and her features
settled into a smug expression, as if to say ‘Told you so.’

“You know, Remus is allowed to have friends other than you lot.” Lily said, voice dripping with
condescension. Sirius frowned. He had no idea what his friends saw in this girl—she was so
infuriatingly full of herself.

“Look, just drop it, Lily,” He said, gritting his teeth, “He’s not feeling well. And believe it or not, I
know Remus better than you, and I know he doesn’t like people seeing him when he’s sick. He
doesn’t even like to talk about it. So just bugger off and don’t go bothering him about stupid runes
when he’s trying to rest!”

Lily drew back, clearly surprised by this outburst. Sirius took the opportunity to finally brush past
her, muttering darkly,

“Thanks for the notes.”

 * * *

“What have I told you boys?” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, spotting them at the door. It was just
after dinner—they'd come directly to the hospital wing after finishing their food.

“He can’t have visitors on the first day!” The motherly nurse glared down at them with a severe
expression, her small mouth pulled down at the corners.

“It’s been almost a day,” Peter pointed out, “We brought him chocolate.” He held up the chocolate
frogs in supplication, an offering.

“Well, that’s very nice of you, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, voice softening, “But Mr. Lupin is
sleep—”

“I’d love some chocolate!" Remus’s voice came from behind the drawn curtain, a bit scratchy.
Sirius took the opportunity to whip the curtain back, grinning triumphantly.

“Hiya Moony!” He chorused in tandem with James, plopping down at the end of the bed.

“Here you go,” Peter said, dropping the chocolate frogs into their friend’s lap.

“Cheers!”

“Well, if you’re up anyway,” Madam Pomfrey shook her head, resigned, “I’ll go and fetch you
some proper food. Half an hour, boys, that’s all.”

“Here’s your homework, you big weirdo.” James pulled some parchment from his bag, handing it
over. Remus smiled like a kid on Christmas.

“Thanks, James, you’re a lifesaver.” He set the paper carefully on his bedside table.

“And here’s the rest of it,” Sirius passed over the notes and homework for the other two classes, “I
had to wait outside your Care of Magical Creatures class for half of lunch, so you’d better get top
marks on that.”

“You did?!” Remus’s eyes widened in shock, smiling as if Sirius had just told him he’d found the
cure for dragon pox. Sirius felt a thrill of joy at his friend’s amazed reaction.

“I did. Got to say, too, bit jealous of you. Looks like a really interesting subject, wish I wasn’t stuck
doing Divination.”

“But what about me?!” James gasped, affronted.

“I see plenty of you,” Sirius rolled his eyes, shoving him playfully.

“Such a fickle heart.” James sighed, staring at Sirius with a comically moony expression, which
made Peter start giggling. Sirius shoved him again in response, and James grabbed him, pulling
him into a headlock and mussing up his hair.

“Oi, Moony,” Peter said, suddenly, “Arbella Fenchurch gave me this for you,” he set down a
handful of sickles. “She said you knew what it was for?”

Sirius shrugged James off, staring at the coins. Arbella Fenchurch? He was pretty sure she was a
sixth year. Why in the world would she owe Remus money? How did they even know each other?
What was with Lupin and all these girls??

“Er...yeah, cheers, Pete.” Remus hurriedly scooped up the coins and shoved them under his pillow,
a guilty expression in his face. “I um...I had this chocolate frog card she really wanted. Agalonike
of Thessaly.”

“Oh, I wanted that one!” Peter said, pouting. Remus shrugged,

“Sorry mate. Money talks.”

Peter sighed but seemed to accept this, turning to James to ask about their Divination homework.
As Remus settled back onto his pillow, Sirius narrowed his eyes. The Agalonike of Thessaly might
be explanation enough for their other friends, but he wasn’t convinced—he knew the expression on
Remus’s face; the boy was lying.

Which meant there was another reason that Arbella Fenchurch was paying him, something he
didn’t want them knowing. A secret. Sirius glanced down at the pillow where Remus had hidden
the money—whatever it was, he was going to figure it out.
 Third Year: Hogsmeade

Saturday, 15th September 1973

“Pack your cloak, James.”

“Why?

“You never know, do you?”

“Fine, but I doubt we’ll want it.”

“Don’t forget you owe me a galleon on that bet we had.”

“I haven’t,” James assured him, “Just relax for a minute, will you?”

“Never,” Sirius grinned, veins fizzing with adrenaline, “You do realise that this is the most
excitement I’ve had in months? I wasn’t even allowed to go to Diagon Alley this summer.”

“You had more going on than I did,” James frowned, “You at least had all that betrothal drama.
My family’s so boring.”

“Shut up, Potter, your family’s amazing and you know it. I definitely had the worst summer.”

“I had a great time in France.” Peter chirped, but Sirius ignored him—as did the other two boys.

“What about you, Moony?” James asked, trying to include Remus. They picked their way down
the stairs to the common room, joining the rest of the eager third years. Their voices blended into
the low buzz of chatter; everyone was excited for their first trip into the village.

“What about me?” Remus asked, a little too innocently.

“How was your summer? You haven’t told us anything.”

“Nothing to tell,” Remus shrugged, “More boring than both of yours – no magic. I just read.”
Sirius didn’t believe it for a second—he was still trying to figure out his friend’s secret, and
thought that Remus was being entirely too nonchalant.

But James didn’t have the same instinct for deception. He responded cheerfully, “Well, you’re all
coming to mine for Christmas. Same as last year, yeah?” They began to file out of the common
room, following the pull of the crowd towards the front entrance, “Moon’s on the tenth of
December, so we don’t even have to worry about that.”

Remus’s mouth fell open.

“How do you know when it is?” As if they didn’t all take astronomy together.

“Told you, we were bored over the summer,” Sirius nudged him, “We looked it up, for the next
few years.”

“But...why?!” Remus asked, flabbergasted. He looked as if he didn’t quite believe them.

“It’s like quidditch,” James said (one of his most commonly used phrases—along with ‘Oi,
Evans!’), “You’ve got to know your team’s weaknesses in order to work to their strengths.”

“If you say so,” Remus mumbled, frowning. Sirius wondered if James’s word choice had offended
him—”weakness.” Remus hated sharing any vulnerability; he was too proud. But just because he
was too hard-headed to ask for help didn’t mean his friends were going to stop caring—after all,
what else were friends for?

“Look who it is,” Sirius poked James with his elbow, gesturing to the archway entrance. A
hunched figure hovered, like an overgrown bat. Lily pushed past the marauders and went to meet
him: Snape.

“Why are they even friends?!” James grumbled, running his hands through his hair. It frustrated
him to no end that Lily wouldn’t give him the time of day, but willingly chose to spend entire
afternoons with Severus. Sirius thought it was just more evidence that the girl was crazy.

“They grew up in the same town,” Remus answered, watching the couple as they walked ahead of
them. The two were engaged in an animated discussion, Lily’s red hair flashing even more
brilliantly next to Snape’s dark head.

“How’d you know?” James asked suspiciously, sounding a bit affronted.

“She told me.”

“You fancy her, then?” James asked, as if that was the next logical conclusion. Sirius frowned—
Remus was too smart to fancy Lily Evans. Right?

Their friend rolled his eyes. “No,” He said, firmly, “We just chat. And if you fancy her, then you
might want to try it.”

Sirius felt an immediate wash of relief, paired with a strangely triumphant happiness—he knew
Remus didn’t care about Lily! (Well, not as much as he cared about the marauders, anyway.) Sirius
attributed most of this relief to the fact that he likely would have gone insane if both of his best
mates started making fools of themselves because of the same annoying girl. It was all well and
good to talk about who other people fancied (like Matthew Studt, the Ravenclaw fourth year who
had just started dating Avni Chaudhry, a Gryffindor third year), but Sirius would prefer it if his
own friends remained above such trivial pursuits. As marauders, they had more important things to
worry about.

Unfortunately, James was still hung up on Lily.

“She likes you, though,” he said, “You did all your revision together last term.”

“Only because you lot couldn’t be arsed,” Remus shot back defensively. They were approaching
the town now, a cluster of pretty stone buildings sat just below them. “And it’s not like we were
alone, Mary and Marlene were there too.”

“We all need to take notes from Moony,” Sirius teased, trying to put an end to the discussion by
turning it into a joke, “Birds follow him everywhere. How’d you do it, Lupin? Those big brown
eyes of yours?”

This appeared to do the trick; James and Peter snickered, and James dropped the interrogation
about Lily. But Remus seemed annoyed, waking slightly ahead of them with his hands shoved deep
into his pockets. His cheeks were pink, and not just from the cold—was he blushing?
Sirius felt a twist of nerves in his gut. It wasn’t possible that Remus actually fancied one of the
girls, right? James and Lily were one thing—it made sense for James, whose stubbornness and
obsessive devotion were not so different from his attitude towards quidditch. James Potter was the
sort of person who would never rescind his undying loyalty once he’d bestowed it, regardless of
whether the person he’d bestowed it upon even wanted it in the first place. Fancying Lily was just
one more addition to this aspect of his personality.

But Remus was different. He was a mystery, a series of locked doors. If you made your way past
one layer of secrets, a new one appeared. Only a few select people—special people—could make it
past those defences, and Sirius felt very certain that none of the girls had what it took.

Luckily, they were just arriving in Hogsmeade, prompting a change in conversation topic.

“Honeyduke’s?” James asked.

“Honeyduke’s.” The others responded, in unison.

Of course, all four boys were frequent purveyors of the candy shop’s goods. But their excursions
were typically relegated to the storage room in the basement, and the top floor was its own world
of wonders. Explosions of colour assaulted their eyes at every turn: great crystalline jars filled with
rainbow taffy, brightly wrapped chocolate bars, and delicate confections made of spun sugar that
seemed to glitter in the sunlight.

The shop was packed with Hogwarts students, so that the marauders had to shove and squeeze
through crowds of people, reaching for handfuls of sugar mice and chocolate frogs. It wasn’t until
they had gathered enough candy to last them ‘til Christmas that they pushed over to the till,
spreading out armfuls of sweets in front of an elderly wizard who looked a bit overwhelmed by all
the jabbering students.

Candy secured, the marauders’ next stop was Zonko’s, the infamous joke shop. It was just as busy
as Honeyduke’s, though far noisier—Sirius could hardly hear himself think. The sounds of students
testing prank materials—pops, whizzes, bangs, zings—peppered the air around them, along with
delighted shrieks of laughter. James and Sirius got down to business immediately, examining each
corner of the shop with cutting efficiency as they decided which products would be most useful for
their upcoming pranks. After thirty minutes, they left with arms weighed down by bags full of
dungbombs, trick wands, exploding inkwells, hiccup sweets and bars of frog spawn soap.

Their next destination was the Shrieking Shack—a fairly new attraction, as rumours that the
abandoned house was haunted had only begun to spread a few years back. Still, it had quickly
become a tradition for Hogwarts students to visit, daring their friends to knock on the front door or
peer through a window. Not wanting to miss out on anything, the marauders began the uphill trek,
bags in tow.

“So, what is this place, again?” Remus asked, breathing hard—he was lagging behind the others,
walking slowly.

“Haunted house,” James replied, hanging back with Remus, “Most haunted place in Britain, dad
says.”

“It’s not haunted!” Sirius called back to them, “You Potters are just superstitious.”

“I heard that the ghosts there are really nasty,” Peter said, anxiously. He was breathing just as hard
as Remus—clearly, the marauders needed to get into better shape. “Worse than Peeves.”
“Are they poltergeists, then?” Remus asked. Ever the scholar, he sounded as if he was ready to
whip out a quill and start taking notes.

“Think so,” James said, “The locals say they hear screaming coming from the house some nights.”

Sirius shook his head. He thought all the rumours were absolute rubbish—hauntings didn’t just
happen out of nowhere, anyone who’d read anything about ghosts knew that. “Only for a few
years, though,” He pointed out, “Poltergeists don’t just move in at a moment’s notice. There would
have to be decades and decades of disturbance and negative energy building up to—”

“Oh my god.”

Lupin’s voice wasn’t loud, but the words were puppet-stringed, as if they’d been yanked out of
him. When Sirius looked back, he had stopped dead, staring at the house.

“What’s up, Moony? Want me to take your other bags?” James asked, concerned.

Remus shook his head mutely. His eyes were wide and white, the pupils dark and constricted in the
centre. His face had gone bloodless and pale; he looked like he might be sick. Sirius shifted
uncomfortably.

“Bloody hell, if it is haunted, then I think Moony’s been possessed,” he joked, trying not to show
how much Remus was freaking him out. “Oi, Lupin. You’re being weird, stop it.”

“That’s…” Remus swallowed, as if he was trying to remember how to speak. He closed his eyes
and sucked in a mouthful of air. “That’s the house. Where they put me.”

It took a split second for the words to click—when they did, a chill ran up Sirius’s spine. He turned
to look back at the house, with its greying wood and boarded up windows. This was where they
kept him? It was a rotting thing, a crypt. Sirius shuddered.

James had a hand on Remus’s shoulder, steadying him as he said, “Ok, c’mon, it’s time to go.”

Sirius didn’t try to argue, not wanting to spend another second staring at the house. He kept
imagining Remus inside, alone and trapped, during his transformations. He thought of the scars on
his friend’s skin—The Shrieking Shack. The rumours hadn’t started until after Remus arrived at
Hogwarts…

James guided their group to The Three Broomsticks, a cosy little pub back on the main street. They
found a table in a quiet corner, settling into the cushioned chairs without speaking. James went to
the bar, and Sirius and Peter situated themselves on either side of Remus, who still looked pale.

“So…on the full moon, that’s where you go?” Peter asked. Sirius shot him a glare, which he didn’t
seem to see—how bloody stupid could he be, wanting to talk about this when Remus looked like
he was about the throw up on the table? Lupin nodded silently, not meeting Peter’s eye.

“It’s not haunted then?" He pressed. Sirius glared even more furiously.

“Nope. Just me.”

“So, wait, the shrieking is…”

“Me.”

“But why—"
“Shut up, Pettigrew.” Sirius snarled, unable to take anymore of Peter’s blundering questions.
Remus’s head snapped up, and their eyes met.

James returned before anyone else could speak, setting down four amber bottles before taking his
seat.

“Butterbeer!” He said, a bit too cheerfully. He nudged one of the bottles towards Remus, “Try it,
Moony, you’ll love it.”

Remus raised the glass gamely to his lips. He was obviously still shaken, but swallowed a large
gulp of the syrupy drink and smiled at James afterwards, trying to shake off his friends’ concern.

Unlike Peter, James was tactful enough to see that Remus didn’t want to talk about the Shrieking
Shack. Instead, he struck up a conversation about their new practical joke arsenal, a topic that
Sirius latched onto with great enthusiasm. Remus remained quiet, but seemed to relax the longer
they sat, sipping his butterbeer and smiling at their plots for how best to utilise their new supplies.
Peter had the unusually brilliant idea of casting a remote timer spell on the dungbombs so that they
could be triggered at anytime from anywhere in the castle.

“Excellent diversionary tactic,” James crowed, waving his half-empty butterbeer bottle about for
emphasis, “Think of what we could get away with if Filch was chasing dung bombs on the
opposite side of the building!”

“Give us time to work on the map a bit more, too,” Remus threw in.

“You’re not seeing the big picture,” Sirius tutted, folding his arms imperiously, “We could set them
all to go off at the same time. Imagine! We’ve probably got enough here to hide one in every
classroom – total chaos!” He could picture it clearly in his mind’s eye: students’ screaming,
professors shouting as they tried to keep everyone calm, classes cancelled for the rest of the day…
his friends nodded, just as enthusiastic about the idea.

“Oh, let’s not sit here, Lily, it doesn’t look very clean,” an oily hiss slithered over the low chatter
of the bar, interrupting them, “They allow in all sorts, clearly.”

Sirius straightened, eyes landing on Severus Snape. The greasy boy was hunched over a nearby
table, beady eyes glaring at them.

“Don’t be silly, Sev, it’s fine,” Lily said, shaking her head as she pulled out a seat.

“Alright, Evans?” James waved, overly enthusiastic, and Sirius groaned internally.

“Leave us alone, will you, Potter?” Lily tossed her hair, “Hiya, Remus.”

“Hi,” he waved, too, grinning. Sirius glowered, looking back and forth between his friends and the
redheaded girl perched a few feet away from them.

“Eurgh,” he said loudly, holding his nose and turning his glare back to Snape, “What is that smell?
Potter, did you trail something in on your shoe?”

James sniggered, catching on immediately. “Smells more like a dung bomb’s gone off.”

“Disgusting,” Sirius drawled, “Maybe we should open a window.”

Snape was livid, lips pulled back in an angry grimace. Lily put a hand on his arm, saying primly.
“Just ignore them, Sev, they’re idiots.”

Sirius snorted. She was the one spending time with Severus slimy-git Snape, so he really didn’t
think Evans had much of a right to talk about who was or wasn’t an idiot. He was about to turn
back to his butterbeer when the Slytherin boy opened his mouth again.

“How’s the family, Black?” He asked, his voice saccharine, needling. Sirius stiffened without
meaning to. Snape continued, “Regulus was telling everyone you had quite an exciting summer. So
exciting, in fact, that you’re no longer welcome back, hm?”

What? What was that supposed to mean? Reg wouldn’t—he’d never—

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Snivellus,” Sirius spat, trying not to flush with shame
as he imagined his little brother in the Slytherin common room, laughing about him. Lost cause,
disappointment, failure—

“Don’t I?” Snape wore a manic grin, “Had any post from mummy this year, Black? Heard anything
at all from any of your relatives?”

He hadn’t, but that was just—it didn’t mean anything, they ignored him all the time—well, not all
the time, this summer was definitely unusual but—it couldn’t mean—it didn’t—

“Ignore him, mate,” James said, quietly, “He’s a prick, ignore him.”

But he couldn’t, because Severus was still speaking. “I’m right then,” he said, smile pointed and
sharp, “No wonder you follow Potter around like a lovesick girl, when your own family don’t want
anything to do with you. When you’ve been disowned like that, I suppose all that’s left is to
associate with the dregs of society…”

The words rang in his head. Your own family don’t want anything to do with you…following Potter
around like a lovesick girl…

Sirius stood up before he realized what he was doing, knocking his chair back. His wand was
clutched in his fist—when had he pulled it out? Remus stood next to him, fists clenched, eyes fixed
on Snape’s sallow face.

“Sirius, don’t!” James reached for his wand, panicked—they weren’t allowed to perform magic in
Hogsmeade.

“C’mon, Severus, let’s go,” Lily was standing, too, tugging on her friend’s sleeve anxiously.

“No.” Sirius said. He needed to get out of there—his blood was snapping its jaws in his veins,
boiling, he needed to leave, he couldn’t let them see— “We’re leaving. C’mon, lads, I can’t take
this stench much longer.”

His friends followed without protest, abandoning their half-drunk butterbeers.

“That was…really mature,” James said, scratching his head as they stepped outside. His voice was
wary; the setting sun reflected on his glasses. Sirius just snorted, swallowing the lump in his throat
as he began walking back towards Hogwarts.

“It’s not over,” he said, once he trusted himself to speak again, “I’ll show him. I’ll bloody destroy
him!”

The marauders were at war.

 Third Year: Noble and Most Ancient
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I can fly, I will scream

I will break my arm

I will do me harm

Here I stand

Foot in hand

Talking to my wall

I’m not quite right at all

Am I?

Saturday 15th September 1973

Knock knock

“Sirius.”

James’s voice was firm, insistent.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Sirius?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that for once in his life, James Potter would just give up.

“Oh, for the love of...Sirius Orion Black the Third, I know you’re in there!” His friend continued
pounding on the door, hammering strikes that made Sirius flinch and grit his teeth. Eventually,
when James showed no signs of stopping, he called through the wood,

“Piss off, Potter.”

The knocking stopped.

Sirius released a shaky breath, scrubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He’d locked
himself in the bathroom when the other marauders went down for dinner, almost two hours ago.
Alone and surrounded by cold tile, Sirius had grappled with the snarling tangle of rage in his chest.

He wanted to kill Severus Snape. He wanted to hurt him, to humiliate him so badly that he’d never
be able to show his face at Hogwarts again. Sirius wanted to make him feel small, and weak, and
alone. He wanted to make him feel worthless.
Regulus, too. He was furious, replaying Snape’s words as he paced—Regulus was telling everyone
you had quite an exciting summer. The image of his little brother swam before his eyes, mouth
twisted into a nasty smile, surrounded by laughing Slytherins. His magic spiralled, uncorked by
anger, fizzing with his wordless need to hurt, to push pain outward in a tangible way.

Above him, the lightbulbs shattered. He was alone in the dark.

Sirius didn’t know how long he’d spent, pacing the tile like a caged animal, waiting for the rage to
consume him or transform him or burn him out. The anger only sharpened his awareness of his
own impotence; he felt the unrelenting need to do something while simultaneously understanding
that there was nothing, in the moment, that could be done.

Have they really kicked me out?

He wasn’t sure where the tears came from, only that they made him angry. It just didn’t make any
sense—surely they would have said something if they were disinheriting him, surely they wouldn’t
have forced him to go as a family to the train, hissing about keeping up appearances. Surely—
surely Reg would have warned him. Right?

He hunched down on the edge of the tub, shoving his face into his hands, digging his fingers into
his scalp. Why did he even care? Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted—for his family to just
leave him alone? He should be thrilled—happy—delirious with joy. He could do whatever he
wanted! He should be utterly relieved, no longer forced to bear the burden of his father’s
expectations and his mother’s disappointments. Of his brother’s accusatory stares.

So why did he feel so utterly, nauseatingly empty?

Remus and James were talking outside. He could hear their voices, muffled through the wood of
the bathroom door—the words blurred together, a low hum that his brain couldn’t pick apart. He
knew that they were talking about him, worrying about him—but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He just wanted everyone to go away, to leave him alone in the dark. It was quiet in the bathroom.
Nice. Maybe if he sat there long enough, the feelings would all leak out of him, dripping down the
side of the tub and disappearing into the drain.

There was another knock on the bathroom door.

“Sirius?” It was James again, “Please come out and talk to us?”

“Get lost, Potter, leave me alone.” He couldn’t bear to see James right now, to look at those warm,
concerned eyes and think of Euphemia, and how she’d hugged him, and how she’d felt like a real
mother. James would never understand, not really, and Sirius knew that in his current state the
jealousy would only swallow him whole.

There was another hard knock on the wood. Sirius felt his fingers curling into fists.

“I said piss o—”

“Sirius, it’s me.” Remus’s voice stung, antiseptic on an open wound. It was hard and cold, nothing
like the soft pleading pity in James’s tone. “Look, if you’re going to mope about like a big jessie
then at least let us in so we can start planning our revenge.”

Sirius stared at the floor, voice caught in his throat. When he didn’t respond, Remus tutted.

“Fine, sulk. But you’re being a selfish git. You know, you’re not the only one whose family hates
you.”
Sirius blinked. Outside the door, James was exclaiming in dismay, but he ignored it. Remus’s
words were burrowing into him, doing funny things to his chest. You’re not the only one whose
family hates you.

He shuffled over to the door and unlocked it, peering out. James and Remus both took a step back,
looking surprised.

“Finally,” James said with exasperated relief, “Look, come out and—”

“Moony can come in.” Sirius interrupted, cracking the door just enough for Remus to squeeze
inside before he slammed and locked it once more. The dark settled back, a heavy blanket around
his shoulders.

“Lumos,” Remus muttered. He held the point tip of his wand up, bleeding pale light into the room.
His eyes landed on Sirius’s face for a moment before darting away, studying the smashed light
fixtures. He clicked his tongue, smiling drily.

“You and your temper, eh?” The wand flicked in his hand as he murmured, “Reparo.”

The glass knit back together at once, wires inside burning with heat and light. Remus extinguished
the glow at the tip of his wand, tucking it back into his robes.

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” Sirius sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His face felt
hot, skin tight and irritated with tearstains. “I still smash stuff sometimes, when I’m angry. My
magic gets out of whack.”

“Oh right,” Remus nodded. Sirius thought he probably understood better than anyone, considering
how his magic tended to go all wonky close to the full moon.

“So, revenge?” He settled onto the toilet lid, watching his friend expectantly. Moony always had
the best ideas.

“Revenge,” Remus agreed, “What’d you want to do to him?”

“Not just him,” Sirius said quickly, “All of them. Every single Slytherin in the school.” He pictured
his brother again, whispering to all his slimy little friends as they laughed behind his back. He
wanted to make them pay.

Remus nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, we’ll get ‘em all, Black. Now, c’mon, let’s go and—”

“I’m not coming out yet.” Sirius interrupted, crossing his arms. If Remus had just come in here to
coax him out, he was going to be disappointed.

The other boy huffed a resigned sigh and took a seat on the floor, leaning against the door.

“Ok, fine. Want to talk about it? Because James is probably the best person to—”

“Did you mean what you just said?” Sirius butted in, not letting Remus finish. He didn’t want to
talk with James right now—he wanted to talk to Moony. “Do you think my family hates me?”

“Oh god, I dunno, do I? I’m not exactly an authority on families.” Remus rubbed the back of his
head, looking a little guilty. “I was just trying to get you to open the door, to be honest.”

Sirius studied him, trying to decipher the expression on his face.

“You said your family hates you.”

“Well, I s’pose they must have,” Remus spoke with no more emotion than if they were discussing
the weather, “Otherwise they wouldn’t...well, I wouldn’t have been sent to St. Edmund’s, would
I?”

“Doesn’t mean they hated you.”

“No,” Remus said slowly, after considering for a moment, “But I don’t think they can have liked
me very much, all the same.”

He was so calm while he said it. Sirius didn’t understand. No matter how hard he tried to stop
caring, there was still a small, childish part of him that desperately wanted his parents to just...to
just—

“You’re not...I mean, it doesn’t bother you?”

Remus shrugged,

“Sometimes, obviously. But, y’know. No one’s entitled to a happy life.”

He was so bleak. “Blimey, Lupin, you’re a right downer, you know that?” And yet, something
about the way he’d said it—firm, settled, as if there was nothing to do but accept it and move on—
was soothing.

“You let me in.” Remus kicked him lightly in the shin with the toe of his trainer, “If you want
cheering up then I’ll get Potter.”

“Nah,” Sirius shrugged, attempting a smile, “You’re ok.”

Remus chuckled and shook his head,

“James didn’t want me to come in. Said we just bicker.”

“He what?!” Sirius gasped, affronted, “We do not bicker.”

“That’s what I said!”

They were quiet for a moment, smiling at each other. And then Sirius looked away, saying quickly,

“My family...” He faltered, but pressed on, overcome with the need to excise the words from his
mind, “I don’t think they hate me. I think they want to like me, really. But I keep letting everyone
down. It’s funny most of the time, but...well, it isn’t today.”

He felt a little lighter, with the words spilled out between them. Even if they didn’t do any good—
at least they were no longer bouncing around in his head. Remus didn’t say anything, just nodded
once, slowly. His gaze was a comfort, not quite understanding, but something close—eyes fronded
by lashes, pupils so dark and liquid that Sirius could drown in them.

* * *

Friday 5th October 1973

“I’ve got it. I’ve really got it this time.”

“That’s nice, Pete.” Remus flipped a page in his Arithmancy textbook.

“We should dye his robes pink.”

“He’d just dye them back, it’s too simple. Where would we even get his robes from?”

Sirius ignored his friends, trying to focus on the quidditch pitch. They were sitting in the stands,
watching the Gryffindor practice—Marlene had just let an extremely tenacious bludger get past,
and it slammed into the keeper at full throttle.

“Ouch! Bloody hell, there’s something wrong with that bludger!” Sirius shouted, leaping to his
feet, “Come on, McKinnon, move your bloomin’ arse!”

“Do you mind leaving her arse out of it?” Mary snapped, from where she was sitting a few rows
away from them. She frowned back at him, and he shot her a cheeky smile.

“Jealous, MacDonald?”

She rolled her eyes, lips quirking up. Sirius wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Dye his hair pink, then,” Peter said, still trying to get Remus’s attention. He grabbed the other
boy’s arm, shaking it as he insisted, “I’ve learnt colour changing spells now, I can do it.”

“So can he.” Remus grumbled, jerking his arm out of Peter’s grip and turning stubbornly back to
his book.

“You know, Moony, you could show a bit more interest.” Sirius said drily, retaking his seat.

“In quidditch? Or taking down your arch nemesis?”

“Both. Either.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Remus’s eyes remained glued to his page, and Sirius exchanged a long-
suffering look with Peter.

“Who’s your arch nemesis?” Mary asked, moving over to sit down next to Sirius.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He said, deadpan. Mary rolled her eyes again.

“Is it Snape?”

All three boys looked at her in surprise. She laughed, a delighted, fluttery sound, and said, “Come
on, you lot, it’s not exactly a secret – you’ve all had it in for each other since first year. Plus, Lily is
one of my best friends.”

“Don’t talk to me about Evans,” Sirius groaned, “I hear enough as it is.”

“I think she’s an idiot, going around with that creep.” Mary said decisively, with a little shudder,
“You know he made Marlene cry the other day? Called her dad something really nasty. Makes no
sense, either, because Lily says he’s half-blood, Severus...anyway, someone needs to teach him a
lesson.”

“Ha!” Sirius laughed, sharply, delighted by this news. All this time, Snape had been prancing about
with his nose in the air, talking about purity and blood traitors when his blood wasn’t even pure?
“He’s a half-blood?! Brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Mary said, voice frosty, “So’s Remus. And I’m muggle born. So what?”

Sirius felt an immediate rush of shame—he hadn’t meant it like that. It was just satisfying to know
that Snivellus was such a hypocrite, that’s all. He looked away from Mary, nervously, fixing his
gaze back on the quidditch pitch as he muttered,

“Nothing. I’m not like that.”

“Good.” Mary smoothed her skirt with a little flick of her wrist, “I get enough of that shit from
Slytherins.”

Sirius frowned, abashed, and watched Marlene bat away a bludger. Had Snape really made her
cry? He knew Snivellus was a tosser, but there was something...dishonourable about picking on a
girl. It wasn’t chivalrous. Sirius didn’t fully understand why—not in a way that he could put into
words—but you were supposed to treat girls differently than boys. It was why he preferred not to
be friends with them; he always felt like he was going to do or say the wrong thing.

Mary’s knee knocked into his as she shifted. She didn’t pull it away.

He continued to watch the practice, turning her words over in his mind. Sirius had never really
considered what it was like to be anything other than a pureblood at Hogwarts—he'd always
assumed that everyone was pretty much treated the same. Of course, he knew the insults people
threw around—he'd learned most of them from his own mother—but they didn’t actually care
about that stuff here, right? At least, nobody other than the Slytherins? It wasn’t as if blood
mattered at Hogwarts; in the castle, everyone was equal.

On the pitch, the chasers had begun practicing a complicated formation that involved a series of
very sharp dives, pulling Sirius’s focus back to quidditch. He watched, holding his breath as James
plunged towards the ground at breakneck speed.

“Oh.” Next to him, Remus put his book down. Sirius thought the dangerous flying had drawn his
attention, too, until he grabbed Sirius’s arm and shook it, crying out, “Oh!”

“What?” Sirius tore his gaze away from the pitch, frowning. He’d skipped try-outs for the team
this year, even though James had urged him to give it another go—he couldn’t bear the thought of
letting everyone know how badly he wanted it, only to have a repeat of last year. Better to avoid
any embarrassment altogether. Of course, that meant he had to get his fill of quidditch from
watching practices, and he didn’t appreciate Remus interrupting.

“We change the words!” Remus said, excited, “We change what he says.”

“What are you on about?” Sirius stared in bewilderment, “Snivellus?”

“Yeah! There are spells you can do to stop someone speaking, right?”

Sirius flushed. They both knew very well that there were spells that could do that.

“Yeah...”

“Ok, so how much more difficult can it be to...to like, twist their words? We could set a trigger
word – or a few – mudblood, or blood-traitor, or half-breed, dunglicker, or...whatever. And
instead, we make him say something really nice. Or something stupid. Whatever we feel like.”
Sirius blinked. “Moony, where did you hear all of those—”

James scored a goal, and Peter leapt up, clapping frenetically. Their friend showed off, looping a
few times on his broom in the air. Sirius grinned at him, wishing desperately that he was also on
the pitch.

“So?” Remus grabbed his shoulder, anxious for his attention, “What do you think?”

“I love it.” Sirius said. It was brilliant—Moony’s ideas always were. “We should make him say
something really ridiculous, like...I dunno, ‘snuggle bunnies’ or something. We’ll go to the library
after this, yeah?”

“Can I come?” Mary asked. Sirius had forgotten that she was still sitting next to him. He shrugged.

“If you want, I s’pose. It’s serious marauder business though.”

Mary giggled, even though Sirius wasn’t trying to be funny. That was just Mary, though—she was
always smiling and laughing about something.

Twenty minutes later, the training session had ended. The marauders made their way towards the
castle, Mary and Marlene trailing behind as Sirius and Remus explained their plan to an eagerly
listening James.

“You’re supposed to be off the pitch by five o’clock.” Someone grunted, stepping in front of them.

Sirius looked up, and an icy weight settled in his chest. The Slytherin quidditch team was walking
directly towards them, green robes flapping, brooms in hand.

“We’re leaving now, Bulstrode, bloody hell.” James replied, not even attempting to hide his
irritation.

The Slytherin captain scowled and pushed past him, deliberately knocking into James’s shoulder as
he did so. With his squashed features and bulky frame, he reminded Sirius of the illustrations he’d
seen of mountain trolls.

“Oi!” He pulled out his wand, itching for a fight—but James held him back.

“What’s it to you, Black?” Bulstrode sneered, “If that’s still even your name.” His teammates’
laughter corkscrewed in the air, nauseating and sharp as the Slytherins filed past, and—

Reg was there. Reg was laughing with them.

The rage came on like a wave; Sirius was barely aware he’d started moving until he felt his
friends’ hands grabbing to stop him. It took both James and Remus to hold him back. The other
Slytherins were snickering and whispering, but his eyes stayed locked on Regulus.

Traitor.

The smirk calcified on his brother’s face—there was a flash of fear in his eyes. Sirius had half-
thought that Snivellus was exaggerating, trying to turn him against his brother—but this confirmed
it. Regulus had chosen his side.

“Remember the plan,” Remus whispered. Sirius reigned in his anger, nodding.

“Promise me we’ll get all of them,” he growled, watching his little brother walk away.
Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "All the Madmen" by Bowie

 Third Year: The Slug Club

Monday 8th October 1973

“Sirius, you’d better come up with the replacement words, you’re the most…er…”

“Verbose?” Sirius suggested, yawning, “Loquacious? Garrulous?”

“Exactly,” Remus grinned, “I’ll work on figuring out which spell we’ll need, and James, you can
figure out how we actually manage to cast it on the whole house…that’s going to be really hard, I
think – Peter, you better help with that.”

“Hark at Moony!” James laughed as he reached for another slice of toast, “Giving the orders now.”

“The marauders are a socialist utopia,” Sirius yawned again, “We don’t have leaders.”

“Enjoying Muggle Studies, are you?” Remus teased, quirking an eyebrow. Sirius was too tired to
respond, laying his head on the dining table and flipping two fingers at Remus as he closed his
eyes.

He hadn’t been sleeping well. Nightmares all weekend—dreams that slipped from his mind like oil
when he woke, leaving only greasy impressions; a snake hissing, his brother’s smile, the trickle of
blood down the back of his leg. The kinds of things their Divination professor would have a field
day with.

He heard the flutter of wings and the soft thud that meant an owl had landed on the table, but didn’t
bother to open his eyes—it wasn’t his. He barely even had one anymore; his parents had
confiscated it and never returned it last spring.

There was the sound of paper tearing, then: “What the hell?” James murmured, sounding utterly
confused, “The…slug club?!”

“Oh, yeah,” Sirius cracked an eye, “I got one too. Apparently ol’ Sluggy likes students who have a
certain star quality. So, me, obviously. And I s’pose you too.” Privately, he suspected that
Slughorn had not yet received the memo that Sirius might not be the Black heir for much longer—
his family name seemed to be the only thing the old professor was really interested in.

Neither Peter nor Remus had received an invitation. Sirius wasn’t surprised about Peter, but he
thought the fact that Remus wasn’t invited meant that the professor’s claim that the club was for
“especially gifted students” was patently false; Remus got some of the top grades in their year. All
Slughorn cared about was power, just like every other Slytherin.

“We won’t go then.” James said decisively, “All for one and one for all, us marauders.” Sirius
made an assenting noise—he didn’t really mind, either way. He just wanted to sleep.

“I don’t care,” Remus said, “Go if you want to. I bet Lily’s going.”

The word “Lily” had the predictable effect on James. He perked up immediately, saying,

“Do you?! Yeah, she is really good at Potions, isn’t she?” His voice had taken on a mildly dreamy
quality, “She’s really good at everything, probably the cleverest in the year—”
“Oi!” Sirius and Remus said, in unison. James raised an eyebrow.

“Cleverest girl, then.”

Sirius nodded, satisfied, and closed his eyes, doing his very best to nap for the remainder of the
meal.

* * *

Thursday 11th October 1973

The party was held later that week—on a Thursday, which Sirius found odd as they still had classes
the next morning. Clearly, Professor Slughorn expected his guests to be so delighted at the
opportunity to dine with him that they shouldn’t care. Even though Sirius wasn’t planning to spend
the evening doing his homework, anyway, the presumption still irritated him.

James was uneasy about the party, too, although his hesitance was less about discomfort with the
professor and more about guilt over leaving their other friends. He offered Peter and Remus the
invisibility cloak, suggesting they tag along in secret. Sirius seconded the idea—two invisible
marauders would provide all sorts of opportunity for mischief. But Remus looked affronted,
insisting that he didn’t care about the stupid party. Peter, who had been on the verge of agreeing to
go, changed his mind when he saw Moony’s scornful expression.

So it was only him and James, later that evening, who had to don their ridiculous dress robes.
Sirius felt more uncomfortable than he cared to admit, staring at himself in the mirror—he'd only
ever worn formal attire to galas or dinners hosted by his own family and other purebloods. Putting
them on at Hogwarts felt somehow tainted, the luxurious material a spider’s thread connecting him
back to the tangled web of the Black family manor.

He frowned at his reflection, annoyed that Slughorn was requiring them all to dress up. As if they
should be so honoured to be in his presence—it was just a bloody dinner! The old man was such a
typical Slytherin, overly preoccupied with appearances. Like having a group of children put on
fancy clothes would make him feel more important.

Sirius straightened his tie, asking anxiously, “D’you think there’ll be dancing?” If the professor
was requiring formal wear, who knew what else he’d be expecting them to do. But James shook his
head,

“Nah,” he smoothed a comb uselessly over his hair, “We’d have been told to bring partners or
something.”

Sirius slouched over to the bed, groaning.

“I hate stuff like this. Moony, you go for me, bet ol’ Sluggy won’t even notice.”

“Fat chance,” Remus snorted from behind the cover of an impossibly thick book (Verbal Assault:
Defensive Tongue Twisters), “Slughorn can’t even remember my name half the time. And he’ll feel
a bit short changed when he’s expecting a pureblood Black and gets the half-blood kid he keeps
calling Linchpin.”
“Ugh. He’s such a slimy old tosser. Like an actual slug.” Sirius smirked at the vivid mental image
this evoked, nudging Remus to make sure he’d heard him. “Heh, an actual slug, Moony.”

Lupin glanced up from his book, smiling.

“Are you ready, then?” James said, tossing his comb away with a defeated sigh. His hair was no
less unruly than it had been twenty minutes ago, when he started attempting to flatten it.

“S’pose,” Sirius muttered, getting to his feet slowly. He would much rather stay in the dorm with
Remus and Peter, but he couldn’t let James enter the lion’s den alone. Or—viper's nest, more like.
(Slug’s parlour?)

Lupin stood, too. “I’ll come down with you,” he said, stretching, “Might as well go to the library.
Wanna come, Pete?”

Peter looked at him as if he’d gone mental, shaking his head vehemently. The three of them left
him behind in the dorm, making their way down to the common room.

Much to Sirius’s dismay, Lily Evans was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for them in a flouncy
turquoise dress. James immediately stood a little taller, smiling broadly—but it wasn’t him she was
waiting for.

“Remus!” She called, standing up.

“You look nice, Evans,” James said, in that horrible dreamy voice. Sirius sighed.

“I want to speak to Remus,” Lily sniffed, ignoring James completely, “Will you walk with me to
the party?”

“Not going,” Remus shrugged, “Not invited.”

“Oh...” Lily flushed, realising she’d put her foot in her mouth. Sirius felt a twist of satisfaction.
“Sorry, I just assumed...”

“What did you want to talk about?” Remus asked, impatiently. It was never a good idea to stand
between him and his beloved books.

Sirius watched, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed, as Lily eyed him and James—clearly,
whatever she wanted to say couldn’t be said in front of two low-lifes such as them. He rolled his
eyes as she chewed on her lip, gaze darting helplessly back to Remus.

He sighed, finally taking pity on her. “I’m going to the library. If you want to walk that way with
me then fine.” It wasn’t very chivalrous—the library was in the opposite direction of the dungeons,
which could very well make Lily late. But Remus didn’t even wait for a response before pushing
through the portrait hole, and after a moment the redhead scampered after him.

Sirius watched them go, shaking his head. James sighed as they stepped through the portrait hole,
saying,

“He could be a bit nicer to her.”

“Who—Lily?” Sirius shot him an incredulous look. “Mate, she treated you like dirt on the bottom
of her shoe.”

“Yeah,” another wistful sigh, “But did you see her dress?”
Sirius snorted. He didn’t think he would ever understand James’s obsession with the girl—why
bother with a bird who won’t even give you the time of day? Besides, Lily wasn’t even fun—all
she did was play teacher’s pet and spout holier-than-thou lectures.

As they walked towards the dungeons, James got a contemplative expression on his face.

“What d’you reckon Moony’s secret it?”

“What?”

“Moony’s secret. How come she likes him? He’s a marauder, too.”

Sirius scratched his head. He’d wondered why Remus was friends with Lily, but he’d never thought
about it the other way around.

“Dunno, mate. I think they became friends when they worked on that potions assignment together.
And I s’pose they’ve got runes, and they both like to study...maybe you just have to become a
swot.”

James groaned, and Sirius laughed, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder.

“Oi, don’t worry! You’ve still got me!”

* * *

The party was just as bad as Sirius expected. It was a small group; Professor Slughorn had only
gathered nine students. Sirius, James, and Lily were the only Gryffindors. There were three
Slytherins, as well, all upperclassmen that Sirius vaguely recognized as members of some of the
older, more prestigious pureblood families. Henrietta Edgecombe, a fifth-year Ravenclaw whose
great-grandfather was rumoured to be part of the Wizengamot, was also there, along with another
Ravenclaw—Isaac Goldstein. Sirius was pretty sure he had an uncle who was someone important
in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry. The only Hufflepuff in attendance was Isadora
Finch, whose one credential seemed to be the fact that she was fabulously wealthy.

Sirius felt incredibly awkward, milling about in the potion master’s private quarters. Slughorn had
ushered them into a sort of parlour room, furnished with uncomfortable velvet sofas and draped in
Slytherin colours. There was a small table with hors d'oeuvres and pumpkin juice, which he
encouraged them to partake of.

“Please, boys, help yourselves! Dinner will be served shortly, for now feel free to mingle! Let’s all
get to know each other a bit better, shall we?”

Sirius hated the greasy smile on Slughorn’s face and how his eyes flicked about the room,
following the students the way someone might watch a butterfly he’s about to pin down to a board.
Luckily, Lily’s breathless arrival distracted the old man, and Sirius and James were able to slip
away.

Sirius frowned at the Slytherins, who were huddled in a corner, eying the other students
judgmentally. None of them looked particularly impressed with the crowd Slughorn had gathered.
When they caught sight of him, one of them nudged the others, whispering something that made
them snicker. Sirius flushed—he wished he and James had just blown this whole thing off.
James tried to catch Lily’s eye once Slughorn had released her, but she turned her nose up and
marched over to talk to Isadora. James looked like he had half a mind to follow after her, but Isaac
Goldstein came over and struck up a conversation about the previous weekend’s quidditch game.
Apparently he was best friends with one of Ravenclaw’s chasers.

Professor Slughorn bustled around the room, chatting enthusiastically with his pupils and
introducing them loudly to each other.

“Ms. Finch, have you had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Parkinson? I attended his mother’s Solstice
gala last summer—quite the hostess, Lady Parkinson is!”

“Ah, Mr. Goldstein, I see you know Mr. Potter. Wouldn’t be surprised if this one ends up playing
in the League the second he finishes NEWTs! You know, one of my former pupils is now the
coach of the Kenmare Kestrels…”

“Oh, my dear Ms. Edgecombe, you simply must say hello to Ms. Evans—one of the brightest
students I’ve ever had the pleasure to teach! Great things in this one’s future, I’m sure, yes, great
things…”

Sirius hovered sullenly behind James, hoping desperately that Slughorn wouldn’t single him out.
He had a pretty good idea of how the old professor would introduce him to the others, and he
couldn’t stand the thought of anyone bringing up his family name—not after what Snivellus had
said…

He turned to the hors d'oeuvres, needing something to do with his hands, and began sipping a glass
of pumpkin juice absentmindedly. He scanned the table of food, bored, noting the tiny sandwiches
and piles of grapes, the little cubes of cheese and jelly slugs—

Jelly slugs?

He blinked, taken aback. For a moment, he’d thought they were real slugs, but upon second glance
it was clear that they were just candy, little wobbling desserts. He grimaced in disgust, unsure why
the potions professor had thought it was such a good idea to go all in on the “slug” theme—and
then inspiration struck.

He nudged James, who was now standing in a circle with Goldstein, Edgecombe, and Evans. The
three of them were discussing the properties of Felix Felicis, a liquid luck potion, and James was
pretending to understand, nodding along sycophantically with everything Lily said.

“Psst. Oi, Potter!” Sirius hissed, tugging on his friend’s sleeve. James shot him a look, but he
persisted, pulling his friend back a bit from the circle.

“What?”

Sirius nodded towards the table of refreshments, whispering, “Look!”

James glanced over, then turned back to him, annoyed. “What?”

“Just look!” Sirius insisted, and then, lowering his voice even more, “The slugs.”

James’s eyes went wide as he realized what his friend was getting at. He turned back around,
grinning, and raised an eyebrow.

Transfiguration spell?
Sirius nodded. Transfiguration spell.

Now James lifted both brows, eyes widening meaningfully. Need any help?

Sirius flicked his head towards the other students, acting as though he was brushing some hair out
of his face. Just make sure they’re distracted.

James nodded. Got it. He moved back into his previous spot, re-joining the conversation with Lily
and the Ravenclaws.

Sirius leaned casually next to the fireplace, sipping his pumpkin juice. With his other hand, he slid
his wand into the sleeve of his robes, making sure no one could see as he whispered the spell under
his breath.

The slugs began to twitch.

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Slughorn called for the room’s attention, declaring that it
was time for dinner. With a flourish of his wand, one of the velvet couches transformed into a large
mahogany dining table, complete with ten stiff-backed chairs. Professor Slughorn seated himself at
the head, beckoning for them to all sit down.

They got about ten minutes into the dinner before all hell broke loose. Sirius wasn’t quite sure if
he’d done something with his spell or if slugs just naturally reproduced incredibly quickly, but
when he glanced back over at the hors d'oeuvres table he nearly choked on his drink. It was
covered in slugs—slugs that were, for some reason, extremely fast-moving, for as he watched they
crawled down the legs of the table and over the floor, little eye-antenna waving as they set off to
explore. Sirius bit his lip, trying to stop himself laughing. This was going to be fun.

* * *

It was almost 11 o’clock by the time they made it back to the common room. Lily Evans had
marched ahead of them the entire way, clearly furious and refusing to acknowledge their presence.
She stomped off ahead of them, shimmery trails of slug slime glimmering on her dress.

Luckily, James was laughing too hard to care about Lily’s cold shoulder tonight—they had to stop
and catch their breath before giving the password at the portrait hole. When they walked inside,
Remus was in the common room, book on his lap (as always). He grinned at them.

“What did you do?”

“It was all Sirius, mate,” James said, still breathless with laughter. He clapped Sirius on the back,
then bowed elaborately. Sirius returned the gesture, tossing his hair as he straightened back up.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, my dear chap.”

“Done what?”

“Slugs.” James wiped a tear from his eye, “Slugs, bloody everywhere. Started with these little jelly
slug sweets that were laid out to eat,”

“Simple enough transfiguration spell,” Sirius cut in, throwing himself into an armchair and slinging
a single leg casually over the arm.

“But then,” James settled down next to Remus, “Then they started to multiply…”

“And this is why Evans is pissed off with you?”

“Well…did you see the slimy bits on her dress? And um…in her hair a bit too, I think. They were
really fast-moving slugs, they kind of got everywhere…”

“No sense of humour, that one.” Sirius yawned. “She ought to be thanking us for livening things up
a bit.”

“The nerve of some people,” Remus deadpanned.

“See, you understand, Moony.” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows, “You’d let us slime you, wouldn’t
you?”

Remus ignored him, turning to James instead,

“So did Slughorn know it was you?”

“Yeah, it was pretty obvious. We were the only ones not screaming.”

“Detentions?”

“Three weeks. Cauldron scrubbing. That’s fine, helps build up my muscles.” He flexed, which
might have been incredibly impressive—if he actually had any musculature to speak of.

“Good news, though,” Sirius put in, drawing Remus’s attention back to him, “No more parties for
us – we’re out of the slug club.”

“And into the history books!” James added, sending all three of them into fits of laughter.
 Third Year: James Potter and the Lumpy Elephant Dung

Tuesday 30th October 1973

Remus, genius that he was, had cracked the code on their word-changing spell. Sirius had helped, a
bit, and James and Peter had tried to pitch in, too—but in the end, it had mostly come down to
Remus. Having figured out the spell, he spent the remainer of October obsessively trying to perfect
it—and with the Hogwarts Halloween feast around the corner, he was in a frenzy.

“It’s fine, Moony, we all know what we’re doing,” James assured him, when he returned from an
evening quidditch practice to find Lupin muttering to himself over one of his gigantic books.

Sirius and Peter trailed in behind James, shaking water off their robes—they had gone to down to
watch the quidditch practice and gotten caught in the rain. With the sun setting earlier and the
weather getting colder, Remus typically refused to join them; his spot on the bench had been
happily taken up by Mary, who often tagged along to watch Marlene. At first, Sirius wasn’t quite
sure how to feel about this arrangement, but Mary had grown on him. She wasn’t as whiny as
Peter, and she would smile and nod intently whenever Sirius leaned over to explain something
about quidditch to her. She was a very good listener.

“I just think we should test it,” Remus said anxiously. Sirius shook droplets of water off his hair,
casting a drying spell first on himself, then on James.

“Oh no,” Peter folded his arms—Sirius leaned over and tapped his shoulder with his wand, drying
his robes, too, “I won’t be your guinea pig this time. Last time I couldn’t get rid of that patch of
purple hair for weeks!”

“I’d forgotten about that,” Sirius said, reminiscing, “That worked really well, once we’d figured
out the kinks.”

“Do it on him,” Peter shoved a finger at Sirius, “It’s his turn.”

“Don’t whinge, Pete,” Sirius rolled his eyes, flopping onto his bed, “Do it on me, Moony, I’m not a
coward.”

“Ok, fine,” Remus pointed his wand. Sirius scrambled to his feet,

“Wait, you want to do it now?!”

“Well, the sooner the better…”

“What about the counter-jinx?!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got that sorted.” The cryptic smile that spread across his friend’s face
was not even the slightest bit comforting to Sirius.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” James sighed, pulling off his quidditch kit, “Do it to me, Lupin, I don’t
mind. Only I don’t want to say any of the words on that awful list of yours. Can you do it for
something else?”

“If you like,” Remus shrugged.

“Yeah, about this list, Moony…” Sirius plucked it off the bedside table, frowning.

“What?”

“Well…it’s really long.”

“Yeah,” Remus raised an eyebrow, “What’s your point? They’re all insults for non-purebloods,
aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Sirius hedged, uncomfortable, “Yeah, they are, but, um…well I just didn’t think there
were so many. Never seen them all written out like that. And anyway, where did you hear all of
these?!”

“Where’d you think?” Remus said, staring defiantly into his eyes. He lifted his chin a bit,
challenging, as he said, “Don’t be a girl about it, Black, it doesn’t bother me.”

Sirius looked back down at the list, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. It might not bother Remus,
but it bothered him. Were people really saying such nasty things to his friend?

“Right, James, what word do you want to swap?”

“Evans,” Sirius suggested, quickly, “Sick of hearing that come out of his mouth.”

“Ok,” Remus smiled, “Then change it to what?”

“Don’t tell me!” James said, “We’ll do a blind test so we know it definitely works. Pick something
Black hasn’t come up with yet.”

Remus nodded, grinning mischievously as he scribbled something onto a piece of parchment. His
brow furrowed as he raised his wand, lip poking out in his typical expression of concentration.
Sirius held his breath as Remus flicked his wand, muttering the incantation.

All of four of them stood, silently, staring at each other.

“Er…” Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Did you feel anything?”

“Nope.” James looked down at himself, as if he were checking for any physical signs that the spell
had been cast.

“Well, say it, then!” Sirius urged.

“Her full name,” Remus added.

James squared his shoulders, clearing his throat dramatically. He lifted one arm and crossed the
other to place his hand over his heart, as though he were about to give a speech,

“LUMPY ELEPHANT DUNG.”

He said it with such confidence that they all immediately dissolved into laughter. Peter was
giggling so hard that he almost fell off the bed, and Sirius found that he could hardly breathe.
James flushed bright red, glaring at Remus,

“I didn’t know you were going to pick something like that!” He hissed, “That’s my future wife!”

“Who’s your future wife?” Sirius asked, innocently.

“Elephant dung.” James replied, automatically—and then immediately clapped his hands over his
mouth. “Lupin!”

“You said you didn’t mind,” Remus replied, all business, “Now, try saying ‘Evans’ again, but
really really try to break my spell, ok?”

“Elephant dung,” James said, immediately. Then with more force, “Elephant dung.” He screwed
up his eyes, “Ele-phan-t…d…dung. Lumpy elephant dung.” He gave up, staring dejectedly at the
floor.

Peter sounded like he was about to have a fit from laughing so hard, and Sirius was relying on his
bedpost for support to keep himself from collapsing.

“Excellent,” Remus said, looking very pleased with himself. “Hey, it’s six o’clock. Shall we go for
dinner?”

“Yeah, just do the counter-jinx first.” James said.

“Oh no,” Remus shook his head, an impish twinkle in his eye, “Sorry Potter, but I want to test the
spell thoroughly – we need to be sure it won’t wear off too quickly. I’ll un-jinx you tomorrow
morning.”

“What?!” James shouted, eyes bugging out of his head.

“Oh yes!” Sirius gasped, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Sorry,” Remus said again, with a shit-eating grin, “Just be glad we didn’t pick a common word, I
s’pose.”

“B-but, what if I run into elephant dung?”

“Oh, I don’t think you will,” Remus smirked, “Hardly any elephants in Scotland.”

James glared at him.

“You know what I mean! Lumpy! Lumpy elephant dung?!”

Remus shrugged, nonchalant,

“Don’t yell her name? Come on, I’m starving!”

* * *

“James! Look who it is!”

“Shut. Up.” James hissed through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on his dinner plate. Sirius tutted
disapprovingly at his friend’s lack of manners.

“That’s no way to greet…what’s her name?”

“I’m not rising to it, you know. I’m stronger than that.” James mumbled, hacking violently at his
steak and kidney pie.
“She’s right there, mate,” Sirius urged, delighted, “How will she ever notice you if you don’t call
her?”

“Oi, Evans,” Remus joined in, waving at the redhead, “Want to sit with us?”

She stopped and studied them, narrowing her eyes.

“Why?”

“You’re a Gryffindor, we’re Gryffindors…” Sirius said, vacating his seat next to James and
gesturing to it, indicating that she should make herself comfortable, “We’re supposed to sit
together. Plus, it’ll really bother Potter.”

“Well, in that case.” Lily sat down. Sirius nudged Remus over, sitting beside him and across from
the couple—front row seats. Lily was giving James a scrolling look; the poor boy’s entire face had
gone tomato-red. “Why do I bother you, Potter?”

“You don’t!” He rushed to assure her, “They’re just being prats.”

“Language, Potter!” Sirius scolded, reaching across Remus for the gravy, “That’s no way to speak
in front of a lady.”

“What’s going on?” Lily asked warily, turning to Remus, “Are you all making fun of me?”

“We’re making fun of James!” Peter said eagerly, looking thrilled that for once someone else was
the butt of the joke.

“I’m testing a spell on him,” Remus explained. Lily raked her eyes across the group, still looking
suspicious.

“And what was the spell?”

“Mutatio Verbi.”

Her eyes widened comically.

“Is that…oh my god, Remus, which word?!”

“Um…”

“Lumpy elephant dung,” James said, defeated. Peter choked on his pumpkin juice, dropping his
fork on the ground. Lily released a nervous giggle.

“What did you say, Potter?”

“Lll…Lumpy,” he tried hard to fight it, looking as if he was battling his tongue to force the word
out, “Lumpy elephant dung…lumpy.”

“Lumpy…?! Oh, for pity’s sake!” Lily turned to glare at Sirius, “It’s my name, isn’t it?!”

“Don’t look at me!” Sirius said quickly, holding his hands up, “It was Moony’s idea!”

Lily’s frown dissipated as she turned to Remus, curious, like she hadn’t even considered the
possibility.

“Really, Remus?”
He suddenly looked guilty. “Err…yeah, but it wasn’t meant to be offensive or anything—"

“That’s amazing!” She gushed, “Really clever magic!”

Sirius felt a twinge of irritation at the way she fawned over Lupin. She’d been gearing up to lecture
him, but once she found out it was Moony’s idea—oh, well then it was genius!

“Wait until tomorrow!” Peter said, wiping pumpkin juice off his face. Sirius kicked him under the
table—just because she was sitting with them didn’t mean they were about to start letting Evans in
on all their plans! It wasn’t as if she was a marauder.

“I’m so sorry, elephant dung.” James said morosely, with utmost sincerity. This time, even Lily
laughed.

* * *

Wednesday 31st October 1973

“Nothing’s happening.”

“Well, they’re not going to start insulting each other, are they?”

“We have to push them into it. Pete, go and—”

“Oi, I’m pureblood!”

“Oh, yeah, fair play. Um…Moony, go and trip one of them or something. Do it to Snivellus. Or my
cousin, yeah, get Cissy!”

“No,” Remus said firmly, shooting him a stern look, “We’ll just wait. Patience, Black, patience.”

“But it might take days.”

“It won’t,” Mary said, with a dark look on her face, “You three must be blind if you haven’t seen
what’s going on around here.” Sirius fell silent, abashed.

Apparently he and Mary were friends, now—she taken to sitting beside him, sometimes, at meals.
It was a bit strange; the girls usually kept to themselves unless they were beckoned. But he
supposed Mary was already friendly with Remus, and she’d been spending quite a bit of time with
him and Peter watching quidditch practices. Plus, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to sit with the
marauders—he was sure that his friends were far more interesting than Lily and Marlene.

“What’s been going on, then?” James asked, looking concerned, “Do you get called stuff,
MacDonald?”

She shrugged, taking a casual sip of pumpkin juice.

“It’s been worse this year. You must know, Remus?”

Remus nodded absentmindedly, still watching the Slytherins. Sirius looked back and forth between
Mary and his friend, feeling disgruntled. He didn’t really think that much about the fact that Remus
was a half-blood—except for how he sometimes didn’t know obvious things about the wizarding
world, or how he had an appreciation for muggle music that the other boys lacked. It was
disorienting to hear that there was an entire aspect of life at Hogwarts that Sirius was simply…
unaware of. Mary and Remus spoke as if the insults were a part of life that they just took for
granted.

“So…” James continued, slowly, “Have all the muggleborns been getting it, then? Even…even
elephant dung – oh for fuck’s sake, Remus! Please fix me!”

“If you’ll do my Potions homework.” Remus said quickly, with a wicked grin.

“Fine! Anything! I’ll give you my bloody broomstick if you’ll just—”

“Finite.” Remus flicked his wand easily, turning back to the Slytherins. James open and closed his
mouth like a fish, shocked. Eventually, he cleared his throat.

“Lily Evans.” He said, carefully—his face immediately split into a wide smile.

“What now, Potter?!” Lily snapped irritably, turning from her conversation with Marlene.

“Will you go out with me?”

“No.” She spun back to her friend.

“Cheers, Moony.”

“Any time.”

“Wait,” Sirius said, “Wait just a minute. The counter-jinx was Finite Incantatum?!”

“Yep.”

“But that’s just the standard counter spell!”

Remus shrugged, looking very pleased with himself.

“I never said it was anything difficult. You purebloods don’t have an ounce of common sense
between you.”

Mary laughed boisterously as James choked on his roast potato, and Sirius leaned over to slap
Remus on the back.

“I swear, Moony. When it comes to evil schemes, none of us have got anything on you.”

Remus shook him off, blushing as he looked down at his dinner.

“Look!” Peter cried, suddenly, grabbing James’s arm as he pointed at the Slytherin table. A
second-year Hufflepuff had accidently wandered too close to Mulciber, who had pushed his chair
back and now stood, looming over them.

“Yes,” Sirius whispered, on the edge of his seat, “Go on, you big troll…”

The poor Hufflepuff was shaking like a leaf, sloshing their drink down the front of their robes.
Some of the liquid sprinkled onto the toes of Mulciber’s shiny black shoes, and he bared his teeth
in an ugly grimace. They all watched as the much larger boy reached out to grab the Hufflepuff by
the tie—along with the rest of the Slytherins, who looked as if they were expecting a show.

“Clean that up, you angelic sweetie-pops.”

You could have heard a pin drop. The Hufflepuff had gone from terrified to confused, letting out a
shaky laugh. Mulciber blinked his beady little eyes stupidly.

“What did you say, Mulciber?” Snape asked, staring at him.

“Angelic sweetie-pops!” The Slytherin shouted, furious, “No! I meant – darling sugar plum! No!
Goody-gumdrops!”

At this point, the entire hall had been consumed by riotous laughter.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered, “Mulciber’s really got a mouth on him, eh? I didn’t think they’d use
half of those.”

“Sit down, you idiot.” Snape grabbed his friend’s sleeve, tugging him back into his seat and
looking almost as embarrassed as the larger boy.

“That was brilliant, Sirius!” Mary said, with a delighted smile and a happy little bounce. And then,
to his surprise, she leaned over an enveloped him in a hug.

Sirius had never been hugged by a girl, before. He felt a spike of anxiety—was he meant to hug her
back? Where did he put his arms? What did he do with his hands? Was hugging just something
girls did with their friends—with their friends who were boys? Or was this something else—how
was he supposed to tell the difference?

Before he could make up his mind about whether to hug her back, Mary had pulled away. Sirius
covered his panic with a gallant toss of his hair (which he hoped looked cool and effortless, like
getting hugged by a girl was no big deal, because he did it all the time),

“Just wait,” he said, “That was just the beginning.”

 Third Year: Sirius Turns Fourteen

Friday 2nd November 1973

The marauders were heroes. Or celebrities—rockstars—whatever you wanted to call them, they
had become very, very popular overnight. Sirius revelled in the attention, strutting through the halls
with his head held high, grinning every time someone reached out to clap him on the shoulder. The
Slytherins scowled, sure, but to every other student, the marauders had earned a newfound level of
respect and admiration.

Sirius hadn’t really considered the ramifications of the prank when they had planned it. He’d
mostly been focused on revenge, on humiliating the Slytherins and stopping them laughing at him
behind his back. But clearly, it had meant much more to a lot of the students—particularly those
who had muggle parents. The insults that had been thrown around all year were suddenly silenced,
replaced with sullen glares and pursed lips.

Of course, some of the Slytherins still fell into old habits, and for the first few days after
Halloween the occasional ‘angelic sweetie pops’, or ‘honey fluffkins’ could be heard – but these
were only met with hysterical laughter, leaving the speaker flushed with embarrassment. Sirius
would forever treasure the memory of Severus Snape spitting that James Potter was a ‘lovely little
poppet’ when he lost his temper during a Charms lesson on Friday—Sirius had collapsed on the
floor, gasping for air as he took in both James and Lily’s mortified expressions.

What made the prank even better was the fact that none of the Slytherins could go squealing to any
of the professors. Snape, in particular, had a history of tattling whenever something didn’t go his
way, and watching him seethe for the rest of their lesson delighted Sirius to no end. Because of
course, explaining the prank to a teacher would mean explaining which words had been changed,
and although the Slytherins might be bold with their insults when they were unsupervised, none of
them wanted the professors to catch on to what bullies they were. So the other three houses
watched, amused, as the Slytherins tried to figure out the counter-curse by themselves.

While seeing Snape humiliated certainly made Sirius’s day, Snivellus was not his only target.
Unbeknownst to the other marauders, Sirius had cooked up a special surprise as revenge for his
darling little brother, and while he normally avoided Regulus in the halls, he found himself eagerly
keeping an eye out on Friday, hoping for a chance to ambush the boy.

Unfortunately, the opportunity never came. As the day wore on, Sirius comforted himself with the
fact that his birthday was tomorrow—which meant he could expect an invitation at some point
before dinner. Although he normally dreaded the stupid family tea parties that his cousins roped
him into, he found that he was looking forward to it this year, if only because he knew he’d be able
to spend the entire time tormenting Reg.

He waited, expectantly, wondering if they’d deliver the note by owl. Part of him hoped that
Regulus might invite him in person—not because he wanted to see his brother or anything. He just
wanted to make sure his extra addition to their spell had worked.

But nothing came.

There was no note; no cousin cornering him in the Great Hall; no haughty, sneering face hovering
outside the Gryffindor common room. Once, he caught a glimpse of Narcissa in the third-floor
corridor—she didn’t even look at him, brushing past as though he weren’t even there.

By the time dinner came around, Sirius had come to a realization: there would be no Black Family
tea this year.

That was fine. He didn’t care. It would have been stupid to expect one, since apparently his family
had disowned him without even giving him the courtesy of a head’s up. In fact, he’d been hoping
that he wouldn't have to go to their stupid tea party this year. He was relieved that they didn’t try to
invite him. He was delighted—yes, thrilled that he wouldn’t have to deal with his family on his
birthday. That he wouldn’t even have to see them. That they clearly didn’t want to see him.

He was distracted at dinner, failing to even notice when Mary sat down next to him until she asked
him to pass her the salt. He obliged, and she brushed her fingers against his, smiling.

Sirius still wasn’t quite sure what to make of Mary. He liked her well enough—he'd never be as
close with her as he was with the marauders, but they were friends. But after that hug, he’d found
himself second guessing every interaction, trying to figure out if there was another layer of
meaning. Was that a friendly smile? Or did Mary—fancy him? Trying to think about it twisted his
stomach into knots. How was he supposed to know?

“What time will you be free tomorrow, Black?” James asked, around a mouthful of crispy battered
cod.

“What d’you mean?” Sirius asked, splashing vinegar over his chips. When he was done, he passed
the bottle to Remus—he always doused his chips in vinegar.

“You know, what time do you think your Black family tea will be finished? For your birthday?”

“Oooh, is it your birthday, Sirius?” Mary scooched a bit closer, “You never said! I would have got
you something!”

“Would you?” Sirius frowned, puzzled. He’d never thought about getting Mary something for her
birthday—he didn’t even know when her birthday was. If you were friends with girls, were you
supposed to buy them presents? Or was it different exchanging gifts when it was girls and boys—
did it mean something more?

He turned back to James, keeping his voice casual as he said, “I don’t think the tea is happening
this year. Haven’t had a note.”

“Oh, really?” James blinked, clearly surprised, “Are you...I mean, is that ok?”

Sirius snorted, staring down at his plate. Bloody Potter, always wanting to talk about feelings.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Like I give a toss.”

“Well...great, then,” James said, with forced enthusiasm, “We can crack on with planning you the
messiest party Gryffindor tower has ever seen!”

“Yeah!” Peter chimed in.

Sirius cringed, internally. He didn’t want a pity party, just because his friends felt bad that his own
bloody brother didn’t want to see him on his birthday. He didn’t care—he really, really didn’t.

“Am I invited?” Mary asked, sitting up straighter.

Remus answered, drawling, “Obviously,” with a surprising amount of sarcasm. “Everyone’s
invited.”

“Look, maybe don’t make a big fuss.” Sirius mumbled, pushing his peas around on his plate, “I
don’t feel like it much.”

“Oh, why not?” Mary pouted, batting her lashes, “It’ll be fun! We’ll make it as good as Remus’s
birthday last year – even better!”

Sirius didn’t have the energy to figure out how he was supposed to respond to that, so he remained
silent. He could feel his friends studying him, their worry like a thick fog—it only darkened his
mood. The remainder of the meal was grim, eaten in almost total silence.

* * *

Saturday 3rd November 1973

James woke him up bright and early, as he did every Saturday—except that today, instead of
shouting his usual ‘Rise and shine!’, he did it with a serenade of ‘Happy Birthday.’

Sirius smiled despite himself, yawning.

“Y’know, mate, if you really wanted to make me happy you could let me sleep a bit longer...”

James laughed, tugging on his arm. “Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you after practice! You’ll
like it, I promise.”

Sirius yawned again, but acquiesced—he had a pretty good idea what the surprise might be,
knowing James Potter, but his friend was so excited that he could hardly say no.

As he got dressed, James tutted at Remus’s still-shut bed curtains. Astonishingly, he’d managed to
sleep through Potter’s tuneless rendition of the classic birthday song.

“Sleeps like the dead, that one,” James said, shaking his head. “C’mon Peter, help me wake him
up.”

“No—wait.” Sirius stopped them, glancing over at Remus’s bed. He knew the boy would probably
drag himself up if they asked him to, since it was his birthday. But he didn’t want to force Remus
to sit outside in the cold for two hours if he didn’t want to.

“Let him sleep,” he said, quietly, to the other marauders, “You know he’ll just stick his nose in a
book anyway if we force him to come down.” James shrugged, moving away from the drawn
curtains, and Sirius scrawled a quick note on their way out so that Remus wouldn’t wonder where
they’d gone when he finally did wake up.

The air outside was bracing; it was the sort of chilly autumn day that flirted with winter, making
Sirius wonder if he should have brought his scarf. But the sky was clear and blue, perfect for
flying, and the climbing sun promised warmer weather in an hour or two.
He was surprised to see Mary, already seated in the stands, shivering. As he and Peter moved to
join her, she perked up.

“Thank goodness you’re here!”

She huddled into Sirius’s side the moment he sat down, pressing her chilly fingers against his arm.
He stiffened, surprised by the sudden contact, and cast a helpless look at Peter—the other boy was
staring, wide-eyed, clearly just as clueless about the proper etiquette when a girl suddenly decides
to give you a cuddle.

“Sorry, d’you mind?” Mary asked smiling up at him, “I was freezing out here by myself, and
you’re so warm...”

She had a very nice smile.

“No, s’alright,” Sirius mumbled, not quite sure what to do with his arm. Eventually, he wrapped it
carefully around Mary’s back, letting his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. She sighed happily and
leaned into his chest. Peter was still staring, bug-eyed.

“Happy birthday!” Mary said, brightly, as if what was happening was entirely normal.

“Er...thanks.”

Sirius was hardly able to focus on the practice—his brain felt like it was spinning in circles and
turning to mush. This definitely meant she fancied him, right? This wasn’t just a friend thing, was
it? Sirius supposed that he wrestled with James, and they even hugged, but they’d never cuddled
—he couldn’t imagine putting his arm around Peter to keep the boy warm, and Remus—well, he
supposed Remus was taller, so Sirius would have to lean into his chest, which honestly sounded
like the better deal because it was bloody cold outside, but that was even more confusing—

And you couldn’t bloody well tell with girls, could you, because they were always cuddling with
each other, and giggling and holding hands and braiding each other’s hair—girls were
just...touchier. And Mary was the touchiest; she was always putting her hand on your arm to laugh
or grabbing your hand to pull you after her or telling you to reach out and feel how soft her sweater
was or—

Oh, bollocks, Sirius thought, Mary fancies me!

He glanced down at her, discreetly, and was mortified to find her looking back up at him through
her long lashes. Her lips curled in a lazy smile, as if she could see what he was thinking.

Sirius turned back to the quidditch pitch, quickly breaking eye contact. Okay, so maybe Mary
fancied him—alright. That was fine; he should be happy about it; that was all the older boys
seemed to talk about at Hogwarts. Sirius knew that it was a mark of status if you could convince a
girl to like you, the sign that you had passed some sort of test. So it was a good thing that Mary
fancied him. It meant he was cool.

But did he fancy her? Sirius had no idea how he was supposed to tell. Mary was nice, and funny—
she wasn’t a swot like Lily, and she wasn’t shy like Marlene. As far as girls went, she was quite a
lot of fun to spend time with. And she was pretty, he supposed, with her corkscrew curls and her
straight white teeth.

But how was he supposed to tell the difference between being friends with Mary and fancying her?
No one had ever explained it to him properly, and Sirius’s stomach was a sticky ball of nerves as
he tried to figure it out. If putting your arm around a girl made you feel as though you might throw
up, did that mean you fancied her?

By the time the quidditch practice ended, Sirius was a mess. His thoughts kept spinning in circles
without ever reaching any sort of conclusion—he felt distinctly that he should be doing something
about Mary, but he wasn’t sure what.

Luckily, James bounded over to the stands immediately after landing and pulled Sirius away,
explaining excitedly that Madam Hooch had agreed to let them use the pitch before the Ravenclaw
practice started in half an hour. Sirius had suspected that James’s surprise would have something to
do with quidditch, so he wasn’t actually all that surprised. Still, James took Sirius’s fervent grin as
a sign of enthusiasm rather than what it really was—relief that someone had extricated him from
Mary and her cold hands. They bid farewell to the girls and took to the skies, where the only thing
Sirius had to worry about was beating James in a race to the quidditch hoops.

* * *

The marauders had decidedly ignored Sirius’s plea not to make a big fuss. The common room was
packed with laughing students, his record player was spinning frantically, and every lion motif in
the room had been enchanted to roar anytime somebody said the words ‘birthday’ or ‘Sirius.’

He was absolutely thrilled.

Sirius had never been able to resist attention, and he basked in the glow of his classmates’
congratulatory sentiments the way a cat might recline in the sun. It was wildly entertaining to
watch James’s attempts to dance with Lily, which ended with him tripping on the rug and nearly
taking a dive into the fireplace. When Mary tried to pull him up for John, I’m Only Dancing, Sirius
was wise enough to stay in his seat. He leaned in to whisper to Remus and Peter,

“I only know the waltz, and I’ll be fucked if I ever do that again.”

Peter was in the middle of explaining his predictions for the newest Chudley Cannons lineup when
a sixth-year with a curtain of silky black hair leaned over the back of the sofa.

“You’re Lupin, aren’t you?” She stared down at Moony, expectantly.

“Um, yeah.”

“My friend, Fariahah, says you’re selling—"

“Err, come over here!” Remus leapt to his feet, jerking his head towards a quiet corner of the room.
Sirius watched as the girl followed him—even though she was a good three years older, she stood
several inches shorter than the weedy boy.

“What d’you think that’s about?” Sirius asked, watching as Remus conducted what appeared to be
a very serious conversation—the girl looked a bit frustrated.

“What?” Peter glanced over, annoyed that he had been interrupted, “Oh, who cares. Moony’s
always hanging about with girls, now.”

Sirius hummed in agreement, squinting slightly as he tried (and failed) to read their lips. His
concentration was interrupted by Mary, who plopped down next to him on the couch.
“How’s it going over here, then?” She asked, cheerfully.

Sirius settled back into the cushions, shooting her a lazy grin,

“Can’t complain,” He slung an arm over the back of the couch in a way that he hoped would make
him look cool. Mary looked as if she was about to say something else, but at that moment, Remus
returned. Sirius eyed him suspiciously as he re-took his seat.

“What’s going on there, Moony?” He raised a sardonic eyebrow, “Not another girlfriend?”

“Shuddup,” Remus kicked him.

“Who’s your girlfriend, Remus?” Mary asked quickly, sitting up a bit straighter.

Remus frowned. “I don’t have a girlfriend, Black’s just being a dick.”

“Good,” Mary slouched back into the cushions, wearing a smug little smile, “Because if you did, I
know someone who’d be really disappointed…”

What? Someone fancies Moony?

Sirius supposed he shouldn’t be surprised—Remus really was always hanging around girls, now,
but he insisted that they were just friends… He studied his friend’s face, but Remus didn’t look
phased at all by Mary’s suggestive tone, muttering only,

“Oh. Ok.”

Sirius nudged Mary with his elbow. “Who fancies Moony?” It had to be Lily, right? Or maybe
Marlene? Or could it be someone else—just how many girls was Remus ‘friends’ with now?

“I couldn’t possibly tell you,” Mary grinned impishly, pretending to button her lips.

“Girls,” Sirius groaned, “Nightmares, the bloody lot of you.”

Mary mock-pouted, pushing out her bottom lip. Sirius smiled and shook his head before turning
back to Remus, asking,

“So, what are you selling? That girl said you were selling something.”

“Nope,” Remus lied through his teeth, “She had the wrong person.”

Sirius felt a familiar thrill—Moony has a secret.

“I’ll work it out, you know,” he warned, “Not that I’m not grateful for the truly excellent birthday
present,” a nod to the Zonko’s Deluxe Practical Joke Kit on the floor, “But I’m going to figure out
how you paid for it, eventually. I don’t believe this stuff about a dead aunt leaving you money.”

“Your dead uncle left you money,” Remus shot back.

“Can’t touch it ‘til I’m of age, though, can I?” Sirius couldn’t help smiling, “Nope, you’re up to
something Lupin, I know you – you’re not Moony if you don’t have a secret.”

“So let me have my secret then,” Remus said, cryptically, a familiar mischievous light dancing in
his eyes.
 Third Year: Chrysalis
Chapter Summary

a first kiss <3 and a plan revealed

Friday 9th November 1973

By the next weekend, Sirius was no closer to figuring out Moony’s secret. Between the strange
encounter with the girl at his birthday party and Remus’s obviously false story about inheriting
money from his “aunt,” Sirius figured that his friend must be running some sort of underground
business—but what?

At first, he thought it must have something to do with school—maybe Remus was selling his notes,
or doing other students’ homework for them. But it wouldn’t make much sense for a sixth-year to
be looking for a third-year to help her out with assignments, so he scrapped that idea pretty
quickly. His next thought was that Moony must be making something—maybe he was secretly
brewing love potions behind Slughorn’s back? But that seemed unlikely, as it would be extremely
difficult to brew potions secretly without the proper supplies, and besides, Potions had always been
one of Remus’s weaker subjects.

Unfortunately, Sirius was unable to conduct a proper investigation over the course of the week; he
was too busy doing homework for classes, planning out pranks, and pestering James and Peter
about their animagi project.

James had completed his reading of the research, as promised, by the end of September, and had
then promptly passed the sheaf of parchment off to Peter. Sirius spent quite a bit of time
throughout October pestering the smaller marauder to read faster, to no great effect. Peter struggled
to stay on top of classes and homework even more than the rest of them, and he worked through
Sirius’s animagi research at a snail’s pace.

Once both boys had finally finished reading, they had come back to Sirius with a list of questions.
Peter mostly just wanted assurances that they wouldn’t get in trouble, but James actually pointed
out a few conflicting pieces of information and areas where they’d need to gather more details if
they wanted to be sure that this was something they could pull off. Sirius reluctantly admitted that
there were a few more details to work out before they approached Remus with the idea, but insisted
that James and Peter actually help him with the research this time.

Of course, organizing study sessions around three schedules was much more complicated than just
going to the library on his own—especially because they had to make sure Remus didn’t catch on
to their secret project, which meant waiting until Lupin was otherwise preoccupied to sneak off.
Eventually, Sirius admitted that trying to force the other marauders to take on equal shares of the
work was just slowing them down. He assigned James and Peter each specific bits of information
to look into, and the three of them continued their research separately.

That was why, on a sunny Friday afternoon, Sirius was sitting alone amongst the dusty shelves of
the library. There was just one final question that James insisted they needed to answer—whether
the Death’s-Head Hawk Moth chrysalis needed to be fresh, or if they could use preserved ones—
and Sirius was completely stumped. He knew that attention to detail was important in potion-
making, especially with such sensitive magic as animagi transformations, but as he shut his seventh
book after yet another fruitless search for information, he was beginning to think that he would
rather take his chances with accidentally turning himself into a half-animal mutant.

“Sirius!”

The cheerful, familiar voice set his pulse kicking. Sirius turned and, sure enough, caught sight of
Mary and Marlene, arm in arm, making their way through the stacks.

“Macdonald,” he nodded, “McKinnon.” Mary marched over, towing Marlene along with her.

“What are you up to?”

They hadn’t really spoken since his birthday, though he still saw her in classes and at meals. She’d
eaten dinner sitting beside him every night that week, though there hadn’t been a repeat of the
confusing cuddling incident on the quidditch pitch. Sirius had been trying not to think too much
about his realization from the past weekend, although with the way she was smiling down at him
now, he was still pretty sure that Mary fancied him.

He just didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it.

“Homework,” he lied, flicking his hair out of his face.

“All by yourself?”

He shrugged, and Mary giggled.

“Want some company?”

Bloody hell. “If you like.” He was trying very hard to project a façade of smooth confidence,
leaning back in his chair and shooting her a lazy smile.

Marlene looked annoyed. “But Mary, we told Lily that we’d—”

“Oh, come on, Marls!” Mary unlinked her arm, plopping down in the seat next to Sirius, “We
wouldn’t want the esteemed Mr. Black to get lonely, would we?”

Marlene frowned. “But Lily—”

“You go on and help her, then! Tell her I’ll be along in a bit.”

There was a moment of silence as the two girls exchanged a series of meaningful looks, which
ended with Marlene sighing deeply.

“Alright,” she grumbled, “But don’t blame me if she’s upset with you.” She turned with a swish of
her robes, leaving Mary and Sirius alone.

His throat felt very dry; he swallowed. Mary was looking at him expectantly, sending his thoughts
into dizzy spirals. Sirius realized, with a sharp jab of unease, that it was the first time they’d ever
actually been alone.

“Sooo,” Mary scooted her chair a bit closer to his, “What are you working on?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing—just something for Potions.”

“Potions?” She giggled—why was she always giggling?—“I thought you hated that class.”

“I do,” he groaned, looking down at the books spread in front of him. “Just trying to find this one
bloody ingredient, but it’s impossible.”

“What is it? Maybe I can help.”

Sirius threw her a doubtful look, but obliged,

“Death’s-Head Hawk Moth’s chrysalis.”

“Death’s-Head Hawk Moth…” Mary’s frowned for a moment, thinking. Then, suddenly, her face
split into a wide, sunny smile.

“Oh! I’ve read about those! Hang on,” she dug into her bag, rifling through the papers and spare
pieces of parchment. Sirius sat up a bit, watching sceptically. He had scoured every book he could
find in the library—was it possible that Mary had something he hadn’t already looked at?

She pulled out a thick tome with a flourish, slamming it down in front of him. Sirius read the title
—it was the Care of Magical Creatures textbook.

“In here!” She said, excitedly, flipping through the pages, “Let me see…yes, chapter nine! Magical
Insects and Arachnids.”

She pushed the book in front of him, and Sirius grabbed for it, feeling a spark of hope. He scanned
the pages eagerly, devouring the words with such ferocity that he hardly noticed Mary leaning in to
read over his shoulder.

The section on Death’s Head Hawk Moths was a short excerpt, just one page. At first, it seemed to
be only about the moths themselves, with nothing regarding a chrysalis—but near the bottom, in a
paragraph detailing life cycle, Sirius found what he was looking for.

The chrysalis of the moth is highly valued due to its magical properties in potion-making. While
many wizards insist that a freshly-broken chrysalis is most potent, studies have failed to show any
difference between fresh and preserved chrysalises, as both appear to hold the same properties
when it comes to brewing potions….

“Ha!” He exclaimed, delighted, “I can’t believe it! Mary, you bloody genius, this is exactly what I
was looking for!”

He turned to her, grinning—only to find that she was much closer than he’d expected. He hadn’t
realized she’d moved so much; her chin was practically resting on his shoulder, and she had her
hand on his knee—when had that got there?

Mary smiled back at him, looking up through her lashes. She was wearing some sort of sparkly lip
gloss that made her lips all shiny, and Sirius didn’t know where to look—his brain kept screaming,
like a siren: She fancies you! She fancies you!

He was definitely supposed to do something, right? She was looking at him like she expected him
to do something. What did boys do when girls put their hands on their knees? Sirius thought about
the things the older boys on the quidditch team said, repeated in whispers by James. Was he
supposed to snog her?? He remembered James mentioning a lot of snogging. But he wasn’t sure if
he wanted to snog her—her lips looked awfully sticky, and besides, he had no idea how it was even
done. But wasn’t he supposed to want to snog her? If a pretty girl put her hand on your knee, you
should want to snog her, right? Was it weird that he just wanted to—to—
Before his courage could fail him, Sirius leaned in quickly, pressing his lips to Mary’s cheek.

Her skin was warm, and soft. She smelled nice, in an unobtrusive way—faintly sweet. Floral.
Sirius hoped he’d done the right thing—was he supposed to feel something? His stomach was one
big knot.

When he pulled away, Mary was blushing. Sirius was pretty sure his own face was red—his
cheeks felt hot. She kept grinning up at him, not looking embarrassed at all as she said,

“Well! You’re welcome, I guess!”

This was followed by a breathless giggle, and his heart jumped in his chest when he felt her fingers
squeeze his knee. She wasn’t moving away.

“I—um—I have to go!” He leapt to his feet, breaking away as he hastily gathered his things.
“Thanks Mary, you’re the best!” He didn’t look back as he rushed out of the library, feeling as
though his entire face was on fire.

* * *

Sunday 11th November 1973

James agreed that they finally had enough information to approach Remus, but stubbornly insisted
that they wait until after the full moon that weekend. Sirius tried to change his mind, but he
maintained that they shouldn’t do anything that might cause their friend stress before his
transformation—especially since they all knew how difficult the process was.

The full moon was on Saturday night, which meant Sirius spent the weekend feeling as though he
was going to burst at the seams with their secret. Mary continued to eat dinner with them, though
they hadn’t talked about the kiss—Sirius was trying very hard to avoid being alone with her again,
since every time he saw her his heart crawled like bile into his throat.

On Sunday morning, Remus was in the hospital wing. They would have gone to visit him, but there
was a quidditch game—Gryffindor lost, putting James in a bleak mood. Once he’d changed out of
his quidditch kit, he marched the other two marauders to the library, where they spent the
afternoon double-checking a few points of research and compiling the many sheets of parchment
into one, semi-cohesive stack.

So it wasn’t until the evening that James finally declared them ready to approach Remus. They
rushed to the hospital wing—only to find out that Madam Pomfrey had already sent their friend
back to the common room to rest. She admonished them not to wake Remus if he was sleeping,
giving the boys a stern look as she sent them off.

At the door to their dorm, James raised a finger to his lips. The door, when opened, revealed only
darkness and silence, curtains drawn around Lupin’s bed. Sirius bounced on the balls of his feet
impatiently, hoping that his friend wasn’t actually sleeping—he felt as though he might combust if
he didn’t get to say the word “animagus” in the next ten seconds.

“Moony?” James whispered as they filed into the room.

No response.

They approached the bed, quietly, and James tried again,

“Psst, Moony? You sleeping, mate?”

Another moment of silence—then there was a rustling noise, and a deep sigh.

“No.”

James pulled the curtains aside, and the marauders climbed in to sit with their friend.

“We went to the hospital wing, but she said you’d gone already.” James said, still speaking quietly.
Remus gave them a reproachful look.

“Came up after dinner. Where were you?”

“Library.”

“How was it?” Sirius asked, forgetting his excitement momentarily as he eyed the fresh bandages
on his friend’s arms, “The full moon and everything?”

“Ok.”

“It wasn’t…I mean, you weren’t cut up, too much?” Peter asked anxiously.

“A bit,” Remus nodded, “Not too bad. What were you doing in the library?”

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about!” Sirius burst out, unable to contain himself anymore.
He felt like bouncing up and down on the mattress.

“Sirius,” James said sternly, giving him a meaningful look before turning back to Remus, “We
were doing some research, and it’s sort of about you.”

“Sort of!” Sirius scoffed, “It’s all about you, Moony, I’ve wanted to tell you since last term, but
James wouldn’t—"

“I just wanted to make sure we could do it,” James elbowed him roughly, “Stop interrupting me,
bloody hell. Remus. The thing is, ever since we found out about…um…your furry little problem,
we’ve wanted to do something to help.”

“There’s no cure,” Remus cut in quickly, looking apprehensive and a bit wary.

“No, no, we know that,” James assured him, “But we thought there must be something we could
do – to make you stop hurting yourself, you know.”

“We found out that normal werewolves don’t do that,” Peter butted in, eagerly, “So w—”

“Normal?!” Remus looked offended.

“Not normal,” Sirius kicked Peter, “Others. Others like you. Who don’t get locked up during the
moon.”

“Right…”

“So you’re probably doing it to yourself because you’re trapped, and frustrated.”
“Well…yeah, I knew that.” Remus curled in on himself, scooting further away from them. He still
had that wary, kicked-dog look about him—Sirius hated it.

“But we thought if you had company—"

“Obviously not human company,” James interrupted him, “Everything we’ve read says that if you
even get near a human then they’re a goner,”

“But animals!” Sirius cried triumphantly, “Other animals would probably be fine!” He grinned as
he said it, excitement like electricity in his veins.

Remus blinked, uncomprehending. “So…what? I need a pet?”

James laughed,

“Sort of. But we thought…we could be the animals.”

Remus stared at him. Then he turned to Sirius, then Peter, looking at them all like they’d gone
insane.

“You’re going to be animals,” He said, flatly.

“Like McGonagall!” Peter explained. Finally, a spark of understanding registered in Remus’s gaze.

“Like…but she’s an animagus! You have to study, and train, and get registered, and you can’t even
start until you’re seventeen—"

“Moony, Moony, Moony,” Sirius tutted, shaking his head, “We’re marauders. We don’t need to
bother with all of that.”

Remus still looked sceptical.

“Even if you wanted to break the law,” He looked at James, pointedly, as he said it, “This isn’t
some school prank. It’s serious magic – one of the hardest things to do!”

“That’s why we’re telling you about it,” Sirius leaned forward, “I wanted it all to be a surprise, but
James reminded us that…well, it is really bloody hard, so the more help we get the better.”

Remus examined them, one by one. “You really think you can do it, don’t you?” he asked, slowly,
not looking so sure.

“If you help us,” James reassured him fervently, “We’re the best students in the year, except for
Evans. Don’t see why we shouldn’t try.”

“What if it goes wrong?!” Remus chewed his lip, “What if I still…after I transform, what if I can
tell you’re not really animals? What if I go for you anyway?”

“We’ll test it,” Sirius insisted, “We’ll test it over and over until we know it’s safe.”

“It’s so risky…”

“I know!” He caught Remus’s eyes and bored into them, trying to transmit every ounce of
conviction and certainty that he felt. This was going to work—he’d make sure of it.

Remus held his gaze for a moment, then took a deep breath.
“Let me think about it, please?” He turned to James, “Don’t do anything yet. Just…give me a few
days.”

“Ok,” James agreed, “That’s fair.”

Sirius grinned, heart thrumming with anticipation. “Just think, Moony!” (Remus would say yes, of
course, he had to say yes), “Once we’ve done his, there’s nothing we can’t do. We’ll be
unstoppable!”
 Third Year: Philomena Pettigrew
Chapter Summary

christmastime!

Friday 21st December 1973

Sirius spent the weeks leading up to Christmas on the edge of a knife. He felt distinctly
unbalanced, waiting for some indication as to what his family expected of him—if they even
expected anything from him, anymore. He held his breath every morning when the post arrived,
waiting for a letter, a howler, a note—something from his parents to acknowledge the fact that he
still existed. At the Slytherin table, Reg received owls almost every day.

Nothing came for Sirius.

He became convinced that this was some new form of torture that his mother had concocted—the
waiting, that is. It wasn’t like he wanted a letter; he just needed to know whether he could safely go
to the Potters’. The events of the previous Christmas were all too fresh in his mind, unearthed by
the twinkling lights and the scent of pine. Knowing his family, Sirius half-expected them to
demand he return home for Christmas after an entire term of ignoring him, just to make him
miserable. He had already decided that they couldn’t make him go—he'd stay at Hogwarts, if he
had to—but at least he would finally know, one way or the other, what to expect once classes
ended.

(Another part of him, which he tried to stifle—the part that made his skin crawl every time he saw
the way the Slytherins looked at him, the way they laughed and whispered—wanted a letter for
other reasons, necrotic reasons—wanted something to shove in their faces, something he could
wave in front of Reg and say, ‘See? See? I’m still—’)

Sirius didn’t let himself think it. He balanced on the knife edge, certain only that whatever his
parents did would be done with the intent to draw blood.

It wasn’t until the day before break began, at breakfast, that an owl swooped over his head and
dropped a single, tightly folded note in front of his plate. Sirius’s heart stuttered, as though
someone were squeezing it.

His friends were watching, so he kept his expression blank as he unfolded the paper. It was short—
only one line, scrawled in his father’s cramped handwriting.

To Master S. O. Black III,

You will not be required at the family home this winter break. Do as you please.
Signed,

Orion Black

James, who was reading over his shoulder, immediately let out a cheer. “Yes!” He nearly knocked
over his porridge, “Might even get you for the summer, at this rate!”

“What about Regulus?” Remus asked, quietly. His eyes were very dark; for a moment, it made
Sirius feel transparent, as though Lupin were seeing right through him to the fist in his chest.

“Oh, little Prince Reg is going home for Christmas,” He snorted, shoving the note into his pocket.
“It’s just me they’ve disinvited. Good. Perfect. Excellent. They don’t care; I don’t care.”

Sirius hadn’t actually spoken to his brother about his plans for the break, but he didn't need to—it
was obvious that Reg was delighting in turning himself into the perfect little heir that their parents
had always wanted. In fact, he was probably thrilled to know that Sirius wasn’t welcome home for
the holidays—he would probably go back to his room that night and laugh about it with all his
little friends, wearing that stupid, smug grin that made his face look all wrong.

Sirius didn’t care. If Regulus wanted to kiss up to their parents and spout nonsense about blood
purity and sit around sweating in those awful dress robes, that was fine—it was his choice. He had
made that very clear. And besides, Sirius had other, more important things to worry about.
Namely: beginning the marauders’ animagi project.

Remus had said yes—of course he’d said yes, Sirius always knew he would—after consulting the
thick sheafs of parchment that held their research. He had also secured permission to stay with the
Potters over Christmas, and since Sirius’s family had confirmed that they didn’t care, he would be
going, too. Peter of course, would be just up the road, making it the perfect time for the four of
them to begin work in earnest. There would be far less oversight outside of Hogwarts, as Fleamont
and Euphemia seemed to operate under the assumption that their son could do no wrong and would
therefore never suspect James of breaking the law.

That night, as they were packing, Sirius covertly showed Remus the gifts that he’d bought for the
Potters – a golden watch chain and a shimmery garnet brooch. He had no idea if they were the sort
of gifts that they’d like, but he’d been too anxious to ask James for help. Remus felt safer.

“D’you think they’re ok?” He asked, feeling nervous and awkward, “My family’s shit at doing
presents, so I never really know...”

“Black...Sirius, they’re...I mean, they’re perfect. Don’t worry.” Remus smiled, gently, and Sirius
felt a comforting warmth spread through his chest. James was usually the best at cheering him up,
but assurance felt different, coming from Moony—Remus didn’t dole out praise unless he really
meant it.

* * *

Saturday 22nd December 1973

Unlike the previous year, the full moon fell at the beginning of the month, which meant all four
marauders were able to board the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the student body. Mary and
Marlene came to sit in their carriage, which made Sirius slightly uncomfortable—Mary still hadn’t
said anything either way about what had happened in the library, and he had no idea what she was
thinking. Were they still friends?

Luckily, the rest of the group kept up a steady stream of chatter, making it easy for Sirius to avoid
any awkward confrontations.

“Did you get your essay back off Ferox?” Marlene asked Remus, frowning, “I only barely got an
‘Acceptable’ mark, and mum’s going to go mental if I don’t get better results this year.”

“Yeah, I did ok...” Remus mumbled, glancing away. Sirius raised a brow, amused—he knew for a
fact that Lupin hadn’t got anything less than ‘Outstanding’ on any of his Care of Magical Creatures
essays. The other marauders teased him about it.

“We’ll bring back the study club after Christmas, right?” Mary piped up, “Lily’s up for it. Don’t
worry, Marls, you’ll be fine.”

“Sounds good,” Remus nodded, seeming relieved that the focus had shifted from his grades. (Sirius
didn’t understand what the point of getting top marks was if you weren’t even going to brag about
it, but Lupin had always seemed to dislike attention of any kind.)

“Moony’s joined a club without us!” Sirius wailed, collapsing onto James’s shoulder. He mock-
wept, dramatically.

“He’s a big boy, now,” James consoled him, “They grow up so fast.”

“Piss off,” Remus rolled his eyes, grinning, “They have slug club for posho’s like you.”

“You can study with us if you want, Sirius,” Mary said, batting her lashes and leaning a bit closer
to him. He blinked, not sure how he was supposed to respond—did he have to say yes? He didn’t
actually want to join their silly study club—he had much better things to do with his time.

Luckily, Peter chose that moment to chomp down on an earwax-flavoured Bertie Bott’s Every
Flavour bean, retching horribly and saving Sirius from having to answer.

When they pulled into King’s Cross, Sirius felt a sharp stab of fear. He tried to remain nonchalant
as he glanced out the window, scanning for any sign of his parents. Despite their letter, the
irrational fear remained that they would somehow find him, that this had all been an elaborate ruse
to get him to let his guard down, that they would swoop in the moment he set foot off the train and
drag him away.

James seemed to notice his hesitation. He didn’t say anything, but he was purposely slow gathering
his things, and by the time they made it off the train half the families had already cleared out.
Sirius’s parents were nowhere to be seen—nor was Reg. They had left without him.

Good. Great. Fantastic. The only thing Sirius felt was relief.

They apparated to get to the Potters’. Mrs. Potter took Remus first, then came back for him. When
he arrived on the front doorstep, Lupin was gripping the banister and looking a bit peaky. Sirius
poked his side.
“Alright there, Moony?”

Remus groaned. “I never want to do that again.”

He laughed as Mrs. Potter ushered them all inside—Sirius remembered his first time apparating;
he’d been so dizzy afterwards that he’d had to lie down. All things considered, Remus was doing
pretty well.

Inside, the house was just as festive and cosy as Sirius remembered it. Mrs. Potter sent their trunks
flying up to their rooms, sweeping them past twinkling lights and sprigs of holly to the kitchen,
where she set the kettle to boil and began slicing thick pieces of homemade madeira cake. Sirius
settled down next to Remus, feeling warm from head to toe as he sipped his mug of tea and talked
with the Potters about the term so far.

To all three boys’ dismay, there had been no snow this winter. Instead, the sky outside was a wash
of dark, grey storm clouds that poured torrents of rain down onto the earth. As the sky grew darker,
the storm thickened, clouds growing heavier and angrier until they were spitting lighting and
hailstones against the house’s windowpanes.

Since going outside wasn’t an option, the boys remained in the living room, playing games under
the Christmas tree and toasting teacakes over the fire. Sirius knew he should be blissfully happy,
munching on homemade sweets and breathing in the clove-and-chestnut scent that permeated the
air, but he found that he was unable to fully relax. The Potters’ home, which had previously been
an untouchable sanctuary, felt somehow stained, this year; he kept glancing towards the hallway,
remembering how his mother had torn inside the house like a knife parting flesh. Sirius was jumpy;
unsettled; on edge. He knew it was stupid, but some part of him was sure that letting his guard
down fully would only open him to some unknown horror.

He tried to focus on their game of gobstones as Mrs. Potter reviewed her lists for the coming
celebrations, chattering absentmindedly.

“We’ve a few more people coming this year,” she told them, scanning the hovering sheets of
parchment, “Some friends from the old days, and some newer acquaintances. Only just have
enough room for all of you!” Sirius smiled unconsciously, soothed by the tender happiness of her
voice.

And then, suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door.

He stiffened, entire body tensing as if in anticipation of a blow. His body was frozen on the carpet;
he jerked his head first towards the entryway, then to Mrs. Potter. Sirius could feel the sticky glut
of fear gummed in his mouth, coating the back of his tongue. It was bitter.

Mrs. Potter abandoned her hovering lists to answer the door, letting in a cold breeze. All three boys
sat silently in the living room, listening. For a moment, Sirius was sure he’d hear the familiar snarl
of his mother’s voice—a woman began speaking—

But it wasn’t her. This voice was higher, younger, more fragile. She sounded upset, as though
she’d been crying. Sirius could hear Mrs. Potter murmuring soothing words, though her voice was
too low to make out exactly what was being said.

“Boys!” She called from the hallway. Sirius stood, robotically, following Remus and James. His
heart was still pounding. Mrs. Potter stood in the kitchen doorway; there was a young woman
behind her, long blonde hair curtaining her face, head in her hands.
“What’s up, mum?” James craned his neck, trying to see.

“It’s getting late – you’d all better go to bed. Philly’s staying the night, and I’m afraid we’ve no
room left – Sirius, would you mind sharing with James tonight, dear?”

Philly – the name rang a bell, but Sirius couldn’t put his finger on who it was. No one he’d met, he
was sure.

“We can all share,” James suggested, quickly, “Everyone else is arriving tomorrow anyway, might
as well just all bunk up together.”

Mrs. Potter nodded and summoned the house elf.

Sirius and James were already quite used to sharing his room, and it was more than big enough for
the three of them. The walls were plastered with familiar Gryffindor banners, making Sirius feel as
though they were back at Hogwarts. Also decorating the walls, James had mounted every broom
he’d ever owned, and although he would be turning fourteen in a few months his shelves were still
packed with old toys and children’s books.

Sirius flopped down on the enormous bed, hung with red velvet drapes that were currently pulled
back—another similarity to their dorm at Hogwarts. Gully had set up two single beds for Sirius and
Remus, but Sirius already knew he wasn’t going to be using his.

“Who was that?” Remus asked, joining them on James’s bed once they had all changed into their
pyjamas.

“Philomena,” James said, “Pete’s sister.”

Of course, Sirius thought, smacking himself mentally. James had told him all about Philomena
during their nightly meetings—her decision to go to some muggle school after finishing her
NEWTs had been a huge source of drama for the Pettigrew family.

“What’s she doing here?”

“I think she’s been arguing with Pete’s folks – they don’t like her going to muggle university, and,”
he lowered his voice, “Dad says she’s got a muggle boyfriend.”

“Really?!” Sirius gasped, unable to hide his surprise. He’d never met Philomena, of course, but
knowing Peter, he had a hard time believing that a Pettigrew could do something so rebellious. At
least—without being told to. The only other person Sirius knew who had dated a muggle was
Andromeda.

“Yeah, and you know what mum’s like,” James nudged his arm, “Loves taking in strays.”

* * *

Christmas Eve, 1973

Philomena sat with them at breakfast, but she wasn’t very interesting company. She mostly stared
into space, eyes watery, as if she were perpetually about to burst into tears. Privately, Sirius
thought she was being a bit dramatic—his family had kicked him out for Christmas, too, and he
wasn’t crying about it! Besides, spending the holidays with the Potters was surely much more fun
than spending it with the Pettigrews.

To be fair, he didn’t actually know how serious Philomena’s situation was; James thought it would
be rude to pry. He had explained to them, in whispers, that Peter always looked up to his older
sister—apparently, she had been quite the goody-two-shoes while at Hogwarts. Her parents were
expecting her to marry her pureblood boyfriend, and it came as quite a shock when she broke up
with him and moved out to attend a muggle university. At first, they’d thought it was a simple act
of teenage rebellion; a phase that would pass in a few months once she got bored. But now, with
three years gone, her family was growing increasingly worried about her ties to muggles—
especially in the current political climate.

In fact, the Pettigrews were so upset with Peter’s older sister that once they found out she was
staying at the Potters’, they forbid Pete from leaving the house. The other marauders had to make
do with sending letters back and forth, which (although it meant putting their animagi plans on
hold) Sirius had to admit that he did not entirely mind.

Surprisingly, James didn’t seem to mind all that much, either. He was clearly delighted by
Philomena’s presence, fawning over her and making almost as much of a fool of himself as he did
around Evans. Sirius found it both mildly amusing and mildly off-putting—although Philomena
was certainly much prettier than Peter, with her pixie-like features and delicate freckles, the
resemblance was still there in the straw-coloured hair and the way she seemed to do nothing but
mope about all day. After watching his friend offer tea to the clearly-uninterested girl for a fourth
time that evening, Sirius had had enough.

“Bloody hell, Potter, she’s just a girl.”

They were beginning to get ready for bed, pulling pyjamas and toothbrushes out of their trunks.

“I’m being nice,” James said defensively, “Nothing wrong with being nice to my mate’s sister.”

“What would Evans say?” Sirius asked coyly, grinning when James blushed tomato-red.

“She’d be glad someone’s taken his mind off her,” Remus drawled, eyes sparkling mischievously
from where he was reclined on his camp bed.

“You can talk, Black.” James gave him a shove, “What’s going on between you and Mary?”

“Macdonald?” Sirius shrugged, nonchalant, “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” James groaned, “Tell us! Have you snogged her or what?”

Sirius kept the coy smile, though his pulse kicked with nerves.

“No. Kissed her cheek though.” He felt much better about his split-second decision in the library
now that he had the chance to brag about it to his friends—clearly, if James was expecting
snogging, Sirius had done the correct thing.

“Ohhhh, how scandalous, Black!” James threw a pillow at him. Sirius chucked it back, initiating a
fierce wrestling match that ended with both of them breathless and grinning in the rumpled
blankets.

James laughed as they stood, slapping him on the back. Sirius glanced over at Remus, who was
ignoring them, staring into space with his lip poking out as he pondered some serious thought with
his enormous brain. He waved his toothbrush in front of his friend’s face, sing-songing,

“Helloooo? Moony? Earth to Moony?”

Remus blinked, jerking back, and frowned up at him. “Yeah, alright, I’m coming.” He picked up
his own toothbrush, and the three of them made their way down the hall to the bathroom, where
James made faces in the mirror that had them choking on their toothpaste with laughter. Sirius
went to bed that night warmed by a smouldering ember of happiness—for now, everything was
exactly as it should be.
 Third Year: Andromeda

Christmas Day, 1973

There were no more conversations about girls the next morning—the marauders were too busy
opening their presents. The living room became a massacre of wrapping paper and bows, gutted
boxes and empty bags. The Potters had outdone themselves; even Philomena perked up when she
saw presents with her name under the tree, although her eyes still looked a little misty.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter were delighted with Sirius’s gifts—Euphemia cooed over the brooch and
called him a “dear boy,” which made Sirius feel bashful and happy and like he had a lump in his
throat, all at once. He received a wealth of snacks and practical jokes from his friends and a lovely
set of enchanted quills from the Potters, who insisted that he write any time and treat James’s owl
as his own.

“He already does, mum, believe me,” James said around a mouthful of biscuits. Sirius elbowed him
in the ribs, and he laughed.

After opening his gift from the Potters, Sirius began to search through the remaining presents for
Andromeda’s loopy scrawl. He knew that she’d been awfully busy with the new baby, but still,
she’d never missed a Christmas before...

As the final gifts were unwrapped, leaving only crumpled paper, his heart sank—there was nothing
from his cousin. Sirius knew he shouldn’t be upset with Andromeda, but he couldn’t stop the wash
of loneliness. He’d sent her a card; since she’d been kicked out, he’d been her only family. This
Christmas, he’d thought she would be his.

But apparently, no one in his family cared about him—not even his favourite cousin.

He tried to stifle his dark mood, knowing that he should be grateful and happy, surrounded by
friends. Still, James seemed to pick up on the fact that there was something wrong.

“S’up wif yoo?” He asked, speaking once more with his mouth full—this time around a bite of
scrambled eggs.

Sirius shrugged. “Nothing from Andromeda,” he said, poking at his own breakfast
unenthusiastically. “I didn’t think I’d get presents or anything, now she’s got the baby, but I
thought maybe a card...I sent her one.”

James swallowed, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Owl might just be flying late – you know how the post is this time of year.”

Sirius mustered up a smile, trying to feel reassured. James was probably right—it wasn’t as if
Andromeda had forgotten him, or stopped caring about him. She was his family.

(Didn’t stop the rest of your family from forgetting you, though, did it? Whispered a small, mean
voice in the back of his mind—a voice that sounded very much like his own. Sirius shook it off—
he was determined not to let himself ruin the holiday. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up moping
around as much as Philomena!)
The minute that breakfast was done, all three boys headed outside to test James’s brand-new
broom. Sirius had brought his own broom with him, and Mr. Potter offered Remus James’s old
one.

“Yeah, have it if you want, Moony!” James nodded eagerly, “To keep!”

“Thanks...” Remus said, not looking very enthusiastic at all as he accepted the gift. He held the
broomstick gingerly, as if he was worried that it might bite him.

They spent the rest of the afternoon flying blissfully through the cold winter air. Well—Sirius and
James flew. Remus just hovered, feet barely half an inch from the ground, and read his book. The
other boys didn’t mind; eventually, they made a game of seeing who could break Moony’s
concentration first, executing sharp dives and showy loops that had them sailing past him. His
ability to ignore them was quite impressive, although Sirius supposed he’d had a few years to
practice.

Just before lunch time, Gully called them inside. The house smelled delicious—roast beef, with all
the trimmings—but Mrs. Potter insisted that they wash and change first. She sent them upstairs,
waving her wooden spoon and letting them know that Gully had set out their things.

They changed quickly, washing up and rushing downstairs with growling stomachs. James pushed
ahead, leaping over the last few steps as though he’d done it a thousand times (which he probably
had) and leaving Sirius and Remus behind as he raced towards the kitchen. They were still on the
stairs when a loud, familiar CRACK sounded outside.

Sirius froze, involuntarily. Fear was a fist around his heart, squeezing, locking up his entire body.
My mother – he thought – it’s—

There was a sudden warm pressure on his shoulder. It was Moony—he'd reached out, as if to say
I’m here, hand firm and grounding, unknotting the tension in Sirius’s chest. Reminding him that he
wasn’t alone.

Sirius looked down at the fingers, faintly scarred, ghostly patterns that caught the light. He felt a
sudden surge of affection for his friend, and turned, smiling gratefully up at Remus.

The bell rang, drawing their attention. Remus withdrew his hand, and Sirius released a breath that
he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He could still feel the warm points of contact where the
fingers had pressed, gently, into his shoulder. It felt nice.

Really nice.

They made their way to the bottom of the stairs as James opened the door. There was a couple in
the entryway – a young man and woman, arms cradling a small bundle. The man was stocky, a bit
shorter than her, with a mess of fair curls. She was slender, sharper, her own curls cascading down
her back. Next to him, Remus sucked in a sharp breath.

“No!” Sirius gasped, already throwing himself forward. His face split into a giddy grin.

“Sirius!” Andromeda shouted, voice bright with joy. She passed the baby—the baby!—to her
husband—her husband!—and pulled him into a bear hug, squeezing him so tight that he could
barely breathe. Sirius felt as though he might burst from happiness; it had been years since he’d
actually got to see his cousin in person.

“A good surprise, then?” Mrs. Potter asked, looking very pleased with herself as she entered the
hallway. She shook Ted’s hand, cooing over the baby.
“You did this?!” Sirius blinked, feeling the dangerous sting of tears in his eyes. No one had ever
done something so—so nice for him.

“Effie was kind enough to invite us,” Ted said, his voice a pleasant baritone, his eyes sparkling
with laughter. “Pleased to meet you, Sirius. Nice to meet someone in Dromeda’s family.”

“Come in, come in!” Mrs. Potter urged, shooing them towards the dining room. Sirius followed,
unable to stop smiling, with his cousin’s arm slung around his shoulder.

* * *

Andromeda was just as he remembered her. Well—she was older, and her hair was longer, and
there were fine creases at the corners of her eyes. But she still had the same boisterous laugh, the
same sharp sense of humour, the same warmth that felt so alien when compared to the icy
demeanour of her sisters. Ted was clearly mad for her; he orbited her like a planet, unconsciously,
moving when she moved. Every time Dromeda smiled at him, he stared up at her with the blissful
expression someone might wear while basking in sunlight. Sirius had never seen two people so in
love—it was almost frightening to watch.

Their daughter, Dora (‘Nymphadora’—Sirius had teased his cousin mercilessly about that decision
in his letters, amused that of all the Black traits she should inherit, it would be the penchant for
ridiculous names), was adorable. Andromeda had already told him that the baby was a
metamorphmagus, but he was still a bit surprised the first time her wispy hair changed from green
to blue. It kept changing colour throughout dinner, and Sirius found himself secretly envying the
little girl—just imagine everything you could get away with if you could change your appearance
at will!

Aside from Andromeda and her family, they were joined by several other guests for dinner—all old
family friends of the Potters. The table was full of laughter and chatter, and Sirius thought it was by
far the most cheerful dinner party he had ever attended.

“A toast,” Mr. Potter stood, a bit tipsily, and raised his glass at the end of the meal, “To friends, old
and new!”

“To the Potters!” Andromeda responded, lifting her own glass, “Protectors of outcasts and
defenders of black sheep everywhere!”

There was a wave of laughter, punctuated by the clinking of glasses.

“I think I must be the most outcast,” Sirius declared, “I’m a Gryffindor, after all.”

“To Gryffindor!” Mr. Potter called out, from the other end of the table. This was met by hearty
cheers from all Gryffindors present—which, admittedly, was more than half the table. Andromeda
narrowed her eyes at Sirius, smelling a challenge.

“Think so, little cousin? Try marrying a non-relative.”

“I’ll have to,” Sirius shot back, as Gully began to clear the plates and Mrs. Potter bustled into the
kitchen for the Christmas pudding, “After Cissy’s wedding there aren’t any Black women left.”

Andromeda grinned impishly. “There’s Dora.”

“Excuse me!” Ted covered his daughter’s ears, “Could we please get her through her first
Christmas before arranging a betrothal?”

“I’m teasing,” Andromeda leaned over and kissed his cheek, then the baby’s, “Dora can marry
anyone she likes when she’s old enough, and I can say with absolute certainty that it won’t be
anyone at this table.”

This elicited another wave of laughter, and some of the older women leaned over to coo over the
baby.

As soon as the pudding was extinguished, served and eaten, crackers pulled and terrible jokes read
out, the party adjourned to the living room. The ladies moved upstairs to change into their party
dresses as Mr. Potter settled into his chair and pulled out his pipe. Ted followed his wife upstairs to
put Dora down for a nap, and the three marauders made themselves comfortable on the carpet.
They began a game of snap which was interrupted when Darius and Mr. Potter decided that
everyone should play a round of charades—it was almost as hard to say no to Fleamont as it was to
his son.

As the evening drew on, more guests began to arrive. Soon, the house was bursting with people,
rooms buzzing with a steady hum of chatter. Sirius and Andromeda took up posts by the record
player and appointed themselves as DJs, scouring their combined record collection to introduce the
partygoers to the wonders of muggle music. They blasted Slade’s Merry Xmas Everybody and I
Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday by Wizzard.

When the snowman brings the snow

Well he just might like to know

He’s put a great big smile on somebody’s face…

Sirius was an acolyte, proselytizing to anyone who strayed within five feet of him, “They’re
actually called wizard, though, and just listen to it…” He was so earnest that Andromeda couldn’t
stop giggling, clutching her stomach as she gasped for breath.

A little ways away, Philomena had actually stopped moping for once and was showing James how
to twist. The younger boy looked vaguely dazed and incredibly pleased—but although James was
the picture of poise and grace on a broomstick, when he was actually on solid ground he had two
left feet. After a few stumbling mishaps, Philomena gave up the half-hearted dance lessons and the
two drifted over towards the record player. As the chorus came on, all four of them belted at the
top of their lungs,

“Weeeell I wish it could be Christmas every daaa-aaay!

When the kids start singing and the band begins to plaa-aay

Oooooh I wish it could be Christmas every day

So let the BELLS ring OUT for CHRISTmaaaaaas!”

Sirius looked around for Remus as the song ended—he wanted to put on something by Bowie next,
and he needed help choosing between Changes and Suffragette City. Also, James had slung his arm
around Sirius’s shoulder, and for some reason it was making him think about when Remus had
touched him, earlier—his fingers were longer than James’s, his grip firmer. Where had he slipped
off to?

“Who are you looking for?”

Andromeda spoke directly into his ear, making him jump. She laughed as she straightened back up,
ruffling his hair.

“No one,” he passed her Changes to put on next, “Just Moony.”

“Ah, your quiet friend? He seems nice.”

Sirius snorted, smiling absently. “He’s not.” Andromeda laughed.

Philomena had pulled James back out try another round of dancing, leaving Sirius and his cousin in
relative privacy as the party milled on around them. When he turned back around, she was smiling
down at him fondly.

“What?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Nothing! Just—I’m glad you have such good friends.” Her eyes
flickered across his face, studying him. “You seem happy.”

Sirius looked away, shrugging. Andromeda tried to do this, sometimes, in her letters—talk about
his feelings. He knew she was just trying to look out for him; she’d had a rough time of it, when
everything went down with her family, and there hadn’t been anyone to ask if she was okay. Sirius
understood that, and he understood that it came from a place of love—but it made him
uncomfortable. He didn’t want to talk about how he was doing. He preferred to think about his
feelings as little as possible.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “They’re good mates.”

“Great, yeah, that’s good…”

Sirius could tell that she was gearing up to say something, though he wasn’t sure what. He waited,
nervous, until his cousin finally spoke.

“Do you…ever see Cissy? Around at school?”

She was trying to keep her voice light, casual—but Sirius recognized the spark of desperation in
her eyes. He hated it. He hated when she asked this of him, and he hated that he was the only one
she had to ask.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged again, “Not much. She hasn’t really been speaking to me since the…
since this summer.” After a moment, “Neither of them have.”

Andromeda nodded, smile still stretched tight across her face. She knew all about what had
happened the previous summer—Sirius had written to her while it was happening.

“Yeah,” she murmured, “Yeah, I s’pose she wouldn’t. Stubborn one, that Cissy.”
Sirius knew that Andromeda still tried writing letters to her sisters, sometimes. He was pretty sure
that she had invited them to Dora’s baby shower.

He also knew that they never wrote back.

There was a heavy pause; then Andromeda spoke again, in a low voice.

“Does she…seem happy? Or—is she doing okay, at least?”

Sirius opened his mouth, helplessly. He didn’t know what to say.

“Er…yeah. I think so,” the hungry look in Andromeda’s eye made him uncomfortable; he stared at
the ground, “I dunno. I mean, I think she’s—she’s going to marry that Malfoy bloke, now. So. I
think she’s happy about that.”

“Okay,” Andromeda nodded, “Yeah. Thanks, Sirius.” She reached over and put a hand on his
shoulder, “I mean it.”

When he looked up, she was smiling again, feature settling back into their normal patterns. “Come
on, we’ve got to pick what to put on next!” She winked at him, and the tension between them
unspooled. “No more family talk tonight, I promise.”

“Alright,” he grinned back, “Where’d that Slade record go?”

It wasn’t long before they were laughing again; the twinkling lights, the happy chatter, and the
sheer vibrance that was Christmas at the Potters made it impossible to stay gloomy for very long.
Andromeda waved her wand like a baton, and they led everyone together in chorus:

“So here it iiiiiiis, Merry Christmas,

Everybody’s having fuuuuuun!

Loo-ook to the future now,

It’s only just begun!”

 Third Year: Confidence
Chapter Summary

girls girls girls

Saturday 5th January 1974

The weather outside was just as gloomy as Sirius’s mood. Rain pounded like fists against the
windows of the Hogwarts Express, turning the hills outside into a misty wash of green and grey.

“Feels rubbish going back to school, doesn’t it?” Sirius muttered, sulking in the corner of their
carriage. No one responded; his friends didn’t seem to know what to do with his bleak mood.

Next to him, Remus sighed, then asked politely, “How was your Christmas, Pete?”

“Ok,” Peter responded, voice flat, “Thanks for the sweets.”

“Seen my broom?” James asked, trying to bring some cheer into the car. It half-worked—Peter
perked up as he pulled the broom off the luggage rack, shifting to get a better look. But Sirius—
who had seen quite enough of the gift over break—remained staring stubbornly out the window.

Remus shifted, turning back to the large book on his lap. Sirius felt very aware of the movement.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Moony’s fingers turning the pages.

It was a new development, this strange awareness, and a rather unwelcome one. Ever since Remus
had reached out and gripped his shoulder, Sirius kept getting distracted by the smallest movements
—he’d find his eyes following Remus’s fingers as he adjusted his tie, or realize he was staring if
Remus reached over and began to fiddle absentmindedly with the sleeve of his robes. When Remus
sat down next to him on the train, their knees had knocked together, and Sirius had only realized a
few seconds later that he was holding his breath.

It was driving Sirius insane. It wasn’t like the brief touch had been anything unusual—James
grabbed his shoulders all the time. But it was different with James; he was always reaching out to
grab your arm or wrestle you into a headlock or poke your side. And Remus…didn’t. Sirius had
never really thought about it before, but after Christmas he’d realized that he could probably count
on one hand the number of times that Remus had actually reached out and touched him. And that
was weird, right? Sirius was pretty sure it was weird. He was pretty sure that’s why he kept
thinking about it—because they were best mates, but Remus was still so withdrawn, and he only
reached out and gripped your shoulder like that if it really meant something….

But that was all it was. Just another one of Remus’s many idiosyncrasies, which Sirius was only
pondering out of boredom. It was just strange because it was so different from how things were
with him and James, and that was the only reason he kept thinking about it.

Remus drummed his fingers against the pages of his book, drawing Sirius’s eyes like a magnet.

It was a relief when a quiet knock came at their carriage door, pulling Sirius out of the confusing
turn his thoughts had taken. Marlene poked her head in, eyes darting between them before falling to
the floor.

“Hiya McKinnon,” James grinned, “Evans with you?” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Um…no.” Her voice was a bit higher than usually, reedy with nerves. She fiddled with her hair.
“Sirius, can I talk to you?”

“Me?” He sat up, brow furrowed in confusion. He’d only ever hung around McKinnon in groups,
and was pretty sure they’d never actually spoken directly. He had no idea why she’d want to talk to
him. “Er…what is it?”

“Mary um…Mary asked me to tell you something.”

Mary? This only bewildered him further. Why hadn’t Mary come to speak to him, if she had
something to say? “Tell me what?”

“She’s…I don’t think I was supposed to say it in front of this lot.”

“Er…ok…” Sirius rose, hesitantly, and followed her into the corridor. As the door shut behind
them, Marlene twisted her fingers together, refusing to meet his eye.

“Well?” He waited.

“Mary…” Marlene paused, taking a deep breath, and then the words came out in a rush: “Mary
wanted me to tell you that she’s breaking up with you.”

Sirius had never been so baffled in his life. Breaking up with him? When had she started going out
with him?!

Marlene was still talking, looking very guilty. “She’s got a new boyfriend, and she thought it would
be best to let you know before anything became too serious.” There was an awkward pause—then,
almost as an afterthought, “Sorry.”

“Er…it’s fine, Marlene, really…” He trailed off, not sure what to say. When she continued to
hover, he cleared his throat.

“I’ll, um…we’ll see you at dinner?”

“Oh! Yes. Right. Okay.” Marlene nodded sharply, looking relieved by the dismissal, and hurried
back off to her own carriage. Sirius re-joined his friends, still feeling perplexed as he sat down.

“Well?” James asked.

“Mary’s got a boyfriend, apparently.” Sirius said, still trying to process what had just happened.

“You mean…you got dumped?”

“I dunno,” he scratched his head, “Was I going out with her?”

“Well, apparently she thought you were.”

Sirius groaned in frustration. “Why don’t girls just say what they mean?!” He had no recollection
of ever agreeing to be Mary’s—boyfriend, or whatever. James nodded sympathetically.

“Girls are a nightmare,” he said solemnly. Sirius leaned back in his seat, wondering if he should be
upset—but mostly, he was just relieved. At least now he finally knew where things stood with
Mary, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how they had got there.

* * *

Sunday 6th January 1974

Mary no longer sat next to him at dinner, and she stopped coming to watch Marlene during the
Gryffindor quidditch practices. She was still perfectly friendly when they passed each other in the
halls or saw each other in class, but apparently most of the things that Sirius had taken to be signs
of their growing friendship were no longer appropriate now that Mary had a boyfriend.

The suddenness with which the change had come about perturbed him. It wasn’t that he missed
Mary—even though he’d liked her, Sirius had always felt a bit ambivalent about having her
hanging around, and he had more than enough to keep him busy with the marauders. But it was
unsettling to realize just how little he’d understood about the situation.

Had he and Mary actually been dating? Had he been her…boyfriend? Had everyone else realized?
Why hadn’t she talked to him about it—shouldn’t she have said something? Was he supposed to
have just understood? Was that normal? When had it started? Did kissing her cheek make her his
girlfriend? And if they were going out, and she hadn’t said anything, and it was normal, then how
was Sirius ever supposed to tell the difference between girls who were just friends and girls who
were—well. Not friends.

He discussed it with James, comparing notes from his experience with Mary and the things his
friend had heard from the older boys on the quidditch team.

“Seems it mostly comes down to snogging,” James whispered, knowledgably. They’d cast a
silencing spell around the bed—Remus and Peter were asleep—but they were still speaking in low
voices. Force of habit.

“What, so once you snog a girl, then she’s your girlfriend?”

“Well—no. I dunno. They didn’t say, exactly. You can snog a girl without going out with her,
though. I think.”

Sirius groaned, flopping back onto the mattress. “I didn’t even snog Mary, so how’m I supposed to
know if she dumped me!”

“I mean, it definitely seems like she dumped you, mate.”

Sirius glared at him, and James hurriedly looped back to the subject at hand.

“Anyway, I thought you kissed her cheek?”

“Yeah, but that’s not snogging.”

“S’pose not. Wonder if Evans would let me kiss her cheek…”

Sirius snorted. “Fat chance.” James threw a pillow at him.

Unfortunately, no matter how they looked at it, the situation with Mary remained a mystery. Sirius
sighed in frustration, complaining,

“Why couldn’t she have just told me if we were going out? It’s like they all speak in some sort of
bloody code!”

James nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah…d’you think that means that maybe Evans—”

“No, Potter!”

By the end of their first week back, Sirius had accepted the fact that some things in life—such as
girls—would have to remain a mystery (at least for the moment). Unlike James, who continued to
act a fool whenever Lily was near, Sirius decided that he had had quite enough of girls for the time
being. Now that he’d (maybe) had a (sort of) girlfriend, he really didn’t see what all the fuss was
about.

The only marauder who truly seemed comfortable around the fairer sex was Remus, who, as
promised, had re-started his study group with Lily, Marlene, and Mary. They would spend hours in
the library together and sit near the marauders at meals just to chat with Remus about classes.
Sirius had no idea how his friend could act so casual around them when the marauders all knew
now that, at any moment, a girl who you thought just wanted to be friends with you could turn
everything around and make you think she fancied you, and then dump you within the month
before you even had time to figure out if you were dating.

Sirius wondered if he should warn Remus that spending time with girls and chatting with them
wasn’t the same as it was with boys—it could very quickly lead to something more insidious
before you even knew it. But he had a feeling Remus would not appreciate his advice, since the
taller boy continued to insist whenever they teased him that the girls were just friends, and nothing
more.

Still, Sirius watched carefully, trying to hone his observational skills for the future. He found
himself watching Lupin as he walked with Mary and Marlene to the library, or as he chatted with
Lily at lunch, narrowing his eyes and trying to crack whatever secret code girls used to show that
they fancied someone. Remus might think they were just friends, but that didn’t mean the girls
wouldn’t go getting any ideas.

Other than his own newfound wariness, however, everything appeared to be entirely normal with
the marauders—which was why, the first weekend of the new term, Remus made a proclamation
that took Sirius completely by surprise.

He, James, and Peter were returning from a detention (they’d charmed the toilets in the dungeon
spit high-speed streams of water at any students who walked into the bathrooms—it was mostly
meant to get Slytherins, although there were a few unfortunate Ravenclaws who got doused after a
Potions lesson). When they opened the door to their room, Remus was lying in bed, fully dressed
and staring off into space. He sat up as they came in.

“I’ve had a think,” he started,

“No wonder you needed a lie down,” Sirius interrupted, not about to let the opportunity go to
waste. Remus chucked a pillow at him.

“Piss off, I’m serious.”

“No, I’m Siri—”

James smacked the back of his head, making him wince.

“Shut up, Black.”

“Thanks.” Remus shot James a grateful smile. “Er…the whole animagus thing.”

“Yeah?” Sirius, who had been rubbing the back of his poor head, perked up. “Had an idea? I love
Moony ideas!”

“Um…not exactly,” Remus frowned at his bedspread, looking very uncomfortable. After a short
pause, he said slowly, “I…I don’t want you to do it.”

Sirius froze. What?

“Do what?” Peter asked, not following. It was James who answered,

“He doesn’t want us to become animagi,” he looked at Remus for confirmation, “Is that right?”

Remus nodded, once, firmly.

“I’m really grateful, I am. I just…I don’t think any of you really understand how dangerous it
would be. I could hurt you. I could…I could kill you. I’ve got no control over it.”

No. No! That wasn’t fair! He’d already said yes—Sirius couldn’t believe Remus was trying to take
it back! He always overthought everything, getting worked up when he had no reason to—

“But it’s going to work!” Sirius burst out, trying to rein in his anger. “I did all the research, James,
did you show him?”

“Leave it, mate,” James said, “It’s Lupin’s decision.” Sirius bit his tongue, fuming.

“Thanks,” Remus smiled at James. He had a worried, guilty look in his eyes, which only frustrated
Sirius more. He wanted to protest again, but James fixed him with a stern look. We can talk about it
later.

Sirius huffed, angry with his friends, and sulked on his bed for the rest of the evening. Remus was
clearly upset about something, and Sirius didn’t want to make him feel worse—even though it was
probably something stupid. Moony might act like he was some sort of dangerous monster, but
Sirius knew he’d never hurt them. He just knew it.

Later, after lights out, Sirius crept over to James’s bed. Potter pulled back the curtain as if he’d
been expecting him, waiting until he was settled to cast a silencing spell. The moment it was up,
Sirius spoke.

“We’re still doing it.”

“Sirius—”

“I don’t care. Remus can mope all he wants, but he can’t stop us from becoming animagi.”

“Black, he’s not trying to stop us,” James looked troubled, “He’s asking us not to. As his friends.”

“Well as his friend, I’m still going to become an animagus!”

“Come on, Sirius—he’s obviously thought a lot about this. What if you became an animagus, and
he really did end up hurting you? Would you want to make him live with that on his conscience?”

“He won’t hurt us.”

“But if he did—”

“I don’t care! He’s already hurting himself—do you want us to live with that on our conscience?
Knowing there’s something we could have done to help him?” Sirius had knotted his fingers into
fists without realizing it.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. He appeared to be considering for a moment,
obviously torn by the moral quandary. Finally, he whispered,

“Look—Lupin’s clearly upset about something, okay? Let’s give it a little time, maybe he’ll
change his mind again.” Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but James held up a hand, talking over
him, “And if he doesn’t…well, we can talk about it then, okay? Just give him some time first.”

Sirius huffed, but he knew James was being reasonable. Remus was prone to fits of melancholy—
maybe he really would change his mind. Reluctantly, Sirius agreed to give things some time before
they decided whether to move forward with their project. James seemed relieved, lifting the
silencing spell and pulling back the curtain so that Sirius could creep back to his own bed.

But as Sirius lay awake, listening to the even breathing of his friends, his resolve hardened. He’d
told James he would give Moony some time—and he would. But Sirius knew he was going to
become an animagus. Nothing would stop him—not even Remus’s attempts to martyr himself.

Just wait, he thought, drifting between sleep and consciousness, I’m going to prove you wrong.
 Third Year: Davey Gudgeon
Chapter Summary

lots of blood

Remus did not change his mind.

Winter went out kicking, dragging its death throes into a rainy, dreary March. The marauders
celebrated Lupin’s birthday as usual: serenades at every meal, an extravagant cake, a pile of
presents. There were no more midnight firework shows, as McGonagall was anticipating their
celebration this year and made sure to have a prefect watching the boys’ dorms. Sirius was
unhappy about that, at first—until he realized that McGonagall must have Remus’s birthday
marked somehow on her calendar, which amused him immensely.

Luckily, Lupin’s birthday was on a Hogsmeade weekend, which meant the marauders had plenty
of alternative options for celebrating. They spent most of the day in the Three Broomsticks,
drinking butterbeers on the house from the steady stream of students that they had cajoled,
threatened, and sweet-talked into popping by to wish Remus a happy birthday. With every new
drink, Sirius would cry,

“A toast to the Birthday Boy!”

Which made Remus blush bright red and ensured that the entire bar knew his name by the end of
the afternoon. They left to a chorus of cheers, which Remus insisted was horrifyingly embarrassing
even as he smiled.

Although it had been an altogether lovely day, Sirius went to bed that night feeling frustrated. Or
rather—he went to James’s bed. Potter barely had time to cast the silencing spell before Sirius was
speaking.

“We’re doing it.”

“What?”

“We’re doing it. It’s been enough time.”

“Oh,” James blinked owlishly, frowning, “Are you sure? He seemed really happy today, maybe if
we just wait a bit longer—”

“It’s been months!”

Sirius had already made up his mind. They had waited out the rest of winter according to James’s
guidance—he thought that if they showed Lupin that he could trust them, and reminded him what
great friends they all were, then Remus would eventually soften to the animagi idea and agree to
help them do it. But after his birthday, Sirius really didn’t see what more they could do to convince
Moony to trust them; he was far too stubborn for his own good, and Sirius had had quite enough of
waiting.

“Look,” he huffed, frustrated, “Maybe Moony’ll change his mind, and maybe he won’t. Either
way, I’m doing it. So you can join me if you like, or you can back out, but I’m not waiting any
more. If we’re doing this, we need all the time we can get.”

James sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair. He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of
becoming animagi when Remus had asked them not to; at the same time, he was quite obviously
desperate to turn into an animal. It was just so cool.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, as Sirius knew he would, “Let’s do it.”

“Brilliant! I was thinking we could—”

“Oi, we’re not starting tonight—I’ve got quidditch in the morning!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and James shoved him.

“We can talk to Pete tomorrow and figure out how to get started then. Deal?”

Sirius groaned, flopping dramatically back onto the mattress.

“Deal.”

* * *

Sunday 7th April 1974

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot that they could actually do while at Hogwarts. Trying to
begin brewing the potion would be impossible while surrounded by students and professors, and
even gathering the ingredients and planning out their preparation had to be done when Remus
wasn’t around to catch onto their plotting.

Still, they were able to make some headway. Most of it involved figuring out how they’d obtain
the necessary tools and ingredients, and scheming about how to begin those preparations over the
summer—but it was better than nothing.

Between the animagus project, classes, homework, exam revision, and, of course, their marauding
missions, Sirius felt as though he hardly had a moment to spare. Which was nice—he liked being
busy. Besides, it wasn’t too overwhelming to juggle everything as long as you knew how to
prioritize, which Sirius certainly did.

On the weekend after the April full moon, for example, he was covertly changing the colour of
James’s hair. It was an enormously important task, choosing the different colours – pink, yellow,
green, orange – and he had to be very careful not to let James (who was marking his divination
homework) catch on. So far, it was going well; Remus seemed to think his antics were hysterical,
from the way he was choking on laughter in his bed.

They had all come down to keep him company in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey’s
watchful eye, piling behind the drawn curtain and making themselves comfortable. Remus had a
book open on his lap, which he had abandoned to watch Sirius – who felt very pleased with himself
that he had actually managed to distract Moony from reading. Peter was sitting on the floor,
happily sorting through chocolate frog cards and ignoring the other three. They had all settled into
quiet contentment, happy to purse their own tasks in each other’s company. It was incredibly
peaceful.

Unfortunately, things didn’t remain that way for long.

“Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey! Help!”

A student rushed into the hospital wing, shrieking hysterically. James and Sirius immediately leapt
to their feet, peeking out from behind the curtain to see what was wrong. At first, it just looked like
Madam Pomfrey was trying to console a sobbing girl, murmuring quiet questions. But then the
others came in.

Sirius had seen blood before. He had seen quite a lot of it, in fact. He had seen blood on his skin, on
his clothes, on the carpet in his mother’s office. He had changed bloody bandages and dressed
bloody wounds. After fourteen years, he thought that he was used to blood; it didn’t shock him
anymore.

This did. Two older students walked in, half-carrying, half-dragging a smaller boy between them.
His face didn’t quite look like a face – only an approximation of one, the features all there but raw
and red and pulped like meat. And his eyes—his eyes were—

Sirius turned around, feeling as though he might be sick. Next to him, James looked pale as well;
they exchanged a wordless, horrified glance.

“What is it?” Remus asked, sounding irritated.

Sirius’s voice had turned to bile in the back of his throat. James didn’t seem to know how to
respond, either, shaking his head mutely. Peter finally looked up from his cards,

“What?”

“An accident…some kid.” James said, voice slightly strangled.

“Everyone out!” Madam Pomfrey boomed, making the marauders wince. She pulled back the
curtain around Remus’s bed, distractedly, and lowered her voice as she murmured,

“Remus, dear, if you’re feeling well enough it might be best for you to spend the rest of the
afternoon in your own bed. Potter, would you go and fetch Professor Sprout? Tell her that one of
her students has been injured.”

James nodded and dashed off immediately, without glancing back. Sirius watched him go, then
turned back to Remus, who had nodded his assent and was climbing out of bed. He grabbed Peter’s
elbow and pulled him up, moving them both outside to give Lupin some privacy while he changed.

The curtains had been drawn around the bed nearest to the door. Madam Pomfrey swept behind
them, her arms full of potion bottles, fingers gripping her wand. Peter stared, but Sirius looked
away—he could still see, vividly, the boy’s eyes, red and wet like jelly—

Remus stepped out, fully dressed, with his bag slung over his shoulder. The three boys wasted no
time in hurrying out of the hospital wing, wanting nothing more than to get as far away as possible.
They made a beeline for the common room, Sirius and Peter slowing down for Remus, who was
limping.

“What was it?” Moony whispered, “There was blood.”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, without processing the fact that Remus hadn’t actually seen the boy, “I
dunno what happened but…it was his face.”

Now Peter was beginning to look sick, as well.

The second they reached the common room, Remus collapsed into an armchair. He was breathing
hard, and there was a faint sheen of sweat at his temples.

“You ok?” Sirius asked gently, reaching out to touch his friend’s shoulder. Moony closed his eyes,
breathing deeply; Sirius could feel the lungs expanding and contracting in his fingertips, in the
shifting of Lupin’s shoulder as his chest rose and fell.

“Fine, fine,” Remus shrugged him off, and Sirius tried to ignore the sting of it.

“Alright lads,” Mary chose that moment to climb in through the portrait hole, Marlene close
behind, “Hear what happened to that Gudgeon kid?”

“No,” Sirius replied smoothly, “What?”

“Whacked in the face by that mental tree.” She shook her head, lips pursed, “They were trying to
touch the trunk.”

There was a stone in the pit of his stomach.

“The whomping willow?” He asked, already knowing the answer. It had become a game, over the
summer of 1973, to see how close you could get to the trunk before the tree took a swipe at you.
Everyone knew it was stupid, and more than a little dangerous—but nothing had ever actually
happened, and so nobody really tried to stop it. But now…

“Yeah,” Marlene answered, “It shouldn’t be allowed! It’s so dangerous!”

Immediately, Sirius felt a burst of defensive resentment. He glanced at Remus, who was staring at
the girls with all the colour leeched out of his face. It was very obvious what he was thinking, and
Sirius cursed Marlene silently.

“Did you see it happen?!” Remus asked, a note of panic in his voice.

“Nope,” Mary shrugged, not looking nearly as upset as her friend. She flung herself down on the
couch next to Sirius, “Heard it from one of the second-year girls.”

“They’ll have to get rid of it!” Marlene insisted, “Dumbledore can’t leave it there now. Someone
could be killed.”

Shut up, Sirius thought, furiously, glancing furtively at Remus once again. He was already starting
to get that familiar, morose, everything-is-my-fault look, which Sirius knew by now often preceded
one of Moony’s infamous self-pity parties.

“He should have stayed away from it,” Sirius shot back at Marlene, “It’s a stupid game. Everyone
knows what that tree’s like.”

“Have I gone mad?” Mary laughed, grating on his nerves, “Sirius Black, the voice of reason?!”

“Piss off, MacDonald,” he snapped.

In his armchair, Remus was withdrawing; like a turtle pulling into its shell, he sank deeper into the
cushions, looking as if he wanted to disappear. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, but
before they shut Sirius caught a glimpse of the guilt that had already begun to take root.

He could have punched Marlene.

* * *

By the end of the day, every student in the castle was talking about Davey Gudgeon. Sarah
Saunders, a fourth-year Ravenclaw with sandy blonde hair and a penchant for gossip, told anyone
who would listen that she’d seen the boy’s parents arrive and march furiously into Dumbledore’s
office. Gudgeon’s Hufflepuff friends found themselves relaying the story of what happened over
and over again to curious students – it had seemed as though Davey would actually reach the trunk
this time, until the willow had lashed out at the very last minute. Accounts of the damage varied
wildly, growing more gruesome as the day went on – the tree had cracked his skull in two, he’d
lost both eyes (which Sirius knew was untrue—at least, he’d seen something that still resembled
eyes behind all the blood on his face), and even that he’d actually died and the school was trying to
cover it up.

Marlene was a nightmare, teary-eyed and frowning as she roped Mary and Lily into drawing up a
petition to remove the whomping willow from the grounds. She then marched about the common
room self-righteously, shoving the paper in everyone’s faces and demanding they sign it. Remus
accepted the quill without protest, penitent and silent.

Sirius told her to bugger off.

“That tree has just as much right to be here as anybody,” He insisted, trying to shake her off as she
followed him around with a quill.

“But Sirius,” she whined, “It’s dangerous.”

“So are bludgers!” He shot back, challenging, “You going to leave the quidditch team?”

“It’s hardly the same thing!”

“Ugh, just sign it, Black,” Lily groaned, annoyed that something was distracting her from her
precious schoolwork, “What’s it to you?”

On the couch next to her, Remus’s eyes were dark and flat. He had been staring down at his Runes
book, rereading the same paragraph, for the past thirty minutes. The more Marlene rattled on about
what an atrocity the tree was, the more Remus shrank into himself, looking as though he wanted to
disappear. Sirius was watching his friend wither, right before his very eyes.

“It’s the principle!” He scowled, crossing his arms. Lily rolled her eyes at him—even though she
was sitting right next to Remus, she seemed completely unaware of how much the whole
conversation was upsetting him. She didn’t know Moony the way Sirius did, not really.

Eventually, Marlene gave up on him, going to ambush some unsuspecting first years that had just
come through the portrait hole. Sirius sat down to a game of exploding snap with Peter, seething.
He was so angry that he almost singed his poor friend’s eyebrows off when he slammed down a
card with a bit too much force, and he had to force himself to take a few deep breaths to calm
down.
Marlene didn’t even know Davey Gudgeon. She just wanted to feel like she was better than
everybody, spearheading some stupid cause that she’d forget about in a week so everyone could
see how much she cared and what a good person she was. It was ridiculous! The tree hadn’t done
anything wrong; everyone knew the whomping willow was dangerous and that they should stay
away. If Davey Gudgeon and his friends hadn’t had enough sense to steer clear, then whatever
happened to them was their own fault.

Besides, the school was never going to get rid of the tree. Dumbledore had already given a speech
explicitly prohibiting students from going near it in the future, which meant it would be there in the
future, which meant that it was staying. Still, everyone seemed uneasy about it, including the staff,
and it didn’t help that Marlene kept carrying her petition around and trying to get people to sign it.
For the next few days, Davey Gudgeon remained a favourite topic of discussion in the castle.

The marauders did their best to steer clear of any Gudgeon-related discussion, since it was
obviously upsetting the Remus. The boy was in a gloomy mood, which hung like a dark cloud over
their entire dorm and seemed to resist all efforts at cheering up. Whenever he heard Davey’s name,
something in his eyes went flat. He became quiet and withdrawn, and the dark circles under his
eyes only deepened, until he practically looked like a zombie as he dragged himself to class.

A week later – just as talk had finally begun to die down – Professor Sprout confirmed the rumour:
Davey Gudgeon was now blind, and would not be returning to Hogwarts anytime soon. Sirius felt
his stomach twisting in on itself, torn between darting anxious glances at Remus and remembering
nauseously what he had seen of Davey in the hospital wing that fateful day.

“His parents are taking him to America, where there are advances being made in ocular healing
potions.” The Herbology professor explained at breakfast, “I am sure Davey and his family are
very grateful for all of your well wishes.”

Remus was staring straight down into his bowl of cereal, looking as though he might be sick. Sirius
scowled as Marlene, Lily, Mary, and a handful of others stood up to present the stupid petition –
which had hundreds of signatures, thanks to their incessant whinging. Remus stood and went up
with them, like a man walking to the gallows.

Professor Sprout looked a bit misty-eyed as she accepted the petition, making noncommittal
promises to speak with Dumbledore. To Sirius’s disgust, she awarded Marlene ten house points for
the project.

“They’re not going to get rid of it, though,” Sirius said, frustrated, later that evening. The
marauders were alone in their dorm room, where they could speak freely.

“No, I doubt it,” Remus agreed morosely, refusing to meet his eye.

“So why did you go up?”

Remus shrugged,

“Felt like the right thing to do. I mean. Marlene’s right – the tree’s dangerous. Shouldn’t be at a
school.”

“But...” Peter started to protest, and Remus cut him off.

“I know,” he snapped, mouth twisted like the words were something sour, “I know, ok?”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty, mate,” James said earnestly, “Gudgeon shouldn’t have been mucking
around like that...it’s not your fault—”
“If it’s anyone’s fault,” Remus said darkly, “Then it’s mine.”

“That’s stupid.” Sirius shook his head, frustrated with Moony’s gluttony for punishment, “You
didn’t plan it, did you? I dunno if it’s escaped everyone else’s attention, but this school is not
exactly safety conscious. It’s built next to a bloody forest full of creatures more dangerous than a
flipping tree, there’s supposed to be a literal monster lying dormant somewhere directly below us,
and – not being funny – but have you seen Hagrid?!”

“What’s your point, Black?” Remus said, sighing heavily as he sat down.

“I dunno,” Sirius shrugged, irritated, “Shit happens? Don’t blame yourself? Stop moping?”

“Moping?!” Remus repeated, a snarl in his voice, “Fuck off. There’s a kid who can’t see because
I’m too dangerous to be at school! Try telling Marlene what I am, I bet she’d get a lot more
signatures on THAT petition.”

Sirius felt a jolt of satisfaction at the spark of anger in his friend’s eyes. They were fighting, but at
least it was something – something better than that dull, dead look he’d been wearing all week.

“You’re not dangerous!”

“You don’t know what I am!”

And Remus thought he was a overdramatic. Sirius shook his head, getting ready to respond—but
James beat him to it.

“You’re our friend,” he said, simply. Remus turned to look at him, an undecipherable expression
on his face. James stared right back, firm in his conviction. He sat next to Remus on the bed.
“You’re our friend, and that’s the most important thing, ok?”

Remus glared. James smiled. “Ok?”

Sirius’s eyes darted back and forth between them, waiting to see whose stubbornness would win
out. Remus kept glaring, so James scooted closer and knocked their knees together, “Ok?!” He
leaned forward, so that their noses were almost touching, still wearing his goofy grin. It was a
tactic that worked on Sirius all the time—it was hard not to laugh when James was staring you
down, goggle-eyed behind his thick glasses, grinning like a maniac.

It worked on Remus, too. The angry mask shattered, and he laughed as he ducked away,

“Ok! Ok!”

James laughed too, throwing his arms around Remus and crying dramatically,

“Thank goodness! We couldn’t lose you, Moony!”

Sirius, feeling left out, threw himself onto the bed, and Peter followed after. The three of them
tackled Remus, giggling as they half-wrestled, half-hugged him into submission.

Remus tried to squirm away, laughing. Sirius could feel the vibrations in his chest—their ribcages
were pressed together, squished between Peter and James. His heart did a funny little flip in his
chest.

“Get off me, you bunch of poofs!” Remus complained, trying to shove them away.

“Ahh, you love us really,” Sirius teased, heart beating hard as he reached over to ruffle his friend’s
hair.
 Third Year: Summer Plans
Chapter Summary

regulus shows up

As April gave way to May, the Hogwarts castle whipped into its usual revision-induced frenzy.
Professors recited their yearly admonishments about the importance of year-end grades, fifth-years
despaired over the upcoming OWLs, and Madam Pince became the busiest woman in the castle as
she fielded the waves of students coming in and out of her library.

As with previous years, the marauders were not immune. Peter melted into a puddle of nerves any
time he opened a book, moaning that he was going to fail everything. James was a whirlwind of
activity, rushing from class to quidditch practice to the library with a seemingly endless supply of
energy. Moony became more elusive than the Grey Lady, disappearing in the early hours of
morning and returning to the common room just before curfew from wherever he’d holed up to
study. Often, he was accompanied by Mary, Marlene, Lily, or some combination of the three.

This new development irked Sirius; at least when Peter and James abandoned him, it was so that
they could go revise miserably by themselves. Remus seemed to be enjoying his little study club,
and it didn’t sit right with Sirius that someone was choosing a bunch of girls over his delightful
company.

Of course, the only appropriate response to the situation was to give Remus an endless amount of
grief over it.

“Go on then, Moony,” Sirius grinned around the toothbrush in his mouth, “Tell us who’s the lucky
lady! Mary? Marlene? Don’t say Lily—you’ll break Potter’s heart!”

James, who had just walked through the door to their room, looked alarmed.

“What? Something going on with Evans?”

“No,” Remus scowled, rolling his eyes, “Black’s just being a prick.”

“Playing hard to get, eh?”

“They’re my friends.”

“That’s how it always starts…”

Remus chucked a pillow, and Sirius laughed as he dodged. As James settled onto his bed, he
grinned and said slyly,

“Now, now, Mr. Black, I think we both know the real object of our dear Master Lupin’s
affections…”

“Oh? Pray tell, good sir, who might that be?”

James smirked evilly, wiggling his eyebrows. “Madam Pince.”

Remus groaned and blushed bright red, burying his face in his hands as the other marauders
wheezed with laughter. They had been teasing him about the sour old librarian ever since they
noticed that she seemed to favour him—shushing him less, allowing him to keep checkouts a day
or two past their deadlines, and nodding in approval whenever he re-shelved his books. Remus
insisted that the only reason it seemed like she was being nicer to him was because, unlike James
and Sirius, he refrained from “disruptive behaviour” in the hallowed halls of the Hogwarts library.
This was a compelling argument, but they enjoyed teasing him about it anyway.

“Who knew our Moony’d become such a heartbreaker, eh?” Sirius shook his head, still chuckling.
James nodded solemnly.

“A right menace, that one. Pretty soon he’ll have every girl in the castle joining his ‘study club.’”

Remus did not dignify them with a response, choosing instead to demonstrate a few choice hand
gestures—which only made the other boys laugh harder.

Despite all the teasing, Remus continued to spend quite a bit of time with the girls in the library.
James and Peter spent a good amount of time there, too, or else studied in the Gryffindor common
room in front of the fire. With his friends all busy revising, Sirius (who viewed it as a matter of
principle to leave all schoolwork for the very last moment) found himself spending more time
alone in the early weeks of May than he had since the previous summer. He didn’t care for it one
bit—mischief was much more fun with company.

His friends’ refusal to pull their noses out of their books had another adverse effect, early on in the
month. After unsuccessfully trying to convince James to abandon History revision in favour of
sneaking over to Honeyduke’s via secret passageway, Sirius was on his way from the Gryffindor
common room to the library, where he could try to convince Moony to abandon his Potions
revision to sneak over to Honeyduke’s via secret passageway. He was alone, and thinking with
quite a bit of irritation about the fact that he was alone, which was why it surprised him enough to
stop him dead in the hallway when a voice said,

“Sirius.”

He turned. Regulus was slinking out from around the corner, walking briskly towards him. For a
moment, Sirius could only stare, shocked. He couldn’t remember the last time they had spoken.

“Were you following me?”

The question was saturated with disdain, an effort to hide the anxious knots that his stomach was
tying itself into. Sirius crossed his arms as his brother approached, trying to look bored.

“No,” Reg said, a bit too quickly; then, “Not following. I just needed to talk to you.”

Sirius raised a brow. “And here I thought you were ignoring me. What could I have possibly done
to deserve your noble attention?”

Reg rolled his eyes, but he looked uneasy as he muttered, “I’m just here to tell you—mum and dad
wanted to make sure you know you’re expected. Home. For the summer.” He let the words hang,
awkwardly, between them. Sirius blinked.

“What?”

“You’re to come back—”

“No, I understood that, it’s just—” Sirius gathered himself, painting a sneer across his face, “I
thought our lovely parents had already disinherited me. Isn’t that what you and your creepy little
friends have been laughing about all year?”

His brother scoffed. “Right. You’d love that, wouldn’t you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Regulus glared at him, gaze thick with resentment. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t jump at any
excuse to run off and leave the rest of the family behind. It’s rich, isn’t it, you complaining about
being ignored—what, d’you want mum to keep writing you letters just so you can rip them up
before you even open them?”

Anger pounded fists inside his skull, and Sirius painted a mocking sneer across his face. “Well
look at you, mummy’s little favourite! Jealous they haven’t made you heir, yet?”

“What? That’s not what I’m—”

“Oh, come off it, Reg, it’s obvious that you’re just waiting for them to decide you’re the better
pick. Prancing about with your stupid little Slytherin friends like a right prat, rolling over at their
every command—you’re so desperate for their attention—”

“Oh, I’m desperate for attention—”

“You can’t wait until they disinherit me, can you? Why pretend! You should be thanking me for
fucking off and clearing the way for you!”

He was breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest. Regulus stared at him, looking furious and
disgusted and very, very tired. His eyes had a bruised quality about them.

There was a moment of silence that poured like quicksand into their lungs; then Regulus shook his
head.

“Is that really what you think?”

His lip was curled; he was staring at Sirius like he was the most revolting creature on earth. But
before Sirius could respond, Reg shook his head again, muttering,

“Whatever—it doesn’t matter. You’re not disinherited, and you’re expected home for the summer.
Whether you like it or not, you’re still family.”

His little brother turned on his heel and left. Sirius stood in the empty hallway, feeling somehow as
though he had won the argument and yet, simultaneously, as if he had lost something that he could
not quite name.

* * *

Sirius didn’t tell anyone about the conversation with Regulus—he wasn’t sure why, only that it felt
private. He didn’t want to repeat the things his brother had said—or the way he’d responded to
them. For the next few weeks, he deftly steered clear of the topic of summer, falling back into his
usual habit of ignoring anything that he didn’t want to think about.

Unfortunately, the façade didn’t last very long.

“So, summer?” James asked, setting down his mug of butterbeer. They were at the Three
Broomsticks, enjoying their last Hogsmeade weekend before exams.

Sirius and Remus groaned in unison.

“You know I can’t—” Remus began,

“They’ll never let me.” Sirius finished.

“I don’t see why, though,” James cocked his head, “You both came for Christmas.”

“Yeah, but there’s some rule about me staying at St. Edmund’s for the whole summer,” Remus
sighed. “While I’m there, I have to follow muggle law. You don’t get to visit anyone when you’re
in care, unless they’re related.”

“And you know what my lot are like,” Sirius put in, staring down into his butterbeer, “Even after
Christmas – and I think that was just to keep me out of the way, to be honest. Reg already told me
I’m expected.”

“When did you speak to Regulus?” James asked, brows raised in surprise. Sirius cringed, shifting
awkwardly—this was exactly what he had been trying to avoid.

“Er…the other day. Wasn’t worth mentioning, only saw him for a minute.”

“I’ll be there all summer, James,” Peter interrupted, pointedly.

Sirius rolled his eyes, but for once he was actually glad for the smaller boy’s tendency to make
things about himself. It snagged James’s attention; he patted Peter’s knee and smiled, saying,

“Yeah, great, mate – least I’ll have you, eh?”

“I might be able to swing a Diagon Alley trip,” Sirius said, perking up a bit, “I’ve thought about it,
and if you brought the invisibility cloak then we might be able to work something out…”

They discussed the idea briefly, brainstorming ways in which Sirius might be able to give his
family the slip—at least temporarily. It cheered him up, but only marginally; at the end of the day,
he still had an entire summer with his family looming over his head.

“Moony,” James said, struck with an idea, “Where is St. Edmund’s, exactly?”

“Epping Forest,” Remus responded, “Why?”

“We could always come and visit you…”

“No.” Remus spoke so forcefully that the conversation died as the marauders turned to look at him.
He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, and said, “Just don’t, ok? It’s a bad idea.”

Sirius frowned, studying his friend. Why was it a bad idea? Was Remus worried that they’d get in
trouble? If they used the invisibility cloak, no one would catch them—and besides, even if they got
in trouble, it’s not like it would be Remus’s fault…could it be that he was worried they’d do
something embarrassing in front of his muggle friends? They had all taken Muggle Studies—Sirius
was sure they’d be able to blend in! He opened his mouth to assure Remus, but the other boy was
still speaking.

“I’ll write,” he said, words slightly rushed, “And you lot can tell me everything you get up to.
Hopefully I can come to yours again at Christmas, Potter.”
“You might not,” Sirius warned, “Full moon’s on the twenty-ninth this December.”

Remus turned to look at him, an expression of mild bemusement on his face, as if Sirius had said
something strange. James laughed,

“How come you’ve memorised every bloody full moon until we’re fifty, but you can’t get above an
‘Acceptable’ in Astronomy?!”

Sirius shrugged, lifting his tankard to his lips. “Some things are important to remember, some
things aren’t.” He drained the rest of his butterbeer in one swig, then grinned as he added, “And
messing up the constellations really annoys my parents.”

The others laughed, and Remus smiled, and Sirius relaxed. He sat back and listened as Peter began
complaining about Astronomy revision, catching Moony’s eye to smirk and shake his head as
James started comforting Pete for the umpteenth time. For the moment, at least, everything was
exactly as it should be.
 Third Year: Lions, Owls, and Wolves
Chapter Summary

what animal would u be!! :o

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Don’t let the sun blast your shadow

Don’t let the milk float ride your mind

They’re so natural – religiously unkind

Oh no, love! You’re not alone

You’re watching yourself but you’re too unfair

You got your head all tangled up

But if I could only make you care…

Friday 28th June , 1974

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” James said, shaking his head. “I mean, really, Black! Have
you no decency? No humility? I don’t think I saw you open a textbook even once!”

The results of their finals had been posted.

Sirius yawned. “Natural genius, Potter,” he drawled, brushing his hair out of his eyes, “I can’t help
it! Feel free to bask in my glory, though.”

James leaned dramatically onto Remus’s shoulder, groaning. “It’s up to you, Moony – you’re the
only one who can keep his ego in check.” Remus had come first in History of Magic, narrowly
beating Sirius—but Sirius had beat him in Arithmancy.

He shook James off, laughing, looking half embarrassed and half pleased by the attention. After
three years of undeniably excellent marks, Remus seemed to have accepted the fact of his own
academic ability, no longer looking as if he wanted to crawl under a rock anytime someone called
him smart. In fact, at breakfast the next morning when his Care of Magical Creatures professor
came over to congratulate Lupin on coming top in the class, Moony practically beamed with
happiness.

“Teacher’s pet!” Sirius teased as the tall, long-haired professor walked away. Remus ignored him,
smiling down at his porridge and looking incredibly pleased with himself.
“Can’t believe that’s it ‘til fourth year now,” James remarked, using his robes to clean off his
glasses.

Sirius’s mood immediately fell. “Do you have to keep reminding me?” He moaned, petulant.

“Plenty to do over the summer,” James replied, “It’ll fly by.”

Unfortunately, Remus was listening again. “What are you doing over the summer?” He asked, eyes
narrowed suspiciously. James blinked.

“Planning next year’s pranks, obviously,” Sirius jumped in, quickly, “Got to keep ahead of the
curve, Remu my boy, we’ve a reputation to maintain.”

Remus studied him for a moment, then shrugged, seeming to accept this explanation. Sirius
released a breath, catching James’s eye and giving him a meaningful look.

The marauders (sans Moony) had agreed that they would begin the animagus process over
summer, communicating via letters to coordinate their efforts. Of course, with Sirius separated
from the others they might run into some problems—but the first steps were safe enough, even if
they made mistakes, and Sirius had convinced Peter and James that they should at least try to start.

After breakfast, they returned to their room, where James, Peter, and Remus began to pack and
Sirius began doing absolutely anything he could think of that did not involve packing. He rifled
through his trunk, flipped through James’s quidditch magazines, and flicked his record player on
and off, refusing to acknowledge that in less than twenty-four hours he would be leaving Hogwarts
behind.

“It’s getting done whether you like it or not,” James said, placing his hands on his hips in a gesture
reminiscent of Mrs. Potter.

“You’ll do it for me, like last year,” Sirius replied dismissively. He was trying to see how many
pull-ups he could do on the bed frame before something gave out—either his arms or the ancient
creaking wood.

In the corner, Remus closed the lid of his trunk with a decisive click. His normally chaotic space—
which was always cluttered with quills, parchment, and books—was stripped bare, looking
distinctly un-Moony. Sirius didn’t like it.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Remus wandered over to flip through his records. On the
other side of the room, James was casting meaningful looks his way—they had all expected Lupin
to head to the hospital wing the moment he finished packing, and were counting on that distraction
to buy them some time to discuss their animagi plans.

“Moony,” James said, carefully, “Don’t you have to go and see Madam Pomfrey?”

“Er…yeah, but not right now…” Remus looked up, brow furrowed.

“Well, I mean if you’ve finished packing, you may as well, right? When I’ve done Sirius’s stuff I
was going to suggest we all go out for a go on our brooms, and you hate flying, so…”

“Oh, really? Ok then.” Remus nodded curtly, looking a bit put out. Sirius cringed at James’s
clumsy attempt at subtlety, but comforted himself with the knowledge that it was all, at the end of
the day, for Remus’s sake.

“We’ll see you at dinner, right Moony?” Sirius asked, trying to prevent him from getting the
impression that they didn’t want him around—well, he supposed they didn’t, but just temporarily,
and only because Lupin was too stubborn to let them help him without making a fuss.

“Yeah, I s’pose…” Remus mumbled. He left the room without saying a proper goodbye.

Sirius sighed as the door shut behind him. “Nice going, Potter,” he punched James on the arm
before collapsing back onto his bed.

“Oi! Someone had to say something—you’re the one insisting we start everything this summer. It’s
not like we could talk about it with Moony here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius waved a hand. He lay quietly for a moment, staring up at the wooden
bedframe overhead. To one side, he could hear the sound of James opening his trunk and
beginning to shove things inside. Sirius sighed, and sat up.

“Well, then!” He clapped his hands together, “Let’s discuss, shall we? Ingredients!”

“Ingredients,” James nodded, moving an armful of Sirius’s muggle books over to his own trunk for
safekeeping during the summer.

“Mandrake leaves won’t be an issue,” Sirius said, pulling a list out of his pocket. “Pete, you
already nicked some from the greenhouse, yeah?”

Peter nodded vigorously. “They’re in my trunk somewhere! Let me just—” He began digging,
pulling out the clothes and books that he’d just finished packing and making a mess all over again.
Sirius grinned.

“Brilliant. Then we’ll all need crystal phials that can ‘receive the pure rays of the moon.’ And
they’ll have to be big enough to hold all the ingredients, too, remember—James, have you got
anything like that at your house?”

“Maybe. I’ll check. I think my mum’s got some old potion-brewing kits in a cabinet somewhere.”

Sirius nodded. “Alright. I’ll check, too—if none of us have anything that works, we’ll have to buy
them at Diagon Alley. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. Let’s see…silver teaspoons. I’ve got that one
covered, my family’s got far more silver than we could ever possibly use. S’pose Kreacher might
notice if some of it goes missing, but he’ll hardly be able to prove it was me so long as I hide it
well enough.”

James scratched his chin, thoughtfully. “Pretty sure we’ve got some silver teaspoons, too. If you
want, I can handle that part, since my parents probably wouldn’t mind…I mean, not that I’d tell
them, but if they did find out I don’t think…erm…” He trailed off, glancing at Peter awkwardly.
Sirius stiffened.

“S’alright, Potter, I can do it,” he said, with forced nonchalance. James exchanged another glance
with Peter, which he pretended not to notice.

“Well, I’ll still check, too, all the same.”

“If you like. Other than that it’s just down to the Death’s-Head Hawk Moth chrysalis…”

“I think my mum bought some of those, once,” Peter piped up, “From some sort of speciality
potions-ingredient store. They’re really expensive.” He seemed to realize who he was talking to
immediately after speaking, and bit his lip, looking embarrassed.
“No worries, Pete,” James said warmly, “Price is no item when it comes to our Moony. I’ve got it
covered.”

“Pete, d’you think you can remember the name of the store where your mum bought them? Was it
in Diagon Alley?”

Peter frowned, thinking hard. “No…I think it was some sort of seasonal salesman, maybe…I could
ask her?”

Sirius exchanged a glance with James. After a moment, he said carefully, “As long as you think
you can ask in a way that won’t make her suspicious—remember, we need to make sure no one in
our families catches on to what we’re doing.”

“We can pretend that we’ve got some sort of potions project that we’re working on,” James
suggested, “A legal one, of course. I can come over to your house, Pete, and we can ask her
together.”

“Yeah, maybe…” Peter chewed his lip, “Um…she’s still a bit upset with your mum though,
y’know, because of Christmas…” he trailed off.

James looked a bit surprised. Clearly, he hadn’t considered that the Pettigrews would ever hesitate
to allow him over—not after growing up going in and out of their house like a second home.

“Oh, right—well, you can always use me as an excuse anyway.”

Peter nodded, and Sirius turned back to his list.

“Well, assuming Pete can figure out the moth chrysalises, that just leaves the dew…’from a place
where neither human feet nor sunlight have touched.’ We won’t need to worry about that part until
it’s actually time to start brewing the potion, but we’ll all need to figure out where we’re going to
collect it from.”

James dumped another armful of books into his trunk, and suggested, “We can all look around for
a spot that fits the description while we’re at home. Sounds like we just need to find a shady area—
shouldn’t be too hard.”

Sirius frowned. “Yeah, but we’ve got to make sure it’s somewhere where human feet haven’t
touched. So once we walk there, it won’t work.”

“Good point,” James hummed, thoughtfully, “S’pose we’ll just have to look around as much as we
can, and make sure not to get too close to any spots that look promising.”

“Yeah…” Sirius mumbled, scanning the list again, “I s’pose…” He frowned, reading back through
the ingredients and feeling a twinge of anxiety as he wondered whether they’d actually be able to
collect everything. After a moment, he felt the mattress dip as James sat down beside him.

“It’ll be fine. We’re going to pull it off, Black—stop worrying.”

Sirius smiled gratefully, shoving the list back into his pocket. James always seemed to know
exactly when he needed encouragement.

“Of course we’ll pull it off!” Sirius declared, standing with a dramatic flourish, “We’re
marauders!”

Peter grinned from the floor, where he was searching for something under his bed. James smiled,
too, standing and reaching for an armful of records to pack. After a moment of silence, punctuated
only by the sounds of items being moved in and out of trunks, Sirius leaned against the bedpost,
twirling his wand in his fingers.

“So…” he said slowly, boredom gnawing as he watched Peter re-folding his clothes, “What d’you
think you’ll turn into?”

“Hmm?”

“Your animal! What kind of animagus d’you think you’ll be?”

His friends paused their packing. Peter appeared to be deep in thought, brow furrowed—he clearly
hadn’t given the matter much consideration. But James grinned, cocksure and confident, and
puffed out his chest as he said,

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I’ll be a lion.”

He looked so ridiculously proud of this declaration that Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“You can’t just choose the Gryffindor mascot, Potter!”

“Says who? Besides, I’ve already got the hair for it, haven’t I?” He strutted in front of one of the
Gryffindor banners and mussed up his hair, as if to prove a point. It was a compelling argument;
James’s hair was nearly as wild as the lion’s flowing mane.

“Alright, alright,” Sirius laughed again, shaking his head. If anyone was going to be a lion, it
would be James—he certainly had the pride of one, and his inherent sense of nobility and honour
seemed to go hand in hand with such a great beast. Sirius had no doubt that whatever animal James
ended up as would be just as regal and showy as the Gryffindor mascot.

“What about you, Pete?” He turned to the smaller boy, who was chewing on his lip.

“I don’t know,” Peter moaned, “I just hope it’s not something awful. It might be nice to fly...maybe
a bird?”

Sirius sighed, exasperated. “What kind of bird, though—there's more than one.”

“Um...an owl?”

“Now you’re just choosing the first bird you’ve thought of!” Sirius rolled his eyes—there was no
way that timid, insecure Peter would be anything as majestic as an owl. Maybe a sparrow,
though...he was certainly skittish enough.

“Well, what d’you think you’ll be, then, if you’ve got it all figured out?” Peter asked snippily,
irritated. Sirius grinned.

“I, my dear marauding counterparts, am going to become...” He paused, dramatically, for suspense
—ignoring Peter’s eyeroll—”A wolf!”

There was a beat of silence; then both his friends burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe you were giving us grief when you’ve just gone and copied Remus!” James said,
trying to catch his breath. Sirius frowned, affronted.

“I am not copying—might I remind you that our esteemed Mr. Lupin is not a wolf, but a werewolf.
There’s a difference.”
 James rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Why d’you think you’d be a wolf, then? Go on,” he folded his
arms, waiting.

Sirius hesitated, feeling suddenly embarrassed by the amount of thought he’d put into his decision.
Unlike his friends, he’d actually spent quite a bit of time considering what animal he could be, and
a wolf just felt...right. They were pack animals, loyal and social, dangerous and cool but with the
sort of canine exuberance that would lend itself just as easily to joy as to anger. Sirius had spent
more time than he’d care to admit imagining how much fun it would be to run through the forest
with Remus, side by side, two wolves under the moon.

But all of that felt too soppy to say, distinctly girlish. Instead, Sirius flipped his hair over his
shoulder and smirked, drawling

“Why, it all comes down to my natural animal magnetism, of course.”

James threw a pillow at him. “Watch out, Black—with that sort of vanity, you might just end up a
peacock.”

Chapter End Notes

song is rock 'n roll suicide by bowie!!

 Summer 1974
Chapter Summary

a very strange summer

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The house had moved.

It wasn’t unheard of; the Black family manor was a feat of magic that had been passed down for
hundreds of years. If the current owners found themselves needing to change location, abandoning
such a valuable piece of family history was unthinkable; as such, the home had been magically
transported all over Britain throughout the decades. Sirius knew this (his parents had quizzed them,
growing up, on the previous manor’s caretakers and the places they had resided, until he could
recite the lineage that the house followed all the way back to 1773), but it had stayed in one place
throughout his childhood, and nobody had thought to mention to him that his parents were even
considering a change of location.

So it was with quite a bit of shock that Sirius found himself side-along apparating to a completely
unfamiliar part of London. He blinked at the street of lavish townhouses, not understanding what
had happened until he realized that the door in front of him was remarkably similar to that of the
manor.

“Wh—we moved?”

He spun around, studying the street, taking in his surroundings. It was a residential area, clean and
quiet, but still far busier than he was used to. There were muggles in the streets, bustling about—he
had to fight to keep his jaw from hanging open. Had his parents willingly moved them to a house in
the midst of muggle London?

Walpurga Black had already swept imperiously inside, leaving him to gawp. Regulus tutted as he
followed their mother, sarcasm oozing from his voice as he drawled,

“Obviously.”

Sirius shot him a dirty look, hurrying inside.

“Where are we?”

Regulus shrugged. “Islington, I think. You’d have known if you’d come home over Christmas.”
This last was said with petulant jut of the lower lip, an expression that bordered dangerously close
to the territory of pouting. Sirius snorted.

“I wasn’t invited home for Christmas, remember?”

“You weren’t required, Sirius,” his mother’s voice rang out sharply in the hall, making him jump.
He refused to look away as she swept towards him, letting his chin jut out and hoping she couldn’t
sense the squirm of fear in his belly. Walpurga paused in front of her sons, eyes flicking over them.
“There’s a difference.” She lifted a hand towards Sirius’s face, and he braced himself, trying not to
flinch. But she only lifted a lock of his hair, rubbing it gently between her fingertips before tucking
it behind his ear. “A boy shouldn’t need an invitation to come and see his family.”

Her voice was snakeskin quiet, smooth and dry. Sirius had expected one of the usual lectures about
what a disappointment he was the moment he stepped foot through the door, but his mother only
looked him over, once more, absently, and then ordered Kreacher to take care of their luggage
before disappearing upstairs in a swirl of black silk.

Sirius blinked, at a loss for words. He’d been bracing himself for the worst since Regulus told him
he was expected home, but his mother hadn’t even seemed angry, just…disappointed. Resigned,
almost. Shame ran a sticky finger down his spine as he processed her words. Was he supposed to
have come home without being 'required'? Had it been some sort of test? But the note had made it
seem like they didn’t want him around…although he supposed it hadn’t actually forbid him from
returning for the holidays. But what was he meant to think, when they’d been ignoring him for
months?

Regulus shifted, awkwardly, next to him, and Sirius banished this line of thought with a quick
sweep of anger. Who cared if his family had been setting some sort of test for him over Christmas
break—it wouldn’t have made a difference. He would have gone to the Potters' either way. He
turned back to Reg, asking cheerfully,

“Has she been like that since Christmas?”

Regulus shrugged, hovering next to him in the entryway. He was clearly torn between slouching
off to continue their new routine of ignoring each other or spending a few more moments with the
brother he had hardly spoken to all year.

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair, untucking the strands that his mother had touched. “Bloody
creepy,” he muttered, conspiratorially, “Think I almost prefer it when she shouts.”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because something shuttered in Reggie’s face, and he
frowned, mumbling,

“She’s got a lot going on,”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, mum and dad have always got a lot going on, haven’t they?” It
came off a bit sharper than he meant it to, and Regulus turned away.

“Whatever, Sirius,” he muttered, moving towards the stairs, “There’s a lot happening that you
don’t know about.”

Sirius didn’t have a chance to question Reg about what he meant, as he disappeared almost
immediately into the dark stretch of hallway at the top of the stairs. But it didn’t take long for him
to realize that his brother was telling the truth.

It started with the whispering. Sirius would walk past a room and hear his parents’ hushed voices,
murmured words too quiet for him to make out. Sometimes, he would accidentally stumble into
one of these whispered conversations, and his parents would immediately fall silent, waiting until
he left the room to resume talking.

It was incredibly disconcerting. While the Blacks could certainly be secretive, Orion and Walpurga
had always lived with a sort of haughty outspokenness within the walls of their manor. If they had
something to say, they said it clearly, convinced of its truth. Sirius’s parents had never felt the need
to whisper around him, like children keeping a secret. It made him feel alienated, a spy in his own
home.

And then there were the meetings. They seemed to be held at all hours of the day; Orion and
Walpurga were in and out of the house at odd hours, leaving in the middle of the night or returning
just before dawn. Other times, the gatherings were hosted at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius’s parents
would usher their guests into offices where they could shut the doors and cast silencing charms.
Regulus was often invited; Sirius was not.

Part of him wanted to interrogate Reg about it, to demand someone tell him what, exactly, was
going on. But his pride wouldn’t allow it; he couldn’t exactly go whinging about being left out of
Black family business when he had spent the past three years insisting that he wanted nothing to do
with any of them.

And there was another, smaller part of him, which dug claws into the back of his mind, that didn’t
want to know at all. Part of him that was afraid he already knew. Part of him that cringed, that tied
his stomach into knots as he read Daily Prophet articles about increasing political tensions and
wizard attacks on muggles. He tried to tell himself that surely, surely his family couldn’t be
involved in that, surely there were lines they wouldn’t cross. The Blacks had a long history of dark
magic, sure, but in recent decades most of their activity had been limited to internal wizarding
politics. They wrote biased laws and pushed for discriminatory policies, but they didn’t—they
wouldn’t—

He tried not to think about it.

Writing letters to his friends helped. None of them had much going on—Remus was vague, as
usual, about his summer activities, and James and Peter seemed to be spending most of their time
lazing about in the sun or out flying on their brooms. They didn’t discuss their animagus plans in
the letters—too much risk of interception, especially with Kreacher lurking about—but Sirius
managed to sneak some of his family’s silver teaspoons into his trunk. His parents were practically
treating him like he was invisible again, so it wasn’t all that hard to do.

After a few weeks of wandering about his own home like a stranger, Sirius—in a burst of boredom-
induced courage—requested to spend the summer at the Potters’. He expected a scathing rejection,
perhaps paired with a harsh lecture, maybe even some physical discipline—or, at the very least,
chores with Kreacher as punishment for his insolence. His parents had brought him home for the
summer, after all, which meant they must have a reason for wanting him around. Sirius was so sure
they’d say no to his request that it came as a complete shock when his father, seated at a large
mahogany desk, didn’t even glance up from the paperwork he was sorting through as he sighed and
said,

“If you must.”

Sirius blinked. Really?

“Really?”

Orion glanced up, grey eyes flashing dangerously. “Do not make me repeat myself, boy.”

He nodded, throat dry, and backed out of the office before his father could change his mind. Sirius
couldn’t wrap his head around it—hadn’t his parents been nearly out of their minds with anger just
last year, foaming at the mouth anytime someone mentioned Sirius’s friendship with James?
Hadn’t his blood-traitor activities been the whole reason behind that stupid engagement?
He frowned as he packed his trunk, questions pounding like a headache behind his eyes. Had they
already disinherited him, and just forgotten to let him know? But if that was the case, why force
him to come home for the summer? If they truly didn’t care, why not just pack him off to the
Potters the second that term ended?

Sirius decided to stick with his trusty method of not thinking about it, trying to cheer up as he
penned a letter to James. The response came within hours; the Potters would love to have Sirius
spend the summer; Euphemia had already made up a bed. He left that evening with barely a glance
from either of his parents on the way out—though when he turned to look back from the front door,
Regulus was there, half-shadowed and hovering at the top of the stairs. He looked very young,
alone in the wide, dark hallway. Sirius paused.

People always told him that he and Reg looked alike. He understood why—the dark hair, the sharp
noses, the icy eyes. With the tangled branches of the Black family tree, it was almost impossible
not to find his features on someone else’s face—he shared brows, hands, cheekbones with various
cousins, aunts, and uncles. Of course, being brothers, Sirius would expect to look even more
similar to Reg.

So it was strange, the sudden feeling that he was staring up at a stranger. Or—not a stranger,
exactly. Something closer, more warped. When he was very little his Uncle Alphard had taken him
to a muggle carnival, once, where they stared at their reflections in trick mirrors that distorted their
features to something just-barely-recognizable. They had laughed and pointed, and Sirius had
clapped his chubby little hands. After, his mother had gone incandescent with rage, screaming until
he cried, and Sirius had never gotten to spend time with Uncle Alfie again.

Looking up at Regulus was a bit like that. Like seeing something he was supposed to recognize,
and knowing what it was, and at the same time seeing the wrongness of it, and cataloguing all the
places where the features didn’t quite match up.

Sirius tried to smile, but it felt misplaced. He was about to attempt some sort of goodbye, but
Regulus just shook his head and turned. The shadows embraced him with open, hungry mouths,
and in a moment he was gone.

* * *

Things were much better at the Potters’. They always were. James was thrilled to have him there,
and Mr. and Mrs. Potter welcomed him so warmly that Sirius was nearly overcome with a wash of
gratitude which left tears prickling in his eyes. They set him up in his usual bedroom (his usual
bedroom!) and fed him cucumber sandwiches and freshly squeezed lemonade. There was no one on
earth who could dote quite as well as Euphemia Potter, and Sirius lapped up the attention greedily.

He and James spent their days soaring on broomsticks, or exploring the woods near the house, or
listening to Mr. Potter’s stories about the years he spent traveling before, as he told it, “a
particularly tenacious and strikingly beautiful young witch convinced me to settle down!”

Peter came over almost every day, cajoling them into games of chess that he won handily every
time and filling in as keeper for their quidditch practice. They were able to discuss their animagus
plans in person, working to gather the ingredients and practicing the enunciation of the incantation.
At night, Sirius snuck into James’s room, and they whispered about plans for next year’s pranks
until they fell asleep.
 Of course, not everything was perfect. The Daily Prophet continued to report an upsurge in dark
magic and scattered attacks, delivering news of wartime politics that hung like a dark cloud over
what should have otherwise been a happy and carefree summer. While there weren’t secret
meetings and whispered conversations to the same level that there had been at Grimmauld Place,
Mr. and Mrs. Potter were clearly involved in the politics of the war, as well. They had their own
private, murmured conversations, and every once in a while they would meet with a group of “old
friends” who would retire to the study and shut the doors behind them.

Sirius tried not to let it bother him. But it was growing harder and harder to ignore the war, which
crawled like a body from a grave, slow and creeping, breathing promises of death into the air
around them. He may have been young, but Sirius knew enough about war to know there were
always two sides—and to know the Blacks and the Potters would not be fighting for the same
cause, even if he still didn’t entirely understand what those causes were.

The war wasn’t the only problem; Sirius was also pretty sure that there was something going on
with Remus. His letters grew more and more terse, as though he was angry with them, and
eventually he stopped responding at all. No matter how the others tried to reach out, their owls
returned with empty talons every time. Eventually, they all stopped writing him—but Sirius didn’t
stop worrying, especially every time he glanced at a newspaper and saw headlines about muggles
being attacked. He hoped that Moony was safe, wherever he was, and on the night of the July full
moon, Sirius found himself staring up at the sky through the window as he drifted off to sleep.

In his dream, something was howling, and it sounded like music.

Chapter End Notes

no idea if what i wrote about the house violates the jkr canon, but i'm pretty sure it's
fine with the mkb canon and that's what truly matters to me <3
 Fourth Year: A Gathering Storm
Chapter Summary

remus has a new look

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sunday 1st September 1974

Sirius didn’t see his brother at the train station. Or his mother, or his father—he wondered if they’d
arrived early, or if perhaps they were running late. It wasn’t that he was looking for them because
he wanted to see them—quite the opposite. He kept glancing about Platform 9 and ¾ to make sure
he wouldn’t run in to them, so that he could go on ignoring them and they could go on pretending
he didn’t exist. Better for everyone, that way.

There was a flash of dark hair in the corner of his eye; he spun around. But it wasn’t Reg, just some
witch with dark curls that flounced over her shoulders as she rushed to hug a friend. Sirius turned
back to the Potters, who were trying to engage the Pettigrews in stilted, awkward conversation.
According to Peter, even though his parents had allowed him over during the summer to visit
James, they were still upset with Mr. and Mrs. Potter for “encouraging Philomena to act out.”
She’d moved to America, and Mrs. Pettigrew was sure that the decision had been spurred by
something one of the Potters had said or done.

James caught his eye as he turned back, raising a brow.

“You alright, mate? You seem a bit...tense.”

He murmured the words, voice low enough that only Sirius could hear. Beside them, Mrs. Potter
was asking with forced cheer about Mrs. Pettigrew’s crop of summer squash.

Sirius shrugged and plastered on a smile. I’m fine. James studied him for a moment longer before
turning back to his family.

They hugged the Potters goodbye shortly after, Euphemia squeezing Sirius so hard that he thought
his ribs might crack. He loved it. Fleamont patted him on the back and slipped a chocolate frog
into his pocket, winking. Mrs. Pettigrew fussed over Peter and sent a final resentful glance towards
the Potters before sending her son off, and the three climbed on board the Hogwarts Express to
head for their usual compartment.

“Petey,” Sirius cooed, in a sickly-sweet impression of Mrs. Pettigrew’s high, nervous voice, “Have
you got enough snacks? Oh, Petey, did mummy remember to pack your wand? Petey, do you need
—”

Peter groaned loudly, flopping down in his seat. “Don’t start,” he moaned, “She’s always like that,
and it’s only gotten worse now that Phil’s run off.”
James patted his back comfortingly. “Don’t worry, mate. I get why your mum’s worried, but I’m
sure Phil’s alright.”

“Yeah,” Peter said glumly, scuffing his shoe against the ground. “Just wish she’d at least given us
some head’s up. Now mum keeps acting like I’m going to run off to live amongst the muggles if
she doesn’t remind me every five seconds how much she’s counting on me to...I dunno, uphold the
family legacy or something. She keeps talking about trying to get me an internship at the
Ministry.”

Sirius scoffed. “The Ministry? Never figured you for much of a politician, Pete.”

“Doubt I’d have anything to do with politics—with my luck whatever she finds’ll be really boring,
filing paperwork for the Department of Magical Transportation or something.”

“I dunno,” James said, growing sombre, “Seems like there’s politics everywhere in the Ministry,
these days. Did you lot see the Prophet this morning?”

He dug around for a copy of the newspaper, pulling it out and unfolding it. Sirius squeezed on the
bench next to Peter to read over his shoulder, and the three of them examined the headline
together: JENKINS CRITICISED AS SECURITY MEASURES ON MINISTRY TIGHTENED.

They were still reading when the door to their compartment swung open, and Remus marched in.

“Alright?” he said, gruffly, as he entered, voice a bit deeper in his chest. James lowered the paper,
and they all turned to greet him, and Sirius’s throat went dry.

He was taller. That was the first thing Sirius noticed. At the beginning of the summer, he’d had an
inch or two on James, but now Remus seemed to tower over them, filling the doorway with his
long legs. His face had changed, too; any lingering softness was gone, leaving a squared-off jaw
and a protruding adam’s apple that bobbed when he swallowed. His skin was dotted with freckles
and a few shades darker, signs of long hours spent out in the sun—there was a rosy flush across his
cheekbones that appeared the be the final remnants of a sunburn. And his clothes—a smart button-
down that made him look older, somehow, bright blue drainpipe jeans, and chunky black boots that
Sirius immediately fell in love with. It was the coolest thing he’d ever seen.

His palms felt sweaty.

It wasn’t just the outfit and the growth spurt, though—there was something else... different about
him, about the way he carried himself. He stood with his legs apart, hands shoved into pockets, jaw
set hard. There was something alive in his eyes, something jumping and dangerous, like sparks
from a fire. Often, it was difficult for Sirius to imagine his quiet, bookish friend transforming into a
wild beast at every full moon – but now, hypnotized by the mean glint in Lupin’s eye, he felt as
though he could see the wolf crawling just under the surface of his friend’s skin.

Sirius wasn’t the only one staring—James and Peter were clearly surprised, too. Sirius could
practically feel Peter’s anxiety and James’s concern, rolling like waves off their skin. Part of him
registered the fact that, clearly, something bad had happened to Remus – but he couldn’t muster up
the same nervous energy that his other two friends were exuding. His brain felt all fuzzy, for some
reason.

Remus slung himself into the empty seat across from them, acting as if he couldn’t sense his
friends’ shock.

“Good summer?”
James attempted a smile. “Not bad,” he answered, slowly, “The usual, you know...how was
yours?”

“Yeah, good.” Remus shifted to reach in his back pocket, pulling out a small tin box. Sirius
watched, riveted, as he opened it to reveal five pre-rolled cigarettes. He plucked one and lifted it to
his lips, shutting the case with a snap. His hands had grown with the rest of him—fingers scarred
and tendons shifting as he lifted some sort of little stick which, when struck, began miraculously to
burn.

It was hypnotizing, watching the fire catch the paper of the cigarette, turning it crumbly and red as
Remus inhaled. The smell was awful, bitter, like a handful of ash—but Sirius could hardly bring
himself to care. Remus’s lips parted as he exhaled, and the smoke spilled from his mouth to dance
teasingly in the air before dissipating. It was like magic.

James was still speaking, voice concerned as he said, “We were worried when we didn’t hear from
you.”

Remus shrugged. “Sorry. Busy.” Another breath; the smoke sighed from his lips.

“Doing what?” Sirius asked, curiosity making him dizzy. Or maybe that was the smoke – James
opened a window to let it out.

“Just busy.” Remus replied, face infuriatingly blank. Sirius should have been annoyed with him—
he always got annoyed, when Remus was cagey like this—but for some reason irritation couldn’t
penetrate today. Remus smoking a cigarette, wearing steel-toed boots, looking like the definition of
‘mysterious’ had come to life and walked out of the pages of a dictionary – well, it wouldn’t have
been quite right if he had immediately started spilling his guts.

Of course, Sirius was still going to get to the bottom of...whatever this was.

“Are you ok, Remus?” James asked, after a tense pause. “Has something happened?”

“Nope.”

“You seem different.”

“Your clothes!” Peter squeaked, suddenly.

“I’ve seen muggles dressed like it,” Sirius said quickly, “It’s cool, right, Remus?”

Lupin shrugged, nonchalant. “My mates got ‘em for me, that’s all.”

“Oh, well, if it’s a muggle thing...” James hedged, still looking uncomfortable. “You sure you’re
ok?”

“Lay off, Potter,” Remus sighed, tilting his head back onto the seat and rolling his eyes as he took
another drag from his cigarette. He swallowed, looking bored with the attention. Sirius watched the
movement in his throat.

“What you reading, then?” He asked, nodding at the forgotten newspaper spread across their laps.
James looked down, a grave expression on his face.

“The war,” he said, passing the paper over to Remus.

“War?!” The nonchalance slipped as Moony sat up straight, clearly shocked. “What war?” He
snatched the paper and scanned the headline, eyes going wide.

“Didn’t you know?” James asked, baffled, “The wizarding world has been officially at war since
1970.”

Sirius and Peter nodded. For the past four years, war had been a sort of dark backdrop against the
wizarding world—something adults discussed in hushed voices, but that didn’t really concern
children. It had always been a nebulous concept, something tied up with Ministry politics and
complicated laws that didn’t really affect the boys’ lives—at least, not yet. With the way things
were going this summer, though, it had begun to feel more real.

“We weren’t even at Hogwarts in 1970,” Remus responded, defensive, “I hardly knew anything
about wizards then. What...I mean, who are we fighting?”

“That’s the problem,” James frowned, “It’s too difficult to know, but this ‘Dark Lord’ person has
been gathering a lot of allies – almost all purebloods.”

“I reckon those are the meetings my family are going to,” Sirius muttered, darkly, “James’s dad
agrees with me.”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d talked to Mr. Potter about it—only that he kept thinking about it,
over the summer, wondering if Mr. and Mrs. Potter looked at him and saw his family, if they
thought about whether they could trust him, whether he’d run back and report anything he heard to
his parents. He’d felt the need to distance himself, somehow – to say I’m on your side. So he’d told
Monty about the strange meetings and hushed conversations, and the grey-haired man had nodded,
thoughtfully, looking troubled.

“Is that why the Slytherins were such a pleasure to be around last year?” Remus asked, realization
creeping over his face.

“Yep,” Sirius replied. “And it’ll be worse this year, you can bet.”

“There were some...attacks, this summer.” James said, nervously. “On muggles, and a few mixed
blood families.”

“They think the Dark Lord is using dangerous creatures,” Peter piped up, voice wobbly and
anxious, “Vampires and giants and...and...”

Remus’s eyes had gone hard and flat. He glared at Peter, clenching his jaw,

“And werewolves?”

“Moony...” James started to speak, but Remus stood before he could finish.

“I need the loo,” he said, gruffly, yanking open the door. And then he was gone.

There was a beat of silence; then,

“Nice going, idiot.” Sirius punched Peter on the arm, scowling.

“I’m sorry!” The smaller boy yelped, scooting closer to James and rubbing his arm resentfully, “I
didn’t think...erm...”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Well, you can say that again. He’ll probably be off sulking for the rest of
the train ride, now, thanks to you.”
“Alright, alright,” James lifted a hand, “Pete said he’s sorry. No use arguing about it.”

Sirius huffed, turning to stare out the window, and James sighed. He plucked the newspaper off
Remus’s seat, folding it and tucking it away as he asked,

“D’you reckon he’s okay?’

“Who? Moony?”

“Yeah.”

“Said he was fine, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but...you know how he gets.”

Sirius sighed. He did know—they all did. Peter nodded, silently agreeing with James.

“Just give him a few minutes,” Sirius suggested, glancing at the empty seat, “If he doesn’t come
back, I’ll go and find him.” The air still smelled like smoke.

Ten minutes passed, during which James engaged Peter in a mind-numbingly boring conversation
about chess club. Sirius tapped his foot, impatient, and after another five minutes had gone by he
stood and made his way out into the train to look for Remus. James asked if he and Peter should
go, too, but Sirius convinced them to stay, knowing enough about Moony to know that he wouldn’t
want to cause any sort of scene.

Remus was not in the loo, which wasn’t entirely surprising—Sirius had expected that that was just
an excuse to go off and brood by himself. Sure enough, after poking his head in and out of a few
different cabins he managed to find Lupin in an empty one, staring out the window alone and
smoking another cigarette.

“Moony?” He poked his head in the door, hit once again with the ash-burnt smell of smoke. Remus
glared at him. He came in anyway.

“All right, what’s up?” Sirius settled himself in the opposite seat, getting comfortable.

“Nothing.” Remus crossed his arms, sulking and slouching, staring at his boots. The cigarette
burned in his fingertips.

“Something’s up. You’re not yourself.”

“How would you know?” Remus snapped, aggressively, “Maybe this is who I really am.”

Sirius felt a strange burst of affection for his friend, who could be so ridiculously melodramatic
without even realizing it.

“I just know,” he held Lupin’s gaze, “It’s ok to be angry sometimes, Remus. It doesn’t mean
anything, except that you’re normal.”

The glare faltered, softened by surprise, and Sirius smiled. He wasn’t always good with feelings,
but anger was something he understood—better than James and Peter, at least.

Knowing that he was probably only allowed one moment of authenticity before running the risk of
appearing too girly, Sirius let the smile sharpen into a smirk. “And for what it’s worth, I really do
think you look so bloody cool.”
 “Really?”

“Yeah. Kind of dangerous.”

Remus snorted, saying drily,

“Thanks.”

“So...bad summer, was it?”

Remus shrugged,

“It was ok. I was...I did a lot of stuff. I don’t want James to know about it.”

Sirius struggled with the curiosity clawing in his chest, desperate to know exactly what “a lot of
stuff” entailed. But he could tell Remus didn’t want an interrogation, so he only cocked his head
and said, “Ok. Can I try a cigarette?”

Remus’s lips quirked up, as if Sirius had said something amusing, and he smiled as he fished out
his little tin box. He tossed it to Sirius, along with the box of little sticks—which created a moment
of panic as Sirius tried to remember what exactly Remus had done with them to start the fire. It
wasn’t too difficult to figure out, though; he struck one of the sticks against the box, igniting it, and
pursed his lips around the little paper cylinder. He cupped his hands as he lit it, hoping he was
doing everything correctly – and hoping he looked as cool as Remus had doing it.

Sirius sucked shallowly, trying desperately not to cough. The cigarette tasted like it smelled: bitter,
ashy, slightly gritty. It was a strange sensation, breathing in smoke – his lungs rebelled, chest going
itchy and tight, but he held on until they relaxed. He couldn’t look like a wimp in front of Remus.

Still, he couldn’t prevent a grimace from crawling across his face, and Lupin smirked. “You get
used to it.”

“Ok.” Sirius raised the cigarette back to his mouth, breathing more deeply this time, testing his
limits. Remus relaxed back into his seat, watching him through the bluish haze, and Sirius felt very
aware of his eyes. He really, really hoped he looked cool.

“I found out some things, end of last term.” Remus said, softly, after a few minutes of lazy silence.

Before Sirius could respond, he was reaching into his shirt pocket, pulling out what appeared to be
a few crumpled newspaper clippings. Sirius leaned forward, fingertips brushing in the smoke as he
accepted the papers from Remus’s hands.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” Remus said, sitting back, “But read them if you like.”

“Ok,” Sirius said quietly, holding the clippings carefully, gently. “Thank you, Remus.”

Chapter End Notes

there was a sudden influx of new readers since i posted the last chapter yesterday, so
hello! as fourth year begins, just wanted to say thank u all for reading + thank u for all
the nice comments, they really make my day and i try to respond as much as i can :)
hope u enjoy year 4!!
 Fourth Year: Competition
Chapter Summary

sirius does some reading

Remus appeared to be in a marginally better mood by the time they all stepped off the train—at
least, he’d agreed to come back to the carriage once Sirius had finished his cigarette, and he’d
stopped scowling at everyone. But all of Sirius’s hard work to cheer him up was almost
immediately negated; there were only twenty minutes or so until sunset by the time they arrived in
Hogsmeade, and Madam Pomfrey was waiting for Remus at the station.

“Good luck, Moony,” Sirius breathed as they parted ways, moving towards the horseless carriages
with James and Peter. Remus gave him a grim nod, and then Pomfrey was seizing him by the
elbow and dragging him away.

It felt strange, attending the Hogwarts Welcome feast without Lupin. Normally, the marauders
delighted in watching him shovel second and third helpings of everything onto his plate, taking
bets about how much he’d manage to eat. His seat remained conspicuously absent—and the
marauders weren’t the only ones to notice.

“Where’s Remus?” Lily asked, sitting with Mary and Marlene a little ways down the table.

“Hi, Evans,” James said, dreamily, at the same time that Sirius said, “What’s it to you?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Remus is our friend, Sirius,” she said scathingly, ignoring James, “I’m just
asking why he isn’t here.” Next to her, Marlene giggled nervously.

“He’s in the hospital wing!” Peter piped up, and Sirius turned to glare at him. Lily’s sarcastic
expression immediately became concerned.

“Really?” She leaned forward a bit, “Why? Is he alright?”

“It’s private,” Sirius said, frowning reproachfully. “If you’re so curious, you can ask him about it
when he gets out—but if you’re his friend, maybe you should keep your nose out of his business.”

Lily looked both mildly abashed and mildly irritated, clearly unsure of how to respond to this
admonishment. But Mary just rolled her eyes, saying,

“Alright, Black, no need to be so prissy about it. We can talk to Remus later—come on, I’ve got to
finish telling you about Darren...” This last bit was directed to her friends, and the girls huddled
closer as Mary lowered her voice.

Sirius stabbed at his food with a fork, annoyed by the entire exchange. Leave it to Evans to go
poking about when should be minding her own business—nothing had changed there. James
sighed, watching her giggle with Mary and Marlene, and mumbled,

“You didn’t need to be so harsh, mate...”

“She should mind her own business.” Sirius grumbled, skewering a potato. Peter glanced back and
forth between them, anxiously.

That night, after the others had gone to bed, Sirius carefully pulled out the yellowed newspaper
clippings that Remus had given him. He unfolded them, casting a quick Lumos and holding up his
wand so that he could see.

The Daily Prophet, April 1964

WEREWOLF ATTACKS ON THE RISE – COULD YOUR CHILDREN BE NEXT?

The Ministry of Magic has today confirmed that the recent spate of murders both in the muggle and
wizarding communities is the work of dark creatures – namely werewolves. Ministry officials are
particularly concerned that in many cases the victims of the attacks have been children under the
age of ten.

One official, respected dark creatures expert Lyall Lupin, has spoken out and criticised the ministry
for “Lax and wilfully neglectful safety measures.” Lupin claims that the ministry’s current
werewolf registry is poorly managed and maintained, enabling certain anti-ministry factions to use
these loopholes to their advantage.

The current number of victims is suspected to be seventeen, but set to rise as the investigation
continues, and the perpetrators continue to allude capture. A statement from the Auror’s office is
expected later today.

The Daily Prophet, Obituaries, January 1965

Lyall Lupin, who has died aged 36, will be remembered as a world-renowned expert on non-
human spirituous apparitions, for his extensive work with boggarts and poltergeists, dementor
liaisons, and, more recently, his efforts to reform the national werewolf registry.

Lupin is survived by his wife, muggle Hope Lupin, who he married in Cardiff in 1959. The couple
have a young son, Remus John Lupin, born in 1960. The family has requested privacy during their
time of grief.

The Daily Prophet, February 1965

AURORS ON LOOKOUT FOR GREYBACK

The Auror’s Office is appealing to the wizarding public for any information pertaining to the
whereabouts of Fenrir Greyback, werewolf and suspected child murderer.

Greyback is described as 6’3, very strong, and unclean, with the appearance of a vagrant. Wizards
and witches are warned not to approach him, and to consider Greyback extremely dangerous, even
in human form. Auror Alastor Moody today made a statement indicating that the ministry believe
Greyback to be travelling with a pack of werewolves, making him all the more dangerous.
Greyback is known to have a preference for small children, but Moody declined to comment on
speculation that the werewolves plan to raise an army.

The ministry also declined to respond to allegations that they had Greyback in their custody last
 spring, and failed to recognise the threat.

Since the death of Lyall Lupin, an outspoken advocate for harsher sanctions on werewolves, there
have been numerous efforts to improve recognition and registration of dark creatures.

Sirius extinguished his wand, feeling vaguely ill. He had never given much thought to Remus’s
family—he knew his father had died when he was a child, and that he was estranged from his
mother. He knew Remus had lived in a boys’ home, without ever seeing his relatives. But he had
never really considered what it might be like, growing up alone in the world. Sirius had his own
family problems to worry about, and Remus had never acted like it bothered him much.

No one’s entitled to a happy life...

Remus had said that to him, almost a year ago. Sirius hadn’t given the words too much thought
past accepting them as part of Moony’s typically dreary outlook on life. But now, he thought about
something else Remus had said, when Sirius asked about his father during second year.

My dad, he...uh...well, he killed himself. After I was bitten, so I s’pose it was because of me.

Could that have been true? If Lyall Lupin was an outspoken campaigner against werewolves, and
his own son got bitten...

Sirius felt a sudden surge of anger. How dare Lyall Lupin abandon his son? It was weak, cowardly,
atrocious—how could he have left Remus—kind, intelligent, infuriating Remus—just
because...what, because he didn’t want a werewolf as a son? It was despicable. If either of Remus’s
parents had stuck around long enough, they would have realised that they were lucky to have a son
like Moony, that they didn’t even deserve him.

Sirius wanted to tear up the stupid news clippings, but he didn’t. Instead, he folded them carefully
and set them aside, knowing he’d need to return them. Still, he had trouble falling asleep that night.
His body buzzed with anger at a man long-dead, veins clogged with rage that had nowhere to go.

* * *

Monday 2nd September 1974

“Sirius...Siiiriuuuusss...”

Sirius groaned, rolling over in bed. He cracked open his eyes, heavy with sleep, and yelped as he
came face to face with James Potter.

“Blimey, mate, don’t do that!”

James laughed, springing back off the mattress where he’d kneeled and shoved his head in front of
Sirius’s.

“Come on, up you get!”

“What time is it?”

“Time to go to the hospital wing!”

Sirius groaned again, pulling his blankets over his head.

After an incessant amount of cajoling, lots of yawning, and increasingly violent threats from
James, Sirius found himself blinking sleep out of his eyes in the hospital wing. It was so early that
they’d actually beaten Remus there—Madam Pomfrey was missing, presumably having gone to
fetch the boy. Sirius eyed the empty beds longingly, but before he had the chance to decide whether
it was safe to crawl into one, the doors swung open.

Madam Pomfrey tutted when she saw them there, but didn’t immediately shoo them out. Remus
emerged from behind her, grinning broadly.

“How’d James get you two up this early?” He asked, limping slightly as he moved towards them.

“It wasn’t easy,” James told him, as Sirius stifled a yawn. “I had to resort to threats of violence.”

“And actual violence,” Peter said resentfully, rubbing his arm.

“You ok, Moony?” Sirius asked, forcing his eyes open.

“Fine, cheers,” Remus nodded, allowing Madam Pomfrey to usher him away.

The marauders waited as their friend undressed behind a screen, climbing into his usual bed at the
far end of the ward.

“Five minutes!” Madam Pomfrey warned, sleeping draught in hand, “He needs his rest, boys.”

“We can’t stay long anyway,” James assured her, “Lessons and everything. We brought you your
new timetable, Moony.” He passed the parchment over.

Remus scanned the page eagerly, frowning. He glanced up, starting to ask, “Could you—”

“We’ll get your homework, Moony, don’t worry,” Sirius interrupted him, smiling. “Nice to see you
back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Remus quipped, purposely displaying fresh claw marks on his arm, “Can’t get much more
normal than me.”

* * *

The moon must’ve not been too bad—Remus was allowed to re-join them for dinner, which meant
Pomfrey didn’t think he needed to be kept overnight. He slipped into the Great Hall quietly, clearly
trying not to draw attention to himself. It might have worked, if not for the three eager girls that
immediately rushed to tackle him into a hug.

Sirius watched, unsure whether he should be amused or annoyed as Mary, Marlene, and Lily
squealed, “Reeeee-mus!”

Lupin stared down at them with a look of fond confusion, wincing only slightly as they squeezed
him. The girls started chattering, and Remus smiled as they led him to the table.

“I don’t know how he does it,” James said, sounding slightly awed, “Just this morning Evans was
telling me that she’d rather drink powdered dung-beetle shells than talk to me.”

“Bloody ladies’ man,” Sirius muttered, trying to catch Remus’s eye. When he succeeded, the other
boy only gave him a helpless shrug, as if to say, What can I do? Sirius frowned as he sat next to
Lily.

Seeing him sat next to the girls only emphasized how much Remus had changed over the summer.
While he had always been tall, he now towered over them, even when sitting down, and had to
incline his head to make eye contact. The girls had grown taller, too, but nowhere near as much as
Remus—and besides, their growth spurts had occurred in more interesting places. Sirius found
himself glancing, without meaning to, at the way Mary’s white school shirt pulled across her chest.

“Oi, ladies,” He called, when they showed no signs of releasing Remus, “Can we have Moony
back, please?”

“No,” Mary replied promptly, sticking out her tongue, and the marauders had to resign themselves
to another Remus-less meal.

Once they were all back in their dorm room for the evening, James settled onto his bed, trying to
look nonchalant. “So, what were the girls talking about?”

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Remus shrugged, beginning to unpack his trunk, “Boys, mostly, and
snogging.”

“Snogging?!” Sirius sat up. Since when were any of the girls snogging people?

“Yeah, I know,” Remus said, scrunching up his face as if the topic offended his delicate
sensibilities, “It’s all they’re interested in, these days. Mary and her muggle boyfriend did
something over the summer.”

“What did they do?” Sirius leaned forward, curious. He had already known that snogging was on
the table—were there other things they were supposed to start doing, now, too?

“Er...” Remus faltered, “Well, I don’t really know. Lily wouldn’t let her talk about it while we
were eating.“

“Ah,” James nodded, proudly, “Too clever for all that nonsense, Lily.”

“How’d you know it’s nonsense?” Sirius teased, “S’not like you do any snogging.”

“Oh, and you do?!” James shot back, frowning.

“Could if I wanted,” Sirius reclined, smirking, arms behind his head, “Plenty of girls fancy me.”

“If you wanted,” James scoffed, “So, what, you’ve got girls lining up for a cheeky snog and you’re
just...not interested?”

Sirius’s stomach dropped. Yes. Was that strange? Was there something wrong with him? He’d
assumed that as he got older, he’d eventually understand what all the upperclassmen at Hogwarts
seemed to go on about—but he still didn’t quite get the appeal of mashing your lips with a girl’s.
But that was normal, right? Did James want to be snogging? Did Peter? Did Remus?
He plastered on an impish grin. “Jealous, are you, Potter?”

“Eugh, of you?!” James made a disgusted face.

“Bet Lily fancies me...” Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Take that back!” James launched himself across the room, wrestling Sirius into a headlock as they
both laughed. Across from them, Peter sighed and exchanged a weary look with Remus.

“They were like this all summer,” He said, disapprovingly, “Everything’s a competition.”

* * *

For the second night in a row, Sirius lay awake waiting for the others to drift to sleep. Once he
heard the familiar sound of James’s snoring and Peter’s mumbled sleep talk, he slipped out of bed,
creeping across the room.

“Moony? You awake?”

He twitched the bed curtains aside, and Remus sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah...”

Sirius crawled in, letting the curtains fall shut behind him. Remus scooted over to make room,
looking confused and a bit apprehensive. He watched as Sirius settled himself on the mattress,
sitting cross-legged and pulling out his wand.

“Muffliato,” he whispered, cloaking them in the silencing spell.

“What’s up?” Remus asked, stifling a yawn and squinting as Sirius lit his wand.

“The articles,” He answered, pulling them out of his pyjama pocket, “I read them."

“Oh,” Remus shifted, looking uncomfortable, “Right.”

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it,” Sirius assured him, quickly, “But I just...well, I
wanted you to know I’ve read them, I s’pose.”

“Ok, thanks.” Remus nodded, looking embarrassed.

“And...I understand why you’re angry.”

“Mm?”

“Anyone would be,” Sirius leaned forward, trying to find the right words – the ones that would
make Moony understand that he cared, that he wanted to help, that he thought Remus was brilliant
and stronger than he had any right to be.

“It’s...it’s...it’s just such a shitty hand to be dealt, Moony."

Remus blinked, staring at him in a way that made Sirius feel like he’d swallowed his heart.

“I won’t tell James, or Pete,” he said, quickly, not sure why he felt embarrassed, “Not unless you
want me to.”

“No, please don’t.” Remus whispered, “I’m not...I’m not ashamed, it’s just...private, you know?”

Sirius nodded gravely,

“It’s safe with me.”

Remus smiled weakly and released a shaky laugh,

“God, you’re so dramatic.”

Sirius laughed too,

“James’s mum says I wear my heart on my sleeve.” He nudged Remus with his toe, “We can’t all
be master secret-keepers like you, Moony.”

“I thought I wasn’t ‘me’ without secrets?”

“Yeah, but if you have to have them, I’d rather I knew.”

Remus shot him a look, brow raised,

“‘Cos you’re so special, Black.”

“‘Cos” if I don’t know, I’ll just try to figure it out anyway. Like you and your little cigarette selling
enterprise.”

He had the satisfaction of watching Remus’s mouth fall open in shock.

“You looked in my trunk! You wanker!”

“How dare you!” Sirius sniffed, mock-outraged, “I would never stoop so low. One of the sixth-year
lads came ‘round asking for you. See if you were still selling this year.” It had been a stroke of
luck that Sirius had forgotten to grab his Transfiguration book that morning. When he’d run back to
Gryffindor tower, alone, the older student had stopped him in the common room, revealing
everything.

Remus groaned, slapping his forehead,

“Was it Dirk Creswell? Bloody moron.”

It had, in fact, been Dirk Creswell.

“How much did you make?”

“Enough. Please, don’t tell James, you know what he’s like about stealing...”

“You stole them?!”

“Bollocks.” Remus groaned again, flopping back onto his mattress.

“I don’t know how you do it, Moony,” Sirius marvelled, “But you surprise me every time.”
 Fourth Year: September
Chapter Summary

the marauders make a bet

Classes began with all the usual fuss—professors lecturing about how this year was really crucial
for their futures, Madam Pince scowling at the anxiety-ridden students that flocked to the library,
increasing numbers of dirty looks from the upper classmen trying to study in the common room
when Sirius dared to challenge Peter to games of exploding snap in front of the fire.

Potions was just as boring as usual, History was a doss, Astronomy was mind-numbingly rote. In
Herbology they were starting off with a unit on carnivorous plants, which was at least somewhat
more interesting than usual, and Sirius could always count on McGonagall to provide challenging
coursework in Transfiguration. Still, though the professors warned that their schoolwork would
only get more difficult, Sirius couldn’t help but be disappointed at what was shaping up to be
another year of drudgery. The older he got, the more he questioned whether classes were really so
important as everyone would have him believe – half the time, he thought he’d be able to
accomplish more with an hour of unfettered access to the library than in an entire year of sitting
and listening to his professors drone on.

Their first divination lesson did nothing to disabuse him of this notion. They were beginning with
ovomancy, which Sirius was pretty sure their professor had made up – despite her insistence that it
was a deeply rooted historical practice which originated in ancient Greece.

“For our first foray into the ovular mysteries of the future, you shall be needing partners…” she
croaked at them, hauling a massive wicker basket of eggs onto her desk. When the old professor
turned and peered out from under her shawls, seeing that none of them had moved, she flapped a
gnarled hand at them.

“Go on, go on, pair up!”

Peter heaved a resigned sigh and stood to go find a partner as Sirius scooted his chair closer to
James. He ended up next to Desdemona Lewis, a Ravenclaw girl with a slight overbite, who smiled
cheerfully at him.

Although Sirius was sceptical at first, he quickly decided that he had been too quick to judge
ovomancy—each pair was given a basket of eggs and told to practice finding omens using the key
in their textbooks. The key in question was little more than a page of vaguely drawn blobs, each of
which was supposed to mean something different. This left quite a bit of room for interpretation,
and Sirius felt completely in his element cracking eggs open on top of a desk and trying to read his
friend’s future in the splattered yolk.

“Let’s see, let’s see…” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, frowning down at the mess of yellow on
their table. James rolled his eyes as Sirius clucked his tongue, saying,

“I’m afraid it’s not looking good, Potter…not looking good at all…says here that Evans will never
love you, and you’ll die a lonely old man, never having known the touch of a woman…”
“Oi!” James shoved his shoulder, “It does not! Look, right there, that little runny bit—it clearly
says that Evans is going to fall madly in love with me within the year.”

“No, according to the key that bit means…” Sirius scanned the page, then gasped in horror.

“What?!”

“I’m so sorry, mate,” he shook his head mournfully, “Says here you’ll be bald by the time you’re
thirty.”

They spent the rest of the class making increasingly dire and ridiculous predictions, stifling their
laughter and trying to look serious whenever their shrivelled professor tottered past. At the end of
the lesson, they reunited with Peter – Sirius expected him to be resentful and withdrawn (as he
often was when James and Sirius partnered up without him) and was pleasantly surprised to find
that Pete seemed instead to be in just as good a mood as the rest of them.

Remus, on the other hand, was very decidedly not in a good mood when they found him in
Gryffindor tower. Even though they were hardly three days into classes, he was already acting as if
exams were right around the corner—a prefect actually had to chase them out of the common room
before Moony would agree to go up to bed.

“You’re being too tough on yourself,” Sirius said, nudging his shoulder, “It’s the beginning of the
year – if you’re going to fuck up, you may as well fuck up now.”

Remus glared back,

“Easy for you to say! Some of us actually have to work for our grades! Plus it’s OWLs next year! I
can’t drop my standards now!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, irritated. He was just trying to be nice. Remus was starting to sound like Lily
Evans—he’d always known she was a bad influence. All that studying, shut up in the library with
his gaggle of girls, was damaging Moony’s brain.

“Argh, please don’t mention OWLs,” James cut in, darting a nervous glance between the two of
them that he probably thought was subtle, “McGonagall and Flitwick have already put the fear in
me. And why did we decide to do Divination?!”

“I quite like Divination,” Peter mused, dumping his pile of books at the end of his bed, “Prophecies
and that. It’s exciting.”

“It’s nonsense,” Sirius said, a little more sharply than he intended to, “You only like it because
you’re good at Astronomy.”

“It’s not just that,” James said, slyly, as he pulled his pyjama shirt over his head, “Noticed that
Pete’s got a new partner this year?”

“Ohhh yes!” Sirius smirked, “The divine Desdemona Lewis, of Ravenclaw!”

Peter blushed bright red from head to toe.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, retreating into bed, “She’s just a friend.”

“James,” Sirius said gravely, “What on earth are we going to do if Petey-boy here gets a proper
snog before any of us?”
“Well, your reputation would be in tatters, for one thing,” James answered, matching his solemn
tone.

“What do I have, if not my reputation?” Sirius grinned as he climbed into his own bed, reclining
atop the pillows.

Remus huffed, loudly, to ensure that they all knew he thought they were acting ridiculous. For
extra emphasis, he snapped open his book and yanked his bedcurtains shut. Sirius frowned. Evans
was definitely rubbing off on him.

“Of course, if I got a snog before you, that wouldn’t hurt.” James said, “I’m on the quidditch
team.”

“You don’t have my animal magnetism.” Sirius replied promptly, with a haughty flip of his hair for
good measure. James’s response came in the form of a pillow, thrown at high speed and with
startling accuracy at Sirius’s head.

“Oi!”

“I bet you—” James grinned mischievously,

“Oh no…” Peter moaned, “Please don’t…”

“…I bet you TEN GALLEONS that I can get a girl to snog me within a month.”

“Ten?!” Peter gasped.

“Done!” Sirius responded, immediately, “Just you wait, Potter.”

Remus huffed once more from behind his curtains, making sure that they all understood his
absolute disapproval of their antics. Privately, Sirius was a bit relieved—if Moony had decided to
join in on the bet, he almost certainly would have won. Though he insisted that they were all just
friends, Mary, Marlene, and Lily seemed to follow him around like lost puppies, and Sirius had his
suspicions that it wasn’t quite as platonic as Remus might claim.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t get it. Moony was certainly very tall, and Sirius supposed that girls
might like the little freckles dusting his skin, or the warm autumn brown of his eyes, or the whole
broody-mysterious-tragic-hero shtick he had going on. So really, it was lucky that Remus had
decided he was above such trivial pursuits as snogging—in fact, it was quite funny, watching him
purse his lips like someone’s great-aunt anytime the subject came up.

With Remus out of the running, Sirius was entirely confident in his ability to win their little bet.
James made a fair point about being on the quidditch team, but he was completely hung up on
Evans. Knowing Potter and his strict sense of loyalty, he wouldn’t snog anybody but Lily, even if
ten galleons were on the line—and Sirius had complete faith in Lily’s ability to avoid the lips of
one very desperate quidditch star. As for Peter—well, he hardly even merited consideration. When
it came to snogging, Sirius was sure that Pettigrew would pose absolutely no threat.

* * *

Though Remus continued to insist that they were all being ridiculous, Sirius was quite happy to
have the snogging bet occupying his attention over the next few weeks. They all needed something
to distract them from the darkening atmosphere around them, as the war that had previously felt so
far from the castle walls began insidiously to worm its way into Hogwarts.

The Slytherins had always been cliquey, overly preoccupied with blood status and looking down
their noses at the rest of the student body. But there was a distinctly malicious twist to their
huddled groups and distant demeanours, this year. They roamed the halls in ominous packs, and
Sirius began to notice that muggleborn students had taken to moving in groups, as well. Teachers
were more present in the hallways, eyeing students as if to ensure that nobody tried anything
during passing periods.

Of course, the professors couldn’t be everywhere at once, and more often than not it was up to the
students to defend themselves and each other. The marauders took up this role with gusto,
swapping out pranks for protection.

“Where are the bloody prefects when you need them?!” James griped, following a rapid-fire series
of engorgio charms aimed at a group of sixth year Slytherins who were tormenting a first year
Hufflepuff. The older students were currently scurrying away, wincing and clutching their rapidly
swelling extremities.

“I think even the prefects are scared,” Sirius drawled, leaning against the wall and watching as
James helped the Hufflepuff to his feet. “Cowards.”

“All they can do is hand out detentions and take house points,” Remus pointed out, “And I don’t
think the Slytherins even care about those anymore. I heard Mulciber last week saying that they
should all put up with ‘trivial punishments for the promise of a greater rewards.’”

“Mulciber said that?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, trying not to look too disturbed. It sounded eerily
similar to something his parents might say. “Bloody hell, he’s more eloquent than I gave him credit
for.”

“Yeah, or he’s parroting back something someone else has told him,” James said darkly, watching
the Hufflepuff hurry off towards the kitchens.

“What d’you think the reward is?” Peter mumbled, scuffing his toe on the flagstones.

“Money? Power? Life eternal?” Sirius sighed as he rolled away from the wall, stepping with an
exaggerated swagger up the corridor. “Godric knows. They won’t get it, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Petey-boy, we’re going to win.”

* * *

By the end of September, none of the marauders had gotten a snog. Sirius insisted that he was in
the lead—as a few girls had shown interest, including someone named Effie Scunthorpe in
Remus’s Care of Magical Creatures Class—but he had determined that none of them were quite up
to par. Ten galleons was all well and good, but if was going to snog a bird, he had to make sure she
was up to snuff first; he had a reputation to maintain, after all. It was entirely reasonable to hold
off.
Plus, Sirius told himself, it wouldn’t have been any fun to go and win the bet too easily. James was
an excellent competitor at most things—quidditch, exam grades, exploding snap—but he was
hardly much of an opponent when it came to snogging.

As predicted, he was entirely hung up on Lily, and had decided that if he was going to kiss
someone, it had to be Evans. The result was that James had begun to make even more of a fool out
of himself whenever the redheaded girl was nearby, which Sirius might have thought impossible
had he not been able to witness it with his own two eyes.

It was best in Potions, where the extra attention James was giving Lily clearly drove Severus—
who hunched over his cauldron, grimacing from behind his greasy tendrils of hair—mad.

“Give us a snog, Evans!” James shouted during their very first lesson, earning a death glare from
Snape and an eyeroll from Remus, who was standing next to Lily at their cauldron (the two had
paired up again, this year, which Sirius filed away as more evidence that Remus was quickly
becoming the heartthrob of Gryffindor tower).

Unfortunately, Lily seemed just as horrified as her glaring Slytherin friend; she swished her wand
fiercely through the air, causing James and Sirius’s cauldron to flip over and spill the entirety of its
contents onto their heads. For the next week, both boys were stained bright blue.

But James was nothing if not tenacious. Once the dye had worn off, he was back at it again. This
time, he consulted his father. Monty helpfully suggested that his son might try complimenting the
girl he claimed to be head over heels for, and James marched into Slughorn’s classroom ready to
try this new strategy.

“I really like your hair,” he said, brimming with confidence, the moment he caught sight of Lily
approaching her work bench.

“Mm.” She hummed, not bothering to even glance his way. Sirius snickered.

“Yeah, it’s so…um…ginger.”

There was a pause—then Lily turned to James with a saccharine smile.

“Like it that much, do you?” she asked sweetly. Sirius wasn’t fooled—his eyes were on Remus,
who had taken a careful step back. Sirius followed suit, not wanting to end up in Evans’s blast zone
again.

James, on the other hand, was so focused on Lily that he failed to notice his friends’ subtle
movements. He nodded fervently, delighted with the attention, and began to speak,

“Oh yeah, I think it’s—"

“Rufusio!” Lily whispered, wand darting sharply in her hand.

Sirius couldn’t help the startled burst of laughter that jumped out of his mouth—even Remus
appeared to be holding back a laugh. Half the class turned to look, alerted by the noise, and James
stared about in confusion, which only sent Sirius into a fit of giggles that left him breathless.
Finally, Marlene took pity on the poor boy and handed him her compact mirror. James’s eyes went
wide as saucers as he examined his mop of now-bright red hair.

Sirius spent the next two days calling James every rude nickname he could think of, and there were
quite a few catcalls of “ginger nut” and “carrot top.” Still, James was undeterred, firm in his
adoration for a certain muggleborn witch.
“Just got to be patient,” he murmured, dreamily, running a hand through his tangled auburn locks,
“Nothing worth having isn’t worth waiting for.”

“It’s kind of impressive,” Sirius stage-whispered to the other marauders, “I sort of don’t want to
win the bet, ‘cos he’s made it too easy.”

“Yeah,” James snorted, “That’s why.”

“Oh, suck it, copper knob.”

 Fourth Year: October
Chapter Summary

remus gives advice

Once it became abundantly clear that Lily would not be snogging James before the end of
September, he demanded that they extend the bet to last the entire year—which Sirius still thought
was far too optimistic a timeline. Still, he agreed, confident in his ability to win and seeing no need
to rush the ordeal. In fact, he was so confident that he suggested they double the amount of
galleons at stake, which made Peter look as if he might be sick and Remus tut disapprovingly. But
James agreed, unswervingly certain that he would be able to win Evans over if only given enough
time.

It wasn’t that Sirius needed to extend the bet. He could have gotten a snog in September, if he’d
wanted to, and he repeatedly assured James of this fact. Effie Scunthorpe was still bothering
Remus, and he’d received notes expressing interest from not one, but two other girls. By any
measure, he was well ahead of the other marauders.

The problem was that a man had to have standards. Sirius wasn’t about to go snogging the first
bird who batted her lashes at him. And besides, most of the girls batting their lashes at him were—
well, they were irritating. He struggled to pin down what, exactly, it was about them that bothered
him. Perhaps the simpering, or the all-too-obvious giggling, or the over-the-top blushing. The
attention was flattering, but Sirius was quickly learning that once girls decided they fancied you,
they began to act very stupid. It wouldn’t have been any fun to kiss them. There wasn’t any
challenge to it.

Still, he was never one to turn down attention, and it was quite nice to know that his dashing good
looks were appreciated around the castle.

So September dipped into October, which proved to be unseasonably warm; the marauders spent
most of their free time outside on the grounds, where the trees were slowly shaking themselves into
their fall foliage and the sky was cornflower blue. They tromped about the edges of the forbidden
forest, snacked on Honeyduke’s hauls in the courtyard, and lounged next to the lake, where Sirius
tried (and quickly gave up on) teaching Remus to skip stones.

The month began and ended with a full moon, which was incredibly disappointing, as it meant
Remus would miss out on the Halloween feast and any celebrations planned for that evening. Still,
he was a good sport about it, not complaining once. Sirius wished, fervently, that they’d been able
to make more progress on their animagi efforts—but though they had managed to collect all the
ingredients they’d need over the summer, they hadn’t been able to actually begin brewing the
potion.

On the weekends, they spent the bulk of their time on the quidditch pitch—either practicing
(James) or watching from the stands (everyone else). Peter was often pulled in as a stand-in keeper,
which made him very self-conscious and required a lot of cheering on from the side lines to ensure
he didn’t become too much of a nervous wreck.

Unfortunately, without Peter to discuss quidditch, Sirius was often left with little to do in the
stands. Remus didn’t make for great company—he always had his nose glued to the pages of a
book. Sometimes Mary and Lily would tag along to watch Marlene practice, but they only seemed
interested in talking to Remus, which left Sirius pouting and feeling unusually left out. He was
forced to keep himself busy, pacing the stands, challenging James to broom races, or scribbling on
parchment—sometimes his homework, but more often possibilities for tactics that the Gryffindor
team could try in their first game, scheduled for November.

“We’ve got to thrash Slytherin this year,” he insisted, “Got to show ‘em.”

Slytherin had won the quidditch cup the year before, which infuriated Sirius to no end. Both
Narcissa and Regulus got to lord it over him, and it was only made worse by the fact that he hadn’t
even been able to make the Gryffindor team. Narcissa had graduated, but Reg had replaced her as
seeker, and Sirius was counting on James to humble his haughty little brother this year.

“You need to lean into your broom more, when you take a swing,” Sirius told Marlene when she
came to sit down for a rest. She shot him an irritated look, hair sweat-dampened and stuck to her
forehead, cheeks red.

“I hit the bludgers nine times out of ten,” she snapped, trying to catch her breath, “Ten times, in my
best games. Even Mulciber can’t manage that.”

“Don’t try to be better than the competition,” Sirius admonished, repeating one of James’s
favourite phrases, “You’ve only got yourself to beat.”

“Look, Black, if you think you can do better, we’re trying out for beaters on Tuesday.”

Sirius flushed, looking away. “Nah,” he tried to keep his voice casual, “You beat me, fair and
square.”

“Two years ago.”

He didn’t reply, feeling ornery and embarrassed. After a moment, James called for Marlene, and
she staggered to her feet and trotted back to the pitch. Sirius leaned forward on the barrier, trying to
concentrate on the practice—but Marlene’s words replayed themselves, incessantly, in his mind.

He knew they were trying out beaters on Tuesday. James had already told him about it, trying to
convince him to give it a go, and he had already refused. It would be too…pathetic, trying out
again when he’d already been turned down. Too desperate. People would know how much he
wanted it, and he would have to change his name and go into hiding—maybe see if his parents still
had that Durmstrang paperwork tucked away somewhere—if he failed to make the team a second
time. Better not to consider it.

Unfortunately, Remus seemed to think otherwise.

“There are two beaters on a quidditch team, you know.”

Sirius didn’t bother to turn, keeping his eyes on the practice. “Bloody hell, Moony,” he
deadpanned, “Four years and you’ve finally learnt something about the game.”

Remus just tutted under his breath, reminding Sirius strangely of Madam Pomfrey,

“You know your problem?”

“Do tell.”
“You’re proud.”

Sirius laughed.

“And you’re not?”

“Maybe. But I’d make a shit beater, wouldn’t I?”

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that. When he didn’t respond, Remus heaved a sigh and shut his
book, shoving it into his bag. “Look, you’re going to hate yourself later if you don’t have another
crack at it. You just going to sit here cheering James on for three more years?” He stood up, “I’m
freezing, off to the library. See you at dinner?”

“Yeah, see you Moony.”

Alone in the stands, Sirius reflected on Remus’s words. You’re going to hate yourself later if you
don’t have another crack at it…

The problem was that Remus was right. He was right, and he knew he was right, and Sirius knew
that he knew he was right. The problem was that he had this way of boiling everything down to its
very essence and just stating the facts, like ripping off a band aid, with no sympathy. James would
cajole and prod and plead and offer reassurances, but he would never simply tell Sirius that he was
being an arse and making himself miserable just because he was too proud for his own good.

Sirius sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, and wished that Moony wasn’t so infuriatingly
smart.

That Tuesday, he brought his broom to the Gryffindor trials. James looked elated, which only made
Sirius’s stomach twist with nerves—he could imagine exactly how disappointed his friend would
be if he didn’t make the team, and could picture vividly how James would try to mask that
disappointment. Sirius decided, then and there, that if he failed trials a second time he would throw
himself into the lake for the giant squid, rather than spend the next two months hearing James
insist that it was perfectly okay he hadn’t made the team and that there’s always next year!

Unfortunately for the giant squid, Sirius was in top form. He smashed every bludger that came at
him, outflying all the other Gryffindor-quidditch-team-hopefuls and distinguishing himself as the
clear choice. Two hours after walking out to the pitch, he was leaving Gryffindor’s new beater.

Sirius was thrilled, buzzing with adrenaline, revelling in his newfound glory—which lasted for just
under twenty-four hours, up until he was informed about their practice schedule.

“Wakey wakey!” James chanted cheerfully, exiting the bathroom with his hair lying flat on his
head only because it was soaked through. Sirius groaned loudly as the curtains to his bed were
yanked open.

It was a week after trials, and Sirius was seriously considering murdering James Potter. The boy
insisted on getting up at the crack of dawn and rousing everyone else in the room, forcing them to
undertake the cruel and unusual punishment of early-morning quidditch drills.

“Piss off, Potter,” Sirius grumbled, shoving his head under his pillow to block out the infiltrating
light.

“You wanted to be on the team, Sirius me ol’ chum. C’mon, up you get…Leviocorpus!”

All the breath was yanked from his lungs as Sirius was flung, abruptly, upwards, yanked like a
puppet on a string. He found himself blinking the sleep from his eyes as he hung, upside down in
mid-air. James was laughing hysterically across from him, looking absolutely delighted.

“I can’t believe that worked! Been trying to do that since last Christmas.”

“Let me down you wanker!”

“Be nice!”

“Let me down!”

“Finite.”

Sirius crumpled immediately onto the floor in heap, thudding heavily against the wood panelling.
He leapt to his feet, undeterred by his throbbing arm, which would most certainly be sporting a
bruise from where he’d fallen on it.

“Bloody hell!” He shouted, unable to stop himself grinning and suddenly completely awake, “That
was amazing! Now let me do it to you.”

“Ok!”

* * *

They spent an excellent ten minutes levitating each other before Remus began to get grumpy,
clearing his throat and glancing meaningfully at the door until they all got the hint and agreed to go
down to breakfast. Once they were safely seated at the table, Sirius resumed his quest of trying to
talk Potter out of his quidditch madness.

“Just one day off a week, Potter, I’m begging you!” He moaned, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“You’re the one who wants to destroy Slytherin,” James replied, without a trace of sympathy,
humming jovially to himself as he buttered some toast. He slid the plate across the table, a peace
offering. Sirius shut his eyes petulantly, looking away.

James sighed. “Not just for you, either. The whole school wants to see them beaten. Think of it as
doing your bit for the war effort.”

“I thought you were doing your bit by hexing them in the corridors,” Remus said, helpfully.

“Exactly,” Sirius grunted, doing his best to nap with his head propped on his hands, “And that can
be done at a reasonable hour.”

“This is the only time we can fit practices in,” James said, sounding as if he was beginning to lose
patience, “There’s no point going after dark, the pitch gets booked up in the evenings and lessons
start at nine.”

“Even if they started at twelve you’d have trouble getting Sirius up,” Peter chimed in, sounding as
if he was speaking with his mouth full—a common occurrence, and Sirius didn’t feel the need to
open his eyes and verify.

“We should get time turners,” he muttered, yawning, “Students who need their beauty sleep should
be issued with them.”

“What’s a time turner?” Remus asked. He was very close; his voice was right next to Sirius’s ear.

“Turns back time, obviously.”

“They’re illegal,” James added, quickly, “Without ministry permission. And really, really
dangerous.”

“I’m dangerous if I don’t get enough sleep,” Sirius grumbled.

“Matron used to make us all get up at six on weekends,” Remus mused, between bites of his
breakfast. “She thought it was healthy, or something. One of the older boys got into her room once
and fiddled with her alarm clock, though, and we got away with an extra two hours in bed every
day for a week before she noticed.”

“Muggles are ingenious,” James chuckled, “But stay away from my alarm clock.”

“Mmm,” Remus murmured, deep in thought. Sirius cracked an eye to watch him—brow furrowed,
lip poking out. A familiar expression.

“Oh no, we’ve lost him,” Sirius said, smiling dryly. “Probably daydreaming about nogtails and
nifflers again – I swear Care of Magical Creatures is the only subject he cares about anymore.”

“Leave Moony alone and eat your breakfast,” James chastised, “I want you on the pitch in five
minutes.”

“Fine…” Sirius sighed, turning to look down at his plate. “Oi! Where’s my breakfast??”

“Got to go,” Remus said, standing abruptly, “Library. See you in Potions.”

Sirius turned to accost him, but the shameless thief was already gone.
 Fourth Year: November (Part One)
Chapter Summary

quidditch time

“Oi, Black, ease up a bit!”

“Oh, piss off, Cardoc! If you weren’t falling asleep on your broom, maybe—”

“Sirius!”

“Black!”

James cut him off at the same time that Harpreet Singh, Gryffindor’s quidditch captain, shouted his
name, glaring ferociously from his position in front of the goal posts.

“What?! If he can’t dodge the bludgers on Sunday how d’you expect—”

“That’s enough!”

Singh abandoned his spot by the rings to zip closer to Sirius, where he could glare more
effectively.

“I want you flying laps until you’ve calmed down enough to work as a team. You’re not the only
one on the field—unless you get that through your head, we haven’t got a chance against
Ravenclaw. Now go!”

Sirius scowled, but knew better than to argue with Singh when he started shouting. The older
student was known for being even-tempered, a quiet, stocky young man whose presence often had
a soothing effect on those around him. This normally lent itself to captaining a quidditch team of
rowdy Gryffindors, as Singh was uniquely equipped to reign in their nervous energy and fiery
spirits.

Unfortunately, Sirius Black was not just any Gryffindor. Even Harpreet had his hands full trying to
manage the boy’s mood swings in the week leading up to their first match of the season—and
Sirius’s first ever match on the team. To the dismay of his teammates, Sirius often channelled the
nerves he felt into the sort of frantic energy that had him, for example, whacking bludgers at
lightning speed with complete disregard for everyone else’s positions on the field.

Sirius surrendered his beaters’ bat to Singh and made his way to the outer edge of the pitch, flying
vigorously to try and work out some of the adrenaline that continued to buzz in his veins. He could
feel his teammates’ wariness as they watched him, wondering if he’d be ready for the match on
Sunday—their apprehension only added to his own anxiety about whether he’d muck everything
up. The flush on his cheeks was part exertion, part embarrassment, as he cursed himself for his
lack of precision due to the nerves – and cursed Cardoc for his sluggish flying during practices,
without which Sirius’s erratic aim might have gone unnoticed.

By the time Singh called for a break, Sirius’s hair was sweat-soaked and sticking to his forehead.
He shoved it out of his eyes as he landed, breathing heavily and standing a little way away from the
rest of the team. James landed next to him, panting.

“Alright, mate?”

Sirius grunted, and James sighed.

“Come on, don’t pout.”

Sirius grimaced. “I am not pouting!” He grumbled, affronted.

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am n—oi, quit it!”

Now James was grinning, poking Sirius’s side to punctuate each statement, and Sirius was
struggling desperately to wrangle down the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

“Are!”

“Not!”

“Are!”

“Not!”

“Are!”

“Not! Get back here, Potter!”

James, dancing out of the way to avoid Sirius’s attempted shove, laughed and shook his head—
leading to a brief chase, followed by an even briefer wrestling match, which ended with Sirius
sitting on James’s chest as his friend futilely smacked his legs and choked on laughter.

“I yield, I yield!” He gasped, “C’mon, I can’t breathe!”

Sirius finally stood, helping the other boy to his feet with a smug smile. For a moment, they
grinned at each other, giggling—until their antics were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of
Harpreet Singh clearing his throat.

“Alright, lads?”

They turned to find that their scuffle had attracted the attention of the rest of the team, who were
watching them with expressions ranging from Singh’s amused smile to Marlene’s weary eyeroll.
The two of them jogged over to join their teammates, and James cast a meaningful look at Sirius as
they reunited with the rest of the group.

“Oi, Cardoc!”

The chaser turned to look at him, wary. Sirius grinned.

“Sorry for being a tosser.”

After a moment, the older boy smiled.

“Just make sure you send those bludgers at the other team on Sunday, yeah?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, laughing grudgingly, and all was forgiven. Singh looked relieved as he
gestured for everyone to gather round so that he could discuss the flying formation he wanted to
start with in the Ravenclaw match.

The rest of the practice went much more smoothly, without any more wild bludgers or heated
insults shooting back and forth across the pitch. By the time they were all landing and getting
ready to head in, everyone was in high spirits. Sirius sauntered over to Marlene, flipping his hair
out of his face.

“Nice flying today, McKinnon.”

“Oh…thanks, Sirius.”

“How about a kiss for luck?”

Her mouth fell open, face going bright red as she stammered,

“Er…erm….what?”

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “Y’know, a classic good-luck snog. Beater to beater. In honour of our
upcoming match.”

James, who was listening, began to guffaw, and Marlene frowned suspiciously.

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“McKinnon!” Sirius clutched his heart, dramatically, “You wound me! I make my request with
nothing but the purest of intentions, I assure you.”

Now James was doubled over, gasping for breath—which somewhat ruined the effect of Sirius’s
heartfelt plea. Marlene scowled, rolling her eyes.

“You two are utterly impossible, I swear!”

She stomped off, still blushing, and Sirius frowned.

“Trying to sabotage me, Potter?”

James snorted. “Oh, please. Think you’ve got that covered all on your own, mate. Marlene
McKinnon, seriously?”

“Just wait, oh ye of little faith,” Sirius said, reaching over to ruffle his friend’s wind-tousled hair,
“She’ll be succumbing to my irresistible charms before you know it.”

* * *

Sirius turned fifteen on the quidditch pitch, immersed in a sea of red and blue, listening to the
chanting students:

“GO GO GRYFFINDOR GO GO!”

He couldn’t stop smiling as he walked onto the field with the rest of the team, basking in the glow
of knowing that the entire school was riveted on him. Well—him and the rest of the players
marching onto the pitch. But still.

Why had he ever been nervous? This was the best feeling in the world—Sirius felt as though his
blood had turned into pure electricity, nothing but static and crackling lightning jumping in his
veins, filling him with energy. He could hardly wait to take to the sky, and the second Madam
Hooch blew her whistle he was off, soaring at breakneck speed. The wind roared in his ears,
cheering him on.

The team fell immediately into the formation they had planned, Sirius and Marlene splitting off to
cover different ends of the pitch. The bat felt like an extension of his own arm, eager for action; all
the nerves that had coiled in his muscles were gone, replaced only with excitement and the thrill of
finally, finally getting to play in a real quidditch match.

Sirius knew Marlene’s strategy—she often tailed players, protecting them from any oncoming
bludgers. But he didn’t have the patience for following others around, and together with Singh
they’d honed a complementary strategy that was more his style. While McKinnon stuck closer to
their vulnerable players, Sirius zipped across the pitch, chasing down bludgers before they could
strike and knocking them as far away from the game as possible.

“This is Black’s first game and he’s obviously throwing himself into it,” the commentator’s voice
echoed over the sounds of the crowd, “He’s no doubt received plenty of coaching from Potter –
who’s just scored the first goal! That’s Gryffindor in the lead with ten points!”

Sirius grinned behind his helmet. Yes, James!

“As I was saying,” the commentator, a seventh year Hufflepuff, continued, “Lots of talent on the
Gryffindor side this year – Potter, of course, and McKinnon, who’s one of the best beaters the reds
have had in years, and now Sirius Black, the black sheep of a bonafide quidditch dynasty – you’ll
remember his cousin, Narcissa Black of Slytherin, one of the finest seekers Hogwarts has ever
seen, and of course the younger Black brother, Regulus, who has taken Narcissa’s place after a
season as chaser.”

Now Sirius was scowling, excitement darkening with rage. Why was she talking about his family?
It wasn’t as if any of them were on the pitch—Narcissa wasn’t even at Hogwarts anymore!

“Rumour has it that there’s bad blood in the Black clan, so you can bet that the
Gryffindor/Slytherin match next term is going to be—"

“If you will please focus on the game currently in progress, Miss Darcy!” McGonagall snapped
over the megaphone. Sirius felt a surge of gratitude for the grouchy professor, though the anger
remained even as the commentator apologized,

“Sorry, professor! So that’s Dunelm of Ravenclaw in possession of the quaffle, she shoots, she—
oooh, and it’s a bad miss…”

Sirius continued to chase after bludgers, determined not to let thoughts of his family distract him.
He put everything else out of his mind, tuning out the commentary and focusing solely on the game
in front of him. The lingering anger only strengthened him, adding a vicious twist of satisfaction to
every bludger he was able to smack—and if he was picturing the faces of certain family members
as he swung, well…no one had to know.

In the end, it was a slaughter; the Gryffindor seeker caught the snitch, ending the match 300 to 100
in Gryffindor’s favour. Sirius landed with the rest of his teammates, drinking in the cheers from the
stands, dizzy with the heady taste of victory. He threw an arm around Marlene’s shoulders,
emboldened by the screaming crowd, and leaned in – she dodged him, turning so that the kiss
landed on her cheek, but Sirius found that he was too happy to care much either way.

* * *

The common room was a crush of bodies that evening, vibrating with rock music and assaulting
the eyes with red and gold at every turn. The entire house had showed up to celebrate a
combination of Gryffindor’s victory and Sirius’s birthday, which made him feel like a celebrity as
he fielded both congratulations on his excellent quidditch skills and well wishes for another year of
life. The older students had brought along alcohol, and Sirius was offered a few surreptitious swigs
from mysterious bottles and flasks—he sputtered at the burning sting down his throat, which made
the older students laugh and slap his back with knowing smiles.

James remained by his side the entire night, laughing with him and accepting his own share of
praise for his prowess on the quidditch pitch. He kept trying to sneak glances at Lily, obviously
hoping that she would come over to speak to them, but it was not to be. She remained off to the
side, chatting with Mary and Remus, who had posted himself by the snacks and refused to move
once the party started. Sirius smiled as he watched the tall boy licking crumbs from his fingers—
then realized he was staring when Mary gave him a funny look, and turned quickly away. His face
felt hot, which he supposed was just from the crush of bodies surrounding him.

After receiving a sufficient amount of praise, Sirius got around to opening his birthday presents – a
broom repair kit from James, a ridiculous amount of chocolate from Peter (who probably expected
him to share it), and no less than three brand new albums from Andromeda; Dark Side of the
Moon, Country Life (which featured two scantily clad women on the cover; all the boys smirked as
they passed it around), and Diamond Dogs.

“Oh!” Remus breathed, stroking the strange, unsettling artwork reverently, unable to contain his
excitement, “Put this one on first? Please?”

Sirius grinned,

“Anything for you, Moony!” He settled the disk into place on the turntable.

Owww oooooooohhhh….

Sirius shivered as a Bowie howled from the record player, the sound of a wolf—his stomach
flipped as Remus’s head shot up, their eyes locking. Sirius smiled at the shock in Lupin’s features,
listening as Bowie read in an eerie, slithering voice, reciting a poem as if casting a spell:

And in the death…

As the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimy thoroughfare,

The shutters lifted in inches in Temperance Building,

High on Poacher’s Hill,

And red, mutant eyes gaze down on Hunger City…

The whole common room grew hushed, listening uncomfortably to the grim, ugly words. Nobody
seemed quite sure where to look or how to respond as dogs whined and howled in the background.
It was gritty and dark and strangely fascinating, Sirius thought, watching the entranced expression
on Remus’s face. The final lines were shouted, defiantly:

This ain’t Rock’n’Roll!

This is genocide!

* * *

“But Peter understands that it’s a whole month?” Sirius whispered, voice rising slightly in irritation
—the others were in bed, and he and James were discussing their animagi plans once again.
Apparently, Peter hadn’t read the instructions as closely as he was supposed to and had mixed
some things up with the mandrake leaves.

“Thirty days, yep,” James assured him, “If we do it over the summer…”

“You forgot the silencing spell, idiots.” Remus called out.

“Bugger!” Sirius swore, exchanging a panicked glance with James as he reached for the curtains.
How much had Remus heard?!

It was well past midnight, and they had both assumed that Lupin would be asleep. The party had
been broken up ages ago by prefects, and all four marauders had climbed the stairs and gotten
ready for bed, bidding each other goodnight. But apparently Sirius hadn’t been as sneaky as he’d
thought climbing into James’s bed—and Moony hadn’t been exhausted as he’d made them think,
even though he’d been yawning the whole way up the stairs.

Remus poked his head out from behind his curtains at the same time as Sirius, and they stared at
each other from across the room.

“Sorry, Moony,” Sirius grinned, trying to play it cool, “Did we wake you?”

“Nah,” Remus shrugged, “I was…actually, I was thinking about this prank…”

“Prank?!” James knocked into Sirius’s shoulder as he shoved his head out, “Who said prank?!”

Remus smiled self-consciously, and Sirius felt a private wash of relief. He didn’t seem to be
suspicious of anything…

James parted the curtains further, saying magnanimously,

“Please, Mr. Moony. Step into our office…”

Remus scrambled up immediately, eagerly padding over to join them on James’s bed. He grinned
as he settled down, bony knee knocking into Sirius’s shin.

“Well?” James prompted, holding his lit wand out to Remus like a microphone, “Tell us!”

“Just a second,” Remus huffed, withdrawing his own wand, “ Muffliato!”

“He’s too clever for us,” Sirius said, dryly.

“Indeed.” James nodded.

Remus ignored them, rolling his eyes and tucking his wand away before turning back.

“Remember how I was telling you about Matron’s alarm clock?” He asked, speaking softly. James
and Sirius nodded, heads bobbing eagerly, urging him to continue. “And how we used to fiddle
with it so we didn’t have to get up early anymore?” More nodding, “Well, I was thinking about
how it could be applied to Hogwarts. I did some research, and – did you know that all of the clocks
at this school are controlled by one master clock? The big one outside the Great Hall.”

“Oh, MOONY!” Sirius cried dramatically, throwing himself at Remus so that they both toppled
backwards onto the bed and flinging his arms around the other boy’s shoulders. Remus stiffened,
trying to push him away, but Sirius gripped his pyjama shirt, pretending to cry tears of joy onto his
shoulder, “You’ve READ Hogwarts: A History! One of you has finally read it! You’re now my
favourite marauder!”

“Gerroff, tosser!” Remus growled. With his ear pressed against Moony’s chest, Sirius could feel
the vibrations of his voice—he pulled back a bit in surprise, and Remus took the opportunity to
shove him off, shuffling further back on the bed as James laughed at them.

“No one would ever guess you’re the oldest, Black,” James teased, “Moony, please continue. The
big clock…?”

“Right, yeah,” Remus straightened out his night shirt, looking embarrassed by the attention, “Err…
so…um…I had this idea…I…” he blinked, clearly trying to regain his train of thought.

“The big clock controls all the others,” Sirius filled in, helpfully, “It’s a spell that makes sure every
clock and watch in the castle is perfectly synchronised. Even the ones we bring from home re-set
—even muggle clocks. It’s a bloody good bit of magic.”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded, settling down, “Yeah, exactly. So I’m thinking; if that clock goes wrong,
or gets moved by five minutes – then so do all the others. And it would affect lesson times, and
meals, and…well, pretty much the whole running of the castle. And if we started off really slowly
– say, moving it forward five minutes a night – no one would notice for ages, would they? I mean,
how could anyone notice, if all the clocks are the same?”

He finished his explanation, sitting back and turning to look at James. The dark-haired boy pushed
his glasses up his nose, frowning as he processed the plan. Sirius bounced slightly on his knees,
grinning and hardly able to contain his excitement—once Remus turned to him, he burst out,

“Our Moony’s done it again!”

 Fourth Year: November (Part Two)
Chapter Summary

time time time

Monday 4th November 1974

“I dunno,” Peter wrung his hands, fretting, “Professor McGonagall says we shouldn’t mess about
with time.”

“We won’t be,” Sirius groaned, losing patience. They had already explained the plan twice, and
still Pete couldn’t seem to grasp it. “This is a muggle prank, Peter, get it through your thick skull!”

“Don’t,” Remus chided, frowning. This only served to irritate Sirius further, and he seethed as
Remus turned back to Peter. “We’re not messing about with time, Pete,” he explained, patiently,
“We’re just messing about with clocks.”

Peter blinked up at him, then turned to James for confirmation. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Ok,” he said, slowly, “I think I get it.”

They’d agreed to begin as soon as possible, and sitting through lessons was torture when all Sirius
wanted to do was get started on the prank. It had been ages since they’d done a mission with all
four of them, and he was reprimanded more than once throughout the day for failing to keep quiet
—both by professors and by Remus.

“It won’t work if anyone else knows about it!” Lupin hissed at lunch when Mary leaned over to
ask what they were whispering about. “So shut up! I know you lot can keep a secret if you really
try.”

Sirius frowned, but did as he was told, not wanting to disappoint Moony. Once night finally fell,
they crowded around James’s invisibility cloak, eager to sneak out of bounds all together once
more.

There was, however, one minor issue: it was considerably more difficult to fit all four of them
under the cloak than it had been three years ago.

“Peter, you stay here.” Sirius ordered, after a third attempt that resulted in Remus elbowing James
in the chest.

“Why me?” Peter whined, “Why am I always the one left out?!”

“We’re not leaving you out, idiot, this is purely a logistical concern.” Sirius huffed, rolling his
eyes.

“James!”
“I’ll stay,” Remus offered, “I’m the tallest, it’s my fault.”

“But it was your idea!” Sirius pointed out, shooting Peter a dirty look, “You can’t miss out!”

Remus shrugged,

“There’ll be lots of times. We’re doing this more than once.”

“Even with three it’s a squeeze,” James said thoughtfully. “Black, Pettigrew, sit this one out.”

“Why me?!” Sirius and Peter both cried at the same time.

“Because,” James said, with a sly smile, “It’s Moony’s idea and my cloak.”

After another round of protests, and assurances from James and Remus that they would take turns
every night, just to be fair, the two rejected marauders finally conceded. They watched their friends
huddle together and disappear under the cloak, only knowing they’d left when the door to the room
open and shut seemingly on its own.

Sirius turned to look at Peter—who was pouting—and scoffed, moving to sit down on his bed.

“What?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, remaining silent.

“What??”

“Oh, quit whinging, will you? I didn’t even say anything!”

Peter huffed, growing very red in the face. “You don’t have to be so rude!” He muttered
resentfully, sitting down on his own bed.

“Maybe I’d be less ‘rude’ if you stopped whinging about everything!”

“I wasn’t whinging!”

“Yes, you were!”

“I had just as much right to go with as you!”

“You don’t even understand what we’re doing!”

“Yes, I do!”

“Oh really? Explain it to me, then, go on.” Sirius waited, arms folded, one eyebrow expectantly
raised. Peter flushed. When he remained silent, Sirius shook his head.

“Right, that’s what I thought.”

Peter glared at him, lip trembling as if he was going to cry, or shout, or some combination of the
two. But instead he just said, quietly,

“You can be really mean, Black, you know that? And it’s never to James, or Remus—it’s only to
me.”

“Oh, shove off, Peter. It’s not my fault that you’re such a girl.”
For a moment, Pete looked like he might respond—but then he just yanked the curtains shut
around him, and a moment later there was the strange, flat noiselessness that indicated a silencing
spell.

Sirius flopped back onto his mattress, trying to ignore the guilt twisting in the back of his throat.
Peter was being too sensitive; it was just a plain fact that he didn’t understand the prank the way
the rest of them did. If he couldn’t handle lagging behind the other marauders, then he should learn
to keep up—but it wasn’t like it was Sirius’s responsibility to coddle him!

Besides, he had good reason to be annoyed with Peter. Somehow, all the girls in their year—and
quite a few in other years, to boot—had found out about the Great Snogging Race, which ruined
the challenge of the entire thing. There was no one who would have had any motivation to blab
about it except Peter, since he was the most likely to lose—and even though Sirius was certain he’d
done it, he still hadn’t confessed, which meant he thought they were too stupid to figure it out. So
really, Peter was the one who had started it, and it wasn’t Sirius’s fault at all.

By the time James and Remus returned, Sirius had taken to pacing the floor, impatient and irritable.
The curtains around Peter’s bed were still drawn; he’d been silent the entire time, which Sirius
thought was stupid. If you were upset with someone, you should have a proper fight—not go off
and sulk about it. But that was the problem with Peter; he never confronted his issues head-on, so
how could Sirius ever be expected to work things out with him?

“Well?” He barked eagerly, as James and Remus threw off the cloak.

“Done,” James declared, yawning as he headed for his bed. He patted Sirius’s shoulder as he
walked by, smiling dryly, “Enjoy your five minute lie in.”

* * *

And so the prank continued. Every night that week, two marauders would get cosy under the
invisibility cloak, tiptoeing downstairs under cover of night to perform the spell that moved the
minute hand back by five degrees, until, on Saturday morning, every clock at Hogwarts was
running twenty-five minutes late. So far, no one suspected a thing—everything was going
according to plan.

There was, however, one issue with the plan.

“The thing is,” Sirius said, yawning over his breakfast, “We’re not actually getting an extra half-
hour’s sleep, are we? We’re not going to bed any earlier.”

“No, well that wasn’t actually the intention…” Remus murmured, distracted by his attempts to
build a sandwich that appeared to be 20% toast and 80% jam.

“Still, I think we ought to be getting something out of it.”

“The satisfaction of a job well done?” Remus suggested, dryly, before chomping down on his
monstrosity. Gobs of jelly oozed between the crusts, smearing across his fingers and making Sirius
cringe.

While basking in their own genius was all well and good, Sirius would have preferred to bask
when he wasn’t half asleep. That night, when he and James snuck down to do the clock, he
convinced the other boy that they should nudge it forward just a tiny bit more…

Sirius was very rudely awoken the next morning by a pair of firm hands shaking his shoulders
rapidly from side to side.

“Mmmm?” He half-whined, half-groaned, flustered out of sleep.

“What did you do last night?” Remus demanded, a note of panic in his voice, “You and James did
the clock, didn’t you?”

“Fancied a bit more of a lie in, that’s all…”

“How much did you move it by?”

“I dunno, hour or two?”

“What?!”

“What??” Sirius stared up at Remus, trying to understand what the problem was. “Isn’t that the
whole point of the prank?”

“Well…” Remus paused, seeming unsure of how to argue. He frowned, then huffed, “That’s still
too much. I’m going to go and see if I can turn it forward a little bit tonight.”

Sirius shrugged, shaking him off and returning to the bliss of uninterrupted sleep.

Remus’s panic had been for nothing—there were a few stray comments about how strange it was
to wake up in broad daylight during winter at seven o’clock in the morning, but no one seemed to
really suspect anything. It was a Sunday, anyway, and everyone was too busy lazing about the
castle to give it much thought. That evening, Sirius bid adieu to Remus and Peter as they crept
away under the invisibility cloak.

“He’s just going to try and correct it, you know.” James said, from where he was polishing his
broom on his bed.

“I know,” Sirius grinned, flopping down next to him, “Just means we can turn it further on our
next turn.”

James chuckled, shaking his head. “Remus’ll have a fit…”

“But he’ll be so well-rested while doing it!”

By the time the other marauders returned, Sirius had successfully won James over as an
accomplice to his scheme. After all, what fun was a prank if they didn’t get to see any results?
Remus might have the patience for a months-long master plan, but Sirius’s style was much less
subtle—carpe diem, and all that.

To his delight, they finally began to see the fruits of their labour the following week. In Potions,
the marauders arrived to find Slughorn scratching his head, puzzling over the students’ most recent
projects—all of which had been completely ruined.

“Oh dear,” the old professor fretted, utterly confounded by the useless girding potions everyone
had produced, “Did everybody leave them to brew for the correct amount of time? It must be
precisely twenty-four hours…”

Of course, everyone insisted that they had. Or at least—they thought they had. Only the marauders
knew the truth, and Sirius had to fight the delighted smile that wanted to creep across his face as he
tried to look innocently puzzled.

The incident was wildly amusing, and only bolstered Sirius’s certainty that their prank would be
more fun if they broke from Remus’s five-minute increment regimen. Remus disagreed, but Sirius
would not be thwarted; he always made sure that he went down to the clock with either James or
Peter, and when it was Lupin’s turn to go he took a step back.

“I know what you’re doing,” Remus scowled, when they woke up one ‘morning’ with the sun
already at its highest point in the sky.

“And I know what you’re doing,” Sirius shot back, grinning, “Goody two-shoes.”

Their prank had turned into a deliciously confusing game of tug-of-war, with Remus going down
every other night and trying desperately to fix the damage Sirius had caused. This only gave Sirius
more license to run amok, and by the third week of November the clocks were swinging back and
forth so wildly that neither of them could keep track. Sirius refused to tell Remus how far he
moved the clocks forward by, so that Remus had to guess at his corrections—which only made the
game more fun.

Until, that is, Remus over-corrected, leaving them all with only four hours of sleep.

“What the hell is going on?!” Mary demanded on one such morning at breakfast, looking very
frazzled by the array of food before them.

Breakfast had become an unexpected casualty of their prank – it seemed that the house elves in the
kitchens were suffering greatly from the confusion about the time of day, leading to disagreement
about what meals should be served. As such, the students could now find scrambled eggs alongside
mashed potatoes and gravy; legs of lamb sitting next to cornflakes, and a handful of times they had
arrived for dinner and found nothing at all prepared. Sirius usually found it hilarious—besides,
who could complain about a bit more variety to choose from at meals?

This morning, though, he was too tired to be amused—all his energy was focused on levelling
Remus with a death glare. The tug-of-war was all well and good, but not when Moony took things
too far in the opposite direction.

It was James who responded to Mary’s question, asking nonchalantly, “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t anyone else sleeping really badly?” Mary asked, sounding a bit desperate for any sort of
confirmation. She looked just as rumpled as the other students; her round eyes were bloodshot, and
her braids were unravelling into thick corkscrews. “And what’s up with the weather?”

“Yeah, it was really dark yesterday,” Marlene said around a yawn, “But today it started getting
light at six or something.”

“Hogwarts is a very mysterious and magical place,” James said. “Who are we to question its inner
workings?”

Sirius might have laughed, at that—but he was too busy trying not to fall asleep in his bowl of
cereal. He resolved to move the clock back by at least two hours that night—just to show Remus
that he was fighting a futile battle. When he opened his eyes, Lupin was giving him an irritated
look, as if he knew what Sirius was thinking. He tried to glare back, but found he was smiling,
instead.
 * * *

Wednesday 27th November 1974

By the fourth week, not even Sirius knew what time it was meant to be anymore – nor did any of
the other marauders. Remus had finally admitted defeat, though it had taken Sirius a few days to
realize it—he’d moved the clock back quite a bit before realizing that Remus was no longer trying
to correct it. Things finally came to a head when, while everyone was trying not to fall asleep in a
Transfiguration lesson, Peter suddenly looked out the window and gasped.

“What is it, Pettigrew?” McGonagall snapped, irritably. Everyone in the castle had had much
shorter tempers than usual, which, while amusing at times, had made classes a bit more of a
minefield.

“N-nothing, Professor.” Peter said quickly, looking down at his feet.

But it was too late; the entire class, McGonagall included, turned to stare out the window – where
they had the opportunity to watch a lovely sunrise at eleven o’clock in the morning.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” McGonagall fumed, “Class, I want all of you in the Great Hall at once.
I’m getting the Headmaster.”

Within the hour, the marauders were part of a sea of students chatting nervously in the Great Hall
as they waited for Dumbledore to address them. The head teacher had been conspicuously absent
at most meals that year, which McGonagall insisted was because he was away on business for the
ministry, but Sirius suspected had something to do with the war. Still, he had made time to speak to
the students now, and Sirius’s stomach was a knot of nerves as he wondered whether they’d be
found out.

“What’s going on, d’you think?” Lily leaned over to ask Remus, voice hushed as the white-haired
professor approached the lectern.

“No idea,” Remus replied, sounding a bit strangled.

“It seems,” Dumbledore spoke, drawing the attention of the room, “That we have some pranksters
in our midst.”

Immediately, everyone in the room turned to look at Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter. Sirius sat up
straighter, smirking and preening under the attention; James smiled affably, the picture of
innocence; Remus ignored the staring completely; and Peter began bouncing his leg anxiously,
sweating slightly under the pressure of all those eyes. But Dumbledore made no accusations, only
smiled pleasantly and continued, “Rest assured that the clocks are now being corrected, and
measures taken to ensure that this cannot happen again. In the meantime, I think we could all do
with a bit of rest – I am cancelling the rest of today’s classes, to be resumed at our usual – and
correct – time tomorrow morning.”

Throughout the hall, students murmured appreciatively at this news.

“Yes!” Sirius hissed, vindicated, “Results!”

“Now,” Dumbledore lifted his arms, gesturing, “Off you go, use this time wisely!”
The hall broke out into chatter as students got to their feet and began to make their way towards the
doors. The marauders were just about to follow when McGonagall appeared behind them, reaching
out to grip both Sirius and James’s shoulders.

“Wait,” she said, “Not you four.”

Sirius swallowed nervously, heart kicking as the rest of the student body bled out of the hall. It
cleared quickly, leaving the four of them alone with Dumbledore and McGonagall.

“So,” the Headmaster smiled, blue eyes twinkling, “Which one of you came up with the idea, eh?
Or was it a collective effort?”

The marauders exchanged glances, then resolutely stared down at their laps. Dumbledore
chuckled, “Admirable.” He nodded, a note of approval in his voice, “Then we shall have to treat
you all equally, hm? I think ten points each from Gryffindor, do you agree, Professor
McGonagall?”

“At the very least!” She harrumphed, sounding much less calm than the older man, “And
detentions!”

“I shall leave that in your capable hands, then. Just one thing, boys.”

They all looked up, bracing themselves for a telling off. But Dumbledore continued to smile.

“You’re all clearly very gifted wizards,” he said, sounding almost amused, and Peter made an odd,
disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, “That much is clear. It was a simple spell, yes, but
highly effective. That kind of thinking will take you far. But perhaps a little more forethought and
planning next time? You might not have been discovered quite so quickly.”

Sirius couldn’t resist protesting, at that—without thinking, he blurted out, “Three weeks isn’t bad!”

James kicked him, but the damage had already been done. Although Dumbledore laughed,
McGonagall did not look amused—she eyed them furiously, replying,

“Then it shall be three weeks detention, Black!”

Sirius hung his head, cursing his big mouth, and James muttered under his breath,

“Idiot.”
 Fourth Year: December
Chapter Summary

sirius accrues an entourage

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The girl on the phone wouldn’t leave me alone

A throw back from someone’s LP

A lemon in a bag played a Tiger Rag

And the bodies on the screen stopped bleeding

Yeah! I was shaking like a leaf

For I couldn’t understand the conversation

Yeah! I ran to the street, looking for information

Watch that man! Oh honey, watch that man!

He talks like a jerk but he could eat you with a fork and spoon

Watch that man! Oh honey, watch that man!

He walks like a jerk but he’s only taking care of the room

Must be in tune

Wednesday 4th December 1974

As promised, McGonagall gave them all three weeks detention – which meant lines and extra
homework. To ensure that they were properly penitent, she also banned them from Hogsmeade
until the new year—which Peter seemed particularly upset about, for some reason, even after
James assured him that they’d still be able to sneak over to Honeyduke's for sweets.

Sirius, however, had more important things to worry about than missing out on a few Zonko’s runs
and a handful of butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks. The problem he found himself facing as
November surrendered quietly to December was much more concerning than any detention, more
frightening than McGonagall’s anger, and more baffling than the voice-changing charm that
Flitwick had them all working on.

Girls. The problem that Sirius had to deal with, once again, was girls.
Ever since Peter had spilled the beans about the snogging bet, they’d started following him around.
He hadn’t noticed at first, paying no mind to the giggling groups of friends that seemed to
materialize wherever he was—studying in the library, playing gobstones in the common room,
walking with his mates to get breakfast in the Great Hall. He’d assumed that they just also
happened to be there, largely unobtrusive background noise. Sirius Black was not particularly
observant—not unless something was worth observing.

But then, one evening, Remus snapped. The marauders were studying in the library (well—Remus
and James were studying. Peter had fallen asleep on his Astronomy book, and Sirius was trying to
figure out how to charm the constellations off the pages and onto his face), one table over from a
group of girls that had been giggling and whispering for the past half hour. After a particularly
high-pitched round of squealing, Remus slammed his hands on the table.

“That’s it!” He declared, shoving his chair back to stand, “I’m leaving.”

“What?” Sirius looked up from where he had his wand poised above Peter’s nose. He’d just
managed to move Capricorn onto the bridge of the sleeping boy’s nose.

“Honestly, Black…can’t take you anywhere…hardly hear myself think!” Remus grumbled,
collecting his things. James shook his head, amused.

“What are you on about?” Sirius demanded, indignant at being blamed for…whatever it was that
had Remus so upset. He had been perfectly silent, on his best behaviour—he’d even whispered
when he cast his spell!

Remus shot a meaningful look towards the table of girls, glaring. Sirius blinked, then turned
around, craning his neck to see who Moony was referring to. Another fit of giggles erupted as the
girls saw him staring.

“What—you can’t blame me for that! I haven’t even done anything!”

Remus huffed, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“We can’t take you anywhere in this bloody castle without your—your entourage following along,
ever since you started that stupid bet! It’s impossible to get anything done!”

With that, he stomped off, leaving Sirius stunned and James trying to stifle his laughter. Peter
snorted on the table, jerking awake and leaving a smear of drool across the pages of his book.

“What?” He asked, blinking sleep from his eyes and looking around, disoriented, “Wha’s goin' on?
James?”

But now James was shaking, trying desperately to keep his laughter quiet so as to avoid drawing
the wrath of Madam Pince. Sirius just rolled his eyes, pulling out his Transfiguration essay with a
sigh. Peter looked down—and noticed the blank patch on his page.

“Oi—what’s happened to my book!”

After Remus’s outburst, Sirius began to notice the girls. At first, he found it quite flattering—after
all, he had always enjoyed an audience, and it certainly added to his reputation that he was now
Hogwarts’ resident heartthrob. Sirius strutted about, smiling rakishly and winking just to see the
reaction it got. His friends insisted that he was acting ridiculous, and he insisted that they were just
jealous.

But then the love notes started. Sirius would wake up to find colourful envelopes shoved
underneath the door to their room, or his breakfast interrupted by a flock of owls bearing perfumed
missives. It got annoying very quickly, especially because none of the girls were particularly
creative with their letter writing—it was all just a bunch of daft, mushy nonsense.

Being followed about the halls quickly got old, too. It was all well and good to have admirers
sometimes, but it was hardly practical when one had mischief to attend to—Sirius couldn’t very
well carry out any pranks if he had at least six pairs of eyes constantly watching his every move.

One day, after futilely trying to shake off a gaggle of devotees that had been tailing him from the
library all the way to the common room, Sirius had had enough. Luckily, Mary just happened to be
stepping through the portrait hole at the exact moment that he arrived.

“Macdonald!” He called, hurrying over to her. She paused, raising a brow.

“Black.”

She had become much easier to talk to, ever since getting a boyfriend. Now that Sirius knew
exactly where things stood between them, he didn’t have to worry about whether there was some
subtextual meaning to every sideways glance or subtle movement.

“Quick—come revise for Astronomy with me.”

“What? Why?”

Her question was quickly answered by the group of girls bursting through the portrait hole, and she
rolled her eyes at him.

“Oh, come on, Sirius.”

“Please,” he hissed, taking both her hands in his, “Oh most generous, magnanimous, ethereal,
beatific—”

“Alright, alright!” She laughed, shaking him off, “I’ll revise with you! But only if you proofread
my essay for McGonagall.”

“Done,” he agreed, grinning. They chose a desk near the fireplace, settling down. His pursuers
hung back, eying Mary with a mix of confusion and jealousy. She stared right back at them,
challenging, until they looked away.

“Honestly, Black,” she shook her head, sliding her parchment across the table, “The messes you get
yourself into.”

“I am forever in your debt,” Sirius promised, solemnly, and she laughed.

“Right. Get reading, then, go on!”

* * *

Friday 20th December 1974

As the month drew on, the weather grew drearier, the nights longer, the sunlight weaker. As if in
defiance of the gloomy environment, the entire Hogwarts castle seemed to embrace the Christmas
spirit, more eager than ever for the holidays. Fairy lights adorned every passageway, owls
swooped about with brightly coloured packages every morning, and Professor Sprout enchanted
holly and ivy to weave around every chandelier and banister. In the evening, Professor Flitwick
could be found teaching the portraits to sing carols, and even McGonagall was spotted wearing
festive green-and-red robes. Sirius, always happy to do his part, contributed to the holiday spirit by
starting a new trend: he ended the term dressed head to toe in tinsel.

To be fair, it hadn’t actually been his idea – James had been the originator, using an everlasting
sticking charm to attach the decorations to the collars and cuffs of Sirius’s robes while he slept.
But Sirius had made the look his own, strutting about the halls with his head held high, so that
everyone could see the shimmering addition to his clothing. By the last day of term, he had at least
fifteen other boys trying to copy his look, as well as the various girls who continued—still—to
follow him around.

Unfortunately, none of Sirius’s efforts to shake off his followers seemed to make much difference
as long as the bet was still on, and he couldn’t very well back out—a Gryffindor never admitted
defeat. Instead, Sirius found himself enlisting Mary as a bodyguard more and more frequently,
seeking her out whenever he needed a reprieve from the giggling teenagers. She didn’t seem to
mind, although she often used the opportunity to blackmail him into helping her with
Transfiguration—which resulted in Sirius doing quite a bit more schoolwork than he’d intended to
over the course of the month.

“You’re such a wuss,” she sighed on the last evening of term, as they all sat around the fireplace
together. James was playing with a golden snitch that he’d nicked from the games shed, very
clearly trying to impress Lily with his quick reflexes. He didn’t seem to be having much luck—the
redhead was bent over her Christmas cards, scribbling frantically and with frightening focus.

Peter, who could usually be counted on to ooh and aah appropriately at James’s quidditch-related
antics, was nowhere to be found. Instead, Marlene sat playing a chess game with Remus, who
seemed very happy to be winning for once (Peter was a monster when it came to chess). Sirius had
just called Mary over to sit closer to him, wary of the group of girls that stood watching from the
corner.

“I’m not a wuss,” he responded, dryly, loosening his tie, “I just like my privacy.”

“You could always just snog one of them,” Mary shot back, draping her legs over his lap as she
stretched out on the couch. He rested his arms on top of her shins—by now, he’d grown used to
Mary’s touchiness, and no longer minded it. In fact, Sirius found he quite liked the cosiness of it,
safe in the knowledge that the contact was entirely platonic. She smirked at him. “Wasn’t that the
whole point of the bet?”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius replied, carefully, “But they weren’t supposed to know about it, I was
supposed to win them over with my charm and roguish good looks.”

“You’re not scared, are you?” Mary teased, nudging his leg with her toes.

“I’d be mad not to be scared of girls,” he laughed, lightly, “You’re all mental.”

“Mary, what’s Darren’s surname?” Lily asked, looking up from her stack of cards.

“Harvey.” Mary said, “Gawd, you’re not sending him a card, are you? You’ve only met him
once!”
“It’s nice to get cards at Christmas,” Lily murmured absentmindedly, smiling as she returned to her
writing.

“All right, but don’t send it by owl, he’s a muggle.”

“How have you been writing to him all year?” Remus asked, looking up from where he had just
checked Marlene’s king.

“I send the letters to mum, and she pops them through his letter box. He only lives across the hall.
And there’s a phone box just outside Hogsmeade, so we’ve chatted once or twice.”

“I didn’t know there was a phone box!”

“Yeah, it’s a bit ancient – one of the Ravenclaws told me it was a portkey once during the war, but
it still works.” She stretched again, heel digging into Sirius’s thigh, “I can’t wait to see him.”

Sirius, who got consistently excellent grades in Muggle Studies, had managed to understand about
half of this conversation. Mary’s heel was still digging into his leg, so he pushed her away,
pretending to lean over and watch the chess game.

“Where are you for Christmas, Remus?” Lily asked, licking her final envelope—Sirius noted, with
amusement, the way that James’s eyes widened as he watched her tongue darting out of her mouth.
“Not staying here, I hope?”

“Lupin and Black are at mine again,” James jumped in, eager for her attention. She gave him a
withering look.

“Oh, of course.”

Sirius grinned, amused by Lily's continued dismissals of Potter. The spurned boy watched her turn
back to her letters with a rapturous expression, as if he couldn’t believe the good luck he’d had to
have her address him directly.

“I’m starving,” Sirius announced, yawning, “Where’s Pete? Can we send him to the kitchens for
us?”

“No idea where he is, actually,” James said, now watching as Lily neatly stacked her cards,
“Haven’t seen him since dinner.”

“Is he packing?” Lily suggested.

“I’ll go and check,” Remus said, having just won his game of chess. He stretched as he stood,
shoulders rolling languidly beneath his jumper. “I’m hungry too, I think there are some cauldron
cakes in my trunk…”

“You don’t say…” Sirius bounced to his feet, following him. Remus gave a long suffering sigh, but
didn’t protest—as possessive as he was over food, Sirius was always able to convince him to share.

Peter was nowhere to be found in the dorm room—but the cauldron cakes were.

“Wonder what’s happened to him,” Remus mused, rubbing the back of his head.

“Check the map,” Sirius suggested around a mouthful of cake, spraying crumbs as he spoke.
Remus raised an eyebrow, but refrained from chastisement, instead retrieving the map from his
bedside table.
Sirius watched as he cast the locator spell. A small flag quickly appeared, highlighted, with the
name ‘Peter Pettigrew.’ Their friend appeared to be in the broom cupboard just outside the Charms
classroom.

“Wossee doon therr?” Sirius mumbled, cramming another cake into his mouth. Remus tutted
disapprovingly, folding up the map.

“I dunno. You don’t reckon the Slytherins got him?”

“Maybe?” Sirius swallowed, “If they put a binding spell on him he might be stuck there all night.
Let’s go and get him, then.”

“Shall I get James?”

Sirius hesitated, glancing at the door. “Err…” He thought about the group of girls, hovering in the
corner of the common room. “Nah, let’s take the cloak and sneak down – it won’t take long, and
only two of us fit anyway.”

Sirius doubted that James would care—he seemed perfectly content to stay put in front of the fire
as long as Evans was there, and likely wouldn’t even notice their absence. Remus shrugged, not
seeming to mind much either way, and went to grab the cloak. They huddled together, shuffling
quickly downstairs and sneaking past James and the girls, out through the portrait hole.

“Bloody typical of Peter,” Sirius muttered, “Four years as a marauder and still crap at defensive
spells.”

“Maybe they attacked from behind,” Remus responded, voice low, “Or maybe there were a lot of
them.”

He was standing slightly behind Sirius, so that the words were murmured directly into his ear.
They were so close that he could feel Moony's breath, hot under the cloak, against his skin—it was
irritating. It made him want to shiver.

They continued on through the shadowy stone hallways until they reached the Charms corridor,
drawing to a stop in front of an unassuming wooden door.

“Here, is it that one?” Sirius whispered.

“Yeah,” Remus replied, “He’s in there.”

“Ok, wand ready?...One, two, THREE!”

Sirius yanked the door open, revealing a very shocked Peter – who was most certainly not in any
danger – and Desdemona Lewis, who shrieked,

“Who’s there?!”

She stared out at the corridor, eyes wide and hair mussed, lips still shiny with spit. Pete peered out
as well, just as rumpled but considerably more suspicious.

“Probably just Peeves.”

Sirius began to shudder, choking on his laughter, and Remus clamped a hand over his mouth,
pressing warm fingers into his skin. The taller boy wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trying to
tug him away from the cupboard.
“I’m going back to my common room, I’ll get in so much trouble if I’m caught out of bounds
again,” Desdemona said, straightening out her blouse. She kissed Peter primly on the nose, “See
you tomorrow, Petey? On the train?”

“Yeah…ok…” Peter replied, distracted as he scanned the corridor, eyes narrowed warily. Sirius
struggled against Remus’s arm, but the boy was surprisingly strong—he could feel muscles
bunching beneath the jumper, grip tightening and fingers pressing into his jaw. His palm smelled
like ink.

It wasn’t until Desdemona had disappeared around the corner that Remus released his grip,
allowing Sirius to stumble forward a step. By now, Peter already knew they were there.

“All right, show yourselves!” He demanded, pulling out his wand just as they burst from under the
invisibility cloak.

“I KNEW IT!” Peter yelled,

“YOU SNEAK!” Sirius crowed, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, “How long has that been
going on?!”

“A week,” Peter said sullenly, flushed, “How did you find me?”

“A WEEK?! Merlin, Pettigrew! What do you think you’re about, lying to us for a whole week?!”

“You would have teased me!”

“We tease you anyway.”

“Can we please go to the kitchens now?” Remus sighed.

“Wait ‘til James hears about this!” Sirius chuckled, shaking his head, “I can’t believe it. I really
can’t. Peter Pettigrew: Ladies Man.”

“Oh, shut up.” Peter grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m going to the common
room, I’m not hungry.”

“Well, the way you were eating Lewis’s face off…”

“Shut up!” Peter snapped, stomping off around the corner.

Sirius couldn’t stop laughing all the way to the kitchens, and was still giggling hysterically on the
way back, arms full of treats and goodies from the house elves.

“At least this means that stupid snogging race is over.” Remus said, sounding quite pleased as they
approached the portrait of the fat lady. Sirius froze, horrified as the implications of that statement
sunk in—unfortunately, Remus was directly behind him, and he nearly dropped his bottle of
butterbeer as they collided.

“Ugh, I didn’t think of that!”

“Well, you don’t have to think about it now,” Remus said irritably, frowning as he rubbed his
elbow where he’d banged it, “Pete won.”

“You’re right Moony. Uggggh! That means that if I don’t get a snog by the end of this year then
I’m more of a loser than Pettigrew!”
 Remus sighed, shaking his head as he stepped around Sirius to return to the common room.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is Watch That Man from Bowie's Aladdin Sane album :)
 Fourth Year: Christmas
Chapter Summary

i saw sirius sittin in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Monday 23rd December 1974

Though they left behind picturesque mountains of glittering snow at Hogwarts, the marauders
were greeted in London by a grey, southern drizzle. The weather remained dreary and damp for
most of Christmas break, which meant sledging wasn’t an option, nor were snowball battles.

This made for a boring first few days before Christmas, which they tried to make up for with trips
into the village under Mr. Potter’s huge black umbrella. The three boys spent their afternoons in
the muggle cinema there, a novelty to both Sirius and James.

It was Remus, of course, who convinced them to go, babbling on about a film called Death Wish
which apparently his muggle friends (it was still disconcerting to Sirius to hear him talk about
friends outside of Hogwarts) had told him about over the summer. Admittedly, it was quite good;
though Sirius had his doubts, he found himself enraptured by the moving pictures that he’d read
about in Muggle Studies, which were quite violent and highly entertaining. It was especially
interesting to try and figure out how, exactly, the pictures were moving without magic—their
textbook had been a bit iffy about that part. The boys ended up going to see the film twice, so that
James and Sirius could try to figure out how the projector worked.

The third time around, though, neither was very eager to see the same film again—although Remus
seemed just as excited about it as he had been for the previous two viewings. Still, there was
nothing much else to do, so James and Sirius agreed to go back. They were discussing the
mysterious workings of the projector as they stepped up to the queue—only to find themselves
directly behind a group of muggle girls.

Peter’s surprise win when it came to the snogging bet hadn’t been forgotten, and Sirius was
determined to kiss someone before the end of the year—if only to salvage his reputation. The only
problem was that now there were technically no stakes behind it, as he’d already paid out his
galleons to Pete, which meant that if he snogged a girl at Hogwarts people might think he was
doing it because he fancied her, and that would ruin his image as the aloof heartbreaker of
Gryffindor tower.

These muggle girls, though…well, they weren’t bad looking, dressed all in miniskirts even though
it was December. They kept glancing back and giggling, batting their eyelashes the way girls did
when they were trying to flirt with you. Sirius leaned against the wall, trying to look effortless and
cool, staring at the freckled girl with honey-blonde curls. She had very long legs, and a very nice
smile.
The girls finished buying their tickets, and went in to the second screen. Remus stepped up to the
booth, counting out the muggle money that Mr. Potter had given them.

“Moony,” Sirius said quickly, knowing well enough to take an opportunity when it presented itself,
“How about we see something different today?”

“Yeah,” James agreed, trying to flatten his hair.

Remus glance sceptically up at the poster above the door—The Great Gatsby. He wrinkled his
nose,

“Ugh, it’s a romance, though, what do you want to see that for?” The other two ignored his
protests, ushering him into the second screen.

Remus settled into the front row with a resigned sigh, and James and Sirius sat down next to him.
When Sirius turned to glance behind them, the theatre was mostly empty. The freckled girl caught
his eye, wiggling her fingers in a shy wave as her friends giggled beside her.

As the lights went down, Sirius felt his heart speed up—this was it. His chance to officially snog a
girl, no strings attached. If it went horribly, he could take comfort in the knowledge that he would
never see her again, and no one at school would have to find out that he had no idea what he was
doing when it came to kissing.

He waited for a few minutes, trying to work up the courage to sneak back. What if he’d misread
the looks the girls had been giving him, and he went back only for them to laugh at him and turn
him away? Sirius would never be able to live it down!

But no—no, he definitely knew how to recognize flirting by now, and what had taken place in this
small, slightly sticky muggle picturehouse was most definitely flirting. Next to him, James was
bouncing his leg nervously, and Sirius knew that his friend was thinking along the same lines. At
least if they went back together, James wouldn’t be able to make fun of him if they both got
rejected…

But Remus would. Bollocks.

Sirius elbowed James, shooting him a meaningful look in the dim light of the movie screen. James
gave him a look right back, as if to say, You first. Sirius rolled his eyes and stood, carefully, trying
not to draw attention. He crept cautiously out of the front row, with James following closely
behind. Remus appeared to be completely unaware of the movement, staring entranced at the
characters on the screen.

As it turned out, Sirius had not misread the situation, and in a handful of minutes he found himself
pulled to the back of the theatre by the long-legged blonde, who pushed him down into one of the
folding seats. A few places down, James was going through a similar series of motions with one of
the girl’s friends.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here, before,” the girl leaned in to whisper, so that her hair tickled his
face. Sirius resisted the urge to pull back.

“Not from around here,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant and mysterious—but it came out a bit
strangled. She was straddling his lap, her skirt hiked up around her thighs. They were very pale.

“My name’s Holly,” she murmured, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, “What’s yours?”

“Err—Sirius.”
She laughed.

“Serious?”

“Like the star,” he clarified, feeling very stupid. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, but she continued
to smile, not seeming to care much either way.

Snogging, Sirius soon discovered, was not nearly all it was cracked up to be. He truly had no idea
what everyone had been on about—it was mostly just bumping their faces together, trying to figure
out how to keep their noses from poking into each other’s eyes. When Holly stuck her tongue into
his mouth it tasted like wet popcorn, which was not entirely pleasant.

He supposed that it got a bit better as things went on—as they figured out how best to position their
faces, and she put his hand on her thigh, and stuck her fingers in his hair. He had no idea what to do
with his own fingers, and settled for squeezing, gently—she was very soft. At one point, Holly
pulled back and began to kiss his jaw, but it was a bit awkward in the dark, as she didn’t seem to
quite know where his face was, and ended up sloppily kissing just under his eye.

There was still a third of the movie left when Sirius finally extricated himself, weathering one last
peck from Holly before she hopped off his lap and pranced back over to her friends, who
immediately began squealing and whispering. Sirius grabbed James and the two made their way
back to the front row—only to find that Remus had disappeared. They turned to scan the back of
the theatre, but Holly and her friends were all in one place, and there didn’t appear to be a gangly
boy amongst them.

They found him sitting at a bus stop, down the road from the theatre. Remus was staring at his
shoes with a stormy expression, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Oi, Moony!”

James called out from under the umbrella; they were across the street, and had to wait for a few
cars to trundle past before they crossed. Remus acted as if he hadn’t heard them.

“Where are you off to?” Sirius teased, as they joined him under the bus shelter.

“Just sitting here,” Remus muttered, sullen.

“Why’d you leave?”

“Could ask you the same!”

“We only popped off for a minute…”

“Ugh, I don’t want to hear about it.” Remus covered his ears, childishly. He glared at James,
“What about Lily? What about ‘it’s not time yet, but I don’t mind’?”

James blanched at the words, and Sirius laughed at his friend’s stricken expression. He slapped
Remus on the shoulder good-naturedly, saying,

“Oh, come off it. Evans isn’t going to care if Potter snogged some muggle girl when he was
fourteen. Calm down, Moony.” Sirius had no idea why Remus was so worked up, but he was sure
it wasn’t as serious as all that.

But Remus’s expression only darkened. “No!” He growled, “You made me watch that stupid girls’
film just so you could grope a couple of muggle birds in the back row!”
Sirius rolled his eyes, growing impatient,

“Merlin, Lupin – we can go and see your beloved Charles Bronson tomorrow, if you really want. I
mean, excuse us if we want to act like normal teenagers for five minutes.”

He hadn’t really meant anything by it, but Remus’s face went red with anger. Before Sirius could
blink, Lupin was swinging his fists with such ferocious speed that he didn’t even have time to raise
his arms in defence. The first punch got him square in the face, and Sirius reeled back. When he’d
regained his balance, he swung in retaliation, and there was a quick series of sloppy, back-and-
forth blows before James was wrenching them apart. Sirius could feel blood trickling from his
nose, and felt a vicious twist of satisfaction when he saw that Remus hadn’t gotten away unscathed,
either—a black eye was forming on his flushed face.

“What’s wrong with you two?!” James huffed, dragging them both through the rain back to his
parents’ house.

“He’s a tosser!” Remus seethed, covering his bruised eye to protect it from the rain.

“He’s a wanker!” Sirius shot back, pressing his damp jumper against his nose.

“You’re both dickheads,” James said, firmly, unlocking the front gate.

* * *

It took no time at all for Mrs. Potter to fix them up – she was very adept with healing spells –
although she spent a bit more time telling them off, which was mitigated only slightly by Mr.
Potter, who stood behind her looking very amused and saying, “Boys will be boys, Effie dear…”

Remus sulked for the rest of the evening, shutting himself in the room where he was staying and
ignoring the other boys in favour of homework. At dinner, he wouldn’t even speak to them,
opening his mouth only for polite exchanges with Mr. and Mrs. Potter in between bites of food.
When they were excused, he disappeared back into his room, shutting the door with a bit more
force than necessary.

“Bloody hell!” Sirius fumed, as he and James dressed for bed, “He’s becoming worse than Peter, I
swear! If he’s just going to pout for the rest of break he may as well go back to Hogwarts!”

James shook his head, smiling dryly.

“You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mate, all you’ve done is rant about Remus since we got back.”

“Because he’s acting ridiculous!”

James sighed, shaking his head once more.

“What??”

Sirius frowned as James turned to look at him, raising a brow.

“Come on, Black. You’ve got to admit that what you said was a bit…well, it was harsh.”

Sirius huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

James gave him a look. “Saying he’s not ‘normal?’ What d’you think he’s been hearing his whole
life, mate? Merlin’s sake, he’s a bloody—you know, he’s got that furry little problem?”

Sirius swallowed, processing James’s words. The other boy released another long-suffering sigh,
saying,

“I swear, Black, sometimes it’s like you go for the throat without even realizing it.”

Sirius frowned, considering this, and when he didn’t respond James seemed to decide that it was
best to move on. They sat on his bed, discussing their respective experiences in the back row of the
cinema (apparently James’s partner had been chewing some sort of minty gum, which made his
experience much more agreeable). Once they’d finished, James pulled out a few spellbooks that
he’d found tucked away in his dad’s office, which contained paragraphs on animagi magic. They
were pouring over the texts when shuffling noises came from outside the door. James went to
investigate, poking his head out into the hallway.

After a few moments, he returned, leaving the door open behind him so that Remus could step
through. Sirius frowned apprehensively as the two boys approached the bed, remembering James’s
admonition from earlier—an uneasy mixture of guilt and lingering frustration churned in his gut.
James sighed when he caught sight of the wary expression.

“Come on, we’re all friends, right? It’s Christmas.”

Sirius couldn’t very well argue with that; he nodded, and Remus nodded back. The tall boy climbed
onto the bed, glancing down at the spellbooks curiously.

“Homework?” He asked.

“Prank,” James replied quickly, “Haven’t worked out the kinks yet, though.”

“Oh, ok.” Remus nodded. After a moment, he said cautiously, “How’s your nose, Black?”

“Fine,” Sirius grinned, relieved that Moony was acting more like his usual self, “You’re losing
your touch.”

Remus smirked,

“Oh yeah? Ask Snape. Headbutted him on the train in September.”

“You never did!”

“Yup.”

“Bloody hell,” James laughed, “And he hasn’t tried it on since?”

“Not yet,” Remus shrugged, nonchalant, “Probably planning something, though. What’s the
prank?”

“We’ll um…tell you when we know how to do it. Might not come off right.” James said, hurriedly,
closing the nearest book before Remus could get a good look. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t
push it any further, instead saying,
“Sorry I brought up Lily. I didn’t mean it, Sirius is right, she won’t care – if she’s ever stupid
enough to go out with you, that is.”

James gave him a playful shove,

“Piss off.”

“At least that stupid competition is over now, yeah?” Remus asked, hopefully, shooting a glance
towards Sirius.

“Yeah, I s’pose,” he shrugged in response, “We paid Pete his dues, anyway. What a letdown,
though – snogging, I mean. Dunno what all the fuss is about.”

“It was alright,” James said, thoughtfully, “Probably takes practice. Must get better.”

“It had better,” Sirius said, grimly—which caused James and Remus to burst out laughing.

Sirius had a very odd dream, that night. He was back in the cinema, only the screen this time was
the portrait of the fat lady, and when he climbed through he was in the Gryffindor common room,
which was still the cinema, full of rows of folding seats. Holly was there, and she led him to the
back row, pushing him down with enough force that his head smacked against the wall behind the
seat. Then she was on him, fingers in his hair, except they were longer, thinner, and they smelled
like ink, and his tongue tasted of iron and earth, and it was a full moon, and Sirius’s nose was
bleeding. Someone was screaming in the woods.

He jerked awake, sweating, heart pounding. Next to him, James was snoring, and a few feet over
Remus was stretched out—they’d all fallen asleep on James’s bed, talking until they were too tired
to keep their eyes open.

Sirius could still taste blood on his tongue. Fragments of the dream blurred together in his mind,
hazy and indistinct. He turned over and fell back asleep, and by the morning he had forgotten the
strange dream completely.

* * *

Christmas Day 1974

The weather on Christmas morning was just as gloomy as it had been all break; rain pattered
against the windows, a steady beat of background noise. But inside the Potters’ house, it was
cheerful and warm, as festively decorated as ever. The five of them gathered for a hearty breakfast,
with everyone in high spirits.

After breakfast came presents, with the usual hullabaloo of tearing wrapping paper and abandoned
boxes as they exclaimed over the gifts they’d received. Remus received a hand-knitted scarf from
Lily Evans, which James eyed enviously and Sirius teased him mercilessly for. Mrs. Potter
innocently asked if Lily was Remus’s girlfriend, which made both Remus and James flush bright
red and sent Sirius into a fit of hysterical laughter.

They were just finishing up with the presents, Mrs. Potter casting a quick vanishing charm to clean
up the mess of colourful paper, when a mournful song rang out loudly from the hallway. It was
eerie, high-pitched and haunting – alien and ethereal and so beautiful that it made Sirius
uncomfortable. They all turned at once, Mr. and Mrs. Potter preparing their wands in a duelling
stance, when an unfamiliar silver bird soared into the room, circling their heads. Sirius squinted at
it, and realized after a moment that it must be a patronus—he’d only seen one cast a handful of
times before.

“Dumbledore,” Mr. Potter breathed, as the patronus—which Sirius thought, after getting a closer
look, must be a phoenix—settled onto the mantlepiece. Sure enough, it opened its beak and began
to speak in their headmaster’s voice.

“There has been an attack. I will be with you shortly – do not allow anyone else entry.”

Message delivered, the patronus dissipated, vanishing like a shimmering mirage. There was a
moment of silence before Mrs. Potter spoke, reaching out for James’s shoulder as if to steady
herself.

“Oh, Monty, an attack!”

“No need to panic,” Mr. Potter said calmly, “Albus will be here soon. Boys, finish cleaning up
here, eh? I’ll be in my study.”

Sirius tidied up half-heartedly, feeling sick to his stomach. An attack. He thought of the meetings
his family had attended that summer, the whispers about a Dark Lord and a new age for wizard
purity. He thought about Reg, tight-lipped and wide-eyed, eyes sharpening like a blade. He felt
very aware of his friends darting nervous glances at him—were they thinking what he was
thinking? Were they wondering if his family had anything to do with it? If he—were they looking
at him and seeing his mother? His father? His brother? He stared out the window, watching the
rain turn the sky blurry and grey.

It felt like ages before they finally heard the tell-tale CRACK of apparition outside, and Mr. Potter
hurried down to the front door. Mrs. Potter went with him, and the marauders hung back in the
hallway, watching.

The door swung open to reveal Dumbledore, face drawn and clothes dry despite the deluge outside.

“Fleamont, Euphemia,” he greeted, nodding politely.

Mr. Potter raised his wand,

“What was the last thing we spoke about?”

“Your son having broken his record for number of detentions this term.” Dumbledore smiled,
glancing back at James, who blushed. Mr. Potter nodded, stepping aside and ushering the older
wizard in.

“Come in, Dumbledore, would you like some tea?” Mrs. Potter asked, taking his travelling cloak
and guiding him into the living room.

“Upstairs, boys.” Mr. Potter ordered. James looked as if he was about to protest, but Dumbledore
spoke up.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Fleamont, I think it best that the boys hear this. It will be all over the
papers tomorrow anyway.”
Mr. Potter exchanged a glance with his wife, then nodded, slowly. They all adjourned to the living
room, where they sat and waited for Gully to bring tea. It was a strangely discordant scene;
ornaments twinkled brightly on the tree, the fire leapt cheerfully in the grate, and brightly coloured
Christmas cards decorated the walls over the spread of opened presents – Dumbledore sat, looking
very grim and out of place, in his midnight blue robes. Sirius, James, and Remus squished together
on the sofa, while Mr. Potter remained standing, pacing the room with the same nervous energy
that his son often exhibited before quidditch matches.

“An attack, then?” He asked, finally, impatient.

“I’m afraid so. The Fraser family, in Newcastle.”

“Fraser? Never heard of them.”

“No. Mr. and Mrs. Fraser were both muggleborn. They had two children not yet old enough for
Hogwarts, but as far as we know, showing signs of magical ability.”

Sirius’s throat went dry. Were. Then that meant…

Mr. Potter had gone pale. “All four of them?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Potter pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified.

“Children!” She gasped. “Children!”

“And do we know for sure?” Mr. Potter said, anxiously, “We know it was…him?”

“Voldemort, yes. He left a mark.”

“A mark?”

“It will be in the papers tomorrow, I imagine. The Daily Prophet was there before I was alerted.”

“But what does it mean? Who were the Frasers?”

“Mr. Fraser worked for St. Mungo’s,” Dumbledore answered, wearily, “He recently raised a
petition with the ministry suggesting that healers receive training in muggle healing techniques –
first aid, I believe he called it. This didn’t go down very well with certain factions, I’m sure you
can imagine.”

Sirius swallowed. He remembered his father saying something about that, over the summer—
complaining about ‘muddying ancient healing techniques with muggle filth.’ He had been lobbying
against it, at the ministry…

“I think I remember Darius saying something,” Mr. Potter said faintly, leaning a hand on the
mantelpiece as he thought, “But to kill!”

“It hasn’t been the first time,” Dumbledore said, darkly, “But it is the first time they have made
themselves known. This mark that was left behind – it has been seen elsewhere. Some of the old
families have adopted it; a kind of secret sign of their allegiance to Voldemort. Only not so secret,
anymore.”

“Which families?” Sirius asked, staring intently at Dumbledore. He needed to know, one way or
the other—his head was spinning, circling the thoughts of all those meetings like water spiralling
around a drain. Dumbledore gave him a pitying look that made his skin crawl.

“There is so far nothing to link the Blacks to this attack.”

“So far.” Sirius repeated, numb, “But you know they…they’re…” He couldn’t bring himself to say
it.

“It doesn’t help anybody to jump to conclusions,” Dumbledore held up a hand, “The situation is
grave, yes, but we must not lose our heads, or allow emotion to cloud our judgement. There are
difficult times ahead, and we will all need each other to be vigilant.”

Sirius’s chest felt tight. The meetings—Reg had gone to those meetings. Was he…? But he
couldn’t—he’d never—he didn’t even believe that—

“I’m not trying to frighten anyone,” Dumbledore continued, pulling Sirius away from the dark turn
his thoughts had taken, “But nor do I wish to devalue the seriousness of today’s events. I am
working quickly to gather support, a line of defence against Voldemort. I have already spoken to a
number of trustworthy associates within the ministry – Fleamont, can I count on you?”

“Of course,” Mr. Potter responded immediately, “Have you spoken to the Weasleys? The
Prewetts? The Bones’s?”

Dumbledore nodded, smiling,

“All on my list, of course.”

“We can help!” James spoke up, confidently. Mrs. Potter sucked in a breath, pressing a hand to her
heart.

“Yeah!” Sirius agreed, eagerly. “You can depend on us, sir.” I’m not like my family, I promise.

Remus remained silent, but nodded next to them, eyes wide.

“I hope it won’t come to that,” Dumbledore said with a kind smile, eyes twinkling proudly as he
studied them. “But thank you, boys.”

“No!” Mrs. Potter exclaimed, “They’re children, Dumbledore.”

“I’m of age in two years!” Sirius protested, sitting up a bit taller, “And we’re the best in the year at
defensive spells!”

“And hexes!” James added—though he was quickly silenced by a look from his mother.

Dumbledore chuckled, softly.

“Indeed,” he said, “Your mother is quite right, however. All I ask is that you are on your guard, and
that you look after each other. Now, I must be going, I have other calls to make. Fleamont,”
Dumbledore stood, shaking Mr. Potter’s hand, “I will be in touch. Euphemia,” he offered Mrs.
Potter an apologetic smile, “Merry Christmas. I’m afraid I won’t be attending your party, tonight.”

“We may as well cancel it,” Mrs. Potter murmured, shivering, “It seems disrespectful.”

“Enjoy your holiday, boys – Remus, Madam Pomfrey will meet you at the Three Broomsticks’ floo
stop on Sunday morning.”

Remus nodded, mutely, and with that, Dumbledore vanished with a loud CRACK.
Chapter End Notes

bit of a longer chapter this evening! happy holidays and all that :)
 Fourth Year: January
Chapter Summary

sirius has feelings

Wednesday 8th January 1975

As Dumbledore had predicted, the Fraser family’s murder was plastered across the front page of
the news on boxing day, accompanied by a slew of features and articles discussing the mounting
war. The subject was impossible to avoid for the remainder of Christmas break.

It was the first time any of them had seen the dark mark, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
None of the boys had any way of knowing how they would come to fear that great black skull,
with its gaping mouth and sinister, writhing serpent. At the time, it only reminded Sirius of so
many family heirlooms—the symbol was distinctly Slytherin-esque. The moment they returned to
Hogwarts, he blasted all of the delicately carved snake motifs off his trunk.

“Careful, mate,” James warned, as smoke from the blasting spell permeated the room, “You might
be ruining a family heirloom there." (He definitely was).

“I don’t give a shit,” Sirius muttered, firing his wand at the scorched wood again, turning the artful
craftmanship into something ugly and deformed, “It’s mine, and I don’t want anything of mine to
have that ruddy mark on it.”

Even though Dumbledore had said there was no evidence that the Blacks were involved in the
attack, Sirius knew. He knew they were involved with Voldemort; he knew they were involved in
dark magic; he knew the things they thought about muggles. The things they’d taught him about
muggles.

The worst part was that everyone else knew it, too. He could feel them thinking it, eyes crawling
like beetles over his skin when he walked through the halls. No matter how he tried to distance
himself, there was no escaping his own last name—it clung like a fist, like a jaw, like a bruise. His
dreams were full of snakes.

It had been so long since Sirius had seen his family—his parents didn’t write, and even if they
happened across each other in the halls, Reg didn’t talk to him anymore—that he had managed
to...not forget, exactly but—ignore, at least, the tangled mess of their relationship. The anger he so
often felt towards them had dulled, the resentment soothed, somewhat, by distance.

But when Sirius stared down at the front page of that paper, he couldn’t stop himself from being
swallowed by loathing.

I hate them, he thought, staring down at that black snake twisting in the sky.

I hate them, when he boarded the train back to Hogwarts, scanning the station for a glimpse of his
parents, wondering if he’d be able to tell—if the violence would line their faces.
I hate them, as he spat toothpaste into the sink, and looked up at the mirror to see his mother’s hair,
his father’s eyes. They were in him, stuck fast in his pure and noble blood. Sirius had never felt
such a mindless urge to claw himself open.

Of course, there was nothing much he could do with this rekindled hate—his parents weren’t at
Hogwarts, nor was Voldemort, nor were any of the dark wizards spreading violence and fear
outside the insulated walls of the castle.

But there were Slytherins.

Even before the break, Sirius had enjoyed championing the younger students—the vulnerable ones
that bullies like Mulciber picked on. He and James had cast their share of defensive hexes to chase
off groups of Slytherins ganging up on lone muggleborn students. But after the holidays, Sirius
resumed this crusade with a newfound passion. Without even realizing it, he found himself
spending more and more time wandering the corridors, half-hoping to find some poor first-year
getting picked on just so that he’d have a release for the anger that threatened to choke him.

“The war isn’t happening here,” Remus tried to tell him, after his third detention in as many days,
“Dumbledore told us to be vigilant, not start fights.”

“The war is everywhere,” Sirius said darkly; James nodded, agreeing with him. “Anyway, you can
talk, what about you and Snape?”

“That,” Remus said with a haughty sniff, “Was personal.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but knew better than to argue with Moony. He turned back to the book he
was reading (Jinxes for Practical Defence), choosing instead to remain silent.

It was all well and good for Remus to pretend like the war was some far-off thing—when he
wasn’t at Hogwarts, he was enmeshed in the muggle world, insulated from the messy battles of
wizards. And even at Hogwarts, they were somewhat cocooned; it was easy for the students to
relax into the fantasy that everything would turn out alright by the time they graduated and had to
face the real world.

Amongst the marauders, James was the only one who seemed to share Sirius’s passion for The
Cause—which made sense, considering how deeply involved his family was with Dumbledore and
his…resistance, or whatever it was he was trying to create with his round of visitations during
Christmas break.

But James didn’t have the same anger that Sirius did. He couldn’t understand the personal brand of
rage that came with realizing that your parents weren’t just mean, or bullies, but truly dark, truly…
evil. It was stupid, because they’d always been horrible people, and so he really should have seen it
coming. But still, Sirius felt somehow betrayed. There were lines that his family just wasn’t
supposed to cross, and it made him feel horribly naïve every time he was surprised to find that
they’d crossed them.

James would never understand that. None of his friends would—which was why Sirius tried to
hide the worst of it, already aware of their concern with what they thought was just reckless anger:
typical, emotional Sirius, lashing out to blow off steam. He couldn’t let them see the ugly depths of
hate that lay just beneath the surface. It scared him, sometimes, the things he was capable of
feeling.

“Doesn’t she know how much I’ve matured?” James sighed, pulling Sirius away from the dark
turn his thoughts had taken. When he glanced up, the messy-haired boy was staring longingly at
Lily Evans; she must have blown him off again.

“I dunno if snogging a muggle in the back of the cinema really counts as maturing,” Remus said
dryly, picking up James’s abandoned textbook and smoothing down the rumpled pages.

“I didn’t mean that,” James grinned, “Just like…in general. I don’t get it, I get on with Marlene
ok.”

“You’re on the quidditch team with Marlene,” Peter pointed out, “You’ve got stuff in common with
her.” Ever since they’d caught him trying to suck Desdemona’s face off (apparently she was his
girlfriend now), Peter had started to do this annoying thing where he acted like he knew all there
was to know about romance. Sirius snorted, but James appeared to be paying attention, desperate
for any sort of advice when it came to winning over a certain elusive redhead.

“So, what,” he said, brows drawing together, “You think I should try and get Lily on the quidditch
team?”

Peter tutted, condescendingly,

“Why don’t you find out something you both have in common? Like how me and Desdemona both
like chess, and cheese sandwiches, and—"

“We’ve got nothing in common,” James interrupted, dreamily, “That’s why I like her.”

“Never going to happen, then,” Peter declared, as if it were already a done deal. James’s face fell.

“Don’t listen to him,” Remus said, giving the poor boy a pitying look, “People don’t just go out
with people because they’re the same, that would be boring. Opposites attract, and all that.”

“Yeah, you’re right, Moony!” James perked up, “Maybe I should find out what sort of stuff she
likes, though…”

“Er…yeah, might be a start.” Remus said, an amused smile on his lips as he returned to his Charms
essay. Sirius refrained from submitting any of his own advice—he’d had quite enough of girls for
the time being, after the whole fiasco with the snogging bet and the frustratingly disappointing kiss
in the back of the cinema. Besides, if Peter had a girlfriend, it couldn’t be that cool.

Luckily, he and James both had more important things to worry about: namely, the upcoming
quidditch match against Slytherin. Sirius was honing all his pent-up fury to make sure that they
absolutely demolished his brother’s team, channelling every ounce of energy that he had into
practices. He didn’t even complain about James’s mental morning drills, dragging himself out of
bed without protest when he was roused at sunrise. James seemed delighted to finally have
someone as obsessed with quidditch as he was, and the two of them probably spent more time on
their brooms in the weeks leading up to the match than they had in entirety of the previous
semester.

Between quidditch practice and the numerous detentions that Sirius was racking up due to his
belligerent attitude in the corridors, he hardly had any time to spare. He still saw plenty of James,
and more than he’d like of Peter (who came to watch their practices and always seemed to have a
sheaf of notes prepared afterwards, none of which were ever very helpful), but they hardly had any
time to work on the map, or even plan new pranks—partially because Remus was always
sequestered in the library. It got to the point where Sirius only saw Moony at mealtimes or in their
shared classes, as if he were ditching the marauders in favour of his girlfriends (girl friends, Remus
would correct whenever any of them teased him about it).
When the first Hogsmeade weekend rolled around halfway through January, Sirius, James, and
Peter were all prohibited from going—detentions, although surprisingly none of them were for the
same thing. Remus grumbled that they were hanging him out to dry, and Sirius told him to pick up
some new quills, and James asked if he could mail a package to his parents. Then Remus
complained that they were treating him like an owl, but muttered that he may as well pick up some
new quills for Peter, too, if he was already going to go to the shop. Sirius grinned.

“You know, you could always take one of your girlfriends—I’m sure they’d just love a chance to
spend the whole day in your delightful company. Maybe make a trip to Madam Puddifoots, eh?”

Remus groaned loudly, chucking a pillow at his head, and Sirius laughed as he dodged it.

Lupin had repeatedly made his aversion to all things romantic quite clear, which only made it all
the more fun to tease him about it. At this point, it was a well-known fact that he had no ulterior
motives when it came to hanging about with the girls, and Sirius hadn’t been anywhere near—
well, serious in his suggestion for Hogsmeade. He’d only said it because he knew it was
guaranteed to get a rise out of Remus.

Which was why it came as a shock, the next morning, when Marlene settled down next to the
marauders at breakfast, reaching for the tea.

“So,” she said to Remus, “How did yesterday go?”

The other three boys paused their conversation about quidditch tactics, listening in curiously.
Moony hadn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary about his trip to Hogsmeade the previous
day—he’d just delivered the new quills, as promised.

“Hm?” Remus looked up from a piece of parchment that he’d been studying, appearing just as
confused as the rest of them. “Yesterday?”

“You and Lily, in Hogsmeade!” Marlene prompted, with a knowing smile. “She won’t tell us what
happened, so it must be good.”

Now Remus was beginning to look alarmed. “What are you talking about?!”

“Yeah,” Sirius echoed, leaning over, “What are you talking about, McKinnon?”

“Didn’t he tell you?” She asked innocently, stirring sugar into her tea, “Remus and Lily went on a
date yesterday.”

“What?!” James, Sirius, and Remus all exclaimed at the same time. Sirius began to laugh, unable to
help himself,

“Moony on a date?!”

“With Evans?!” James demanded, looking horrified.

“Bloody hell!” Peter said.

“It wasn’t a date!” Remus protested, voice rising as he slammed down his quill. He was wearing
such a comical expression of panic that Sirius began to laugh harder, watching as the poor boy
turned desperately to James. “But I don’t fancy Lily, she’s just a friend!”

“Yeah…I know, mate.” James replied in a subdued voice, not sounding very sure. Sirius’s laughter
began to die down as he realized that the boy seemed genuinely upset. “It’s fine. I’ll…see you after
practice.”

With that, James stood and hurried off, leaving his half-eaten breakfast behind. Sirius stared after
him for a moment, then looked back at Remus, then back to James, before finally shrugging
helplessly and getting up to follow his friend out of the hall. Between the two of them, he was
pretty sure that Potter needed him more right then—the poor boy had just had his heart broken,
after all.
 Fourth Year: February
Chapter Summary

remus tells the truth

The Hogsmeade business with Lily, while initially hilarious (only Remus would be oblivious
enough to not realize he was on a date), quickly became a thorn in Sirius’s side.

The problem was James. James Potter – quidditch prodigy, pureblood heir, Gryffindor’s golden
boy – had been completely spoiled by love. He’d received an abundance of it growing up, from
doting parents that assured him he was the centre of their universe, giving him all the confidence
and warmth of a blazing sun. This made him entitled, perhaps, and arrogant, certainly, but the self-
assured bravado was hardly misplaced; he received good marks in school, exhibited extraordinary
skill on the quidditch pitch, and displayed a natural knack for magic. It was difficult to fault him
for his ego when there was so much to back it up.

And besides, with James, every victory was a shared thing. His exuberance was never limited to
his own achievements; he brought up those around him, too. It was impossible to dislike someone
so selfless, so genuinely kind, who never seemed to look down on others even when he knew they
were looking up to him. It was why Sirius was so drawn to James—he was the opposite of
everything the Blacks stood for. His parents had always acted like the only way to distinguish
oneself was to step on the heads of others, but James proved that wasn’t true. He was something
out of a storybook—the main character, the hero.

The only person who seemed entirely immune to his charms was Lily Evans. Which was
unfortunate, as she was (for some utterly unfathomable reason) perhaps the only individual in the
castle that James truly wanted to impress.

The problem when it came to growing up with too much love, Sirius thought, was that James had
never learned how to swallow disappointment. All the other marauders had plenty of experience
dealing with hurt feelings; Sirius would pick a fight, Remus would throw a punch, and Peter was
practically an expert when it came to sulking. But James, presented (perhaps for the first time in his
life) with a unique combination of jealousy and self-pity, didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

The result was that, for an entire week, he stopped talking to Remus.

It wasn’t intentional. Sirius knew that James would never try to freeze his friend out on purpose. It
was just that he was jealous, and knew he had no right to be, because Lily was allowed to fancy
whomever she fancied, and it was pretty clear that Remus hadn’t been trying to encourage her
affections. But knowing all of that only made James feel sorrier for himself, until he could hardly
look at Lupin without drowning in self-pity.

Of course, this only led Remus to fall into his well-worn, everybody-hates-me-and-I-deserve-it
shtick. The boy was just itching to be a martyr; he tiptoed around James with mournful, guilty
glances, as if he had done something wrong. Sirius indulged in a few uncomfortably vivid fantasies
about throttling Lily Evans for starting the whole mess, and then throttling James and Remus, too,
for acting so stupid about it.
“He’s not angry with you,” Sirius explained, for the umpteenth time, after James scurried away to
bed one night the moment Remus set foot in the common room. “He’s just feeling sorry for
himself.”

“He does believe me, though, doesn’t he?” Remus fretted, “I really didn’t know it was a date, I
don’t like Lily in that way!”

Sirius sighed, trying to figure out how best to explain the situation so that Remus would
understand. He could be so oblivious, sometimes, when it came to girls.

“Well...I don’t think he thinks you’re lying, exactly, but...you are pretty close to Evans, aren’t you?
Always going around together.”

“She’s my friend,” Remus insisted, sounding very frustrated, “I go ‘round with Marlene and Mary
too, no one thinks I'm going out with them!”

“Actually,” Sirius said, smirking, “There was a rumour last term...”

“Oh for god’s sake!”

Sirius sympathized with his friend’s frustration, but Remus had to understand that being friends
with girls simply wasn’t the same as being friends with boys. He couldn’t explain why, precisely,
but it just wasn't—everyone knew that.

The situation was only made worse by the fact that Lily continued to spend quite a bit of time with
Remus. They both seemed determined to act as if nothing had happened, and went on being
partners in Potions without any fuss. When Sirius walked into the classroom and saw them
together, he tactfully moved his and James’s things to a back table, as far away as possible from
Evans.

By Friday dinner time, things had grown extremely tense. The marauders continued to sit together
at meals, but with James and Remus both moping instead of speaking, it was up to Sirius and Peter
to try and keep up a conversation—and all Peter wanted to talk about was his new girlfriend, which
only made things worse. Sirius had to keep kicking him under the table to get him to shut up about
Desdemona’s chess strategy.

He tried to switch subjects to the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match, but even quidditch
couldn’t draw James out of his funk, and his uncharacteristic silence only darkened the mood. To
make matters worse, Mary, Marlene and Lily had noticed that Remus was looking a bit left out,
and had all decided to sit next to him.

“I’m looking forward to the match,” Mary said cheerfully, “All of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws
I’ve spoken to are supporting Gryffindor too.”

Lily sighed, dramatically,

“Why does it always have to be so black and white? No one’s good all over or bad all over, not
even Slytherins.”

You’re bad all over, Sirius thought, petulantly. The whole goody-two-shoes act was so irritating—
how did anyone put up with her?

“You can’t blame us, Lily,” Marlene said, “Even if it's not all of them, most of the Slytherins have
been utterly foul this year.”
Over Lily’s shoulder, Sirius caught sight of Snape, creeping towards the Gryffindor table as if
summoned by her valiant defence of Slytherins—no doubt he’d just be proving Marlene’s point.
Sirius rolled his eyes and turned back to Peter, renewing their discussion on quidditch tactics. He
had no desire to watch Snivellus drool over Evans—he saw enough of that in Potions.

He was just about to explain an idea he’d had for a tweak in their current flying formation—Peter
was nodding eagerly, occasionally asking James what he thought to try and get him to speak—
when there was suddenly an ear-splitting BANG from the other end of the hall.

The entire student body seemed to jump, and heads abruptly turned to stare over at the Slytherin
table, where Mulciber had just set off a firecracker. He was laughing delightedly at the panic on
his peers’ faces as they tried to locate the source of the frightening noise.

“Five points from Slytherin!” McGonagall shouted, marching over in the aisle between tables,
“And you’ll clean that mess up at once...”

Everyone settled down, and the typical buzz of chatter resumed. Sirius shook his head, disgusted,
as he turned back to Peter and James,

“No sense of artistry, I swear. Mulciber’s pranks get more and more stupid every year.”

“Hardly even know if you can call that a prank,” James muttered, poking dejectedly at his food.
Sirius perked up, glad that he’d at least got his friend to say something. Next to Remus, Marlene
was asking about a hinkypunk essay—Sirius ignored her, focusing on James.

“Excellent point, Potter,” he said, imperiously, “Such trite and trivial disruptions could hardly
measure up to the noble title of ‘pranks.’ Tom-foolery, perhaps, buffoonery—”

He was gearing up to go into a list of possible synonyms when he heard his name, falling off the
lips of one Remus Lupin.

“I’ll lend you my notes, if you want, once Sirius gives them back...”

Sirius looked over, distracted from his word game (it didn’t seem to be cheering James up,
anyway).

“Oh, yeah, sorry Moony, hang on, they’re in my bag...” He began to search, digging through the
mess in his book bag, which was cluttered with scrunched up balls of parchment, dungbombs,
sweets and broken quills.

“How do you find anything in there?” Remus said, scrunching up his nose as he took a sip of
pumpkin juice, “You’re the messiest person I’ve ever met.”

Sirius gave him a shrug and a wink, withdrawing the notes with a flourish and passing them over to
Marlene.

“Oooh, Remus,” Mary grinned, “Did I tell you I had another letter from Darren this week?”

Remus groaned,

“Yes.” He whined, “And it was just as boring as the last five hundred letters you’ve made me
read.”

Sirius snorted, almost choking on laughter in his shock. Marlene dropped her fork, Lily’s eyes grew
two sizes, and Mary looked appalled—she opened and closed her mouth a few times, stunned
speechless. Remus blinked, frowning at them. He looked a bit confused, as if he’d even surprised
himself.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking away. Sirius grinned, thoroughly entertained.

“No, I’m sorry.” Mary huffed, standing up. She looked very offended and a bit weepy, “I won’t
bore you anymore, then!” Sirius watched as she turned on her heel and left the room, abandoning
her half-eaten dinner.

“Mary!” Marlene cried in dismay, hurrying to follow her. Lily remained, but she looked very upset
as she asked Remus,

“Did you mean that?”

“Yes,” he responded, without hesitating, “Actually, I find all of this boyfriend-girlfriend stuff
boring, I wish you’d all just leave me alone.” The moment he stopped speaking, he blinked, lifting
a hand towards his mouth as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said.

“Remus!” Lily exclaimed, flabbergasted. Unlike Mary, she didn’t storm off, instead saying tartly,
“There’s nothing wrong with Mary wanting to talk about her boyfriend or...um...or teenagers
having crushes, it’s normal, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care if it’s normal,” Remus shrugged, “I think you’re all acting like idiots. Even you – why
on earth would you want to go out with me, when the most popular boy in the school is madly in
love with you? He’s ten times nicer than me, too, you’re just too arrogant to see it.”

James and Sirius exchanged a shocked glance—as entertaining as it was to listen to Remus telling
the girls off, it was very unlike him to be so rude. Usually he just stewed in silence when he didn’t
like something.

“Remus!” Lily yelped, blushing.

“Well it’s true!”

“Moony,” Sirius said, cautiously, “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, still a bit hungry, though. Think Mary will mind if I finish her potatoes?”

“Seriously, Remus,” James said, speaking directly to him for the first time that day, “This isn’t like
you at all.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Yeah, brutally hones—oh Merlin!” Sirius smacked a hand to his forehead, “Evans, did Snape put
something in his drink? When the firework went off, maybe?”

“He would never do something like that, it’s illegal!”

“Pffft.” Remus snorted around a mouthful of mashed potato, “As if Snivellus gives a toss! He’s
been trying to get back at me ever since I hit him on the train.”

“You what?!” Lily gasped, horrified.

“Yeah,” Remus paused to swallow, “Nutted him right in the head, it was great.” There was a note
of panic in his eyes, now, as he seemed to realize what was happening.
“Right,” Sirius stood, fuming, “Stop talking, Moony, before you say something you’ll really
regret.”

Remus immediately disobeyed the order, grinning up at him and musing,

“Y’know, that’s exactly what Snape said on the stairs the other day...”

“SEVERUS!” Lily shouted, stupidly drawing the attention of all the surrounding students. Sirius
cursed her mentally as she stood and stormed over to the Slytherin table, but he grabbed Remus,
and the marauders followed behind her.

“What have you done to Remus?!” Lily demanded, huffing and puffing and stamping her foot on
the flagstones.

“Why do you ask?” Severus said, with an oily smirk.

“You tell me how to fix him right now!”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Snape drawled, a mean glint in his eye, “Is there, Remus?”

“Nothing, really,” Remus responded politely, “I do keep saying things I shouldn’t, though, like—”

“SHUT UP.” Sirius growled, kicking him hard in the shin to distract him from speaking. He
rounded on the Slytherin boy as Remus hissed in pain, “You bastard, it’s veritaserum, isn’t it?!
Truth potion!”

“One way to find out,” Snape’s wicked smile widened, “What’s your deepest, darkest secret,
Lupin?”

No. Sirius turned, horrified, to see Remus opening his mouth. He knew exactly what the boy was
about to say, could see the words already forming behind his eyes—the deepest, darkest secret that
he had, the wolf crawling up the back of his throat to leap out into the Great Hall. Sirius could see
how it would happen, how he’d mindlessly gut himself for Snape’s amusement. How the students
would recoil, and the murmurs would spread—werewolf, werewolf, did you hear that, he’s a
werewolf—and then everyone would know, and there would be letters from parents, and
Dumbledore might—he might have to—

“Well, I’m a—”

“SILENCIO!” Sirius shouted, desperately. He had never used a silencing spell on another person,
before—but it was the only way. Still, he could feel his brother’s eyes on him, watching from
down the table, knowing what he’d see; the sharp voice, the cold sneer, the elegant flick of the
wrist. They both knew what it felt like – the strange tug from deep in your throat as your voice was
stolen away. He felt sick to his stomach.

In the same moment, James tackled Remus, throwing them both to the floor as he clamped a hand
over his mouth.

The Slytherin table jeered behind them as James and Remus struggled, Lily watching them in
shock. Remus wriggled free of James’ grasping fingers, mouth still moving as he tried to divulge
every one of his secrets – but not even a whisper of sound escaped his lips.

Sirius glanced back only once, stomach churning. Unlike his friends, Regulus wasn’t laughing—he
sat silently at the table of cheering Slytherins, staring at the wand in Sirius’s hand, his mouth a thin
line.
The marauders hauled Remus to his feet, and Sirius didn’t look back again as they dragged him out
of the hall, ignoring the Slytherins’ taunts. The moment they were safely back in their dorm room,
Sirius lifted his charm, skin crawling.

“Sorry, Remus,” he apologized immediately, “But I had to do it, you were going to—”

“I know.” Remus interrupted him, frowning as he sat down on his bed, “Bloody Snape! How long
does it take to wear off?”

“Depends on how much you took, I think.” James replied, paging frantically through his potions
book, “Godric, how did he do it?! That’s NEWT level stuff, truth serum!”

“He’s the best in the year at Potions,” Remus answered promptly, “Lily said he’s already doing
seventh year essays, just for fun.”

“What a boring old swot,” Sirius snorted, still jittery with nerves. He grabbed his own Potions
book, joining James in his search, “Try not to say anything, Moony, ok?”

“I can’t help it,” Remus responded, automatically.

“Ok, right, it says here you should be clear within twenty-four hours, so...dinnertime tomorrow, at
the very latest.”

“What about lessons?!”

“We’ll say you’re sick. You can’t risk it, Moony! I could kill Snape, that filthy, dirty,
underhanded...”

“I’m not missing any lessons for him.” Remus said stubbornly, crossing his arms, “There must be
an antidote.”

“We could go and ask Slughorn?” James suggested.

“Yeah, good idea, I think he’s still in the Great Hall,” Sirius said quickly, turning to Remus. He
spoke slowly and clearly, trying to get the order to sink in through that thick skull. “Remus. Stay.
Here.”

“Bugger off,” Remus turned away, pouting.

“I’ll stay with him,” James offered, “You two go.”

Sirius nodded, then raced towards the door, eager to find a solution. He didn’t want to ever have to
use a silencing spell like that again.

“Hang in there Moony!” He called back, bounding down the stairs, “If I see a Slytherin on my way
down, then I’ll hex them for you!”

Peter, scurrying behind him, let out a nervous giggle, and they made their way together back
towards the Great Hall.

* * *
To Sirius’s great relief, Slughorn had the antidote for veritaserum on hand. He grumbled
suspiciously as he pulled it out of his cabinet, grumpy that they’d interrupted his dinner, and made
them listen to a long-winded lecture that essentially boiled down to “don’t muck about with potions
if you don’t have an antidote ready” before finally sending them scurrying back to Gryffindor
tower. Sirius half-wished he could tell the Slytherin head of house that it was one of his precious
students who had dosed Remus, but the marauders’ code of honour strictly forbid tattling.

“It’s better this way,” Remus said grimly, after chugging the antidote, “It’ll make him really
nervous if he doesn’t get in trouble straight away – he’ll wonder how we’re going to get him back.”

“How are we going to get him back?” Sirius asked, eagerly, as they sat down for breakfast on the
morning of the Slytherin v Gryffindor quidditch match, “He nearly outed you, Moony, we have to
teach him a lesson!” While nothing horrible had actually ended up happening—aside from Remus
hurting the girls’ feelings a bit, which Sirius actually found quite funny—the panic as he’d cast his
silencing spell was still fresh in Sirius’s mind, as was Snape’s greasy, sadistic smile.

“Let me think about it,” Remus replied. “Just thrash Slytherin at quidditch for me, first.”

“Easy,” Sirius winked, and Remus grinned at him, eyes bright.

The tension that had been building between the houses all year lay thick over the quidditch pitch,
where two quarters of the spectators were clothed in bright red, jeering at the Slytherins in the
stands. Quidditch had become the outlet for everyone’s feelings about the war, and it wasn’t very
pretty.

“Tensions are high in this year’s semi-final,” Tracey Darcy, the commentator, said via magical
megaphone, “This match will of course determine which team goes through to the final against
Ravenclaw, and by the looks of the players, it’ll be a close one...On Gryffindor we have Potter, of
course, a legend in his own right with more than two hundred goals under his belt
already...Marlene McKinnon there, a formidable beater – and so she should be, her brother Danny
McKinnon of course plays professionally for the Chudley Cannons...and there’s Sirius Black,
Gryffindor’s second beater, in his second game of the year...Black has already shown himself to be
as competent as McKinnon, and I’m sure all the ladies will agree, doesn’t look half bad in his
kit...”

“Ahem.” McGonagall’s pointed cough could be heard over the megaphone, and Sirius grinned.
While ‘as competent as McKinnon’ wasn’t exactly the highest praise he had ever received, it was
certainly fun to hear his name screamed by what must have been nearly every girl in the crowd—at
least, every girl with eyes. (He knew what he looked like—he’d spent fifteen minutes in front of
the bathroom mirror that morning strategically untucking strands of hair from his ponytail, until
James had pounded on the door and threatened a few very creative methods of murder if he didn’t
hurry up.)

“Sorry, professor...” Tracey continued, “...and here comes Slytherin,” (deafening boos from the
crowd, which made Sirius smile even wider), “They have their very own Black on the team, of
course, Sirius’s younger brother, Regulus – seeker...and Mulciber, taken on as beater this term...”

The booing was now so loud that Sirius could hardly hear Darcy’s commentary anymore. He
didn’t turn to look as his brother walked onto the field—instead, he stared at the crowd, screaming
and jeering and cheering for him. He wasn’t holding his wand, but he could swear he felt magic in
his fingertips.

The game finally began, and he was nothing but energy—every nerve, every muscle in his body
taut, weightless with adrenaline. All emotion disappeared; anger, resentment, and fear turned
molten and reforged into the steely resolve that above all else, they had to win. Nothing existed
outside of the pitch—both teams were out for blood.

James was inhuman, flying with almost frightening speed through the air. He caught and tossed the
quaffle before his opponents could even process the movement, robes flapping, a streak of red
lightning across the sky.

Sirius felt a fierce burst of pride every time James scored, but he had his own game to worry about.
He and Marlene had developed a strategy specifically for this match, and they put it into practice
now, sharing one mind as they moved on their broomsticks. A glance was all it took to
communicate, to know when they needed to change positions or cover a different teammate’s back.
Marlene shadowed their seeker, shielding him from the bludgers that Slytherin sent his way—they
were fighting dirty. But then, everyone had already expected that.

Sirius ran himself ragged, darting every which way across the pitch as he tried to protect his
teammates from the bludgers. He could feel himself sweating, strands of hair sticking to his skin as
he swung his bat. He had just shot halfway across the field to knock one of the violent missiles
away from Harpreet, and when he turned he was confronted with Mulciber’s ugly smile—the boy
had smacked the second bludger, and it was barrelling straight for Sirius’s face.

He didn’t have time to think, only act as, by reflex, he lifted his bat—arms burning—and swung.
The force of the collision sent a painful jolt through Sirius’s wrist, which he ignored, watching as
the bludger shot straight back at Mulciber. The Slytherin ducked immediately, swooping down,
and behind him—

It was Regulus. Reggie, who wasn’t watching for bludgers, because his focus was on the snitch—
hand already stretching out as he dove for the little golden ball flitting away from his fingertips,
just out of reach, and Sirius tried to call his name, he needed to warn him—but it was too late, and
the crowd was shrieking, and he heard the dull sound of the bludger’s impact on his brother’s
skull.

Regulus fell, and the entire world disappeared.

 Fourth Year: February (Part Two)
Chapter Summary

regulus takes a tumble; sirius self-reflects

No.

The crowd blurred beside him. Sirius realized that he was moving.

He’ll die.

They were at least five stories above the ground, which was packed hard and cold by the winter
ice.

Don’t let him die.

People were screaming, maybe—there were definitely voices. But they came as if from
underwater.

He can’t die.

Madam Hooch was pointing her wand, and Reg was slowing, no longer plummeting at breakneck
speed. But he was still falling.

They’ll never let me go.

The ground slammed into him with such force that something gave in his ankle, a sharp crack,
buckling his knees and pitching him forward into the dirt. He thrust out his arms, instinctively,
skinning his palms, and then he was up, stumbling forward—his ankle wouldn’t take the weight,
but it didn’t matter, he couldn’t feel it, and he forced it to travel the three shaky steps before he
collapsed on his knees beside his brother.

Regulus was unconscious. He could have been sleeping, except he looked all wrong—Reggie
didn’t sleep like that, silent and peaceful and motionless; he flailed, he stole the blankets, he
mumbled nonsense from his dreams. Get up, Sirius thought, desperately, wake up, please. Fear had
him by the neck, already kicking tears into his eyes.

Someone’s hand was on his shoulder. James—it was James, he was saying something. Hospital
wing. They had to go to the hospital wing, yes, that made sense—already McGonagall had pushed
through the crowd, and James was tugging on his shoulder—oh. They needed him to let go of Reg.
McGonagall had conjured a stretcher. That made sense. It made a lot of sense.

Sirius’s fingers twisted into his brother’s robes.

“Mate, come on, let’s go...” James tugged again, gently. There was a crowd forming around them
—Sirius was suddenly very aware of the crush of people. He let go, allowing Madam Hooch to
levitate Regulus onto the stretcher, and rubbed roughly at his eyes.

“You alright?” James asked, leaning close, “Can you stand?”

“M’fine.” Sirius shrugged him off, getting to his feet—and nearly fell over again as a searing pain
tore through his leg. It felt as if someone had shoved a hot brand through his bone, the sharpest
point of agony radiating from his ankle. He winced.

“Here, let me—” James was there immediately, wrapping his hand around Sirius’s waist, and
Sirius slung an arm over his shoulder. Together, they hobbled after Madam Hooch. The crowd of
students parted around them, murmuring.

At the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey almost turned them away.

“Oh, no,” she huffed, bustling over to one of the beds with her arms full of potion bottles, “I don’t
have time for any of your antics.”

“He’s hurt,” James said.

Regulus was lying in the bed. His head was bleeding. Sirius realized James was talking about him.

Madam Pomfrey paused, looking down at his leg as if just realizing that Sirius was only standing
with the help of his friend. She blinked, then frowned, looking slightly abashed.

“Right then,” she recovered, giving her head a little shake and setting down her potions, “You, over
here. You—out.”

“But—”

“Out, Potter, and don’t make me tell you again.”

James opened his mouth, seeming as if he might argue, but a severe look from the nurse changed
his mind. He helped Sirius hobble over to the bed that Madam Pomfrey had indicated, giving his
shoulder a firm squeeze before leaving. The door swung shut behind him, leaving silence
interspersed only by the nurse’s swishing robes and the gentle clinking of glass as she picked
through her spread of healing potions.

“Now, then,” she said briskly, pouring something onto a cloth and dabbing it against the bloodied
part of Reggie’s head, “How much pain are you in?”

“I’m fine,” Sirius said, faintly, watching the cloth turn pink, then red, “Don’t worry about me.”

She tutted, glancing at his leg. “Ankle, is it? Here, drink this,” she handed him a small vial, which
he accepted wordlessly. “If you’re not in too much pain, I think I’d better see to your brother first,
hmm? I’ll be with you shortly, dear.”

Sirius nodded, watching silently as she began to move her wand, murmuring spells. He’d never
seen his brother bleed before. He’d never—he’d never actually seen Reggie hurt. He knew they
shared scars, but that only happened when he wasn’t there, because when he was there he—he
protected—

What a load of horseshit.

The voice was terribly cold, and cruel. It slid like icy water into the creases of his mind,
permeating. It was his own.

You don’t protect him. You left him. You’re a coward.

It wasn’t true—it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t meant to—he’d tried to keep Regulus from—
But you didn’t really try very hard, did you? You left him, even though you knew what would
happen.

That wasn’t true, he hadn’t known, he couldn’t’ve—he’d thought there’d be time, that things
would be different at Hogwarts, that he’d be able to—

Save him?

Yes—no—keep him—

But you left him. You left him, and you kept leaving.

It wasn’t his fault! He’d tried, but Regulus kept pushing him away—Reg wanted to be…to be
cruel, and dark, and something their parents could be proud of.

You let them have him, because you knew it was the only way they’d let you go.

Madam Pomfrey had finished her spells. She was tipping a potion at his brother’s lips, lifting his
head with one hand to help him swallow.

I didn’t mean to, Sirius thought, helplessly, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to…

The guilt grinned, jaw hanging open, mouth bloody. Sirius tried to run from it, but there was no
hiding in his own mind—he couldn’t deny the words he’d thought, the gut instinct, the deepest,
most honest reaction when he’d seen his brother falling:

They’ll never let me go.

He sat, and watched Regulus stop bleeding. The guilt burrowed into his ribcage, pulping his heart
between its teeth and hollowing him out.

Sirius was very quiet as Madam Pomfrey saw to his ankle, mending the worst of the break and
giving him a healing draught to take before bed. He wouldn’t need to stay in the hospital wing
overnight. Reg would.

“Can I stay with him?” He asked, when she was done. She paused, studying his face.

“Alright, dear. You need to keep that leg elevated, though—let me pull up a stool.”

When he was little, Regulus had developed a debilitating fear of ghouls. He was sure that they
were everywhere, lurking in the shadows of every corner, only waiting for him to close his eyes
before they snapped him up in their jaws. Walpurga refused to allow him to sleep with the light on
—said it would make him “soft.” He cried, but that only upset her, vindicating her belief that
Reggie needed to toughen up.

So Sirius had started sneaking into his little brother’s bedroom, every night. He’d check under the
bed, and in the closet, and stand guard until Regulus fell asleep, assuring him that no ghoul could
slip past his vigilant eyes.

“D’you know what ghouls hate?” He’d whispered, one night, after Walpurga threatened to put
locks on their doors if she caught Sirius sneaking out of his room one more time.

“What?” Reggie asked, eyes huge and dark in the pale moonlight.

“Toast.”
“Toast?”

It was his little brother’s favourite food, at the time. “Yes,” Sirius nodded solemnly, “It’s like
poison to them.”

Regulus wrinkled his nose, sceptical, “You’re making that up.”

“Am not! Look,” Sirius glanced about furtively, then, carefully, pulled up the leg of his pyjama
bottoms. Reggie’s eyes widened when he saw the scar—just one, at the time, a long, thin line on
the back of Sirius’s left calf.

“A ghoul tried to get me, once,” Sirius whispered, “See this scar? It reached out and grabbed me
with its claws!”

Regulus gasped, horrified, and burrowed further into his blankets.

“But,” Sirius said quickly, “I had eaten toast for breakfast, and you know what?”

“What?”

“It smelled it. And you know what happened when it smelled the toast?”

“What??”

“It ran away.”

“You’re lying!”

“Am not—where d’you think I got the scar from, hmm? I told you, toast is poison to them. Even if
you eat one piece, they’ll smell it on you and run off as fast as they can.”

“…do you mean it?”

Sirius grinned. “I swear.”

“I just have to eat toast?”

“Lots and lots of toast. Do you think you can do that?”

Reggie nodded fervently, blankets pulled all the way up to his chin. Sirius smiled.

“Good. Then you won’t even need me to keep watch; you’ll be perfectly safe. Alright?”

“…alright. But…can you still stay? Just for tonight?”

Sirius wasn’t sure why he was thinking about this now. Maybe it was watching Reg sleep, chest
rising and falling evenly, the way it had under the heavy blankets all those years ago. How long
had it been since they’d spoken? Four months? Five?

The doors to the hospital wing swung open, suddenly, and swirl of black robes filled the entryway,
heeled boots clicking sharply on the tile.

His mother.

Sirius shrank back as she approached, feeling her fury like static in the air, palpable and needling.
She swept towards him, cold rage on her face, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Whatever
was coming, he deserved it—it was his fault, after all.

Madam Pomfrey stepped in front of the bed, smiling,

“He’s quite all right, just a heavy knock,” she said soothingly, “I’ve given him a healing draught
and mended the fractures.”

“Fractures?” Walpurga hissed. She stood like a statue at the end of the bed, eyes darting rapidly
over Reggie’s prone form. Her hair was a bit dishevelled, Sirius noticed, and there were dark
circles under her eyes.

“Very minor, and completely healed now.” Madam Pomfrey assured her, “He’ll be up and about
by tomorrow morning. Now, Sirius has—”

“This is our family physician,” Walpurga interrupted, extending a hand. Bartoc Heathering, a
wizened little man who Sirius recognized from his periodic visits growing up, stepped out from
behind her, “He will be taking over my son’s care. I’m taking him home as soon as he has been
thoroughly examined.”

No, Sirius thought, wildly, panic gripping him in its fist, Don’t let her take him.

“I’m telling you, everything that can be done has been done.” Madam Pomfrey said, sounding a bit
put out.

Walpurga sneered at her, imperiously,

“Within your competence, I am sure. But he is my son and I will care for him as I see fit.”

Madam Pomfrey was speechless, red-faced and clearly offended. McGonagall leaned over and
whispered something in her ear, which seemed to mollify her. Heathering placed his familiar
dragonskin case on the bedside table and snapped it open, getting to work.

His mother turned to glare at him. Sirius felt very, very small.

“You,” she said, voice flat, “And what are you doing here?”

“He’s my brother,” Sirius said—he meant for it to sound strong, defiant, but his voice was dust in
his throat. The words were barely audible, even to his own ears.

“What?” his mother barked, “Speak up, boy!”

“He’s my brother,” Sirius repeated, voice cracking slightly. His heart beat like a frightened rabbit
in his chest. Walpurga tutted.

“For goodness’ sake, have you been crying?! Try to show at least a modicum of decorum. Toujours
Pur, Sirius! Try to remember your duty.”

Sirius stared at the floor, letting his hair fall over his face. He wanted to be anywhere—anywhere
—anywhere that was not here. His mother continued speaking, voice sharp and dismissive as she
said, “You may leave, Sirius. Your father and I will see you in June.”

She turned back to Regulus, and Sirius disappeared. He was aware, vaguely, of his friends
watching, of McGonagall placing a hand on his shoulder, of the strange, shaky feeling in his ankle.
Madam Pomfrey pushed another potion into his hands on the way out,

“Straight up to bed and drink every drop, you hear me? You shouldn’t be in too much pain, but it’ll
be uncomfortable tonight.”

Sirius nodded. The adrenaline that had kept him going was slowly bleeding out of his body,
leaving him exhausted. James clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing, and Sirius let himself be
guided into the corridor.

They walked in silence most of the way to Gryffindor tower, which Sirius was grateful for. The
only interruption came when they reached a dual staircase, and Peter said suddenly,

“We’ve missed dinner.”

James and Remus spun around to shoot him dirty looks, but Sirius was too tired to care. Peter spoke
again immediately, sounding quite indignant as he said, “What I meant was that I’ll go down to the
kitchens now and get them to send something up. If that’s ok with you two?!”

“Nice one, Pete,” James said, apologetically.

This was all the agreement Peter needed—he turned and scurried off down the stairs, while the
other three boys continued upwards. It was slow going, considering that the majority of their group
were struggling with pronounced limps.

“Right state we must look,” Sirius muttered, trying to catch his breath as they paused on a landing.

“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” Remus asked, sounding just as winded and rubbing at his hip.

“Broke my ankle,” he replied, “Landed too hard on it.”

James winced sympathetically, but Sirius just shrugged. “Can’t feel it, just a bit wobbly.”

When they finally reached their dorm, Sirius went immediately into the bathroom, where he locked
the door and ran the shower. He could feel the weight of his friends’ concern, heavy, saturating the
air in the room outside—but he needed to be alone. He didn’t think he could bear their quiet pity,
or their misguided attempts to cheer him up.

Sirius stood beneath the hot water for a long time, letting it wash over him. The bathroom filled
with steam, and when he stepped out he had to wipe the condensation from the mirror. He stared at
himself, studying his face.

Was he a bad person? He knew he had flaws—he could be arrogant, and quick to anger, and he
didn’t always take the time to consider the feelings of the people around him. But his own capacity
for selfishness scared him—he couldn’t stop thinking about that moment, the split-second as he
saw his brother’s body fall, when all he’d thought about was himself.

Had he been kidding himself, this whole time? Lying to himself, trying to convince himself that
he’d done everything he could for Reggie, that his brother was just better suited to the Black
lifestyle than he was? Had he—had he been using Reg, this whole time?

Was he just as bad as their parents?

The boy in the mirror stared back. He didn’t have any answers.

Sirius unlocked the bathroom door, stepping back into the room amidst lingering curls of steam.

“You hungry, mate?” Peter asked, holding up a plate of sandwiches, nervously. Sirius shook his
head and walked towards his bed.
“Just gonna go to sleep,” he muttered, starting to close the curtains. He was so, so tired.

“Sirius!” Remus called out, suddenly, as if the word had fought its way past his teeth. Sirius
paused, and their eyes met through the gap in the hanging. Remus stared at him, chewing on his
lip.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, finally, “I was watching; it was an accident. You were both just so
focused on the game, that’s all.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t just the bludger—that
it was so much more than that. He searched for a smile, then shrugged.

“Still did it.” He closed the curtains, tightly, before any more of his friends could try to exonerate
him.

* * *

McGonagall informed Sirius, privately, that Regulus was fine. Their mother was only keeping him
home for the week as a “precaution”—the stern professor made quite clear from her tone that she
thought this was completely ridiculous, though she didn’t say so in as many words. Even though
Reg had suffered no permanent damage, the Slytherin captain still received a howler from
Walpurga Black the next morning, screaming that he’d put her son in danger. The captain hardly
blinked, watching the paper tear itself to shreds once it had finished shouting with a strange
mixture of bemusement and irritation. He had already started looking for a new seeker—the
quidditch game had been declared incomplete, and both teams had agreed to a rematch once they
found someone to replace Regulus.

Sirius dragged himself to classes, even though all he wanted to do was lie in bed. His ankle had
healed up fully overnight, so he couldn’t use it as an excuse to rot in his bed all day. His head was
still a mess, though, so tangled up with thoughts about Reg, and their mother, and what kind of
brother he was, that he could hardly focus on lessons and barely managed to pay attention to his
friends when they tried to make conversation.

He could tell that the other marauders were worried about him—they kept exchanging pointed
looks with each other and shooting nervous glances at him when they thought he wouldn't notice.
At first, they made various efforts to cheer him up, but when Sirius remained nonresponsive they
all drew back, in their own ways. Peter kept sneaking off to visit Desdemona, James stopped trying
to force their usual jovial banter, and Remus stuck his nose in a book—though he continued to dart
concerned looks from behind the cover.

It was a full moon that night, so Lupin’s bed was conspicuously empty as they all changed into
their pyjamas. Once Peter fell asleep, James crept over to Sirius’s bed, trying once more to get him
to talk about what was wrong—but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to explain. James was too good,
always searching for the best in others, and Sirius didn’t think he could bear to look him in the eye
and explain exactly how horrible of a brother—of a person—he was. He didn’t know how to
express, in words, that his own selfishness was eating him from the inside out.

So James returned to his own bed, dejected, and Sirius lay awake, gnawing at himself.

The next morning, there was a note from Reg.

Sirius,

I hope you didn’t already break out the good champagne, because it looks like I’m going to live.
Mum’s just being dramatic, she’s got Kreacher coming in and out of my room with a cold
compress and a fresh cup of tea every five minutes. She wanted you kicked off the team, but I talked
her out of it. Don’t need you becoming any more insufferable than you already are with your stupid
anti-Slytherin campaign (which is accomplishing literally nothing, you oaf). I’ll be back at
Hogwarts in a couple of days; try not to be too disappointed.

Sincerely,

Regulus Arcturus Black

P.S. – They told me that you broke your ankle trying to rush oh-so-heroically to my aid. You didn’t
need to do that, I would’ve been fine.

Sirius shook James off to go to the hospital wing for a check-up, insisting that he’d be fine alone—
he wasn’t sure how many more concerned looks he could stomach. When he arrived, Remus was
there, asleep in one of the beds. After Madam Pomfrey gave him a once-over and declared his
bones healed, she allowed him to stay.

Sirius paused, for a moment, and just stood at the end of Remus’s bed. His friend looked very
different when he was sleeping—the little crease between his brows smoothed out, making him
look peaceful, gentler. His lips were slightly parted, chest rising and falling with each breath, and
the scar across his face was more prominent. Sirius was pretty sure that Remus had started using
some cosmetic spells he’d learned from the girls to try and fade it—but now, before he’d had the
chance to cast it, Sirius could clearly trace the line of pale, taut skin with his eyes.

Remus began to stir, eyelids fluttering.

“Morning, Moony,” Sirius said quietly, as his friend sat up. Remus rubbed his eyes, blinking sleep
away lethargically.

“M-morning,” he slurred, groggy and looking a bit surprised to see Sirius standing there,
“What’chu doin’ ‘ere?” His accent tended to slip, when he was tired. Sirius liked it—it felt like
Moony with his guard down.

He perched on the end of the bed, sticking out his foot,

“Check up on my ankle. It’s fine now.”

“Oh, good.” Remus nodded, struggling to sit up.

“How was it?” Sirius asked, gesturing vaguely to his friend's body.
“Fine. Normal. James ‘ere too?”

“Nah,” Sirius tried to keep his voice casual, “Giving him a break from me.” Remus frowned.

“I don’t think he minds…”

“I do, though.”

After a moment, Remus nodded, seeming to understand. Remus always seemed to understand.

“Moony?”

“Yeah?”

Sirius hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to speak. But he was so, so bad at bottling things
up. And Remus—Remus didn’t look at him the way James did. Like he was a good person. The
way Remus looked at him was something else.

“You know how you said it wasn’t my fault?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Remus spoke so firmly that he made himself cough, and Sirius leapt to his
feet to grab a glass of water from the nightstand. He passed it over, watching as the other boy
gulped greedily, spilling some of the contents from the glass. Water trickled from the corner of his
mouth down to his jaw; he wiped it with the back of his hand. Sirius looked away, out the window
over Remus’s head.

“I didn’t hit him on purpose, you’re right,” he said, searching for the right words, heart kicking
with nerves in his chest, “But…when I saw him fall like that, I thought…I thought – don’t let him
die.”

“Well, of course,” Remus said, reasonably, “He’s your brother, of course you didn’t want him to
—”

“I wasn’t thinking about him, though,” Sirius interrupted, needing to explain, “I was thinking about
me. I was thinking…if he dies, then I’ll be the only one left, and my parents will…I wouldn’t have
any way out. I need Regulus to stay alive. I need him to be the perfect son, so it doesn’t matter that
I’m the bad son. That’s what I was thinking. I’m a coward.”

It was out, now. The ugliest part of him, guts spread neatly on the bed between them. He waited,
needing Remus to say something, wanting—something. He wasn’t sure what.

After a few moments, Remus spoke.

“You’d still have been sorry if he died, though. Not just because of that.”

“Yeah, but my first thought—"

“People don’t think properly when they’re scared,” Remus interrupted, “Believe me. I saw you,
you risked your life to try and save him – that’s not cowardly. Broke your stupid ankle like the
idiotic hard-headed Gryffindor you are.”

Sirius’s throat felt tight. He forced himself to breathe, releasing a strained laugh. He looked down
at his feet, then back at Remus. He didn’t know what to say. Remus smiled.

“Reg gonna be ok?”

“Yeah,” Sirius wished he could stop his heart pounding, “Fine. Owled me this morning – being
waited on hand and foot, sounds like. Mother tried to get me kicked off the team, too, but he
stopped her.”

“There you go, then.” Remus smirked, “You’re still the bad son.”

Sirius laughed without meaning to, and felt a bit better.

 Fourth Year: March
Chapter Summary

remus turns fifteen

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

One day, though it might as well be someday

You and I will rise up all the way

All because of what you are

The prettiest star

Staying back in your memory

Are the movies in the past

How you moved is all it takes

To sing a song of when I loved

Prettiest star

Saturday 8th March 1975

Sirius was going to die.

He was really, truly, in grave danger of perishing—if time didn’t start to move faster, he was pretty
sure that he was going to explode in the middle of the common room. Some people were simply
built for keeping secrets, and Sirius Black was not one of them.

Remus’s birthday was in two days—a Monday, which meant if they wanted to celebrate (really
celebrate) it would have to happen this weekend. Luckily, the marauders already had a plan in
place; unluckily, that plan stipulated utmost secrecy to ensure maximum surprise on behalf of one
Remus Lupin. By the time night fell, Sirius was practically crawling up the walls—James had told
him about six different times to calm down.

The second the clock struck nine, Sirius was bounding upstairs to their room. Moony had retired
earlier to lounge about and listen to one of Sirius’s records (he kept stealing the record player and
squirreling it away by his bed, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to mind). He burst through the
door, startling the poor boy as he practically leapt across the room.

“Ready?!” Sirius asked, grinning wickedly and bouncing from foot to foot.
“For what?” Remus pulled his nose out of a book, marking his place before setting it aside.

“For your birthday surprise, obviously,” Sirius drawled, “C’mon, up you get, shoes on please –
wear those mad muggle boots you’ve got, with the crazy laces.”

“Er…where are we going?”

“Out.” He dug around in his trunk for a pair of muggle jeans and a black t-shirt—Remus was
already wearing jeans, as he often did on weekends.

“Oh, you mean out out?” his friend asked, raising an eyebrow as Sirius threw off his robes to
change.

“Yeah, take your cloak.”

Remus wore the boots with the crazy laces, as instructed. Sirius tapped his foot impatiently as he
laced them up, watching the scarred fingers deftly tie the knots. Luckily, he didn’t ask any more
questions—Sirius was already on the verge of breaking down and spilling his guts, which James
would definitely hold against him.

They walked downstairs, looking, Sirius was sure, like the height of muggle fashion in the outfits
he had carefully selected. James and Peter met them in the common room, and the three of them
exchanged mischievous grins.

“You know my birthday isn’t for two days, yet.” Remus said, smiling dryly and raising an
eyebrow.

“Tonight’s events are time sensitive,” Sirius replied, all business. It was a struggle to remain
cryptic and mysterious—he was just so excited.

“And don’t worry,” James smirked, opening the portrait door to guide them out of the common
room, “We won’t forget to sing for you on Monday at breakfast.”

“And lunch,” Peter added,

“And dinner.” Sirius finished, still bouncing with anticipation as they wound down the Gryffindor
Tower staircase.

“Under you go, lads.” James instructed, drawing out the invisibility cloak and casting it over the
four of them like a net. They had to squeeze very close together, and Remus had to hunch
considerably, but they still managed to barely fit. If Remus continued to grow at his current pace,
though, they wouldn’t for much longer. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go – they shuffled to
the statue of the humpbacked witch and snuck behind it, stepping one by one into the tunnel that
led to Honeyduke’s.

“So, fifteen!” Sirius said, clapping Remus on the shoulder once they were freed from the confines
of the cloak, “Excited?”

Remus shrugged,

“I never really thought about it. You tell me, you’re the oldest.”

“Well, obviously I’m much wiser and more mature than the rest of you…”

James snorted, walking in the lead with his wand lit. Sirius chose graciously to ignore it,
continuing, “I’d rather be seventeen, though. Then we could apparate, at least.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Peter groaned, a few steps behind them, “He actually wanted to try and learn to
apparate, Remus, just for your birthday, so we could get into Hogsmeade easier.”

“Can’t apparate inside Hogwarts.” Remus pointed out.

“Ten points to Moony!” Sirius grinned, “We could have apparated out of the cellar, though. Save
us having to try and get past ol’ Honeyduke.”

“Apparition is really hard though, isn’t it?” Remus asked, looking sceptical.

Sirius rolled his eyes, utterly confident as he responded, “Yeah, but we could do it.”

“It was a bit much on top of everything else we’ve had to do this term, though,” Peter grumbled.

Sirius turned to glare at him, irritated—Peter was always blurting out things that he shouldn’t!
Honestly, the boy had no sense of subtlety—it was a wonder he managed to keep any secrets at all.

Fortunately, Remus didn’t seem to catch on. “You mean with exams coming up?” He asked,
looking back at Peter. The shorter boy nodded, relieved.

“Yeah, exactly,” he huffed, “Exams. I’m definitely going to fail History of Magic this year.
Definitely. I’ll never get an OWL in it.”

This turned them handily to the subject of OWLs, an excellent opportunity to moan about
schoolwork and which subjects they were the least prepared for—although Sirius suspected that
Peter was the only one who really needed to worry about his grades. Eventually, they reached the
Honeyduke’s cellar—only to discover a horrid turn of events.

“Bugger,” James said, shaking the locked door. “He’s usually still up doing his accounts or
whatever. Must have gone to bed early.”

“Or he could be out,” Remus suggested, “It’s a Saturday night.”

“What are we going to do??” Peter asked, fretting, “Alohomora? Oh, but we can’t do magic…”

“Let me see,” Remus said. He stepped forward authoritatively and reached for something in his
back pocket, withdrawing a hairpin. The other marauders watched as he inspected the lock for a
moment, then smiled. “Easy.”

Sirius stared, entranced, as Remus bent the pin and carefully stuck it into the keyhole, stroking
gently and leaning in close to the door. The others held their breath, waiting—and heard a sudden,
distinct click. Remus grinned, stepping back and opening the door with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Sirius blinked, dumbfounded. When had Moony learned to do that? It wasn’t fair for one person to
be so bloody cool without even trying!

“You beauty!” James exclaimed, “C’mon, let’s go!”

Once inside the shop, they didn’t need to worry—the lock worked from the inside. Then, finally,
they were outside on Hogsmeade high street in the chilly night air. Sirius was giddy with
adrenaline, buzzing from the rush of sneaking out. He had to refrain from skipping as they made
their way up the cobbled street, past the Three Broomsticks, the closed shops and post office.

He halted abruptly in front of another pub: the Hog’s Head. It was rougher than the Three
Broomsticks, shabbier, and Hogwarts students usually steered clear. Tonight, however, there was
an A-frame chalkboard on the pavement outside which contained the entire reason for their
unsupervised night-time stroll: Live Music Tonight! Open Mic, Muggle Tribute Acts!

“Oh my god!!” Remus’s eyes went wide, reading the sign—a look of absolute delight crossed his
face, broad grin lighting up his features.

“What d’you think??” Sirius demanded.

“Sirius promised us you’d love it,” James said, nervously. Remus didn’t answer, just stared at the
chalkboard—then at Sirius.

“I love it,” he said fervently. The words sent a smug thrill through Sirius; of course Moony loved it
—he’d known he would!

It was perfect inside, not too crowded nor too quiet, and they had arrived just in time for the first
act. It wasn’t quite as comfortable as the Three Broomsticks, with straw on the floor and rickety
wooden chairs at the tables, but they at least wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught by
somebody they knew.

“I’ll get the first round in,” Sirius offered quickly, smiling impishly as he turned towards the bar.

“Sirius…” James frowned, “Butterbeers, yeah?”

“Mmm…”

He hurried off, leaving his friends to find a table. The bar was being tended by a gruff looking man
with a wiry beard, stained shirtsleeves rolled up over his forearms as he wiped down the counter.
He eyed Sirius sceptically as the boy walked up.

Sirius straightened, trying to look taller, puffing out his chest. “Four butterbeers,” he said, pitching
his voice a bit deeper, “And...” he hesitated, trying to scan the array of bottles shelved behind the
bar. Why was there no menu?? There was a menu at the Three Broomsticks!

The bartender raised an eyebrow.

“Eight firewhiskys, please. And four rounds of mead.”

The older man studied him for a minute, frowning—but once Sirius dropped a handful of heavy
coins on the counter, he just sighed and began grabbing glasses.

Sirius had to walk to slowly, balancing the heavy tray on his arm as he made his way back to the
table where his friends had settled down. The band was just announcing itself as Banshee Blues
when he arrived.

“Sirius!” James gasped, catching sight of the crowded tray.

“What?!” Sirius asked, winking, “I got you your butterbeer!”

“I meant just butterbeer, for all of us. How did you even get served? Is that firewhisky?”

“And mead.” Sirius sat down across from Remus, “Don’t drink any if you don’t want it. Here,” he
lifted one of the glasses of firewhisky, boldly, and raised it, “To our beloved Moony – inventor of
the marauders’ map, architect of our greatest pranks, completer of our overdue homework...”

“To Moony!” The other two cheered, smirking. Remus ducked his head, embarrassed, and looked
over at the band. He was smiling.

The only live music Sirius had ever seen performed was by stuffy wizard orchestras that his parents
dragged him to. They insisted that they were “exposing him to higher culture,” but Sirius mostly
just thought it was boring.

This was completely different. The performers took to the stage, dressed in a wild array of muggle
clothing—the lead singer wore a white cowboy hat and pink feather boa, which Sirius thought was
devastatingly cool. He stood with his electric guitar slung low across his hips, cradling the neck
with long, thin fingers. Sirius watched the man swagger up and down the small stage as the band
played a few Beatles songs, then moved on to some Rolling Stones. His face felt hot—probably
because of the firewhisky.

It was awful stuff, somehow burning and stinging at the same time, making Sirius feel as though he
were drinking—well, fire. But Remus knocked his first glass back without even flinching,
swallowing it easy as water. Sirius stared, amazed, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand
and grinned.

He couldn’t let himself look like a wuss in front of Lupin, so Sirius matched him, drink for drink,
repressing the urge to shudder and hoping he looked just as impressive slamming his glass down.
After the first two drinks, he started to feel fuzzy and happy, as though the alcohol were numbing
all unpleasant sensations and bringing every good thing into sharper focus. The music was more
vibrant, his friends’ laughter was louder—even the firewhisky didn’t taste as bad, which made it
much easier to keep drinking.

By the time Banshee Blues were packing up their instruments, Sirius was pretty sure that all the
marauders were starting to feel it. He’d been sneaking measures of firewhisky into James’s
butterbeer, so that the boy next to him was pink-cheeked and smiling; Peter had downed two
flagons of mead and kept asking if he was drunk yet, swaying on his stool all the while; and even
Remus seemed more relaxed than usual, an arm slung over the back of his chair and a slightly
glazed look in his eye.

“That you, Lupin?” A young wizard asked, approaching them from the bar as a witch with flouncy
blonde hair took up the mic.

“Er...hi.” Remus said, squinting up at the boy.

“Arnold Doyle! I was at Hogwarts last year, remember?” Arnold grinned, looking at Remus
expectantly, “Your fags got me through my NEWTs!”

“Oh! Right, yeah, hi Arnold, sorry,” Remus said quickly, gracing the wizard with a warm smile,
“What you doin’ ‘ere?”

“Girlfriend’s playing,” he nodded towards the stage, where the blonde witch was tuning an
acoustic guitar, “What about you? Thought you were still at school?”

“S’my birthday,” Remus grinned, slurring only slightly, “Snuck out, innit.”

Arnold laughed,

“Gotcha. Well, I won’t dob you in. Can I buy you a drink? Say thanks for the cigs?”

“You’re our kind of man, Arnold!” Sirius called jovially, words running together on his tongue.
Huh. How did Lupin keep so collected? They'd had the same amount to drink. Sirius decided that it
must be because he was taller. Remus was very, very tall, especially right now, in the Hog’s Head,
and it wasn’t very fair of him.

Arnold had left at some point—gone back over to the bar. His girlfriend started playing something
soft and folksy, singing in a high, warbling voice. Sirius liked the other band better—where had the
man with the feather boa gone off to?

He had just swung around to scan the bar when he noticed Arnold returning. He set down an entire
bottle of firewhisky on the table—brilliant.

“Happy birthday! Come of age, have you?”

“Actually—” Peter piped up, giggling. Luckily, Sirius was there to kick his shin under the table,
shutting him up.

“Yeah,” Remus lied, without batting an eye, “Cheers!”

They made good progress on the bottle of firewhisky, and about halfway through Remus pulled out
his cigarettes, mumbling that he wanted a smoke. Sirius fervently agreed, watching hungrily as
Remus lit one of the little paper cylinders.

“Here—c'mere,” Remus slurred, reaching over. He grabbed Sirius’s wrist, long fingers circling all
the way around as he dragged it halfway across the table. It felt strange, through the haze of
alcohol; the pads of Moony’s fingertips were warm and rough, and hot against his skin. Remus
picked up Sirius’s hand, fumbling for a moment before shoving the cigarette between his fingers—
careful not to let the burning end touch.

“There,” he nodded, firmly, satisfied with this accomplishment, and went to light a cigarette for
himself. Sirius released a breath.

“Those things stink, Moony.” James grimaced, leaning away. “And what does he mean your fags
got him through his NEWTs?”

“He must have confused me with someone,” Remus said, casually, and Sirius couldn’t help himself
—he burst into hysterical giggles.

The next band was even better than the first – Sirius didn’t catch their name, as he was distracted
trying to toss an ice cube into James’s open mouth, but they played a lot of Slade, Status Quo and
Black Sabbath. Even Remus, who seemed infuriatingly composed no matter how many drinks he
had, got into it, singing along towards the end with everyone else in the pub. Sirius watched in
delight as the quiet boy grew more and more rambunctious, until he was climbing up on his chair
and waving his glass around like a conductor’s baton. Along with the pub around them, the
marauders roared:

“So cum on feel the noize!

Girls grab ya boys!

We get wild, wild, wild!

We get wild, wild, wild!”

Sirius made a heroic effort to climb up onto his chair, too, but fate had other plans. Luckily, James
caught him, and he settled for slinging an arm each around Potter and Pettigrew, swinging them
back and forth as he belted out:

“So you think we have a lazy time, well you should know better...

And I don’t know whyyyy

I just don’t know whyyyy

And you say I got a dirty mind, well I’m a mean go getter!

And I don’t know whyyyy

And I don’t know whyyyyyy

Anymore! Oh no—ooooh!”

Sirius refused to stop singing this hook even after the band had packed up, and by the time the
marauders were all stumbling and staggering back through Hogsmeade high street, he’d got the rest
of them to join in, too. They tripped and laughed all the way back to Honeyduke’s; Sirius felt very
warm, and very bright.

The moment they set foot back in the familiar sweetshop, Sirius realized that he was incredibly
hungry. On the brink of starvation, even. Remus and James cruelly dragged him away from the
displays of candy, admonishing him in whispers to stay quiet! Sirius didn’t know what they were
on about; he was practically floating over the floorboards, not making a single sound.

Once they were safely in the tunnel, he wriggled out of Remus’s restraining grasp, exuberant and
happy and full of energy. He continued to sing, breathlessly, to himself, bouncing from wall to wall
as he twirled down the dark passageway.

This method of transportation proved to be a grave mistake, for although Sirius reached the end of
the tunnel before any of his friends, it came at a cost: all the happy, bubbly warmth diffused
throughout his body had coalesced somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, where it had turned
into a writhing mass of worms that was now trying desperately to squirm its way up his throat.
Sirius froze, trying to force the nausea back down—he would not get sick in front of his friends.

“Merlin, how are we going to get them back to bed without waking up the whole castle?!” James
huffed, finally catching up. He had Peter propped against one shoulder, looking as if he were about
to pass out. Remus, walking beside them, glanced over at Sirius—who bent double and promptly
threw up.

“Christ,” Remus grabbed his shoulders, stopping him from swaying. Those rough fingertips
brushed his jaw, pulling his hair back, and the other hand patted him on the back. Sirius might have
curled up and died of embarrassment, but he was too sick to bother in the present moment.

“Errr...” Remus’s voice was very close to his ear, “Why don’t you take Peter with the cloak, it’ll be
easier. I’ll wait a bit with him, then summon the cloak in half an hour or so? Easier with two,
anyway.” Remus always knew what to do. He was so clever.
“Good plan,” James agreed. “You sure you don’t want me to watch him?”

Sirius had the sudden and brilliant idea to curl up into a ball, which he acted on immediately,
sinking to the ground and groaning as he cradled his head in his hands. His hair slipped out of
Remus’s fingers, curtaining his face.

“Nah, I’ve looked after pissheads before,” Remus said, from very far above, “You go. Cheers for
the birthday, James, it was bloody brilliant.”

Oh no, Sirius thought, horrified, I’m ruining Moony’s birthday. He felt very sorry for himself.

There were the shuffling sounds that indicated James and Peter’s exit from the tunnel, then the
rough slide of the passageway door closing. Remus sighed and sat down next to Sirius, so close
that their shoulders were almost touching. Well—Sirius' shoulder was almost touching Remus’s
bicep.

“Scourgify.”

Sirius blinked, and the mess in front of him was gone. How was Remus so good at magic? Sirius
wasn’t even sure if he could hold his wand properly, in his current state. He groaned, resting his
head against Remus’s shoulder, which was at a very convenient height. It was bony and not very
comfortable, but Remus was warm, and Sirius could hear the vibrations of his quiet chuckle as he
asked, softly, “Alright there, mate?”

“Urgh.”

“Yeah, sounds about right. Hey, don’t puke on me, ok?”

“Mmmph.”

“Thirsty?”

“Yuh.”

Remus, the bloody bastard, chugged the remainder of the firewhisky—where he got his stamina
from, Sirius had no idea—and touched his wand to the opening,

“Aguamente!”

It filled immediately with crystal clear water, which was just about the most beautiful thing Sirius
had ever seen. He let his eyes fall shut again as Remus passed the bottle over, warning, “Don’t
drink it too fast, or you will puke.”

“Mmm.” Sirius sipped, as instructed, already mortified enough from puking once. Remus must
think he was such a girl—he wished he didn’t always muck everything up.

“You’re so good at stuff, Moony,” he slurred, nudging his head a bit further onto Remus’s
shoulder, trying to get comfortable.

“Yeah,” Remus said wryly, “Picking locks and holding my drink.”

Exactly, Sirius thought, and school and talking to girls and thinking of pranks and throwing a
punch...

“And magic,” he mumbled, half-asleep, feeling as though he existed in that strange, murky, in-
between world that straddled consciousness and dreams. He wasn’t dreaming, was he?
 “Yeah, we’re wizards, idiot.”

No, not dreaming—Remus would probably be nicer if this was a dream. Sirius sighed.

“I’m good at magic,” he explained to Moony’s shoulder, “But you, like....are magic, y’know?”

“You’re drunk and talking bollocks.” Remus laughed, “Oi, don’t fall asleep, I’ve got to get you
back.”

“Shuddup,” Sirius breathed, and then he was out.

Chapter End Notes

song is Prettiest Star by Bowie :)

and Cum On Feel The Noize by Slade of course

 Fourth Year: April
Chapter Summary

peter gets under sirius's skin...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Saturday 26th April 1975

They were beginning to win Madam Pomfrey over, Sirius was sure. The school nurse refrained
from brandishing her wand and chasing them out when they arrived in the hospital wing, and she
didn’t even tut disapprovingly or level them with one of her trademark glares. Instead, she only
sighed and glanced at the clock.

“Oh, go on then.” She waved them in, shaking her head. The marauders hurried past the door
before she could change her mind.

“Remus Lupin, put that book down at once!” She barked, marching over to the only bed in the
room that was currently screened. There was the incriminating thwump of a heavy book falling
suddenly onto the bedcovers.

“Can you see through the screen?!” Remus’s startled voice came from behind the thin barriers.

“No,” the nurse replied, with an amused smile, “I just know you too well.” She bustled around the
pale green hospital screens, and the three boys hung back, a few steps behind her.

It was a bit disconcerting, watching the two of them interact (or rather, hearing). It almost
reminded Sirius of the way Effie would scold James—smiling, eyes twinkling, face softening when
she looked at him.

“I had hoped you’d be resting your eyes, not straining them!” Pomfrey’s exasperated voice came
from behind the barriers.

“I can see in the dark.”

“No excuse. As you’re up, I suppose you’re ready for visitors?”

“Yeah, of course!” Rustling noises, as Remus moved around. Sirius grinned.

Madam Pomfrey’s head popped around the screen. “Come on, then,” she called, waving them over,
and the boys filed past one by one. “Not too much noise, and no books!”

“Why can’t you have books?” James asked, amused, leaning on the end of the bed frame.

“Because it’s Moony,” Sirius answered, flopping down on the small bed so that he was lying across
Remus’s legs. “He doesn’t understand moderation.”
“I just want to revise,” Remus protested, looking a bit embarrassed, “I mean, I’m at school, it’s
what I’m supposed to do.” He nodded to Peter, who was passing out chocolate frogs.

“You don’t want to burn out though,” Sirius said, around a bite of chocolate, “You’re miles ahead
of the rest of the class, and exams aren’t for ages.” Remus’s knee was poking into his back.

“They’re two weeks away,” James shot back, raising a brow, “You could do with being a bit better
prepared, Black.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” Sirius rolled his eyes, shifting around to try and get more comfortable, “I forgot
you’d joined the swot club too.”

“One afternoon in the library does not make me a swot!” James grumbled, looking quite offended
by the accusation.

“Don’t listen to him, James,” Remus said, moving his legs slightly under the covers—now his knee
was poking into Sirius’s stomach. “I’m proud of you. Thanks for the frogs, Pete.”

“Oh, they’re not from me,” Peter said from the armchair beside the bed, where he was getting
comfortable, “Dezzie says she hopes you get well soon.”

Immediately, the other three boys snapped their heads around.

“Dezzie.” Sirius repeated, sitting up, “You mean Desdemona?”

“Er…yeah?” Peter, who had been in the middle of chewing on a bite of chocolate, paused, staring
back at them anxiously, “She asked me why I couldn’t see her today, so I told her I was seeing
Moony.”

Sirius gaped, appalled, anger licking up his spine. Why was Pettigrew so bloody stupid?

“What?!” Peter asked, defensively, “I didn’t say anything about why he was sick, I just said—"

“You idiot!” Sirius fumed, hopping down from the bed.

“Sirius!” Remus hissed, sharply, darting a nervous glance towards the screens, “It’s fine. Really.”

“It’s not fine!” Sirius insisted, glaring down at Peter, “You can’t go telling everyone Remus is in
the hospital wing! Not everyone is as slow on the uptake as you! Doesn’t the word ‘secret’ mean
anything to you?!”

“You know it does,” Peter frowned, face going pink, “I’ve kept all sorts of…” he broke off,
glancing at Remus—Merlin, he was like a sieve for sensitive information! Might as well walk
around holding a sign that said We’re Keeping a Secret From You, Remus! Sirius was livid.

“Anyway, Dezzie’s not everyone, she’s my girlfriend.”

“So what?!” Sirius demanded, “You’re going to tell every tart that lets you stick your slimy tongue
down her throat?!”

There was a savage twist of satisfaction as the words hit home, and Peter’s eyes grew shiny with
tears, which he tried to glare around. He rubbed at his nose, sniffling, and stood abruptly.

“Just because I’ve got a girlfriend! Just because…because some of us actually like spending time
with girls!”
Sirius went cold with rage. Icy fingers crawled down his back, twisting into his gut. He could have
punched Peter—he wanted to, badly. He wanted to blacken his eye, to split his lip, to see his nose
bleed.

“What are you trying to say, Pettigrew?”

“That I’d rather be with Dezzie than you lot, right now. Sorry, Remus.” Peter apologized quickly,
before storming off with his shoulders thrown back and his chin jutting petulantly out.

Sirius felt sick. What the fuck? What was Peter playing at, accusing him of—what, of not turning
into a slobbering sop for the first bird who paid him any attention? Not ditching his friends to go
paw pathetically at some girl in a broom cupboard? Not wanting to hang about with groups of
giggling, simpering bints who didn’t even care about—about quidditch, or pranks, or anything that
was actually interesting?

Some of us actually like spending time with girls…

“Moody pair of buggers, eh?” James said to Remus, trying to dispel the tension that had filled the
space, “Anyway, how are you feeling? Moon go ok?”

“Yeah, no scars,” Remus responded after a moment—Sirius could feel the boy looking at him.
“Nothing broken, either. Maybe I’m finally getting good at being a werewolf.” Remus liked
spending time with girls.

“What did he mean?” Sirius interrupted, turning to James. The boy shrugged,

“I dunno, mate. Don’t listen to him, he gave as good as he got; you’re just miffed because he
finally stuck up for himself.”

“He meant something,” Sirius muttered, unsatisfied with this answer. Clearly, Peter thought it was
strange that he wasn’t spending more time around girls—because apparently that was normal.
Apparently he was supposed to. Apparently it was worth mentioning, even though Sirius already
had half the girls in school falling over themselves just to snog him, and Peter only had one, so
really, he didn’t even have any room to talk.

Did James think it was weird? Did Moony?

“How’s quidditch going?” Remus asked, trying to change the subject, “Ready for the final?”

James’s eyes lit up, and he immediately launched into a detailed rundown of his big plan for the
upcoming Ravenclaw game. The rematch with Slytherin had taken place in March, and—to the
surprise of the entire student body—Regulus had resumed his role as seeker. Sirius’s stomach had
dropped when he saw his brother walk onto the field; he’d never known Reggie to defy their
parents, especially not in such an open and risky manner. All it would take was one Slytherin with
loose lips, and his brother’s image as the perfect son would be ruined.

Sirius hadn’t realized that quidditch was so important to him. He was beginning to wonder if he
knew Reg very well at all, anymore.

All in all, it hadn’t been Sirius’s best game. He tried very hard to focus, but he kept getting
distracted—hesitating before hitting the bludgers, scanning the field for a head of dark curls, just to
check. Just to make sure. It was still so vivid, the memory of his brother’s body plummeting to the
earth. Sirius half-wished he’d listened to their mother and kept off his broom.

Luckily, everyone else was in top form, and Gryffindor managed to win with a narrow five-point
lead. Sirius was incredibly grateful for his teammates’ excellent flying; he didn’t know what he’d
have done if Regulus got to lord a Slytherin quidditch victory over him for the second year in a
row. As it was, his brother wasn’t speaking to him—once he got back to Hogwarts, he never
mentioned the letter, only carried on ignoring Sirius as usual.

Which was good. Everything was back to normal.

“He’s a right little prat, isn’t he?” James huffed one night, after the others were asleep. They’d
caught Barty Crouch hexing a first-year in the corridors earlier that day, Regulus leaning against
the wall next to him and flipping through his Transfiguration notes as if nothing unusual were
happening. When Sirius asked what exactly they were playing at, Reg just rolled his eyes and
walked off, not even bothering to respond.

“He gets worse every year,” Sirius said, quietly, knees curled to his chest on James’s bed. They’d
cast a silencing spell, but it was still better to be safe than sorry. He didn’t want the others
overhearing it when he talked about his family. “I dunno what mum’s doing to brainwash him—if
it weren’t for our parents…”

James shook his head. “You’ve got the same parents, haven’t you? You aren’t running around
picking on muggleborn students in your spare time.”

Sirius shrugged. But I’ve got you, he wanted to say, and didn’t. He didn’t like to think about what
might have happened if he hadn’t met James Potter on the Hogwarts Express, all those years ago.
Watching Regulus grow older was like looking into a mirror, sometimes, and seeing all the things
that might have been. They had the same stubborn streak, the same pride.

Still, unlike James, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to believe that malice came naturally to Reggie.
He had too many memories of his weepy little brother, crying when confronted with the world’s
injustice. Sirius had always been the hot-headed one, anger built in, with a mean streak that flared
up whenever something made him mad. Even though Reg was no longer the cry-baby their mother
had hated, there was still no heat about him; everything he did was cold, cunning, carefully
calculated, so that Sirius never had any idea what his brother was truly thinking anymore.

He supposed it didn’t matter. He would have plenty of time to try and figure out Regulus over the
summer—Sirius had just received a letter that morning, the first one his parents had sent him all
year, informing him that he was expected home. It was time to “learn his family duty,” according
to his father’s spiky handwriting.

Normally, that sort of vague, ominous mandate might have wound him up with nerves. But as he
stared down at the creamy parchment, mid-April sunshine cheerfully illuminating the words from
where it shone on the ceiling of the Great Hall, Sirius found that he was too tired to really care. He
was beginning to feel that no matter what he did, he always ended up back in the same place when
it came to his family. They would bring him home and tell him to stop doing what he was doing,
and he would keep doing it, and everyone would go on being unhappy. The end.

In fact, he’d been feeling the creeping drag of hopelessness ever since his mother’s visit to the
hospital wing. No matter how much older he got, no matter how many spells he learned, no matter
what amount of confidence he built up while at Hogwarts, his mother could still reduce him to
petulant, frightened child. What was the point in trying to kid himself? He was no braver than he’d
been at eleven years old—in fact, he was even more of a coward now, because without even
realizing it he’d started at some point to count on his younger brother as a shield. Whenever he
thought back on the moment that bludger hit Reggie, remembering the thoughts that had flooded
his mind, Sirius was filled with shame. Pathetic.
 He did his best not to succumb to these dark thoughts. James helped—they stayed up talking most
nights, sometimes about his family, sometimes about the war, sometimes about nothing at all.
Having his friend was like having a fire in winter, a bright point of light that helped stave off the
darkness when it threatened to overwhelm. But James wouldn’t be there during the summer, and it
was hard not to feel exhausted when Sirius thought about weathering his family by himself.

Now, in the hospital wing, both of his friends had fallen silent; James seemed to have run out of
things to say about the Ravenclaw match, or perhaps he had just noticed that Remus was no longer
paying attention. Sirius tried to keep busy by transfiguring various items around the bed, but he
kept thinking about Peter’s words.

Some of us actually like spending time with girls…

“Sorry,” Remus said, “It’s a bit boring for you two here. You don’t have to stay.”

Remus certainly spent plenty of time with girls; it seemed like he was always holed up in the
library studying with Lily, Mary, and Marlene. Peter spent half his time with his tongue down his
stupid girlfriend’s throat, and James hung out with the girls on the quidditch team…

“Nonsense,” James shook his head, “Nothing else to do around here – Ravenclaw have booked the
pitch for the rest of the day. And Sirius won’t come to the library with me, so…”

James had turned into a swot ever since McGonagall told him he’d need to get his grades up if he
wanted a shot at quidditch captain. Sirius suspected that it was just a way to keep the marauders in
line during exam season—who else would be captain, once Harpreet left?—but James took the
warning to heart, and had started spending long hours in the library. Sirius hated it. Exams were
the best time to pull pranks, when everyone was losing their minds revising. But apparently this
was just one more way that he was now out of step with his friends.

“You can quiz me, if you want.” Remus said, perking up at the mention of studying, “Ask me stuff
about Potions, then I’ll do whichever subject you want.”

“History,” James said immediately, “I am crap at History…”

Neither of his friends even needed to study—their grades were fine! Sirius felt irritated, scratchy
and hot. Why couldn’t they all just have fun like they used to? Why did everyone suddenly have to
become obsessed with grades, and girls?

“Ugh, well if you’re going to do that, I’ll go.” Sirius grumbled, standing up, “I’m crap at all of it.”

“No you’re not, don’t be stupid—"

“Nah, I’m off,” he interrupted Remus before he could finish, “Maybe I’ll go and find some girls to
hang around with, since that’s so important to everyone.”

“Since when has stuff Peter says bothered you?!” Remus demanded—but Sirius didn’t answer,
only feeling more irritated by the question. He stomped off, not bothering to glance back.

Chapter End Notes

i had a lovely reader suggest to me that it might be helpful to find a british proofreader
to check my use of slang/colloquial terms since i'm not british – originally the only
people reading this fic were me and my sister, but as it's grown quite a bit i'm
beginning to think that might not be a bad idea. unfortunately, i don't have any british
friends that i'd be comfortable asking to proofread, so i figured it couldn't hurt to ask
those of u who have already been reading it!

if anyone would be interested/willing to proofread just to check the british slang/terms,

pls send me a message on tik tok @rollercoasterwords (made the account solely for
this purpose since u can't dm on ao3 and i do in fact feel weird abt it but yesterday i
had to google "how to swear like a british person"....seeking help xoxo)
 Fourth Year: Partings
Chapter Summary

sirius reads the future

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Thursday 29th May 1975

Exams were a doss—they always were. Well, except Potions—but Sirius didn’t give a toss about
Potions and hadn’t for the past four years; he wasn’t about to start. He planned to drop the class as
soon as OWLs were over with, and it wasn’t like his parents would act any different if he got good
marks, so what was the point in worrying over it?

Their Divination final did not include ovomancy (much to Sirius’s dismay—it had ended up being
his favourite subject), but was a partner exam focused largely on palmistry. Their shrivelled
professor called each pair into her office one by one, where she sat and watched as they attempted
to read each other’s futures in their hands. It wasn’t very difficult; Sirius had gotten quite good at
wording statements that were just vague enough to make it sound like he was saying something
important when he was really saying nothing at all, and once he’d memorized all the lines and
planes from the text, it was just a matter of putting the two together.

Still, it was strangely intimidating, sitting across from their professor in her dark, cramped office.
None of the students had ever seen it before, and Sirius understood why—the place was a complete
tip, crammed with mildewing books and various odds and ends; empty teacups with leaves dried at
the bottom, small, oddly shaped crystals, strange masks and stones with runes scratched into them.
She had draped shawls over the windows, so that the sunlight weakened and came through tinged
with pink and orange. There was incense burning, somewhere, filling the room with sickly-sweet
smoke that made Sirius feel a bit dizzy.

He squinted down at James’s palm, trying to see in the dim light. Their professor sat, blinking
placidly, almost inhumanly still.

“Er…let’s see…long head line, indicating a broad range of intellectual pursuits, but it isn’t
particularly deep, so you might not spend much time on any of them…deep heart line, beginning
below the index finger; relationships will be a very important part of your life, then, and you’ll
draw a lot of happiness from those close to you…erm…long lifeline, which also indicates that the
people you encounter will have an important impact on your life, and it’s…fairly deep? So…a rich
life, influenced heavily by others.” He let go of James’s palm, looking up at their professor to
indicate that he was done.

“Fate line?” She croaked, in her tremulous, warbling voice.

“Oh, right.” Sirius snatched his friend’s hand back, “Er….it’s sort of faint, lots of breaks…so…
you’ll be encountering significant changes, soon.” He glanced back at their professor again, hoping
this would be enough to satisfy her.

She hummed, stretching out a gnarled hand. After a moment, James realized what she wanted, and
placed his palm on top of hers. She dragged him closer, squinting as she studied the lines that
Sirius had just attempted to analyse.

“Mmm…” she murmured, poking and prodding at James’s palm, tracing the lines with her fingers.
She frowned, glanced up at him, then looked back down, still frowning. After a moment, the old
witch sighed, patting James’s hand gently before releasing it. She didn’t say anything about what
she’d found, though, only waited expectantly for the pair to repeat the entire process with Sirius’s
palm.

In the end, they both got Acceptables, which was perfectly satisfactory—Sirius had no intentions of
becoming any sort of seer or fortune teller. In fact, he preferred to think about the future as little as
possible, especially with summer coming up.

The outlook was bleak. It would be the first time in over a year that all four marauders would be
separated. Sirius’s family had already forbidden him from visiting the Potters, and Remus would be
stuck in the muggle world. Even Peter would be absent; his family was going to America to try and
visit Philomena. James had argued vigorously on Sirius’s behalf, even writing to Dumbledore to try
and convince him that Sirius should be allowed to stay with the Potters, but it wasn’t as if their
headmaster could do anything. It was his parents they were talking about, and they had every right
to lock Sirius up at home if they wanted to.

“I’ll have Reg,” he had assured his friends, resigned to his fate, “Maybe if he’s not surrounded by
Slytherins all the time he’ll listen to a bit of reason – he’s old enough, now.”

His friends still seemed concerned. Remus promised over and over again to write, and Mary even
offered to try and visit when she heard that he would be in London—which was nice, he supposed,
but never going to happen. His mother would lose her mind if a muggleborn witch tried to set foot
in their house.

James had an entire escape plan in place, which made Sirius feel a bit odd. He knew it was just
because his friend cared, but he had already survived fifteen years with his family. Even though
things were quite tense with the war and the meetings and the politics, at the end of the day, it was
just another summer. He’d be fine—and he certainly didn’t want anyone’s pity.

Besides, he’d have plenty to do to keep busy. Despite being separated, he, James, and Peter were
determined to finally, finally brew their respective animagi potions. The first step was holding a
mandrake leaf in their mouths for thirty days, and they’d already been practicing with leaves from
the greenhouse to figure out how best to hold the plant while still being able to eat and talk and
generally not let others catch on that you had a leaf in your mouth. Peter had swallowed his
accidentally a few times, but all three of them had managed to get it down well enough that Sirius
was confident they’d be able to do it.

It would be difficult, of course—especially for Peter, who’d be traveling with his family, and
Sirius, who’d have to avoid the watchful eyes of both his parents and Kreacher. But they’d
collected all the ingredients they’d need, and they’d reviewed the instructions over and over, until
all of them could practically recite the incantation in their sleep. There was no point in waiting any
longer.

“Oi, Evans!”

James’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Having just completed their Divination exam, they
were on their way back to the Gryffindor common room—and it looked as if Lily was, too. She
whipped her head around, curtain of red hair swinging, and rolled her eyes when she caught sight of
them.

“What do you want, Potter?”

“Need help with your books?”

“I’m fine, thank you very much.”

“I can carry your bag for you?”

“Believe it or not, I’m quite capable of carrying my things myself.”

“Yeah, but they look heavy.”

Sirius sighed as they fell into step beside her, resigning himself to the increasingly familiar scene
of his friend acting like a prat over Lily Evans.

“And?” Lily snapped, irritated, “I’ve got arms, haven’t I?” Sirius didn’t understand why she was
always so prickly with them—she was perfectly nice to Remus. But James, as always, was
undeterred.

“Indeed you have,” he grinned, “A perfectly good pair of arms; excellent at—er—carrying books, I
suppose.”

Lily snorted. They had arrived at the portrait door, and she didn’t bother to say goodbye as she
swept inside, hurrying over to the girls’ dormitories. James sighed, wistfully, after her. Sirius shook
his head, studying his friend’s lovesick expression.

“I’ll never understand you, mate,” he said, as they made their way to their own room, “Why do you
even like her?”

“What’s not to like?” James asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Mate, she treats you like shit.”

James laughed, and Sirius doubled down.

“I’m serious! She’s only ever rude to you—name one nice thing she’s said to you this entire year.”

“She said I was the greatest, just the other day.”

“I believe her exact words were, ‘the greatest idiot who has ever graced the halls of Hogwarts.’”

“Mmm was that it?” James chuckled, setting his school bag down, “She’s got a way with words,
that Lily.”

Sirius stared, exasperated. It was impossible—the boy’s brain turned to mush whenever the subject
of Evans came up. Still, he tried again,

“Seriously, mate, why her?” He looked down, beginning to unknot his tie—now that they’d
finished their final exam and classes were officially over, he was eager to get out of his uniform.

When James didn’t immediately respond, Sirius looked up. His friend was staring out the window,
looking unusually thoughtful.
“What?”

“D’you remember second year?”

“Which part?”

James sighed, smiling slightly. “Near the end of term, you all kept teasing me about having a crush
on Evans, and I thought it was so embarrassing.” He laughed, “I kept trying to deny it, and then
one day at breakfast they served French toast—y’know, with all the berries and icing sugar?”
Sirius nodded. The house elves made fantastic French toast, and served it with a full spread of
toppings. He had no idea what any of that had to do with Evans, though.

James’s eyes had a glazed look as he spoke, as if he were only half present, remembering.

“I looked over, and she’d got icing sugar on her nose. And—I dunno, it sounds stupid, but I felt like
something just…clicked. And I couldn’t stop staring. And then she turned and caught me looking,
and she rolled her eyes, you know, the way she does, and I just couldn’t stop smiling.”

Sirius blinked, waiting for the punchline.

“…that’s it?”

James shrugged. “That’s it.”

There was a pause, as they looked at each other—then Sirius burst out laughing.

“Merlin, Potter, you are such a girl! That’s the stupidest, soppiest story I’ve ever heard!”

“Laugh all you want, Black,” James sniffed, indignant, “But if you keep talking like that I’m afraid
I won’t be able to invite you to the wedding.”

* * *

Friday 27th June 1975

On the last Friday of term, with all exams and lessons completed, Sirius sat down for dinner with
his friends. He was looking forward to enjoying their company without having to worry about
anyone rushing off for a last-minute cram session in the library or shoving a textbook at his face
and demanding he quiz them. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

“Ugh,” Sirius groaned as one of his parents’ owls landed in front of him, scroll wrapped around its
leg. The bird hooted imperiously, head swivelling on its neck.

“I’ll do it,” James said quickly, reaching over to tug the note free. The bird hooted again and
flapped its wings, flying off immediately. James shoved his glasses up his nose as he read—they
had a tendency to slip down when he bent his head. After a moment, he shrugged and scrunched
the note up, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Just making sure you know you have to meet them at King’s Cross, they’re expecting you and
Regulus to be together.”
“Worried I’ll pull another disappearing act,” Sirius said, smirking for a moment as he imagined
how satisfying it would be to see his parents’ faces if he just…didn’t show up.

“Er…will you?” Peter asked, nervously.

Sirius sighed, discarding the fantasy. “Not worth it,” he said, “Bet they’ll be there early just to spite
me. I’ll have to come up with another way to piss them off.”

“Or you could just try to keep your head down and make it through the summer,” Remus
suggested, scraping the last of his ice cream up with his spoon.

Sirius raised a sceptical eyebrow. Remus poked his tongue out in response, then proceeded to use
said tongue to lick the spoon. Sirius looked away.

There was a sudden shriek from down the table. The boys all turned just in time to see Mary, who
had also received a letter, burst abruptly into tears. The owl perched in front of her let out a very
offended hoot and flapped off, clearly unsympathetic about its role as the bearer of bad news.

“Mary!” Lily and Marlene exclaimed, shocked, “What’s wrong?”

Mary didn’t answer, just shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. She pressed a hand to
her mouth and then, without warning, shoved her chair back, fleeing the dining hall. Lily and
Marlene only hesitated for a moment before jumping up to follow her, appearing quite alarmed.

“What d’you think’s up with her?” Peter asked, around a bite of food.

Remus shrugged. He didn’t look particularly concerned, unlike Mary’s other friends.

“Girl stuff.”

It was indeed, they discovered later, “girl stuff,” as Remus so eloquently put it. Lily filled them in
that night when she came down to the common room to find her cardigan—or at least, she filled
Remus in, which was as good as telling all of them.

“Darren dumped her,” she whispered, voice grave, “She’s a complete wreck, poor thing.”

“Right before the holidays?” Remus asked, frowning, “Bit harsh!”

“Yeah,” Lily shook her head, “Said he couldn’t be bothered waiting around for her while she’s at
school all year – wants a girlfriend closer to home. I think she’s well shot of him, he sounds
horrible.”

“Bet Marlene’s happy, though,” Remus said, perking up a bit, “Won’t have to hear about it
anymore.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Lily warned, grimly, “She hasn’t shut up about how much she loved him yet…”

“Poor thing.” Remus dug around in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a sugar quill, “Give her
this, tell her I hope she feels better, eh?”

“Ahh, you’re so sweet, Remus,” Lily simpered, leaning down to peck him on the cheek before she
finally returned to upstairs. Sirius rolled his eyes, frowning.

“She wasn’t that upset when she broke up with me,” he muttered indignantly, moving a chess
piece.
 “Well,” Remus said evenly, turning back to their game, “She dumped you, didn’t she. I expect it’s
different when you’re the one getting dumped.”

“I wasn’t that upset.”

“I didn’t think you and Mary were that serious,” James put in, listening from where he was playing
exploding snap with Peter on the rug, “You were only thirteen.”

“Fourteen,” Sirius corrected. “But I take your point. Didn’t really give it a fair go, did we?”

“You weren’t very mature about it,” Peter sniffed, flipping through his cards. Sirius felt a twinge of
annoyance at the condescending tone.

“No, well no one ever caught us snogging in broom cupboards, you’re right,” he snapped.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Black,” Peter quipped, dryly—which only annoyed Sirius even more.
He was opening his mouth to respond when Remus said pointedly,

“Oi, you all promised me the snogging thing was over.” He frowned, severely, at all of them.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Moony.” Peter said, turning back to his cards with a smug grin.

Chapter End Notes

thank u so much to everyone who reached out after my last note about proofreading!!
v appreciative of the support <3 i was able to find someone to help, so an additional
thanks to the lovely superloonyluna for her notes + corrections on british slang!!
 Fourth Year: June
Chapter Summary

Mary burns some letters

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Saturday 28th June 1975

The common room was chaos—exactly the way that Sirius liked it. As usual on the last day of
term, everyone was frantically searching for misplaced objects, collecting abandoned books and
trinkets that had been scattered about the room throughout the year, and calling out to each other so
that clamouring voices rang out at every turn,

“Have you seen my—”

“Accio wristwatch!”

“Who took my—”

“My toad, has anyone seen my—”

Sirius and James were crouched behind one of the oversized armchairs, each picking objects for
the other to levitate. Sirius was just about to dare James to levitate Harpreet’s lucky quill (he’d just
discovered it stuck between two sofa cushions, and was cradling it gently in his hands) when the
portrait door swung open, and they were rudely interrupted.

“You two!” Huffed a familiar, snippy voice. Sure enough, Evans was marching over, wand
brandished and a very McGonagall-esque glare on her face.

Sirius laughed and darted behind James, using him as a shield,

“Come on, Evans, just a bit of last day high spirits!”

“Why can’t you just leave people be, Black?!”

“Why can’t you leave us be,” he shot back, sending green sparks flying up to singe the ceiling,
“You’re not a prefect yet, y’know!”

“Oooh, just wait ‘til I am!” She stamped her foot, throwing at jinx at Sirius. Luckily, James was an
excellent shield; he absorbed the spell quite nicely. Remus, who had walked in with Lily and was
doing sod all to help (the traitor) began to giggle hysterically as turnips sprouted from their poor
friend’s ears.

“Well that wasn’t very goody-goody,” Sirius admonished, taking the opportunity to transfigure a
nearby lamp into a flock of birds that squawked and screeched and fluttered around the room.
Lily wasn’t finished, though. Before either of them could blink, she’d hit James with a jelly-legs
jinx, causing him to collapse on the floor with his hands still clutching the turnips on his face. This
left Sirius exposed to an attack, and before he could get his wand up Lily had fired off a binding
spell, disabling him. She turned to Remus.

“Help me sort all this out, will you?”

“Aww…ok, fine,” Remus grinned, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Sirius watched, betrayed,
from the floor, as Remus and Lily de-transfigured the lamp, erased the singe marks on the ceiling,
and generally demolished all the hard work he had done to get the common room into such a wild
state of anarchy. Sirius struggled against his invisible bonds, frustrated, but it was no use. Lily
didn’t even bother to lift her spells, only shot them an evil smirk before bidding goodbye to Remus
and disappearing up the stairs to the girls’ dorm.

“Isn’t she marvellous,” James said wistfully, smiling as Remus helped him into a nearby chair. His
legs were still unsteady, shaking and threatening to give out beneath him. For such a goody-two-
shoes, Evans was certainly good at jinxes.

“Yeah, real charmer,” Sirius grumbled, offended that Remus had left him struggling on the ground.
He wiggled again, trying to get free.

“You two are just lucky she only uses her power for good,” Remus tutted, “You’d be no match for
her if she decided to start really breaking the rules. Finite.” He waved his wand over Sirius, finally
undoing the binding spell.

“Can’t believe you helped her, Moony!” He whined, trying to rub feeling back into his arms.

“Of course I did,” Remus shrugged, “I’m terrified of her.”

His friends might have been willing to roll over for Lily Evans, but Sirius certainly was not. That
night, after the others had fallen asleep, he snuck downstairs to set up one final prank—a bit of
revenge, since Evans had curtailed their final day of mischief-making. His pockets were full of
colour-changing capsules, rigged to explode once he said the correct spell—he planned to line
them all up at the bottom of the staircase to the girls’ dorm, then vanish them, so that he could set
them off in the morning when Lily walked down the stairs. As long as he murmured the spell
quietly, she’d have no way to prove it was him.

Unfortunately, the common room wasn’t empty. Sirius blinked, surprised to see someone crouched
in front of the fire—they had carriages to catch in just a few hours, and it hadn’t crossed his mind
that anyone else would be awake so late. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, squinting, and
realized with a start that it was Mary. Her dark curls were haloed in the firelight, and she appeared
to be burning something, tossing scraps of paper into the flames.

Sirius turned, preparing to sneak back upstairs—and accidentally scuffed his shoe against the
flagstones. The scrape sounded horribly clear in the silent room. Mary spun around.

“Sirius?”

“Er…hi, Macdonald. Alright?”

She sniffed, rubbing at her face and turning back to the fire.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, me either,” Sirius lied, standing awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs. Mary sniffled again,
and he sighed, supposing it was too late to sneak off. He looked longingly at the stairs to the girls’
dorms, images of Evans’ smug face covered in green and blue powder rapidly disappearing before
his eyes, and padded over to crouch beside Mary on the carpet.

It was strange, seeing her so vulnerable. Sirius didn’t think he had ever seen Mary cry, not even at
the nastiest insults that the Slytherins flung at her. She was always so upbeat, full of cheerful
smiles and laughter. The things that bothered others rolled off Mary’s back—or at least, Sirius had
thought they did.

“Darren’s letters?” He asked, casually, passing her another sheet of paper. She nodded, crumpling
it into a little ball before chucking it into the fire.

“Appalling handwriting,” he tutted, shaking his head, “I think you’ve dodged a bullet, Macdonald.
Must’ve been a headache trying to puzzle out this chicken scratch every time he wrote.”

“Not everyone is as vain about their handwriting as you, Black,” Mary snorted, shaking her head.
Her lips quirked up a bit.

“You told me you loved my handwriting!”

“Yeah, well, it is a bit…frilly.”

Sirius scoffed, mock-offended. “My handwriting is incredibly manly, I’ll have you know—the
peak of masculinity, some have said.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“Who’s said?”

“Effie Scunthorpe.”

Mary let out a startled laugh. “Effie Scunthorpe?! That girl wrote the most ridiculous things in her
little love letters! Remus got so sick of her passing them to him in Ferox’s class that I about thought
he was ready to bite her head off by the end of term!” She chuckled, pushing another piece of
paper into the flames, “Made for interesting reading, though.”

“You read them?!”

“We all did! Marlene and I thought they were hysterical.”

Sirius smiled, grudgingly. “Yeah, they were all pretty stupid, from what I remember. Glad
somebody got a laugh out of it, I s’pose.”

Mary smiled back at him, and for a moment they said nothing, content to sit in companionable
silence. The fire crackled happily as Sirius helped her feed more paper into its hungry mouth.

It was nice, hanging out with Mary. She was kind, and funny, and not afraid to speak her mind.
They never really spent any time alone, always surrounded by their respective groups of friends, so
Sirius was surprised by how comfortable he felt sitting next to her.

“D’you want to sit with me on the train tomorrow?” He asked, on a whim. “Er—with us, I mean.
Me and Remus and James. And Peter.”

Mary grinned, face a still bit puffy from crying. “Sure.”

 * * *

Sunday 29th June 1975

Sirius was bleary-eyed in the morning, sticky with sleep. He awoke to the familiar sensation of
dread, a cold pit in his stomach as he thought about returning home. There was no ignoring it, now
—in just a matter of hours, he’d be back on the steps of Grimmauld Place.

He was quiet as the marauders’ finished their last-minute packing, heart twisting in his chest when
he looked down at the ugly blast marks on his trunk. His mother would have a fit when she saw it
—he was already cringing, imagining what she would say.

If the others noticed his gloomy mood, they didn’t comment on it; they all seemed to be giving him
space. James and Remus were discussing the final marks that had just been posted, and Peter ran
off at the first opportunity to find Desdemona. Sirius caught the worried glances that James kept
darting in his direction, but the other boy didn’t say anything until just before they were supposed
to board the carriages. McGonagall had just given the ten-minute warning when James pulled
Sirius aside, dragging him back up to the empty dorm room.

“What??” Sirius demanded, trying not to sound too irritated. He didn’t like seeing the room
without their things—it was too bare, stripped of all personality. It looked as though no one had
ever lived in it at all.

“C’mere,” James insisted, pulling him towards an empty bed, “I have something for you.”

Sirius sat, as instructed, and waited while James dug around in his pockets. Finally, he withdrew a
small compact mirror. It was lovely, silvery and etched with an ornate design.

Sirius raised a brow. “Is this about my vanity, Potter? I think we both know you’re just je—”

“No, no,” James laughed, “Just open it. Go on!”

Sirius sighed, snapping the compact open. Smooth skin reflected back at him, black hair and
glasses—

Glasses?!

With a start, Sirius realized that he was seeing not his own face, but his friend’s. When he snapped
his head up, James was holding an identical mirror in front of his head, grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s a family heirloom!” He crowed, eagerly, “So that we can see each other, anytime! Won’t have
to bother writing letters—we can talk using them, too, sound travels and everything.” Sure enough,
there was a disconcerting echo of each word that James said, coming tinny through the mirror.

Sirius blinked, not sure how to respond. There was such a sudden rush of affection—of love for his
friend, brilliant and smiling and always, always there—that he didn’t know what to do with it. The
sharp bite of loneliness that he had already begun to feel, thinking about the upcoming summer,
was suddenly toothless, assuaged by the boy standing in front of him.
“Potter…James, this is…” he paused to scrub at his eyes, which were prickling suspiciously. After
a moment, he looked back up.

“Thank you. This is the best thing anyone’s ever given me.”

James grinned, looking like he was about to say something back—but the door suddenly burst
open. Remus stood in the hallway, glancing back and forth between them awkwardly.

“Sorry, Moony,” James said, getting to his feet, “We’re ready, eh Black?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Sirius mumbled, still feeling slightly dazed as he stood. His heart was so full that
he felt as though it might burst. “Look what James gave me,” he said to Remus, crossing the room
and holding the precious mirror out reverently.

“Er…” Remus stared down at it, looking confused. “Very um…pretty?”

James laughed,

“It’s magic – belonged to my grandad. Look,” He opened the twin mirror, holding it up to his face.
When Remus looked back down at the compact in his palm, his eyes widened.

“So we can keep in touch over the summer,” James explained.

“Oh my god! That’s amazing!”

“I know,” James smiled, sliding his own mirror back into his pocket, “Wish I could have got them
for all of us, but they’re old family heirlooms and there’s only two…”

Sirius realized, suddenly, why James might have wanted to give him the mirror in private—and
kicked himself mentally for making things awkward. He hadn’t meant to make Moony feel left out
or anything, he’d just been so excited…

“Oh, of course,” Remus said hurriedly, looking a bit embarrassed. There were a few tense seconds
of silence before he cleared his throat, “C’mon, McGonagall’s gonna hex us into next week if we
miss the carriages.”

Fortunately, they did not miss the carriages—in fact, Sirius estimated that they had at least thirty
seconds to spare—and pretty soon they were all piling into their usual compartment on the train.

It was decidedly more crowded than last year; in addition to the four marauders, there were a
number of new guests. Desdemona, of course, was wrapped around Peter, both of them cooing
sickeningly at each other. Mary was there, too, since Sirius had invited her, and of course she had
brought Marlene, which meant Lily had also come along—otherwise she’d have had to sit alone.

Their trip was significantly noisier than usual, as a result. Peter and Desdemona fumbled at each
other for the entire ride, twisted up in a corner of the car; James tried everything he could think of
to get Lily’s attention, and, when that failed, switched to discussing quidditch with Marlene; and
Sirius, trying to cheer up Mary, graced his friends with a number of beautiful Beatles renditions—
Mary had told him that Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was one of her favourite albums,
and her delighted laughter made him feel very cool indeed.

In fact, the only person who seemed to be sitting quietly was Remus, squashed in next to Sirius’s
shoulder. When he turned to try and get the boy to join in for Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,
Sirius saw why: tawny curls crushed against the window where he’d leaned his head, and Remus’s
eyes were shut fast, lips parted slightly. He had fallen asleep.
 Sirius turned back to Mary, who had also noticed Moony sleeping. The two of them exchanged a
grin, and she held a finger to her lips, giggling.

“Picture yourself in a boat on a river…With tangerine trees and marmalade skies…” Sirius half
sang, half whispered, causing Mary to giggle even more. “Somebody calls you, you answer quite
slowly…A girl with kaleidoscope eyes…”

Chapter End Notes

and that's a wrap on year four! on to year five...

 Summer 1975
Chapter Summary

sirius brews an illegal potion

Chapter Notes

i tend to assume that anyone reading an atyd rewrite pretty much knows what they're
getting themselves into, but i think this chapter warrants a trigger warning. so:

TW for homophobia + abuse

See the end of the chapter for more notes

His mother had tried to take down the Gryffindor banners.

It was the first thing Sirius noticed, arriving back in his room. They were rumpled and very clearly
singed, some of them badly burnt—it looked like she’d tried to tear them down and, failing that,
had attempted to blast them off. Luckily, he’d had the forethought to cast permanent sticking
charms on his spell-o-tape before leaving school, and her attempts had clearly ended in failure.
Sirius: 1, Family: 0.

She wasn’t pleased with the state of his trunk, either, and roped his father into it—Sirius had to sit,
staring at his feet in the parlour, listening as they took turns berating him for his abhorrent
behaviour and despicable immaturity. But they didn’t do anything worse than shout at him, and he
retreated to his room that night feeling oddly relieved. Maybe the summer wouldn’t be as bad as
he’d expected.

He finally received an invitation to one of the mysterious family meetings, which he wasn’t sure
how to feel about—on the one hand, he hated being left out; it made him feel small, unimportant,
invisible. But the spark of relief Sirius felt at the inclusion quickly turned to a confused mixture of
apprehension and guilt; after all, he wasn’t sure that the meeting was something he wanted to be
included in. Not if it had anything to with this Dark Lord character, or what had been happening
with the war…

He thought about setting off some dungbombs, just to spite his parents, but in the end James talked
him out of it, insisting that it would be more useful to just keep his head down and make note of
who all was there and what they said. Sirius made it through the meeting by reminding himself
that he was a spy, and he didn’t agree with anything anyone was saying, and he was only
pretending to go along with it so that he’d have information to take back to Mr. Potter. Still, it
made his skin crawl, listening to his family rattle on about the “infestation of mudbloods” in the
wizarding community and the “dire need to cleanse the ministry of muggle apologists.” His family
had always been prejudiced, but now…they spoke about muggleborn wizards like they were hardly
even human. Like they were a particularly nasty virus, or a stubborn infestation of pixies. Sirius
didn’t think they had always talked that way—or had he just never noticed?
Either way, he couldn’t afford to draw any attention to himself by trying to disrupt the hateful
speech. Not if he wanted to be a successful spy. And, of course, there was another reason to keep
his head down—another reason to tiptoe around his parents, doing his best to avoid their attention:
the mandrake leaf.

The first step in becoming an animagus was to carry a mandrake leaf in your mouth for an entire
month, without spitting it out or swallowing it. This meant, of course, that Sirius spent the first
thirty days at home trying to keep his mouth shut as much as possible. Eating proved to be a bit of
a headache, as it had to be done very delicately—Sirius found that the best method was to tuck the
leaf into one cheek and chew on the other side of his mouth, swallowing very, very carefully.

He remained on edge throughout the thirty days, anxious that his family might notice something.
But his parents simply seemed to assume that their lectures had finally gotten through—and
besides, they were so busy going in and out of meetings that he didn’t really need to worry about
them looking too closely. It was surprisingly easy to fly under the radar; in fact, Sirius found
himself frustrated by the perception that he had decided to behave. He wanted desperately to prove
to his parents that they hadn’t beaten him.

Regulus was a different story. While at Hogwarts, Reggie typically avoided him like the plague—
but at home, his brother was always creeping around, coming into whatever room Sirius had
picked to hang about in and settling down with a book, or summer homework, or some other
excuse to stay. Eventually, when Reggie walked into the library with a chess set one day and began
to play against himself, Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on then,” he sighed, moving over to where his brother was setting up the board.

“What??” Reggie looked alarmed, caught-out, a guilty, self-conscious expression on his face. Sirius
shook his head.

“Go on, let’s have a game. Pretty sure I’m a better opponent than whatever imaginary friend you
were planning to face.”

Regulus grumbled, agreeing only grudgingly and acting as if he were doing Sirius a favour. They
played in silence, broken only by the soft sounds of the pieces moving across the board.

Sirius won.

After that, they called an uneasy truce. There wasn’t a lot of talking, which suited Sirius—he
wasn’t sure what he’d say, even if he didn’t have a mandrake leaf in his mouth to consider. Instead,
they played quiet games of chess, or worked on their summer homework together. Well, Reg
worked—Sirius usually just found a novel to read when his brother started pulling out textbooks.
He was almost as bad as Moony when it came to schoolwork.

Each night, once Sirius was sure that Kreacher wasn’t listening at the door, he pulled out the
mirror and waited for his friend’s familiar grin to appear. James was struggling even more than
Sirius with the mandrake leaf, as he had parents who actually enjoyed talking to him. Still, by the
end of thirty days, they had both managed to keep the plant safely tucked between teeth—as had
Peter, reporting by postcard from America.

Sirius felt a thrill as he finally removed the leaf from his mouth, tucking it safely into the crystal
phial he had hidden under a floorboard in his room. He added one of his own hairs, then a silver
teaspoon of dew—collected from the forbidden forest while they were still at Hogwarts, from a
place where neither sunlight nor human feet had touched for seven days. Next in was the Death’s-
Head Hawk Moth Chrysalis, preserved, and obtained from a very dodgy man that James and Sirius
had gone to meet in the back of the Hog’s Head pub one Hogsmeade weekend while Peter
distracted Remus.

Sirius placed the potion carefully back under the floorboard, ensuring that the phial was stoppered
tightly. He had trouble falling asleep that night, continuously glancing at the spot where he’d
hidden the mixture—he couldn’t believe he’d actually done it, that the potion was finally brewing,
that all there was left to do was wait.

Well—not all there was left to do. Every morning, Sirius pulled himself out of bed with the sunrise,
placing his wand over his heart to whisper,

“Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus.”

At sunset, he repeated the process, hiding away in his room. Peter had been worried about this part,
asking over and over whether they’d get in trouble for casting underage magic. But as far he could
tell from his research, the incantation technically wasn’t a spell—there was no immediate effect, as
they weren’t actually casting anything. It was more similar to potion making, pulling magic from
ingredients without reciting spells, except—if Sirius understood the theory correctly—your own
body was one of the ingredients. It was all a bit confusing, but the ministry of magic didn’t show
up at his house, so Sirius supposed he’d been right.

As July bled into August, however, he began to feel restless. Everything was going well—he and
Reggie hadn’t yelled at each other in almost a week, nobody in his family had caught onto his
illegal potion-brewing, and his parents were too busy going to their secret meetings to pay him
much attention. But Sirius felt prickly, on edge, like something bad was going to happen. Maybe it
was the darkening circles under his mother’s eyes, or the haggard look in his father’s face. The
newspaper continued to report attacks on muggles and muggleborn wizards, along with the usual
slew about political rivalries in the ministry and debates over restrictive policies. Every time
Sirius’s parents stayed out until the late hours of night, returning with stormy expressions and tight
frowns, his stomach twisted into knots. What were they doing out there? How bad was it?

Things came to a head halfway through August. He’d started taking walks by himself, when his
parents left the house—trying to work out some of the nervous energy. He’d been repeating the
incantation every morning and evening, and although he hadn’t started to feel the second heartbeat
yet, he wondered if the magic wasn’t taking effect—he felt as though he had more energy than
usual, and an unusual desire to spend time outdoors. Of course, that could have just been a side
effect of being cooped up in the townhouse.

Down the road from Grimmauld Place, Sirius made an amazing discovery: lying in a skip, almost
completely untarnished, were a heap of muggle posters. They were all quite rude, pictures of girls
in suggestive poses, some with their tops off. Sirius felt a strange, embarrassed thrill as he looked
down at the posters—probably, someone’s mum had found his collection and thrown them out. He
gathered them up, glancing about furtively. An old muggle woman crossing the street gave him a
strange look, but other than that nobody noticed as he hurried back to his house with the posters
clutched to his chest.

He had to be stealthy, re-entering through the front door, to make sure Kreacher didn’t catch him
out. Luckily, the old house elf was nowhere to be seen—probably holed up in his awful little
cupboard, muttering to himself over his collection of rags. Sirius darted quickly upstairs, shutting
the door to his room. His parents were out at a meeting, and likely wouldn’t be back for hours.

The spell-o-tape still worked like a charm, and Sirius felt very satisfied as he stepped back to look
at his handiwork. The muggle girls were scattered between his singed Gryffindor banners, smiling
cheekily and pushing their tits together. Sirius felt very grown up, looking at them. This was
definitely the sort of thing that the older boys at school would appreciate—he wished he could
show James.

Suddenly, Sirius realized that he could show James, if he wanted. He glanced about furtively—
usually, he tried only to use the mirror when the rest of his family was asleep, terrified that if his
mother found it she’d take it away—or worse, shatter it. But his parents were gone, and he hadn’t
seen Reg around when he’d come inside…

Sirius made a split-second decision, pulling the mirror out from its hiding place and whispering
excitedly,

“James! Pssst—oi, Potter!”

After a moment of fumbling, James’s face appeared in the glass; he usually kept the mirror in his
pocket just in case Sirius needed to contact him.

“What?” he asked, concerned, “Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Fine, yeah. Just wanted to show you—look what I found!” He grinned,
turning the mirror so that James could admire his walls.

“Wh—are those posters?! Why’ve they got their tits out?!” James squawked, and when Sirius
looked down at the mirror, his friend’s face was very red.

“Muggle posters,” Sirius said, smugly, “Found them in a skip down the road. Isn’t it brilliant?”

James laughed nervously, still looking a bit embarrassed. “Sure, mate, I mean—er, they’re
certainly…good-looking, I suppose?”

“Merlin, Potter, you’re such a prude.”

“It—what—I’m just surprised! Excuse me for not expecting to see an army of girls flashing me
when you called!”

Sirius laughed, and was about to respond when he heard a shuffling noise outside his door. He
froze.

“Sirius? Is everything alr—”

“Shhh!” Sirius hissed, covering the mirror with the palm of his hand. He crept over to the door,
listening carefully. At first, there was nothing—then a slight creak, as someone shifted their weight
outside.

He flung the door open, and came face to face with his little brother. Reggie stumbled backward,
guilt cracking open in his eyes.

“Are you bloody eavesdropping on me, now?” Sirius demanded, furious. Reggie’s face hardened,
guilt replaced with an accusatory frown.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody.”

“You were talking to someone.”

“No, I wasn’t.”
“It was Potter, wasn’t it? I heard his voice! How’re you—” Reggie paused, staring down at Sirius’s
hand. His fingers had shifted, revealing a sliver of silvery mirror. Understanding saturated his
brother’s features. Sirius felt cold.

“Go away, Reg!” He shoved the mirror quickly into his pocket, storming back into his room. He’d
have to find a new hiding place for it, now—somewhere his family would never find. If Reg told
their parents…

His brother followed him, blanching as he caught sight of the posters.

“What have you done to your walls?!”

“I told you to go away!” He hoped James wasn’t listening—he hoped his trouser pocket was
muffling the sound.

Reggie hesitated in the doorway, looking for a moment as if he might actually listen to Sirius and
leave. But then his face hardened, and he crossed his arms, saying haughtily,

“You shouldn’t be talking to blood traitors.”

Sirius groaned. “This again? Really, Reg? Come on, we both know that’s a load of bollocks.”

“The Potters don’t care about you, Sirius—they don’t care about wizards, about protecting our—”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Reg, just shut up! The Potters have been a better family to me in four years
than anyone in this stupid house has in my entire life!” He was breathing heavily, glaring. Reggie
stared back, mouth a thin line.

“They’re not your family,” he said, quietly, after a moment.

“What, and you are?”

Sirius spat the words, venomous, and watched them hit home. Something slipped behind Reggie’s
eyes, something vulnerable and bruised that made Sirius’s heart twist with guilt—he opened his
mouth, regretting it immediately, needing to apologise—but Reg was already gone, storming out of
the room and slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Regulus didn’t tell their parents about the mirror—but he must have said something about the
posters, because that night Walpurga barged into Sirius’s room, foaming at the mouth and ranting
as she tried to claw them down from his walls.

“Filthy—disgusting—impure—”

When the sticking charms did their job, and the posters proved untouchable, she whirled on him.
Sirius flinched, bracing himself—but it wasn’t his legs she went for.

It was his mind.

She clawed her way in, the same way she’d clawed at the posters on his wall. He recoiled,
completely unprepared for the onslaught—but there was no escaping the talons that dug through
his thoughts, sensing his panic. He couldn’t let her—she couldn’t see—

But she was looking at the posters. Sifting through his thoughts, untangling all the twisted feelings
—

He wanted to show James—he needed to prove himself—this was normal, wasn’t it? Posters of
girls—did he like them? Did he feel the right things? It was strange, the softness where he was
used to flat planes, he didn’t get it—they were quite pretty, he could see that, was this what the
older boys meant? How was he supposed to know?

Sirius cringed, mortified, but she only dug in deeper.

Peter’s voice: some of us actually like spending time with girls—Mary smiling—you could just
snog one of them, you know—the wet-popcorn taste of the muggle girl’s mouth—the way James
looked at Lily—the way Peter looked at Desdemona—Remus and his fan club—David Bowie with
his wild hair—the Banshee Blues, the feather boa—the strange, secret fumbling in the middle of
the night, hot under the covers—Remus, licking crumbs off his fingers—the dreams he didn’t like to
think about, the burning shame they left behind—

Sirius was shaking by the time she withdrew. He felt stripped, naked, utterly exposed—worse than
that. Like she’d torn the skin off his back and cracked open his ribcage, rooting around until she
had his heart clenched beating and bloody in her fist. His mother was staring at him, disgusted, and
there was nothing he could do to hide.

For a moment, it was silent. Sirius forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t look his mother in the
eye, staring instead at the floor, feeling more ashamed than he’d ever felt in his entire life.
Walpurga snorted, shaking her head at the posters.

“Pathetic,” she hissed, and then she was gone—turning on her heel and sweeping out of the room,
shutting the door behind her.

Sirius crawled into bed, and curled into a ball, and didn’t move for a very, very long time.

* * *

The thunderstorm came at the end of August, just two days shy of their return to Hogwarts. Sirius
was giddy with relief; he’d begun to think that it wouldn’t happen, that all their preparations would
be for nothing, and they’d have to start everything over again in a year.

The double heartbeat had started a week before, and each time he said the incantation now he felt
the strange, echoed pounding in his chest. It was both disconcerting and comforting, making him
feel crowded and strong, like there was something growing inside him.

The storm came at night—another stroke of luck. His family was in bed, but Sirius was still awake,
watching through the window as wind screamed and rain hurled towards the earth. His heart leapt
into his throat at the first flash of lightning—it was time.

Sirius crept, carefully, to the loose floorboard. He paused, waiting for the rumble of thunder to
subside, listening for any sound at the door—but there was nothing. He was safe. Gently, he lifted
the floorboard, holding his breath as he stared down at the crystal phial beneath.
The potion was blood red.

He’d done it. Sirius stared, hardly believing his eyes. He’d really, truly done it—he could have
laughed, and almost did, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the excited noise that escaped.
Outside, lightning split the sky; thunder growled.

Sirius tucked the potion into his pocket, grabbing his cloak. He couldn’t do it inside—too risky; he
never knew when Kreacher might shuffle through the door, sent to check on him. Ever since the
incident with the muggle posters, he hadn’t been allowed outside unsupervised—he’d succumbed
to this rule, too shaken to push his parents after what had happened with his mother. But tonight he
had no other choice. He’d have to sneak out.

Sirius hardly breathed as he crept down the stairs, tiptoeing through the hallway to reach the small
back door. The raging storm outside masked any sound he made; still, he didn’t release his breath
until he was safely through the door.

Rain pelted his face, soaking him almost immediately. It didn’t matter. Sirius fled, wind whipping
his cloak as he ran. There was a park, just a few blocks away—he only had to make it there, and he
could disappear into the trees, hidden from view. He clutched his wand to his chest, potion bottle
heavy in his pocket.

By the time he reached his destination, Sirius was soaked through and shivering, hair plastered
against his forehead. He checked, then checked again to make sure that he was alone. In the
thunderstorm, the park had been deserted; still, he scrambled into a knot of gnarled trees, pulling
his damp, dark cloak closer around his body for camouflage.

Sirius trembled, lifting his wand to place it over his heart.

“Amato, Animo, Animato, Animgaus.”

Before he could think too much about what he was doing—about all the things that could go
wrong, if he’d messed up one of the ingredients or somebody saw him or he’d been off about the
magic, and the ministry sensed it, and they came to find him—he lifted the potion to his lips,
swallowing it in one gulp.

Immediately, he was hit with an intense pain; the potion spread like fire, burning, through his
entire body. Sirius cried out without meaning to, stumbling and clutching a nearby tree to prevent
himself from falling. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, trying not to scream.

In his chest, a second heart was beating.

It’s happening, he thought, deliriously, It’s happening.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a peculiar sensation spreading through his limbs—he could feel his
body beginning to change, trying to reshape itself. In his mind, something was taking shape.

A dog. A large, black dog.

Sirius released a startled laugh. He was suddenly giddy, unafraid, the pain far away as he reached
out, opening, welcoming. The dog bounded towards him, two hearts beating in his chest—and then
he slid from one body into another.

* * *
Sirius returned through the front door. He didn’t care about being caught—it didn’t matter
anymore. He was fuzzy with joy, blood crackling in his veins, heart pounding with adrenaline.
He’d run for hours in the storm, feeling the stretch of his new body, the strength of it. It was
familiar and strange all at once, electric and terrifying and wonderful—the smells, the sounds, the
feelings. Only when the rain had faded to a drizzle and the sky had begun to lighten with dawn did
he finally change back.

His mother was waiting in the parlour. She sat, reclining in an armchair, holding a wineglass with
the tips of her fingers. She watched as the door swung shut behind him, catching his eyes with hers.
Sirius stared back, dripping water onto the floor.

“Sirius.”

She looked very tired. He wondered how long she had been sitting there, waiting.

“Come here.”

He went. She stood, placing the wineglass next to her on a table. It was empty, stained with a
purple film.

For a moment, they only stared at each other. Sirius clung to the adrenaline in his veins,
remembering the freedom and power he’d felt only moments before, running on four legs, wind in
his fur. She can’t touch me, he told himself, remembering that double heartbeat, She can’t take
this.

His mother lifted a hand, pushing wet tendrils of hair away from his face. He flinched.

“I had such dreams for you,” she murmured. The wine softened her voice deceptively, stealing
some of the bite. “Such hopes…you were such a clever child…”

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. He hated when she talked like this. At least the shouting was easy to
understand.

Walpurga continued to speak, looking through him, eyes glazed as if she were seeing something
else. “I didn’t know…I never recognized the signs in my brother. I was too blinded by loyalty to
see the rot, not until it was too late…” Something hardened in his mother’s face, and she twisted
her fingers into his hair, leaning close.

“You are tainted,” she hissed, breath sour with wine, “Tainted, just as he was…” Fear trickled
down Sirius’s spine.

“Wh—what are you—” He tried to pull away, but she only tightened her grip, nails digging
painfully into his scalp.

“I can still save you,” his mother murmured, lifting her wand, “You are not too far gone. It’s as He
says: a rotting limb can only infect the rest of the body. We must cut off that which taints us. We
must excise the impure.”

“Stop, mum—you’re hurting me—”

Walpurga threw back her head, letting out a cold, piercing laugh. When she turned back to him, her
gaze was feverish, eager.
“Pain, Sirius,” she said, grasping the cloak, pulling it from his shoulders, “Pain strengthens. Pain
heals. Pain teaches. Everything I do, I do for you, for your sake—yet still you are ungrateful, still
you roll in the filth like an animal. But you are not beyond saving—your blood is still pure.”

The curse hit him before he could brace himself—familiar, lancing pain across the back of his leg.
He stumbled back, gasping, and his mother advanced.

“Lacero!” she screeched, eyes ablaze, “Toujours Pur!”

Sirius gritted his teeth, fingers clenching into fists. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before—nothing
compared to the fiery pain of the animagus potion. He could bear it—he was stronger than this. He
wouldn’t let her break him.

“Lacero!”

“Toujours Pur!”

“Lacero!”

“Toujours Pur!”

He bore it, shuddering, waiting for the end that he knew would eventually come. They had done
this so many times before.

But his mother didn’t stop. The blood dripped onto the carpet, and still she screeched, wand lashing
like an animal in her hand.

“Lacero!”

“Toujours Pur!”

Sirius wasn’t standing anymore. He tried, but the pain was too much—agony, sharpening with
every fresh cut.

“Lacero!”

“Toujours Pur!”

His trousers were shredded, legs sticky with blood. Sirius began to feel dizzy, head pounding,
breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Lacero!”

“Toujours Pur!”

“Mum—mum, stop!”

Sirius forced his eyes open, startled by the panicked voice. Reg was there, standing in the doorway,
horrified and pale and pleading. He was still in his pyjamas—they must have woken him.

“Lacero!”

“Toujours Pur!”

Now Reg was running, trying to grasp their mother’s arm—she rounded on him, swinging wildly,
and Sirius watched blood blossom on his brother’s chest, a long, thin cut tearing from collarbone to
 shoulder. He grasped for the table, trying to pull himself up—he had to do something, he had to get
Reggie out of there. The wineglass toppled, shattering on the floor.

The room went silent.

When Sirius looked up, his father was there. Orion’s face was cold as he surveyed the room. He
looked at Sirius, then Reggie, then their mother.

“Walpurga,” he said, softly.

She lifted her chin. “I’ve seen his mind,” she hissed, “I’ve seen it—it’s happening all over again,
Orion, I’ve got to stop it—”

Their father crossed the carpet, taking the wand from their mother’s trembling hands.

“You’ve done enough,” he said, firmly, “You’ve done all you can.”

For a moment, she looked as if she might argue. Reggie was crying, quietly, behind her, fingers
pressed to the wound on his chest. Sirius realized, as if from far away, that his own cheeks were
wet.

After a moment, their mother relented—she sneered and shook her head, grasping the wine bottle
from the table and striding out without a backwards glance. Orion turned to Sirius, staring down.
For a moment, he thought his father might reach out, might offer a hand, might lift him off the
ruined carpet.

Instead,

“Clean yourself up,” he said. And then he was gone, too.

Chapter End Notes

lots of ground to cover in this chapter, so it was a bit longer than usual :) fifth year
coming up next (the moment everyone seems to have been waiting for, lol)
 Fifth Year: Silver
Chapter Summary

and now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Monday 1st September 1975

I rode my bicycle past your window last night

I roller-skated to your door at daylight

It almost seems like you’re avoiding me

I’m okay alone but you got something I need

Well, I got a brand new pair of roller-skates

You got a brand new key

I think that we should get together

And try them out, you see

It was ugly, Sirius thought, wrapping the bandages tightly around his legs. It was very, very ugly.

He wished he’d bothered to learn some healing spells—not that he’d be able to use them, unless he
wanted the ministry of magic showing up at his house to demand an explanation for why a fifteen-
year-old wizard was suddenly messing about with magic. He could imagine the looks on his
parents’ faces, trying to explain: Well, you see Mr. Auror...

No. Definitely not. He’d just have to stick it out until he got to Hogwarts, where he could slip away
to the library and search for something useful. Going to Madam Pomfrey was out of the question.
The very idea of anyone finding out what had happened—especially an adult—made him sick with
shame.

Sirius sighed, wincing as he pulled on his trousers. Just make it through the train ride... At least
they’d already started to scab. He probably didn't need to worry about bleeding through the
bandages.

His family didn’t speak as they made their way to King’s Cross. His mother didn’t even look at
him, acting as though he were invisible—as though nothing had happened. Reg had helped Sirius
up the stairs to his room, that night, after their parents left. Everything got a bit blurry after that, but
he was pretty sure his brother had called for Kreacher and ordered the house elf to do something
about the bleeding. He woke up the next morning with bandages on his legs, sticky and crusted
with blood.

They didn’t talk about it. When he went searching for Reggie, the boy was playing chess by
himself in the library. He left the moment Sirius walked in, refusing to meet his eye. Sirius
supposed it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if there was anything that either of them could really say.

They arrived at the station as a family, mother and father and son and brother, a unified front. Sirius
slouched slightly behind his parents, doing his best to disrupt their polished image—his robes were
rumpled, his hair mussed. He stared flatly ahead, trying to look bored as his mother went through
her usual fuss with Reggie, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair and hissing in his ear.
Around them, students bid their final farewells to parents and siblings. Sirius scanned the platform
for his friends, but it looked as if they were already on the train.

His legs ached.

By the time their parents finally released them, Sirius was wincing, gritting his teeth with every
step and trying not to flinch. He couldn’t wait to sit down, hoping there’d be enough space to prop
his feet up in their car—he’d grown a few inches over the summer, and if the other marauders had,
too, then things might start to feel crowded very quickly.

Unfortunately, Reggie had him by the arm the second they were out of their parents’ sight,
dragging him into an empty cabin. Sirius stumbled into the compartment, flinching as the door
slammed shut behind him.

“Bloody hell,” he yanked his arm out of his brother’s grasp, “What the fuck, Reg?”

“I need to talk to you.”

He snorted, waiting for his brother to continue. When Regulus remained silent, chewing anxiously
on his lip, Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Well? Go on, then, I haven’t got all day.”

Reg frowned, opened his mouth, hesitated. Then,

“What’re you going to tell Pomfrey?” The words came out in a rush, tripping over each other.
Sirius blinked.

“What?”

“About—” Reggie’s eyes darted down to his legs, then away. Sirius felt cold.

“Did mum put you up to this?”

His brother’s brow furrowed. “What? No, I’m just—”

“Because you can tell her that I’m not going to see Madam Pomfrey. Wouldn’t want to sully the
prestigious Black family reputation, would I?”

Now there was something that might have been mistaken for concern in his brother’s expression, if
Sirius didn’t know that this entire conversation was likely going to go into a letter back to their
mother the moment they parted ways.
“But…your legs, Sirius—”

“Just piss off, Reg, all right? No need to worry about me—you can run along and tell mummy that
everything’s perfectly fine.”

“Merlin, would you let me finish?! Mum didn’t put me up to this!”

“Then what’s it to you who I tell?!”

“Because!” Reg burst out, voice pitching up in his throat, “I don’t have any—” he cut off abruptly,
breathing hard. If Sirius didn’t know better, he might think that Reggie was trying not to cry.

“What?” he demanded, crossing his arms, “You don’t have any what??”

Reg shook his head. “Forget it, Sirius.” He muttered, turning away, “Just forget I said anything.”
He whipped the door open, startling a second-year who was hurrying through the corridor outside.
Reg brushed past the student, striding off without a backward glance. Sirius stared after him,
baffled.

By the time he reached the marauders’ usual carriage, the train was just about to pull out of the
station. He took a moment to steady himself outside the door, calves stinging under their bandages,
before strolling inside.

“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding casually even as his heart leapt with joy at the sight of his friends.

“Alright?” They chorused back, all grinning—except for Remus, who already had his nose stuck in
a book. Sirius sat down opposite him, flinging his legs out, trying to take as much weight off his
calves as possible. Their ankles bumped together, and Remus flinched away, sitting straight up and
tucking his legs (his ridiculously long legs—seriously, how much taller was he going to get??)
underneath the seat. Sirius shot him a bemused look, which quickly turned into a smile—leave it to
Moony to get offended about having his personal space invaded.

“Half expected you not to be here,” James said, sounding relieved in a way that made Sirius
uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if his parents had him locked up in a tower.

“Couldn’t have the Black heir not turning up for his first day of school,” he drawled, keeping his
voice light, “Couldn’t have the whole wizarding world knowing that there’s strife in my noble
family.”

“How are you?” James asked, scanning his face, “Did they…how are you?”

“Fine,” Sirius replied, tensing slightly. He knew James meant well, but he hated when anything
close to pity bled through in his tone. “Don’t want to talk about it now. Can we just pretend it’s a
normal first day?”

“Yeah, all right mate,” James relented after a moment, concern still evident in the little wrinkle
between his brows, “Pete was just telling us about California.”

“We didn’t manage to find Phil,” Peter said, “Her housemates said she’d moved on, everywhere
we looked. Mum was…well, she was really upset, it was crap.”

Sirius nodded, trying to look sympathetic rather than jealous as Peter talked about their trip. It
didn’t sound like he’d had a particularly jolly time, but Sirius still envied him—he couldn’t believe
Pete had gotten to travel to America.
Outside, the drizzly grey cityscape of London was dissipating, replaced with lush green fields and
gently rolling hills.

“How was your summer, Moony?” James asked, once Peter had finished talking. Remus, who had
been staring out the window, jerked around.

“Yeah, fine,” he mumbled. He sounded rather flustered, the way he often did when someone pulled
him out of his own thoughts. Sirius leaned forward slightly, eager to hear what Moony had been up
to. Unlike the previous summers, his head hadn’t been shaved, and the shaggy brown curls were
oddly endearing. There were no bruises, and no steel-toed boots either, so whatever he’d been up
to, it had clearly been a change from the previous year.

“Usual,” Remus said quickly, “Nothing exciting. Um. Football, homework. Er…yeah, fine. Not
great. But…well, fine, not bad. Fine.”

Another secret, Sirius thought, a familiar thrill running down his spine.

Before anyone could question Remus’s odd behaviour, though, the carriage door slid open,
revealing a familiar freckled face.

“Evans!” James exclaimed, grinning ear to ear, “You found me!”

“As if it’s hard, Potter,” Lily rolled her eyes, “You lot are always in the same car. Anyway, I’m not
here for you, I’m here for you!” She smiled broadly, pointing at Moony.

“Me?!” Remus frowned, brow furrowed in confusion. Then, abruptly, a look of horrified
understanding bled over his face. He sighed heavily, catching sight of all the marauders’ expectant
expressions.

“You got it, didn’t you?” Lily asked, “Come on, we have to go for a meeting in the—”

“Merlin!” Sirius slapped a hand to his forehead, realization dawning, “How did we forget?!
Moony, are you a…”

“A prefect!” James crowed. Remus flushed, staring down at his hands.

“Yeah…”

“And you didn’t tell us immediately so that we could rip the piss out of you?!” Sirius grinned,
delighted by this discovery. He couldn’t believe that stubborn, moody, evil-genius Moony had
actually turned himself into enough of a swot to fool all their teachers. Was this why he’d been
acting so weird about his summer—had he really thought he’d be able to hide it from them?

“You’re just jealous,” Lily sniffed, superior as always, “Come on Remus, where’s your badge?”

“The badge!” Sirius burst out laughing, “I forgot about the badge! Oh please, Moony, show us the
badge!”

Peter and James were snickering, too, clearly just as entertained as Sirius by the mental image of
Remus patrolling the halls and scolding students for misbehaviour. Remus frowned at them,
disapproving—which was so close to the mental picture that it only made Sirius laugh harder.

“It’s in my trunk.”

“Well put it on!” Lily tutted, “C’mon, we have our own carriage and everything.”
“Hey Evans, I’m quidditch captain, y’know,” James piped up, brandishing his own shiny badge.

“Yes, Marlene said,” Lily replied, without even looking at him, “Come on, Remus!”

“Ugh, ok. But the badge is right in the bottom of the trunk, I’ll wear it tomorrow.” He stood,
preparing to leave.

“Oh, no, we can look for it, if you want?”

“No, I can’t be bothered.” Remus shrugged, sounding a bit irritated.

“Oh, go on,” Sirius teased, momentarily forgetting about his legs as he got to his feet—and
suppressed a wince, hesitating only for a split-second before reaching up for Remus’s trunk, “We
want to see you in your nice, shiny badge…”

“No!” Remus snapped, irritation now evident in his voice. He glared at Sirius, raising his eyebrows
meaningfully as he said, “Silver isn’t my colour.”

Oh. Understanding washed over Sirius; he hadn’t even considered that the material might pose a
problem, even though he’d read enough about werewolves to know how silver affected them. He
felt a prickle of shame at his own thoughtlessness, regretting the teasing—but before he could say
anything to make up for it, Remus was leaving, following Lily out the door.

James hurriedly removed his own pin, looking guilty as he stared down at it in his hand.

“I didn’t realise…” he mumbled, glancing nervously up at the other marauders, “D’you think it’s
been bothering him?”

Peter shrugged. “He seemed alright.”

“Here—give it here,” Sirius said, holding out his hand, “We’ll transfigure it.”

“Into what?!”

“Tin! Come on,” He stretched out his arm, wiggling his fingers.

“Wait!” Peter said, just as James was about to drop the pin into Sirius’s hand, “We’re not at
Hogwarts yet!”

Sirius blinked, then groaned.

“Bloody fucking statute,” he grumbled, flopping back into his seat, “D’you honestly think they’ll
give a toss about a few minor spells on the Hogwarts Express?”

“Probably not, but better not to risk it, don’t you think? Just in case someone starts asking
questions?”

“Yeah, s’pose so…” Sirius grumbled, feeling a bit miffed that Peter had thought of something he
hadn’t.

“Good point, Pete,” James smiled, tucking the pin into his pocket. He glanced at the door, making
sure it was securely shut, before leaning forward and saying, “Hey, speaking of the statute of
secrecy…how did it go? The storm?”

Sirius knew immediately what he was talking about. He grinned eagerly, excitement flooding his
veins as he remembered the transformation, the giddy success of the moment, the freedom of
running faster than he ever had before as lightning flashed overhead.

“Brilliant,” he leaned forward, too, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “Absolutely brilliant. What
about you two? Did you…manage it?”

James grinned, nodding, and Peter bobbed his head up and down eagerly, eyes bright. Sirius
laughed.

“I can’t believe it,” He said, flopping back in his seat, “We bloody did it. We’re really…”

“Animagi!” James whispered excitedly, running a hand through his hair. He looked just as giddy as
Sirius felt. Peter was bouncing slightly in his seat, seeming as if he might burst with pride.

“What animal’d you get?” Sirius asked, eagerly—then, as James began to open his mouth, “No—
wait, don’t tell me. Let’s show each other, once we get to Hogwarts.” The other boys nodded, and
he smirked. “Bet I’ve got the coolest one.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Black,” James said, folding his arms behind his head with a
smug, self-satisfied smile.

“Oh, really? Fancy a bet, Potter?...”

* * *

Sirius meant to give Remus the transfigured pin after dinner—he’d dug through the other boy’s
trunk to find it as soon as the train pulled into the station, almost making them miss the carriages.
But Lily pulled Lupin away once he’d finished eating, dragging him off for patrols. Remus
shrugged helplessly at the marauders, and was gone for the rest of the evening.

Sirius had the sneaking suspicion that the boy was trying to avoid them—after five years, he liked
to think that he’d learned how to tell when Remus was deliberately making himself scarce, as it
seemed to happen at least three times a year.

Sirius grudgingly admitted to being impressed when James transformed into a massive stag in the
middle of their dorm room, antlers scraping the ceiling. But he still maintained that his
transformation was the best, bounding about the room as a dog, getting used to the way his body
reshaped itself and the seemingly endless energy that came with his canine features. James laughed
as Sirius leapt at his chest, tackling him to the ground and slobbering all over his face, licking the
poor boy’s chin until he begged for mercy.

They both burst into startled laughter when Peter turned into a fat brown rat, which squeaked
indignantly up at them. He was very huffy once he changed back, pouting on his bed until James
had spent a good while massaging his ego, insisting reassuringly that any animagus transformation
was dead impressive, and that Peter had every right to be proud, and that they’d need someone
small to get them past the willow. Sirius refrained, with a great deal of self-control, from teasing,
although privately he was very relieved that he hadn’t turned into something so stupid as a rat.

They all agreed that they should wait to tell Remus until his first full moon at Hogwarts, which
would give them time to practice the transformations and ensure they could switch back and forth
easily. Also, it would make Remus less likely to upend any of their plans with his stubbornness,
considering that they’d done precisely what he’d asked them not to do.
 Lupin didn’t return that night until after the other marauders were in bed. James had already begun
snoring, and the deep breathing from behind Peter’s curtains seemed to indicate that he was fast
asleep, too. But Sirius lay awake, full of restless energy, legs twinging with little shocks of pain
under his covers.

He waited until he heard Remus crawling into bed to tiptoe over, whispering,

“Moony?” When there was no response from behind the curtains, he tried again, “Psst…oi, even
you don’t fall asleep that easily!”

There was a familiar groan, and then Remus was pulling the curtains aside.

“What??”

“Oh, c’mon, why are you avoiding us? Is it the prefect thing? You know we’re just teasing, lighten
up! Here, I’ve got something for you.” He held out his hand, prefect pin cupped neatly in his palm.
Remus squinted, frowning,

“Is this a joke?”

“No, take it! Trust me, Remus.” He caught Moony’s eye—dark with pupil in the shadowed room
—trying to convey his sincerity through his gaze. Remus blinked, and held out his hand. Sirius
dropped the pin into his palm.

Remus’s eyes widened. He looked down.

“What?!”

“Transfigured it,” Sirius whispered happily, delighted that it had worked. “It’s tin, now. Did the
same to James’s. I reckon I can get Mary to pinch Evans’s, too, and I’ll do that. You’ll be spending
loads of time with her, so might as well…”

Remus stared up at him, an almost reverent look in his eye, as if he couldn’t believe that Sirius had
done this for him. Which was mildly offensive—Sirius was the best in their year at transfiguration,
it wasn’t like it was hard—and yet made Sirius’s stomach flip, at the same time.

“Thank you…”

“Don’t be silly,” Sirius said quickly, smiling, “Anything for our Moony. G’night.” He hurried back
to his own bed before Remus could say anything else, climbing under the covers and pulling the
curtains shut.

Sirius closed his eyes, thinking of his friend’s dark eyes, his small, grateful smile. A strange, sticky
shame flooded his stomach—though he wasn’t sure why. Sirius shoved it down, rolling over onto
his stomach to keep the pressure off his legs. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "Brand New Key" by Melanie :)

 Fifth Year: Pain
Chapter Summary

sirius is perfectly fine

James woke him early the next morning, dragging him out of bed for their first quidditch practice
of the year. Sirius yawned, scabbed cuts tugging painfully as he crawled from the cocoon of his
blankets.

They were still ugly, red and inflamed and hot to the touch. Some of the scabs were sticky with
clear fluid, and Sirius dabbed at them carefully with a wet cloth, wincing. He’d fumbled his way
through a healing spell as best he could the previous night, but the wounds were still painful, and
he would have to take care not to reopen them. He changed into his quidditch kit in the bathroom,
doing his best to walk steadily as he followed James down the stairs.

His friend didn’t seem to notice that anything was off, nattering on and on about his training plans
as Sirius blinked sleep from his eyes. The rest of the team appeared just as disgruntled, stifling
yawns and squinting balefully at the sun as they walked out onto the pitch. But James was in his
element, captain’s badge glinting on his chest and eyes bright with excitement as he led them
through a series of drills.

By the time Potter finally released them, Sirius’s legs were killing him—one would think that
having them dangling in the air might give his calves a rest, but it took a surprising amount of
balance and strength to keep steady while chasing after bludgers or bracing for a steep dive. Sirius
gritted his teeth as he walked to the changing rooms, trying his best to mitigate the limp that was
becoming more pronounced with every step.

“You alright, mate?” James asked, casually, as he pulled off his quidditch kit, “Didn’t slack off
over the summer and let yourself get out of shape, did you? Don’t forget that we’ve got to demolish
Slytherin this year—there's a Quidditch Cup with our names on it!”

Sirius snorted. “I’m fine, Potter,” he said, moving to stand behind a row of lockers, “Not my fault
you want to run drills at six in the bloody morning—I honestly don’t know where you get the
energy.”

“Morning’s the best time for training!” James insisted, following him, “Exercising first thing after
waking up stimulates blood flow and builds stamina—I read it in Quidditch Weekly.”

“I swear, you spend more time studying those stupid magazines than any of our textbooks,” Sirius
grinned, rolling his eyes. He moved again, putting a bench between them—again, James followed
him.

“Well it’s paid off, hasn’t it?”

“S’pose. What are you following me for?”

James hesitated, eyes darting down to Sirius’s legs. Then he plastered on a grin.

“What, two mates can’t change together? We’ve been living in the same room for five years,
Sirius, don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy.” The words were obviously meant to be light, teasing—
but Sirius knew James too well to not notice the strain. His stomach twisted.

“Thought you only had eyes for Evans, Potter,” he replied, snapping a bit without meaning to,
“Excuse me if I don’t want to see your hairy arse first thing in the morning.”

“Wh—my arse is not hairy—Black, wait!”

Sirius spun around, pausing his retreat to look back at James. His friend was frowning, brow
creased, teasing charade abandoned as he studied Sirius with genuine concern.

“What?!”

“You’re bleeding, mate.”

Sirius looked down, startled, only to realize that he was, in fact, bleeding. There was an obvious,
darkening stain on the back of his left trouser leg—one of the cuts must have reopened during
practice without him realising.

“Sirius...are you al—”

“I’m fine, Potter.” Sirius snapped, face heating with embarrassment. “Just—going to shower.” He
hurried away, mortified, pain pulsing with every step he took.

But if he’d thought he’d be safe in the showers, Sirius was wrong. Of course—of course—Potter
couldn’t let anything go, and just as he’d started to relax under the hot water, there was a sharp
gasp behind him. Sirius spun instinctively towards the noise, yelping in surprise and fumbling for a
towel to cover himself. James averted his eyes, guiltily, and both boys stood blushing in the tile and
steam.

“Merlin, Potter, what the fuck!”

“Your legs...”

“Why are you bloody—creeping on me in the showers! I told you I was fine!”

Now James turned back to meet his eye, mulish expression on his face.

“That doesn’t look fine Sirius. Why didn’t you tell me?! I never would’ve made you come to
practice if I knew!” His eyes softened, and there it was: the awful, sickening pity, as he started to
ask, “Did your mum—”

“Shut up!” Sirius shouted. He was going to be sick. “Just go away, Potter!”

“Sirius, you’re hurt, you’ve got to—”

“Merlin, can’t you let me take a bloody shower in peace?! Quit acting like—like such a queer!”

James recoiled in shock.

“...what?”

The hot water was still pounding against Sirius’s back, soaking the towel that he’d wrapped around
his waist. He felt angry, and sick, and horribly embarrassed. The water was a thousand needles
against the back of his legs.
“Just leave me alone,” he muttered, shutting the water off and shoving past James, dripping. He
grabbed his clothes and locked himself in one of the bathroom stalls, where he could finally get
some privacy.

* * *

Sirius wasn’t speaking to James at breakfast. He refused to even look at him, still seething with
resentment and shame. His friend tried to goad him into talking, wheedling and cajoling until he
eventually grew frustrated, seeming to realize it was no use. By the time Remus arrived, curls
sleep-tousled and tie askew, they were both sitting in stony silence.

“Morning,” Remus said, eying them warily. He stretched out a hand, grabbing a plate of toast and
some jam.

“Morning, your prefect-ness,” Sirius replied, smiling a little. It wasn't Remus that he was upset
with, after all.

“Hiya, Moony,” James said. Sirius spooned brown sugar robotically into his porridge, watching the
grains turn sticky and dissolve. He could feel James’s eyes on him.

“Sirius.”

The spoon made a tinny, clinking sound against the side of the sugar bowl, interrupted by the light
scrape of grains. Sirius stared at the little crystals as they dissipated into the thick brown sludge of
his breakfast.

“Sirius.”

“Not now, Potter. I’m busy.”

James huffed. “You’re playing with your breakfast.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius could see
the boy wrinkling his nose, “And please don’t eat that, my teeth hurt just looking at it.”

Since when had Potter started acting like his mum?! Well—not like his mum. But still—when had
he got so bloody annoying?

Sirius poured another teaspoon of sugar into his bowl, spitefully, and turned to look at James as he
stirred. Without breaking eye contact, he scooped a heaping spoonful and lifted it to his mouth,
biting down vigorously as he chewed. The half-dissolved grains of sugar danced on his tongue.

James shook his head. “You don’t have to be like that, I’m not Regulus.”

A spike of anger, from the base of his spine through his neck; Sirius scowled, standing.

“Gotta go to the library,” he said gruffly, around his mouthful of porridge, “See you in
Transfiguration.”

He could feel himself limping as he walked, which only made him frustrated; by the time he
arrived at the library, his entire body was coiled with tension. Madam Pince gave him a dark look
as he stomped through the shelves, pressing a finger to her lips.

Sirius yanked a few books off the shelf on healing magic, slinking over to a table in the corner. He
flipped through the pages, searching for something that would fix him—but most of the spells were
incredibly advanced, and he found that he could hardly concentrate enough to even process the
incantations. He kept thinking of the awful pity in James’s voice as he said Did your mum—

He slammed the book shut. Potter was just being a girl about the whole thing—the cuts weren’t
even that bad. Sirius wasn’t a wimp; he could handle it. He certainly didn’t need anyone fussing
over him, treating him like a child—he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach it if all his friends
started looking at him like some sort of...victim.

He shoved the books back onto their shelf, ignoring the stinging in his legs as he walked to
Transfiguration. He didn’t need the stupid healing spells—he'd be perfectly fine.

The moment his friends walked into McGonagall’s classroom, Sirius could tell that James had
talked to Remus. The boy glanced at his legs before looking up, a question in his eyes. Sirius
flushed and stared stubbornly down at his notes for the entirety of the period, ignoring them
completely.

He continued this way through the rest of their classes, and at lunch he hurriedly struck up a
conversation with Mary and Marlene before either of his friends could get a word in. He could feel
them staring at him, eyes tracking his movements, exchanging worried glances behind his back. At
least Peter was too oblivious to notice anything—if he stuck his tongue any further down
Desdemona’s throat, Sirius was pretty sure the poor girl would suffocate. He entertained Mary and
Marlene with his impersonation of the couple, and by the end of lunch they were so hysterical that
they could hardly breathe, which made him feel a bit better. At least someone was treating him
normally.

But Sirius couldn’t avoid his friends forever. The farce ended after dinner, when he stepped out of
the bathroom to find James blocking the door to their room, preventing any escape. Remus
approached with his arms folded and his face set.

“Heard you had a shit summer.” He said, catching Sirius’s eye. Sirius snorted, trying to keep his
voice casual,

“What’s James been saying?”

“That you’re hurt, but you’re too much of a stuck-up git to admit it.”

“I’m not hurt,” Sirius insisted, shooting James a dirty look, “It’s healing.”

“This morning you were bleeding!” James threw his hands up, exasperated.

“What?!” Now Remus looked alarmed, “God, Sirius, you have to go to Madam Pomfrey!”

“And have the whole school know how my mother likes to amuse herself?! No thanks.”

“Yeah, because Madam Pomfrey tells the whole school everything...” Remus raised a sardonic
eyebrow, pointedly. When Sirius didn’t respond, he tutted. “Let me see.”

“No!” Shame wriggled, nauseatingly, in his gut as he imagined Moony staring at the ugly, scabbed
lines, “Godric, you’re worse than Potter!”

“Come on, I’ve shown you mine.” Remus trapped him, again, with his eyes, so that Sirius felt
pinned in place.

But yours aren’t ugly, he wanted to say, and couldn’t. It was ridiculous—stupid, vain, petty. He
knew he shouldn’t care about it, especially when Moony was the only one who might actually
understand what he was feeling—at least a little bit. After a moment, he relented.

“I don’t want James to see.” He muttered, staring down at the floor.

Remus turned, giving their friend an expectant look, and James slumped as he left the room. Sirius
felt a bit guilty, but he couldn’t bear to think of his friend’s reaction—he was already pretty sure
that he would never be able to forget the horrified pity on James’s face in the showers. It made him
feel like a freak, even though he knew that wasn’t the intention.

“C’mon then,” Remus nodded at him, all business, “Let’s see, one victim to another.”

It was meant as a joke, Sirius knew, but he still grimaced as he sat down on the nearest bed—which
just happened to be Remus’s. Sucking in a breath, he reached down and pulled up his trouser leg.

Remus tried to keep his face blank. He did a better job than James, more practiced at schooling his
features into neutrality. But Sirius knew him too well, and he could see the reaction in the slight
widening of his eyes, the tightness at the corners of his mouth, the twitch in his brow. He didn’t
blame Moony; it was disgusting.

“Lacero?” Remus asked, voice slightly strained—Sirius flinched before realising it, and his face
heated with shame. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Bitch.” Remus swore, muttering the word so darkly that it made Sirius laugh. He’d never heard
anyone call his mother a bitch before—well, not outside of his own head.

“Goes all the way up.” He said.

“Shit,” Remus released a sharp breath, turning to his bedside table. Sirius watched him rummage
around, muttering, “I’ve got something that’ll stop it hurting.”

“It doesn’t—”

“Don’t lie,” Remus interrupted, pulling out a small jar, “I know pain.”

Sirius didn’t know how to argue with that, so he didn’t. Remus returned, jar cupped in his palm,
holding it out. Sirius looked at the offering, then up at Moony, waiting expectantly.

“You rub it on,” Remus explained. He gave the jar an impatient shake, “Come on, I’m not doing it
for you, I’m not your house elf.”

Sirius grinned as he took the jar, relieved that Moony was still treating him the same. It was good
to know that nothing had changed between them, that Remus didn’t think he was weak, or pathetic,
or something to pity. Inside there was some sort of salve, and Sirius scooped out a liberal dollop
before smearing it onto his leg. Immediately, the angry red skin began to cool, soothed by
whatever it was Remus had given him. The pain faded to a dull ache, no longer something sharp
and punishing.

“Bloody hell, you’re amazing, Moony!” Sirius grinned, rubbing more of the paste onto his legs.
Remus shrugged self-consciously,

“It’s just magic, not like I discovered the stuff.”

“Yeah, but still...” Sirius trailed off, standing to unbutton his trousers—he hadn’t been kidding
about the cuts going all the way up. Remus jumped suddenly away, spinning around and hurrying
towards the door.

“I’ll um...I’ll give you some privacy...got to go anyway...homework...”

Before Sirius could respond he was gone, door clicking shut behind him. The room felt much
lonelier without Moony, but as Sirius stared down at his legs he supposed he couldn’t blame him.
He wouldn’t want to look at the wounds either, if he was his friend.
 Fifth Year: The Surprise
Chapter Summary

woof

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Everybody here is outta sight

They don’t bark and they don’t bite

They keep things loose, they keep things light

Everybody was dancin’ in the moonlight

Dancin' in the moonlight

Everybody’s feelin’ warm and right

It's such a fine and natural sight

Everybody’s dancin’ in the moonlight

Saturday 20th September 1975

Sirius didn’t see much of Moony after the help with his cuts. He might have suspected that the boy
was avoiding him, using busyness as an excuse—except that everyone seemed to be swamped that
September, with hardly a moment to spare. OWLs were coming up, which meant half of their class
was already spending every waking second in the library—of course, this included Remus. He
could often be spotted with Mary, Marlene, Lily, or some combination of the three, quizzing each
other and flipping through the pages of their books.

When he wasn’t studying, Remus had his prefect duties, which kept him out late for patrols and
meetings. Most nights, he returned to their dorm room exhausted and fell straight to sleep.

Of course, Moony wasn’t the only marauder with a tight schedule. James was running the entire
quidditch team ragged with practices, waking Sirius at the crack of dawn almost every day of the
week. And Peter had his own activities to keep busy—talking to Desdemona, talking about
Desdemona, snogging Desdemona, talking about snogging Desdemona...

Plus, with OWLs coming up, Remus wasn’t the only one worried about grades. Peter had frequent
meltdowns while trying to complete homework assignments, during which he moaned that he
would never pass anything and insisted that he would be the first student to get kicked out of
Hogwarts for failing all his classes. Sirius found it incredibly irritating, but he had to admit that
their workload was enormous—even he found himself struggling, sometimes, to keep up.

Aside from the heavier workload, there had been another noticeable shift in their classes that year.
Though nobody seemed willing to say anything about it, Sirius got the distinct impression that their
professors were trying to prepare them for war. McGonagall had them working on concealment,
Slughorn seemed to have become obsessed with poisons and antidotes, and their Defence Against
the Dark Arts professor was a right ray of sunshine, warning them ominously at the end of every
lesson that, “You never know when you might need this outside the classroom...”

Put altogether, it was not exactly the most cheerful start to the year.

As September drew on, Sirius kept careful track of the passing days. The full moon would be
coming near the end of the month, and when they weren’t focused on schoolwork or quidditch (or
girlfriends), the marauders were practicing their transformations.

They had to be careful about it, of course. Their dorm room was only safe when Remus wasn’t
there, and it didn’t exactly provide ample space for James and his unwieldly antlers. The tunnel to
Honeyduke’s was marginally better, but they had to make sure that someone was always on watch
just in case Remus checked the map and came to find them. Some nights, when they were sure that
Moony was really, deeply asleep, the other three boys would creep out under the invisibility cloak
and sneak into the Forbidden Forest to practice—they stayed close to the fringes, of course, hidden
behind the cover of trees but near enough to the castle to remain out of harm’s way.

The transformations were tricky, at first. It took a great deal of concentration to change from
human to animal and back again, and the double heartbeat was a bit disconcerting. Surprisingly,
there was no pain. Of course, their research had said the animagi transformations were painless,
but it was still a bit disconcerting for Sirius to feel his body warping and shifting, resettling into a
new shape, without any hint of discomfort.

Still, he found that the more he practiced, the faster he was able to change, until the process was
almost instantaneous. James caught on just as quickly, until he was able to shift back and forth
between stag and boy in the blink of an eye. Peter struggled the most with the transformations; he
seemed to be the least comfortable in his animal form, and Sirius didn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure
what it was like to be in the body of a rat, but he couldn’t imagine that it would be very pleasant.

Being a dog, on the other hand, was glorious. He always seemed to have boundless energy, and the
entire world was simpler, more exciting. As a dog, all his complicated human emotions felt far
away—the guilt and resentment when he thought of his brother, the anxiety about his parents and
the war, the shame over his scars and the things his mother had screamed as she gave them to him.
In their place, joy bubbled up. The dog didn’t care about politics or dark magic; he just wanted to
run and jump and play. He was just happy—almost overwhelmingly so—to be with his friends, and
that was all that mattered.

And the senses! His vision wasn’t very good, but the sense of smell made up for it. It was as if an
entirely new world had opened up; Sirius could smell not just people, but the emotions they felt,
the tang of fear in sweat or the subtle, comforting scent of happiness. He tried very hard to describe
it to James and Peter when he changed back, but could never find the words—there was just
nothing in the human language to describe what the dog could pick up.

Once the process had become easier, Sirius was changing back and forth at every chance he got.
He’d convince the others to go on Honeyduke’s runs just so that he could dash up and down the
length of the tunnel; he’d chew on James’s shoes as revenge for the sadistically early quidditch
drills; once, he even ate Peter’s astronomy homework, just to see how it tasted. Pete failed to see
the humour.
It got to the point where James felt the need to sit Sirius down and give him a stern talking to about
keeping their secret at least until the first full moon, when they were planning to tell Remus. When
the lecture didn’t work, he threatened to feed Sirius chocolate the next time he transformed.

Despite all odds, they managed to remain undiscovered. By the time the full moon came around, all
three boys were ready, strung tight with nervous excitement.

“Okay,” James said, pacing the Honeyduke’s tunnel and waving his lit wand like a baton as he
spoke, “Let’s go over the plan again.”

Sirius groaned. “We’ve gone over it a million times!”

“Shut it, Fido.”

“We’ll follow him down under the invisibility cloak!” Peter said quickly, eager to please, “And I’ll
transform and hit the knot on the Whomping Willow!”

“Excellent. And then?”

James gave Sirius a very pointed look, and he sighed.

“We follow them into the shrieking shack, wait for Pomfrey to leave, and bask in our own glory.”

“Transform, but yes, close enough.”

Sirius fidgeted, impatient. “Come on, we’re ready—let’s just go tell him!”

“Hang on!” James grabbed his arm, stopping him from barging back towards the tunnel door.
Sirius turned to look at him, expectantly, and he hesitated. Then,

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do if…if something goes wrong.”

Sirius blinked. “Nothing’s going to go wrong.”

“I know, mate, but if something does—”

“Remus would never hurt us!”

“The wolf might, though.” Peter spoke quietly, hanging back a step, and Sirius turned to glare at
him.

“Pete’s right,” James said firmly, “Look, we need to make sure we’re all on the same page, just in
case, alright?” He levelled Sirius with a steady gaze.

Sirius stared back, frowning petulantly. But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew James
was right.

“Fine.”

“Alright.”

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. Peter and Sirius watched him expectantly, waiting.

“Right. Ok. If something goes wrong, and…the wolf…attacks, for whatever reason—Peter, I think
you should run. You’re the smallest of us—slip out of the house and transform. Don’t go back to
Hogwarts; go to Hogsmeade, it’s closer. You can find help, bring someone back to—”
“No!” Sirius said, sharply, “We can’t just go getting anyone involved! Potter, you run back to
Hogwarts; you’re the fastest, and I’m big enough, I’d be able to defend myself—”

“Against a werewolf?!”

“It’s not just some werewolf!” Sirius shouted, “It’s Moony! He’d never hurt us in the first place!”

Peter glanced back and forth between them, anxiously. James sighed.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, mate. I really, really hope we don’t need to worry about this. But if
something does happen, you and I will both need to be there to try and control Remus, which
means it’ll have to be Pete who goes for help. And if it’s serious enough that one of us has to get
help, then…I don’t think it’ll matter much who finds out. D’you get what I mean?”

Sirius stared at the packed dirt floor of the tunnel. He knew what James meant—if things were bad
enough to get to the point that they were talking about, then it wouldn’t just be Remus’s secret on
the line. It would be their lives.

“Yeah,” he muttered, scuffing his shoe in the dirt, “I get it.” He looked back up, saying fiercely,
“But it won’t come to that, James.”

His friend nodded soothingly. “’Course not, mate,” he smiled, “It’s Moony, isn’t it? Everything’ll
be fine.”

* * *

By the time they returned to their dorm, Sirius was ready to crawl out of his skin—literally. He was
aching to transform, to reveal their secret to Remus once and for all. The sun was setting outside,
and Remus was sitting in the windowsill, smoking. He turned when they walked in, exhaling, and
eyed them warily.

“Oh god,” he groaned, taking in their apprehensive expressions, “What now? Why aren’t you at
quidditch?”

“No quidditch today!” Sirius crowed, hardly able to contain his excitement. He was grinning ear to
ear, rocking back and forth and trying desperately to control himself.

“Where have you been, then?” Remus asked, directing the question to James, who was the most
composed of the three of them.

“We’ve been practicing something else!” Peter squeaked, before James could answer.

Remus leaned back against the windowsill, cigarette dangling from his fingertips, and turned to
James again. He raised a single eyebrow, waiting. Sirius’s throat was dry with excitement; his
palms felt clammy.

“Moony,” James said, slowly, “You may remember we had an idea, in third year…”

“You have ideas all the time, Potter, be specific,” Remus said, impatiently. He used his wand to
light another cigarette, rolling his shoulders a bit. Lupin always got more irritable before the full
moon, as if he were constantly on edge, wolf prowling just under the surface of his skin.
 “The…to help you with the…I know you said we shouldn’t, um…” James tugged his fingers
through his hair, scrambling for words, clearly nervous, “But we’d already got so far with it, and…
um…look, I’m sorry, we’re sorry…but…”

“Spit it out!” Remus commanded, smoke spilling in a cloud from his lips. James glanced at Sirius
with wide, panicked eyes, then looked down as he mumbled quickly,

“We’vebecomeanimagi…”

“What?!”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Sirius snapped, exasperated. He stepped forward, “Look, Remus!”

And without further ado, he transformed.

Chapter End Notes

song is "Dancing in the Moonlight" by Harvest King :)

happy new year!! excited 4 a tiger year bc i was a tiger year baby <3
 Fifth Year: Moony & Co.
Chapter Summary

werewolf time <3

Remus fell off the window ledge in shock. This delighted Sirius (most things did, as a dog), and he
barked happily and wagged his tail as Moony hurried to pick himself up off the floor. The tall boy
(extremely tall, especially from Sirius’s current perspective) looked from James to Peter, then back
to Sirius, processing what he’d just seen. Sirius changed back, unable to stop smiling.

“You did it,” Remus said, voice flat. “I can’t believe you bloody did it.” He sat back down on the
windowsill, swallowing hard.

“Are you angry with us?” James asked earnestly, studying their friend’s face.

“Can you all do it?”

James exchanged a glance with Peter, and they both nodded. Remus sucked in a breath. “Go on
then,” he whispered, “Show me.”

Immediately, in the place where James and Peter had been standing, there materialized a large stag,
noble antlers scraping the ceiling, and a skittish brown rat. Sirius laughed, still buzzing with
excitement.

“We couldn’t choose what we turned into,” he explained, “Otherwise Peter probably would have
picked something else…”

“Oi!” Peter complained, changing back, “Rats are highly intelligent creatures, I looked it up.”

“Shame you’re not.”

“Not everyone wants to be a big slobbering mutt,” James said, transforming and coming to Peter’s
defence, as usual. He punched Sirius lightly on the shoulder.

“All right, Bambi, calm down,” Sirius smirked to show he meant no harm, ruffling Peter’s hair,
“Just having a laugh, aren’t we, mate?”

Peter smiled grudgingly, too excited to hold the teasing against him. Sirius turned back to Remus.
He was staring at them, eyes wide, brow furrowed, an indecipherable expression on his face.

“Remus?” James asked, after a moment, “You are angry, aren’t you?”

Sirius’s stomach dropped. Was that it? Was Remus upset with them? He knew Lupin had asked
them not to do it, but he’d thought—well, he’d thought that once they’d actually done it, he would
change his mind.

“I...” Remus shook his head, still frowning, “No, no, not angry...I just....” He shut his eyes, looking
almost pained, “I knew you’d do it anyway, I knew you’d try, at least. You never listen to me.”
Sirius’s throat felt tight. But we did it to help you, he wanted to say.

“We’re sorry,” James apologized, looking thoroughly penitent. Immediately, Remus’s eyes
snapped open.

“No, don’t be sorry!” he said, “What you’ve done is amazing...you lot are amazing. I just...I don’t
know what to say.”

You lot are amazing. Sirius’s chest flooded with warmth. So that’s what it was. Moony was happy
—so happy he was speechless! Sirius remembered the way he’d felt when James gave him the
mirror, recalling exactly how overwhelming it was to receive such a gift. Was that how Moony
felt?

Remus glanced up, catching Sirius’s eye. He held the gaze, offering a small, understanding smile.

“Thank you,” Remus whispered, and for a moment, Sirius felt as if they were the only two people
in the room.

But of course, he was thanking all of them. “Anything for our Moony!” Sirius crowed, grinning.
The excitement rushed back, buoyed by the jubilant relief of knowing that Remus wasn’t upset
with them. “Come on,” he said eagerly, “Let’s go down for dinner. We’ve got a long night ahead of
us!”

“Tonight?!” Remus yelped in surprise, “You want to try it tonight?!”

James grinned sheepishly. “No time like the present.”

“You can’t want to spend another night alone in that horrid shack when you don’t have to,
Remus?” Peter urged, earnestly.

After a moment, Remus nodded, sighing. He didn’t look entirely certain, but he didn’t protest again
as they made their way downstairs to the Great Hall.

The marauders were in high spirits as they sat down to eat, laughing and chattering energetically.
Except Remus, who appeared utterly exhausted; he hardly even ate, just pushed his food around his
plate with a fork. Sirius kept nudging him, trying to shake him out of his funk, but it was clear that
Moony was stuck inside his own head, worrying—and when he got like that, Sirius knew there
wasn’t a whole lot that anyone could do.

He was not the only one who picked up on his friend’s uncharacteristic lack of appetite. After a
couple of minutes, Marlene spoke up,

“Remus, you’re not eating,” she frowned, concerned, “That’s really not like you.”

“Mm,” he murmured, setting down his fork, “I don’t feel well. I think I’ll go to the hospital wing.”

“Oh no, again?” Marlene tutted sympathetically, “You poor thing.”

Remus just shrugged, obviously not looking for any coddling. He stood to leave, and the other
marauders followed him out.

“How are you going to do it?” He asked quietly, staring straight ahead as he walked.

“Pete’s small, he can get us in,” James whispered back, clearly ecstatic to have someone actually
asking him to explain his plan, “Then we’ll use the cloak – it’s a doddle to fit under now we can
change.”

“Ok,” Remus nodded, lip poking out as he thought, “Ok, if you can sneak in behind Pomfrey...she
puts a locking charm on the door, otherwise.”

“Great,” Peter said, nodding sycophantically, “We’ll do it, Remus, we will!”

They paused outside the hospital wing, and he turned to look down at them. Sirius wondered, for
the millionth time, how he had gotten so bloody tall.

“You know I might kill you all.”

He was trying to keep his voice neutral, but there was a note of panic in his eyes. Sirius
straightened, standing a bit taller as he said,

“You won’t.”

Remus sighed.

“Ok. See you in an hour or so, then.” And without any further goodbye, he turned and walked into
the infirmary, leaving them in the corridor outside.

The marauders hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, whispering furtively the whole way. Sirius’s
heart beat like a drum against his ribcage as they snuck back down to the hospital wing under the
cloak, with Peter sitting on James’s shoulder, already changed. Sirius had transformed too, to
ensure they had plenty of room, and he was so full of nervous energy that it was torture to keep
still. As a dog, all he wanted to do was run, and bark, and play. Luckily, he retained enough self-
control to keep quiet—it helped to have James next to him, nudging him anytime he started to get
too antsy.

They managed to remain undetected as Madam Pomfrey led Remus down to the willow, hanging
back slightly to ensure that they didn’t arouse suspicion. Once the nurse and her patient were
through, Peter zipped over and pressed the knot without any trouble; he was too small for the tree
to notice. The three marauders hurried down a packed-dirt tunnel, not unlike the one that led to
Honeyduke’s, and managed to slip into the shack just as Madam Pomfrey was leaving.

“...crack of dawn,” the old nurse was saying, with a small, sad smile on her face. She leaned over
and gave Remus a quick kiss on the forehead before bustling out of the room.

Remus took a deep breath once she was gone, scanning the shack.

“Are you there?”

James pulled the cloak off immediately, and the other two extricated themselves from the fabric,
transforming back from their animagi forms.

Remus blinked, startled. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he said, chewing on his lip. After
a moment, he gestured to the room, smiling nervously as he said, “Welcome to the Shrieking
Shack...”

Sirius knew what the shack looked like from the outside. He knew that it was a bit of a shambles,
with its rotting, splintered wood, grimy windows, and flaking paint. But he’d thought—well, since
Dumbledore knew Remus’s secret, since the school had arranged this whole thing...Sirius had
assumed they’d at least try to make it comfortable. They were wizards, for Merlin’s sake! You’d
think they could conjure up an armchair, a cosy fireplace, maybe a rug or some blankets.
But clearly, no one had bothered. The shack was just as dismal inside as out; a thick layer of dust
coated the greying wood, and the only furniture was a small, wireframe bed in the corner. There
were deep gouges along the walls, and the entire place smelled of mildew and rot and
abandonment.

“Moony,” James said, looking just as troubled as Sirius felt, “It’s horrible.”

“It’s ok. It’s better than a cage.”

Sirius shook his head, disgusted. “It is a cage.”

“When will it happen?” Peter interrupted, glancing anxiously at the window.

Remus rolled his shoulders, thinking.

“Not long,” he replied, “Fifteen minutes, maybe.” Sirius wondered how he could tell—what did it
feel like?

There was a stretch of silence, during which the enormity of what was about to happen began to
sink in. Sirius stared at the boy in front of him, the boy he’d known for five years, and realized that
he was about to see Remus lose himself—body ripping apart, rational mind fleeing. Werewolf
transformations weren’t like animagi. At least, that was what all the books said.

As if reading Sirius’s mind, Remus said, suddenly, “No one’s ever seen it happen before.” He
stared at them, helplessly, “I don’t think.... it’s really, really ugly.”

“It’s ok, Remus,” James said gently, “We know what to expect.”

“I might scream...I will scream.”

“It’s fine.” Sirius assured him. His heart was one tangled knot in his chest.

“You’ve got your wands?”

“Yep,” they all withdrew them, confirming.

“Good,” Remus looked down at the floorboards, wincing, “If I attack...if you can’t control
me...you’re going to have to...” he flinched, faltering. When he looked back up, there was real fear
in his eyes.

“Change,” he shouted, desperately, as he curled up on the bed, “Quickly!”

They did. Sirius watched with the dog’s eyes as his friend’s body contorted, bones snapping
sickeningly under his skin. Remus was a writhing heap on the mattress, skin pulling, eyes rolling.
Sirius could smell the blood moving as his body reformed; he could smell the fear, the salt from
his tears, and something else—something distinctly canine, which grew stronger as the moon rose
in the sky.

When it was over, Remus was gone. In his place was a large brown wolf, similar in every way to
his animal companions—except for the shorter snout, and the tufted tail. And the size. He rolled
over, standing, and even as a dog Sirius could tell that he was enormous—far bigger than any wolf
that a person might encounter in the wild.

The wolf howled. Power rolled off of him in great, dizzying waves—from the fluid movement of
his limbs to the intelligent spark in his eyes. Sirius had never seen anything so dangerous, or so
magnificent. It was intoxicating.

Suddenly, the wolf snapped its head around, sniffing. Its eyes locked on the three animals, and it
growled, leaping down from the bed. The stag danced back a step, snorting, as the wolf snapped its
jaws, and the rat squeaked and scurried into the corner.

But the dog growled back. Play nice, Remus. He stepped forward, sniffing, searching for traces of
his friend. Moony was still in there, not so much buried as...woven, the warm, human scent
overpowered by something feral, earth and forest and moon. The wolf snarled, a warning—behind
the power, Sirius tasted fear. He’s just scared.

The dog flopped down at the wolf’s feet, rolling over to expose its belly. It’s okay, we’re friends.
You’re in control. The wolf stopped growling, and sniffed the air again. Its eyes raked over the
animals once more, no longer wary, and Sirius could swear that he saw a spark of recognition.

The wolf howled, this time with savage joy. Sirius threw back his head and joined.

* * *

The transformation back was just as gruesome. The wolf, who had been nipping at Sirius’s face,
growling playfully, suddenly fell back. He retreated to a far corner of the room, whining. Sirius
followed, head cocked, confused—and then he heard the bones shifting, and he knew what was
happening.

They waited until the last vestiges of the wolf were gone—the claws retracted, the fur disappeared
—to undergo their own transformations. Remus coughed as he regained consciousness, spluttering
and shivering. Sirius grabbed one of the threadbare blankets from the bed.

“Moony?” He approached carefully, averting his eyes, “Here.”

Remus accepted the blanket, wrapping it around himself. “Thanks,” he croaked, voice cracked and
dry. He squinted up at them, blinking. “Everyone ok?”

“Fine,” Sirius began to smile, “Better than fine! It worked Moony!”

“Here, c’mon,” James offered a hand, pulling Remus to his feet and helping him shuffle over to the
ragged bed. There were no wounds on his body—no fresh cuts, no blood. He looked exhausted,
wrung out, with familiar dark circles ringing his eyes—but that was it. Sirius felt giddy from the
lack of sleep and the euphoria of their success. Three years of work, and finally, finally, it had paid
off! He could have burst with joy—and then he turned to the bed, and noticed that Remus was
crying.

“Are you ok?” Sirius asked immediately, going cold with dread. Had something gone wrong? Had
he missed something? “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” Remus smiled, a wash of relief, “I’m just being silly.” He scrubbed at his eyes, looking up at
them with a quiet adoration that stole the breath from Sirius’s throat.

“Was it bad?” he asked, anxiously, “The transformation?”

“It was pretty awful,” James said. There was no point in lying—better to be straightforward. Peter
and Sirius nodded in agreement.

“You’re so brave, Remus!” Peter said earnestly, looking a little weepy himself.

“But afterwards,” Sirius cut in, unable to hold back anymore, “Afterwards it was amazing – you
weren’t sure at first, but then I—”

“You submitted to me.” Remus said, “I remember.”

“I thought you couldn’t remember anything that happened?" James asked, curious.

“I can’t, usually,” Remus frowned, “But last night was different...I remember it all. I wasn’t me,
exactly, but I wasn’t not me either. Does that make sense?”

“No.” Sirius laughed, and Remus laughed with him.

“You lot better get under the cloak. Madam Pomfrey’s on her way. Could, er...someone pass me
my clothes?”

Sirius ran to get them, and kept running. He transformed back and forth as Remus changed,
bouncing around the room, buzzing with energy. Finally, when James threatened to leave without
him if he didn’t get under the cloak in the next five seconds, Sirius relented, giving Moony’s
shoulder one last squeeze.

“Didn’t I tell you Moony? Didn’t I tell you?!” He whispered, fervently.

“You did,” Remus said, smiling. He glanced at James, who was scooping rat-Peter off the floor
with one hand and holding the cloak in the other, and lowered his voice. Sirius leaned in to hear as
he whispered, “Was it scary? Was I scary?”

Sirius stared at him, at the eyes that, just a short while before, had been golden and wild and joyful.
He could still make out the flecks of gold there, if he looked close enough.

“No.” He whispered back firmly, “You were beautiful.”

 Fifth Year: Gentleman
Chapter Summary

a dream and a date

By the time they’d managed to sneak, successfully, back into their dorm, all of Sirius’s excited
energy had drained away. With the adrenaline used up, there was no shield against the weight of
exhaustion. His body seemed to realize, suddenly (and with quite a bit of resentment), that he had
kept it up all night, and began immediately to demand that he do something to rectify this situation.
Sirius couldn’t stop yawning as they walked up the stairs.

“Don’t you want to change?” James asked, as he collapsed onto his bed, still fully dressed.

“Mmmmph.”

“Those clothes are going to stink when you wake up.”

“Mrrgghgh.“

James tutted disapprovingly, but pressed no further. Sirius buried his head in his pillow, nestling
into the blankets. They were warm, and soft, and heavy, and in no time at all, he was asleep.

In his dream, he was running. The woods fizzed and blurred around him—it was summer, it was
winter, it was spring. He was chasing something, something intoxicating—clove and parchment
and burnt sugar. He was the dog, and then he wasn’t, and then he was again. The moon was
swollen in the sky, bloated, and when he howled it cracked open like an eggshell, bursting.
Snowflakes kissed his eyelashes, melting on his skin.

He woke up.

Sirius was in his bedroom, back in Grimmauld Place. He blinked, disoriented. How had he gotten
here? He could have sworn he’d gone to bed in Gryffindor tower...what month was it?

On his walls, the muggle girls stared at him, puckering their lips and posing. The moonlight cast
shadows, turning their coy smiles into something more sinister—something almost derisive, as if
they were saying, We know something you don’t. Sirius shivered, and realized he wasn’t alone.

The body next to him groaned, shifting. Strong arms tugged him back into the blankets, skin fever-
hot, clove and parchment and burnt sugar. Sirius inhaled, deeply, and the body began to move in a
way that sent heat crackling up and down his spine. On the walls, the girls continued smiling.

“Wait—”

Sirius tried to pull back, but he felt hazy, languid and slow. He didn’t want to stop. On the posters,
the girls began to move.

“Wait, hang on—” he tried again, fumbling for words, “They’re watching.” The body beside him
laughed.
“Nobody’s watching,” the familiar voice murmured, “Come back...”

Sirius came awake gasping, sweating, heat still coiled in his abdomen. He shoved the blankets off,
then yanked them back on as he noticed the evidence of the dream, extremely grateful to his past
self for having the energy to draw the curtains around his bed before passing out.

“Sirius?” James’s voice came from just outside his bed, “You awake?”

Sirius groaned, heart still pounding as he flopped back onto his pillows. James laughed.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty, you’re going to miss lunch!”

“Just go without me,” Sirius called back, “I’ll raid the kitchens later.”

Without warning, James poked his head behind the curtains—Sirius sat up quickly, scrambling to
readjust the blankets.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes blinking owlishly behind his spectacles.

“Yeah,” Sirius croaked, voice breaking a bit, “I need a shower. You were right—these clothes
stink.”

James grinned. “Told you so!” He withdrew, voice growing fainter as he walked towards the door,
“I’ll see if I can smuggle something up for you!”

Sirius sighed, listening to the door shut as James left. Once he was certain that he was alone, he
crawled out of bed, rummaging about for clean clothes before heading into the bathroom.

Normally, Sirius forgot his dreams. Sometimes he’d wake with a lingering impression, a flash of
memory—an image, a feeling, a taste. But it always faded quickly, and he usually never thought
twice about whatever it was his mind got up to while he was asleep. But for some reason, this
dream stuck.

Sirius stood under the streaming water, trying to shake it off—but the more he tried to ignore it, the
more it seemed to sink in, until all he had to do was close his eyes to recall the exact sensations he
had felt. He flushed with shame, frustrated by the lack of control he had over his own mind.

Stop it, Sirius thought to himself, firmly, It’s just a stupid dream. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had
—that sort of dream before. He was a teenage boy, after all; he’d always figured that it just sort
of…came with the territory. It was just that he usually didn’t remember them so clearly.

Sirius scrubbed his hair viciously, tugging his fingers through the tangled strands. He felt skittish,
angry and frustrated. It wasn’t as if he could control his dreams; it wasn’t as if dreams meant
anything. They were just random, an amalgamation of whatever detritus happened to be floating
through your subconscious. Probably, all it meant was that he needed to go out and snog someone
—some girl. Everyone talked about it like it was the be all end all, and here he was, nearly sixteen
years old with his only experience a sloppy kiss in the back of a muggle cinema. If anything, all the
dream meant was that he was pent up. He just needed to get it out of his system, that was all.

Sirius stepped out of the shower feeling marginally better, having reassured himself that such
confusing dreams were a completely normal part of being a teenager. And it wasn’t as if he was the
only one; his friends were all dealing with the same bewildering experience of learning to navigate
a body that insisted on spiralling out of control all too often. (Not that they ever discussed it,
beyond a few crude jokes—but when you shared a room with three other boys, you were bound to
overhear some things.)
Besides, Sirius thought as he pulled on his trousers, if all went according to plan, then soon he
wouldn’t even need to worry about all that anymore. He’d already asked Mary to go with him to
their next Hogsmeade weekend—on a date.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had inspired him to do it. They’d just been chatting about the essay
that McGonagall had assigned, and he’d offered to help her, and she’d said Thank you and
squeezed his arm in that way he remembered from third year, and…

Well, wasn’t it about time he got a girlfriend? Plenty of students in their year were pairing up, and
Peter already had Desdemona. James didn’t count, because he was smitten with Lily, and Remus
didn’t count, because….well, because he was Remus, and he was somehow the only person in their
year who seemed completely unruffled by the hormones that had everyone else losing their minds.
But Sirius had a reputation as Class Heartthrob to maintain, and his dashing good looks could only
go so far. Eventually, he’d have to put his money where his mouth was.

And he liked Mary. Or at least, he was pretty sure that he did. She was funny, and cheerful, and a
little bit rude. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and she didn’t fawn over him the way so many
of his other admirers did. Plus, she’d already had a boyfriend, which meant she ought to know what
she was doing—or at least, Sirius hoped she did, because he certainly had no idea.

So he’d asked her to go to Hogsmeade. Why not? And she’d smirked up at him, hand still on his
arm, and said,

“Sirius Black, are you asking me on a date?”

And he’d shrugged and tossed his hair and said, “If you want to call it that.” Mary had smacked his
arm playfully, chiding,

“If you want me to go with you, you’ll have to ask properly, Mr. High-and-Mighty. I’m not going
to fall all over you just because you flash me that smile—you can go and find Effie Scunthorpe if
you want that.”

And Sirius had laughed, and grinned, and said,

“Fine. Mary Macdonald, will you do me the honour of going on a date with me?”

And she’d said yes.

* * *

Saturday 4th October 1975

The problem with taking a girl on a date, Sirius thought as he watched Mary decide between two
quills at Scrivenshaft’s, was that no one explained to you how, exactly, dates were meant to be
different from…well, from any other Hogsmeade visit. So far, all they’d done was what Sirius
would normally do: a Honeyduke’s run to stock up on sweets, a Scrivenshaft’s stop for new
stationery…the biggest difference was that instead of his usual perusal of the new Zonko’s wares
with James, Mary had dragged him to Gladrags Wizardwear and interrogated him about whether he
thought the green or purple knee socks suited her better (purple, obviously, but that was beside the
point).

It was all good fun, of course. Mary was easy to hang out with; she was easy to talk to, easy to
laugh with. They gossiped about their professors, complained about their homework, and joked
about the latest drama at Hogwarts—professor Slughorn’s new toupee. But…well, it didn’t really
feel all that different from lounging about in the common room, or sitting together at lunch. Which
would have been fine, except that Sirius was pretty sure that a date was supposed to feel different,
and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong.

Snogging—there was supposed to be snogging, wasn’t there? When did that part happen? Who
was supposed to start it? Was Mary waiting for him to make a move?

“Three Broomsticks?” She asked, paying for her quill.

“Er—yeah, sounds good,” Sirius agreed, privately relieved that she didn’t want to go to Madam
Puddifoot’s next. He’d seen Desdemona dragging Peter there earlier, and he thought he might die
of embarrassment if he ever had to set foot inside the frilly establishment.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, as it usually was on Hogsmeade weekends, with students, but
they still managed to find a table tucked into a back corner. They passed both James and Marlene
on the way, sitting with a few other members of the quidditch team—James wolf-whistled as they
walked by, and Sirius smirked, throwing an arm around Mary’s shoulders. She tutted and rolled her
eyes, but didn’t shrug him off.

“Wonder where Remus is…” Sirius said as they sat, craning his neck to look back at James’s table.
It was full of quidditch players—but no Moony. Strange.

Mary glanced over, shrugging. “Who knows,” she said, “I’m just glad Marls found someone to
hang out with. I felt a bit guilty, leaving her to fend for herself.”

“What about Lily?”

A sour look came over Mary’s face.

“Oh, she promised Severus she’d spend the day with him.”

Sirius choked on his butterbeer. “Evans is on a date with Snape?”

“No,” Mary said quickly, “Well—she doesn’t think it’s a date, at least. Insists they’re ‘just friends.’
I told her it’s not us she needs to convince—proper creepy, the way he pines over her, and she just
refuses to see it…”

“Yeah, Snape’s a right git,” Sirius agreed, frowning.

“I know! He gets worse every year, but she still has this ridiculous idea that she can fix him or
something, just because they were friends when they were kids. She always blames his family,
says he’s just ‘having a rough time right now,’ and I’m sorry, but that’s bollocks. Lots of people
have shitty families, and they don’t go ‘round calling their classmates nasty things just to make
themselves feel better.”

Sirius nodded, sipping his drink—he found that once Mary got going, it was better to sit back and
listen rather than attempting to interrupt.

“I keep trying to tell her, we’re not little kids anymore—at this point, he’s making his own choices.
I mean, look at you!” She continued, gesturing with her mug of butterbeer, “You and Regulus have
both got the same family, but you aren’t spouting all the same pureblood crap that the Slytherins
are on about!”

Sirius felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut at the mention of his family. He bristled, snapping
defensively,

“Reg is not like Snape!”

Mary paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Really?” she asked, regarding him, “Because they both call me the same things.”

Sirius flushed, looking down at his hands. He felt angry and ashamed, thinking of his little brother
spitting hateful slurs in the hallways.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, fidgeting with his mug. Mary sighed.

“Well, it’s not you that needs to apologise.” She said, sounding a bit exasperated, “It’s just—the
same thing I keep trying to tell Lily, I suppose. Just because you knew someone growing up
doesn’t mean they aren’t going to change, and just because you know someone’s having a hard
time doesn’t mean you should just ignore it if they’re acting like a dickhead. Everyone has shit to
deal with, but it’s not like everyone chooses to be cruel because of it.”

A part of Sirius wanted to argue with this—wanted to defend his brother, to say that Mary just
didn’t understand what Reggie was going through—except he knew that was exactly the point she
was making. Still, it made him uncomfortable to hear his brother compared to Severus. They
weren’t the same—they just weren’t.

“Anyway,” Mary said, nudging his shin with her foot under the table, “I didn’t mean to bring up
your family, sorry. I know you’re sensitive about it.”

“I am not sensitive,” Sirius huffed, indignantly. She laughed.

“Oh, cheer up, come on! How about we go to Zonko’s after this—you can explain how those
exploding trick wands work, and I’ll pretend to be interested and act like you’re devastatingly
clever.”

At this, a grudging laugh escaped Sirius’s lips.

“Blimey, Macdonald,” he shook his head, “You really know how to stroke a man’s ego!”

“Mmm,” she sipped her drink, wiggling her eyebrows, “Among other things.”

Sirius choked, for the second time, on his butterbeer.

Aside from this single suggestive comment, however, there was nothing further to differentiate the
date from any other Hogsmeade weekend. They finished their butterbeers and went to Zonko’s, and
Mary acted absolutely enthralled by everything Sirius said, as promised. They continued talking as
they made their way back to the castle, and Sirius felt entirely at ease—until they drew close to the
Hogwarts’ entryway, at which point he realized that he was rapidly running out of time to do…
whatever it was he was supposed to do on a date.

They paused, just outside the castle. Sirius wasn’t sure where he was supposed to look.

“I had a fun time,” Mary said, smiling up at him.

“Yeah, so did I.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Oh, Merlin.

“Mmhm?”

“Why did you ask me to go to Hogsmeade with you?”

Fuck fuck fuck, Merlin’s bloody bollocks—

“Er…for a date?”

Mary giggled. “Well, I know that.” She continued to stare at him, expectantly.

“Ehm…I don’t think I’m entirely sure what you’re asking…” He scratched his head, trailing off.
Mary sighed.

“Look, Sirius,” she said, patting his arm, “I really did have a good time, and of course I’m
interested, but I just feel like I should tell you that after everything I’ve gone through with Darren
last summer, I’m not ready to rush into anything.”

Sirius blinked, trying to figure out what any of that had to do with him. Mary continued speaking,

“And you’re lovely, obviously, but you can be a bit…immature. And if I’m going to have a
boyfriend, I’m going to need to make sure he’s someone who can treat me right.”

Boyfriend—she’d said boyfriend. Did that mean she wanted to be his girlfriend? No—she was still
talking.

“We haven’t spent all that much time together, really—not without our friends. So I think it would
be best if we get to know each other a bit better, first, and if you can actually act like a gentleman,
then…Well,” she smirked, “I suppose then we can have another chat. Alright?”

“Wh—hang on a second, what d’you mean, ‘act like a gentleman’?”

Mary laughed, squeezing his arm once before letting go.

“Well, for a start,” she grinned, “You could offer to carry my bags for me…”
 Fifth Year: Plannin' and Dreamin'
Chapter Summary

sirius turns sixteen

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Something big,” Sirius insisted, lying across James’s bed, “A party—in the common room. We
can invite everyone—well, everyone worth inviting.”

“D’you think they’ll let us get away with that?”

Sirius snorted. “They’d better. What’s the point of being mates with a prefect if you can’t bend a
few rules?”

His sixteenth birthday was coming up, and Sirius wanted something lavish, excessive—a real
blowout. It had been ages since they’d had a party. And besides, everyone could use a bit of fun,
what with how bleak things had become around the castle.

He’d noticed it more, now that he was spending time with Mary. Sirius had understood that the war
was getting worse, that it was bleeding increasingly through the walls of the castle—but he’d never
actually heard someone hiss the word mudblood in the corridors, and he hadn’t quite expected the
sheer number of dirty looks they’d get from Slytherins. He and Mary weren’t even officially
dating yet; he’d just been walking her to classes, carrying her bookbag in an effort to “act like a
gentleman.” Whatever that meant.

Sirius had complained to the other marauders about it when James asked him how their
Hogsmeade date went. “A gentleman!” He’d scoffed, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth to
talk, “I speak five languages! I have a family motto! I can ballroom-bloody-dance! I have twelve
sets of dress robes! What more does she want???”

“Now you know my pain,” James responded, sighing.

“She wants you to respect her,” Peter said, in that infuriatingly condescending tone he seemed to
use whenever he talked about girls, nowadays.

“I do respect her!” Sirius replied, with a haughty sniff, “She’s got the best tits in the year. That’s
very respectable.”

Remus, who was listening to this conversation, buried his head in his hands in exasperation. Sirius
grinned.

Still, despite his complaining, he’d decided to give it a go. This had resulted in Sirius spending
quite a bit more time with Mary, trying to prove just how gentlemanly he could be—after all, a
Gryffindor never backed down from a challenge. And Mary Macdonald was certainly a challenge.

It almost felt like a game, sometimes. He’d say something cheeky, or make a stupid joke, and Mary
would roll her eyes, complaining about how he needed to get his act together and stop behaving
like an idiot even as she tried to hide an amused smile. Sirius would tease her right back, and she’d
make a show of being exasperated, but he knew from the way she smirked and looked up at him
through her lashes that she thought it was just as much fun as he did.

Currently, one of his favourite ways to tease her was by acting with such overdone chivalry that
anyone else might have been embarrassed—but Mary loved the attention. It was something they
had in common. So Sirius would dash ahead of her simply to hold open the doors of classrooms, or
insist on carrying every single one of her books in addition to his own, or bow as he pulled out her
seat in the dining hall, flourishing and saying in an exaggeratedly plummy accent,

“Please, my lady, do make yourself comfortable!”

Today, she’d smacked his arm as she sat down, saying tartly,

“You’re ridiculous!” But she’d been smiling, cheeks flushed.

He laughed as he took his seat beside her. “Yeah, but you love me.” This only made her blush
more, and she rolled her eyes in an effort to hide it. Sirius smirked, feeling very chuffed—he’d
finally cracked the code to flirting.

They were chatting about their most recent Potions assignment (a hair growth serum, which,
coupled with Slughorn’s toupee, had some very interesting implications) when James and Remus
joined them at the table.

“Fido,” James nodded as he sat.

“Rudolph.” Sirius nodded back, grinning.

They’d been experimenting with nicknames ever since the revelation of their animagi project to
Remus—partially because they needed aliases if they were keen on finishing the Marauders’ map
by Christmas, and partly because the idea of having codenames was devastatingly cool. It was a
favourite game amongst them at the moment to see how many names they cycle through before
one stuck. So far, only Peter’s had been decided upon this way (after ‘squeaker,’ ‘whiskers,’
‘scabbers,’ and ‘cheese-muncher,’ they’d final settled on ‘Wormtail.’)

“Where’ve you two been?” Mary said, by way of greeting, “Didn’t you have a free?”

“Library,” Remus responded, grabbing the soup ladle and lifting the lid from the steaming tureen.
Sirius watched him smile when he saw the contents—it was tomato today, Moony’s favourite. He
poured a generous amount into his bowl as he said, “You two are acting like we don’t have OWLs
coming up.”

“I’ll do my revision at Christmas,” Mary shrugged, “I’m not that fussed. I’m more nervous about
the career interviews.”

“Career interviews?” Remus tore his eyes away from the soup, looking alarmed.

“Lily was telling me,” Mary explained, “After OWLs we have to go and have a meeting with
McGonagall about what to do after school finishes. No idea what I’ll say – if this war carries on I
won’t even be able to get a job as a muggleborn.”

“You will,” James said fervently, “We’re going to win.”

“Well, even so,” Mary sighed, “I dunno what I want to do when we leave. The only wizard job I
know anything about is teaching, and I definitely don’t want to do that.”
Suddenly, an owl alighted on the table next to Sirius’s plate. He recognized it immediately—it was
one of the spiteful beasts from the Black family owlery. He rolled his eyes in disgust, heart kicking
in his chest.

“At least it’s not a howler,” James said brightly, glancing up from the bread roll he was buttering.
Sirius tore the envelope open, without giving his body time to process the nerves that it had sent
pinwheeling through him. He stared down at a short note, scrawled in impeccable script:

Sirius,

As it is your birthday, please come to the Slytherin common room at 4pm today for tea.

Anger flared in his gut. That’s it? After everything that had happened that summer—after the way
his family were acting—did they really think they could just pretend that nothing was out of the
ordinary, and expect him to show up for tea like a good little boy? They were literally fighting on
opposite sides of a war. (Well—sort of. If you counted hexing Slytherin bullies as part of the
wartime effort—which Sirius did.)

He stood, turning deliberately toward the Slytherin table. Sure enough, his brother was watching
him, frowning over from where he sat next to Barty Crouch. Sirius caught his eye, glaring defiantly
and raising the letter in one hand, his wand in the other.

“Incendio.”

Mary let out a surprised little yelp as the parchment immediately burst into flames, singing his
fingertips slightly—but he didn’t care. It was worth it to see the way his brother blanched. Sirius
sat back down, satisfied.

“Bad news, then?” James said mildly, biting into his roll.

“A summons to spend my birthday with my darling brother.”

“Well,” James glanced up, choosing his words carefully, “Is that so bad?”

“Yes,” Remus said, firmly, before Sirius could respond. He was giving James a very stern look,
almost chastising. Sirius felt a surge of gratitude for the defence.

“Why did you do that?”

A familiar voice spoke up behind him, almost making Sirius jump—but he managed to maintain
composure. He didn’t deign to respond to his brother, ignoring him steadily and shoving bites of
food into his mouth.

“Sirius,” Regulus said, raising his voice slightly, “Why did you burn that letter?” He had that
familiar petulant wobble in his voice, the one that usually meant he was getting teary-eyed—Sirius
fought off guilt. Whatever was going on with Reg, it wasn’t his problem. Mary had been right; his
brother was old enough to make his own choices—and if those choices included hanging about
with the likes of Barty Crouch, who just two days ago had tried to jinx Mary on her way to
Transfiguration, then Sirius wanted nothing to do with him.
“C’mon, Mary,” he said, standing without looking at Reg, “Let’s go, we’ve got Charms next,
haven’t we?”

“It wasn’t from mum,” Regulus said, voice limping like a kicked dog, “I wrote it myself, I wanted
to see you.”

I wanted to see you. How many times had Sirius wished that his brother would say that, those exact
words? How many times had he thought it might fix things?

It didn’t matter. He knew better now. Sirius took Mary’s arm and swept out of the hall without
looking back.

* * *

Saturday 1st November 1975

Well, you can bump and grind

If it’s good for your mind

You can twist and shout

Let it all hang out

But you won’t fool the children of the revolution…

Sirius twisted in front of the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the back of his head. He’d been
attempting to tease the curls higher, so that they stuck up a bit on top. Andromeda had sent him a
stack of muggle magazines, and Sirius had done his best to emulate the colourful fashion; he was
wearing a loose, brightly-patterned button down shirt, which he’d tucked into a snug pair of jeans
that sat high on his waist.

The overall effect was very dramatic, and Sirius grinned at his reflection, satisfied. It was, perhaps,
one of the life lessons that he had internalized from his upbringing: a Black never showed up to a
party underdressed (though if his mother saw what he was wearing now, she would probably have
a fit).

“Oi—hurry up!” James shouted, poking his head around the door, “Party’s started! I swear, you’re
worse than a girl.”

“Perfection takes time, Potter,” Sirius smirked, “At least I don’t look like my mum dressed me.”

James narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to let that one slide, but only because it’s your birthday. Now
come on, get down here—everyone keeps asking where you are!”

Sirius grinned, following his friend down the stairs. He could already hear music, T. Rex
magically magnified over the record player, and giddy excitement crackled in his chest. As they
rounded the last few steps to the common room, voices rose in a murmuring wave, a happy,
chattering buzz.

James Potter had not disappointed. Sirius had requested a blowout, and he had delivered—the
common room was already packed with people, almost all of the older Gryffindor students as well
as a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Peter was standing by the portrait hole, looking
slightly drunk with power as he waved people through—or maybe that was the firewhisky in his
hand. Remus had managed to procure a few bottles, and some of the older students had contributed
their own beverages, so that almost everyone seemed to be clutching a drink.

The second Sirius set foot in the common room he found a cup pushed into his palm—which he
identified immediately as firewhisky from the familiar burning smell. Mary giggled, wrapping her
fingers around his as she pressed the drink into his hand.

“Happy birthday, Sirius!”

This set off a chorus of ‘happy birthday’s as the nearest students turned and spotted him, and by
the time it had finished Sirius was grinning from ear to ear.

“Cheers!” He shouted, raising his cup—the toast was answered enthusiastically by the entire
common room, and he chugged his firewhisky in one go, choking only slightly as the amber liquid
poured down his throat.

Mary laughed, tugging on his arm. “Come on—let’s grab you another one!” He followed her over
to a table in the corner, where an amalgamation of different bottles had been haphazardly strewn.
Sirius tried not to stare as she leaned over to reach for the firewhisky.

Mary looked proper stunning, like something out of a magazine—her lashes were impossibly long,
brushing her cheeks every time she blinked, and she was wearing a royal blue mini skirt paired
with a white, bell-sleeved blouse that hugged her chest. Sirius averted his eyes when he realised
that he was staring.

She cheered as he downed another firewhisky, and he cheered when she followed suit. James drank
with them, grimacing at the taste and trying to subtly ogle Evans from across the room—she
caught him staring and frowned, turning her back deliberately (which didn’t have quite the
intended effect, as James only seemed inclined to stare more). Sirius had to admit that Evans
looked fantastic as well, in a deep green dress with a surprisingly short skirt. In fact, it seemed that
all the girls had dolled up quite a bit for the party; everywhere he turned, his eyes were assaulted
with vivid miniskirts and flouncy hair, shiny jewellery and colourful makeup.

“Oi,” Mary smacked his arm, “And just who are you eyeing up, Mr. Black?” He laughed.

“Nothing, nothing!”

“Oh really?” She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms—which had an astonishing effect on her
chest. Sirius blinked, already feeling fuzzy from the alcohol.

“Have I told you that you look absolutely ravishing tonight?”

Now Mary smiled grudgingly, rolling her eyes.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Black.”

Sirius smirked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Really, Macdonald? Nowhere? Not even on my birthday?”

“Oh, you are impossible!” She smacked his arm again, but this time her fingers stayed, squeezing
his bicep as she smiled up at him. Next to them, James pretended to retch.

“Eurgh, you two are becoming worse than Peter and Desdemona! I’m going to go find Remus…”

Sirius laughed, glancing around the room once more. “Where is Remus, anyway?”

“DJ duty.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He turned to look at the record player in the corner, and sure enough, Remus was posted beside it,
towering over most of the surrounding students. He appeared to be trying to fend off a group of
girls clutching an ABBA record.

“What would we do without Moony, eh?” James grinned, saluting before striding off through the
crowd.

“What indeed…” Sirius mumbled, watching as Remus argued with a sixth-year Hufflepuff. He had
a familiar frustrated expression on his face, brows knotted, full lips pressed into a tight line. He
was wearing a pair of muggle jeans that caught on sharp hipbones, threadbare t-shirt riding up
slightly as he crossed his arms, revealing a sliver of pale skin.

Sirius’s throat felt dry. He poured more firewhisky into his cup, swallowing without tasting.

“Come on,” Mary tugged his arm again, this time pulling him towards a knot of students swaying
in the centre of the common room, “Let’s dance!”

* * *

Sirius Black was not a dancer. His parents had forced him to learn ballroom, of course, as part of
his noble heritage—but he hated the stuffy, traditional footwork. Normally, he did everything he
could to avoid being dragged onto a dancefloor.

But with three (or was it four? Five?) firewhiskies burning in his belly, it was an entirely different
story. Dancing with Mary was deliciously fun; it was hard to feel self-conscious when she was
laughing and twirling beside him, swinging her hips in the self-assured manner of someone who
knew what she was doing. Sirius felt loose-limbed, dizzy and happy, and he found himself relaxing
into the music, letting his body move with the familiar beats of T. Rex and Bowie. Children of the
Revolution had just finished, and the next track began to play, fluttering onto the turntable thanks
to whatever charm Remus had set up.

Wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’

Plannin’ and dreamin’ each night of his charms…

That won’t get you into his arms…

Mary squealed in delight (along with what seemed to be every other girl in the common room) and
threw her arms around his neck, singing along as she swayed. Sirius laughed and, after a moment,
settled his hands on her hips. She was very soft.

Show him that you care just for him

Do the things he likes to do

Wear your hair just for him, ‘cause

You won’t get him

Thinkin’ and a-prayin’, wishin’ and a-hopin’….

Sirius grinned when he saw Marlene towing Remus onto the floor, a slightly panicked look on his
face as she giggled and swung him about.

“Yes, Moony!” he cheered, manoeuvring closer to the pair, “I never knew you could dance!”

“Oh yeah, I’m the next Fred Astaire,” Remus drawled, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. Sirius couldn’t
stop smiling; he found himself following the line of Remus’s arm as he lifted his fingers to twirl
Marlene. She stumbled, and he gripped her waist to steady her.

“You’re such a sweet couple,” Mary said, pressing closer to Sirius. He could feel her chest against
her ribcage—it was strange, soft. Everything about her was soft. Remus tipped his head back and
laughed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. The lights felt very bright.

So if you’re thinkin’ of how great true love is

All you gotta do is hold him and kiss him and squeeze him and love him…

“Oi, Evans!” James Potter shouted over the record, having appeared atop one of the study tables
with his broom clenched in his fist.

“Oh no…” Remus breathed.

“Oh yes!” Sirius cheered.

“POTTER!” Lily Evans shouted sternly, “Get DOWN from there, you’ll hurt yourself!”

“Watch this!” James commanded, delighted to have Lily’s attention. The next moment, he had
hopped onto his broom, rocketing upwards towards the ceiling of the common room.

“He’s never fallen off before,” Marlene murmured, watching anxiously as James began to execute
a series of loops and dives that grew increasingly shakier.

“Has he ever been drunk before, though?” Mary asked.

“He’s fine!” Sirius assured them, laughing. James circled the rafters, going around and around,
 faster and faster, until Sirius began to feel dizzy from watching—or maybe that was the firewhisky.
Either way, it didn’t take long for Lily to decide that she had had enough.

“Petrificus Totalus!” She shouted, wand aimed at James. He froze immediately, and for a moment
Sirius was worried he might fall, but Lily switched deftly into a levitation charm and lowered him
gently to the ground. Once James was securely laid out on the carpet, she marched over and
frowned down at him, hands on her hips. He blinked up at her, frozen by the spell but still grinning
like a starstruck prat.

“You idiot,” She shook her head, “Ten points from Gryffindor, and a week’s detention!” With that,
Lily spun on her heel and returned to her friends.

Sirius laughed, watching Remus extricate himself from Marlene with a sigh so that he could go and
un-petrify poor James. Moony’s shoulders were a straight, tense line under his t-shirt, curls at the
back of his neck sweat-dampened from the heated press of bodies in the common room.

Mary laid her head against Sirius’s chest, and he turned back to her, heat coiling in the pit of his
stomach.

Chapter End Notes

songs featured in this chapter are the same as in the original--Children of the
Revolution by T. Rex and Wishin' and Hopin', the Dusty Springfield version
 Fifth Year: Practice
Chapter Summary

sirius learns a new life skill

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

She walked up to me and she asked me to dance

I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said

Lola

L-O-L-A, Lola

La-la-la-la Lola

Well I’m not the world’s most physical guy

But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine

Oh my Lola

La-la-la-la Lola

Sunday 2nd November 1975

“Come on!” Mary whispered, giggling as she tugged on his arm. The clock had just struck
midnight; Sirius was officially twenty-four hours away from turning sixteen.

“Where are we going?” He whispered back, feeling the familiar thrill of adrenaline that came from
sneaking out after hours. The corridors were dark, empty and silent save for the sound of their
muffled footsteps on the stones. Mary twirled, spinning into him and gripping his arms to regain
her balance. She smirked devilishly and stood on her tiptoes, murmuring into his ear,

“Too crowded in the common room…”

Sirius swallowed, hard. Oh, Merlin. Was this it, then? Mary certainly seemed like a woman on a
mission. He wished he had some water—his tongue felt sticky with the aftertaste of firewhisky.

“Over here,” Mary whispered, twining their fingers together as she pulled him into an alcove,
halfway down the stairway of Gryffindor tower. Luckily, most of the prefects had been at his
birthday party—unless someone suddenly decided to go on patrol, Sirius doubted that they’d have
to worry about being caught.
This was good, because Sirius had plenty of other things to worry about at the moment. His
stomach was one big knot of nerves, body still buzzing with adrenaline as Mary pressed him back
into the wall.

“Sirius Black,” she smiled impishly, “D’you know what?”

He licked his lips. “What?”

“I’ve come to a decision.”

“Oh, have you?”

“Yes,” she pressed their palms together, “I have.”

He tried his best to mirror her mischievous smirk as he asked, “And what decision’s that?”

She was leaning even closer now, chest pressed against him, fluttering lashes casting shadows on
her cheeks.

“Can’t you guess?”

Her voice was breathy, barely a whisper. Sirius found himself staring at her lips, shiny with some
sort of gloss.

This was it—all those weeks of teasing, of flirting, of coy glances and smiles and laughs. Sirius
sucked in a breath, feeling dizzy and hot and slightly out of focus, body a tightly coiled spring.
Mary skirted her fingers up his sides, sending a shiver down his spine.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t the same as the girl in the cinema—no popcorn taste, and he had to bend down slightly to
reach, and it was Mary, and he knew her, and he couldn’t just run away afterwards. His head was
spinning.

“God, Black,” Mary pulled away, looking amused, “Have you ever kissed someone before?!”

Sirius scoffed, indignantly. “Yes!” He flushed, wishing desperately that Mary wasn’t so brutally
blunt.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Last Christmas, in the back of a muggle cinema. You can ask James if you need proof.” He
pulled back, crossing his arms defensively. Mary laughed.

“Oh, come on, don’t pout!” Her smile turned devious, and she leaned in close again, voice
dropping as she murmured, “You just need a bit of practice…”

* * *

Thursday 18th December 1975

As it turned out, Mary was an excellent teacher. She wasn’t shy about dishing out criticism, and
would often break off in the middle of a kiss to say something along the lines of, for god’s sake,
Sirius, stop trying to strangle me with your tongue, or, if you’re going to use teeth, at least try to be
subtle about it. With anyone else, he might have been mortified, but Mary was so casual about it
that it just felt like an extension of their regular teasing banter. And besides, he figured he’d have to
learn how to snog properly at some point—so why not do it with a friend?

Or—more than a friend, now. Since the kiss on his birthday, Mary had officially become his
girlfriend. It was a bit disconcerting, as Sirius knew that this change was supposed to signal some
great shift—but in truth, he didn’t feel all that different about her. He had enjoyed spending time
with Mary before they were dating, and he still enjoyed spending time with her after. He had
thought she was funny before they were dating; she was still funny after. He had known she was
pretty before they were dating, and obviously, she looked just the same once she was his girlfriend.
There was no great emotional stirring, no new, deep passion. For the most part, they just carried on
the same as when they were friends—the only real difference was the snogging.

But that was quite alright with Sirius. The snogging was difference enough.

Fortunately, he was a quick learner, and after the first week or so Sirius began to understand what
all the older boys had been making such a fuss about. It was fun, kissing Mary, like charting out a
map of previously unexplored territory. There was finally some release for all the pent-up heat, the
strange and somewhat embarrassing desires that he usually tried not to think about. And it was
gratifying to know that he was improving, to take Mary apart like a puzzle and figure out what was
most effective from the way she melted in his arms—what he should be doing with his tongue,
with his mouth, with his hands. Once they got past the initial awkward learning curve, it was just
good, in a simple, uncomplicated way.

Plus, it drove the Slytherins mad. They would sneer anytime Sirius and Mary walked past holding
hands, and send death glares towards the couple whenever they engaged in public displays of
affection—which was rather often. Mary was very affectionate.

In fact, as the month of December wore on, the Slytherins were not the only ones to express
displeasure with the couple’s…physicality.

“Lovebirds! Get a bloody room, we’re trying to eat!”

James chucked a balled-up serviette, hitting Sirius in the back of the head—he ignored it. Nearly all
of their friends had started complaining about the couple’s frequent and oftentimes public snogging
(the exception being Peter, who was typically too busy engaging in just as frequent, though less-
often-public, snogging with his own girlfriend to notice), but Sirius couldn’t be bothered to care. It
was objectively cool to go ‘round snogging a bird, and no amount of shit that James or Remus gave
him could negate the fact that all Sirius had to do was smirk and ask,

“Jealous, are you?” For them to roll their eyes or throw their hands up in exasperation and sod off.

Besides, it wasn’t as if his friends actually minded that he had a girlfriend—at least, he didn’t think
they did. They seemed to understand that he needed a distraction, especially as the days got shorter
and the weather colder, time marching inevitably towards Christmas.

Unlike last year, Sirius’s parents had made it quite plain that he was expected home for the entirety
of the holiday. There would be no escaping to James’s, no friends (or girlfriends) to comfort him or
keep him busy. It would be just Sirius and his family, and the war growing like a tumour in their
home.
He tried not to think about it. Mary was all too happy to help.

On the evening of December’s full moon, the two were thoroughly occupied in an empty
classroom, where Mary was doing something very agreeable to Sirius’s neck with her tongue. He
knew he was supposed to be back in the common room before Remus had to go to the hospital
wing, so that he could convene with the marauders to ensure that they had ample time to sneak out
to the Shack. In fact, Sirius had even prepared an excuse to give Mary as to why he had to leave,
which was ready to go on the tip of his tongue. The problem was that his girlfriend’s lips were now
making their way across his jaw, and Sirius found that his tongue was suddenly quite busy.

By the time he got back to Gryffindor tower he was cutting it very fine—Sirius took the stairs two
at a time and slammed the door open, nearly hitting Remus in the face.

“Oops, sorry I’m late!” He grinned, pleased that he hadn’t missed them. But Remus was in a bad
mood—he glared at Sirius, nose wrinkled as if in disgust, and bit out,

“I have to go,” through gritted teeth.

Sirius’s stomach twisted—he hated when Remus was mad at him. But the boy was always grumpy
when it got close to the full moon, so he plastered on a charming smile, saying gamely,

“Yeah, I know, I’m really sorry, Moony. I was just with Mary, and—"

“I haven’t got time for this!” Remus snapped, throwing open the door and stomping down the
stairs before Sirius could respond. He stared after his friend, shocked and a little hurt by the venom
in his voice. Of course, these feelings quickly settled into indignance, and Sirius huffed as he
turned to face James and Peter.

“What was that about?”

James shrugged, and Peter said nervously,

“I think he’s just feeling a bit stressed, you know, with the moon and all…”

Sirius frowned. “Well, he didn’t have to be so rude about it.”

“I dunno, mate,” James said neutrally, pulling out the invisibility cloak, “It was a bit rude on your
end, as well, keeping him waiting. You know what could happen if he doesn’t make it to the Shack
in time.”

“As if Pomfrey wouldn’t make sure he’s there before —that!” Sirius scoffed defensively, frowning.
But James just shrugged again.

“Still, it’s rough for him, y’know?”

Sirius fell silent, abashed. It was rough for Remus, and he did know, and he considered this
perspective as the three of them snuck down to the hospital wing and followed Moony and the
nurse to the shack. By the time they arrived, Sirius was feeling properly penitent, eager to
apologize the moment Pomfrey was gone.

“I’m really sorry, Moony,” he said, as James pulled off the cloak. Sirius stepped forward, catching
his friend’s eye, “I won’t do it again.”

Remus didn’t look angry anymore, glancing down as he shrugged. “It’s fine. You made it in time.
Everything’s fine.”
Sirius smiled, relieved that they’d cleared the air. “Tell you what,” he said, teasingly, “Snogging’s
really moreish, once you get the hang of it.”

James and Peter laughed, though Remus only smiled politely. Sirius supposed Moony wouldn’t
understand—it wasn’t as if he’d ever done anything, although Sirius wasn’t sure why. There
certainly seemed to be plenty of girls who were interested. And Remus would probably be rather
good at it—snogging, and all that; he excelled at everything he put his mind to. Plus, it was hard to
imagine Moony fumbling awkwardly, the way Sirius had, when he always seemed so put together.

“Where does she think you are now?” James asked, and Sirius blinked, realizing that he’d zoned
out, and that his glazed eyes could be mistaken for staring at Remus’s mouth.

“Detention, obviously. Got to maintain my bad boy persona.”

“Of course you do, Snuffles.”

“Oh, piss off, Buckeroo.”

Remus rolled back on the bed, suddenly, biting his lip.

“Better change,” he rasped, throat a pale column in the moonlight, “See you in a bit.”

Friday 19th December 1975

The moons were even better, now that they had settled into a sort of rhythm. The wolf trusted
them, seeming more and more comfortable with their company. He liked playing with the dog, and
chasing the rat, and nipping at the stag’s powerful legs. It was exhilarating for Sirius, play-fighting
and howling at the moon. The wolf still got frustrated, sometimes, nipping a bit too hard or clawing
at the walls, but they were usually able to redirect his attention before he did too much damage to
anyone, including himself. If they just had more space, Sirius was sure that things would be
perfect…

The transformation itself, though, was beyond their control. There was no way to make it easier as
the body bent and broke itself, violently folding inward until the wolf disappeared and Remus was
left, bruised and gasping, in its place.

“Bloody hell, Moony, I’m really not a fan of that bit.” Sirius said, helping Remus to his feet so that
they could get him back over to the bed.

“Mm, not my favourite part either,” Remus mumbled, wincing away from the sunlight. His
shoulder was clearly dislocated, and the arm dangled at his side in a way that turned Sirius’s
stomach.

“It was good though,” James said cheerfully, gathering the invisibility cloak, “You’re trusting us
more and more.” Peter, still in his rat form, had crawled into the pocket of James’s robes and fallen
asleep.

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded enthusiastically, “I reckon in the new year we can try leaving this place…”

“What?”
 “Start exploring – there’s acres and acres of forest out there to explore, Moony. You deserve it.”

“Hmmm,” Remus murmured, eyelids fluttering shut. He was clearly exhausted.

“See you later,” James whispered, tugging Sirius under the cloak. As they snuck out to the tunnel,
Sirius glanced back once—Moony was sleeping, chest rising and falling with his breath, dislocated
arm spread like a dead thing at his side.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "Lola" by the Kinks! (there's no song in ch 79 of the original
atyd, but i thought this chapter deserved one)
 Fifth Year: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas
Chapter Summary

sirius goes home

Saturday 20th December 1975

“I will literally curse you both with a lip locking charm if you plan to do that all the way to
London.” Lily threatened, pointing her wand at Sirius and Mary. There wasn’t a trace of humour in
her expression; she appeared, for all the world, to be deadly serious. Mary disentangled her arms
from around Sirius’s neck, sticking her tongue out cheekily.

“You too, Wormy!” James said quickly, smiling eagerly at Lily as if awaiting her approval.
Sometimes Sirius wondered how he’d ended up as the dog, when James was so clearly willing to
roll over if Evans so much as breathed in his direction.

Peter and Desdemona separated, looking mildly sheepish but still very pleased with themselves.

Their carriage was jam packed—eight people, all crammed into one car. Sirius had Mary pressed
against one side and James on the other, with Remus squashed over by the window. On the
opposite row of seats, Lily, Marlene, Peter and Desdemona created a similar tableau.

“We’re just saying goodbye,” Mary purred, nestling her head against Sirius’s shoulder. Her springy
curls tickled his chin.

“It’s only two weeks, and you can write to each other,” Lily sniffed, primly.

“Er...actually, better if none of you write to me.” Sirius said, “I’m not likely to get the letters
anyway, and unless you want my dear mother reading them...”

“You’ve got the mirror, though?” James asked, for the fiftieth time, “You can still get in touch with
us if you need to?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Sirius smiled tightly, reaching up to pat his jacket pocket.

He turned back to Mary, trying to ignore to cold finger of unease running down his spine. He knew
James meant well, but his friend’s anxious gaze and earnest questions only contributed to Sirius’s
own nerves about the situation. Besides, it wasn’t as if his friends needed to worry—it wasn’t like
this was anything that Sirius couldn’t handle. He wasn’t going to be in any actual danger; they
were just his family, after all.

Mary had started chatting with Marlene about their latest Care of Magical Creatures assignment,
moaning about how difficult it was to identify bowtruckles. Sirius grinned, glancing over at Remus
—he knew for a fact that the boy still hadn’t gotten anything less than Exceeds Expectations on a
single one of his Care of Magical Creatures assignments.

Remus was staring out the window, head leaned against the glass, a faraway look in his eyes. His
pupils moved rapidly, watching the trees pass by outside. Sirius wondered what he was thinking
about.

Whatever it was, it had him totally enthralled—Remus didn’t notice Sirius making a face at him,
and he didn’t even bat an eye when the trolley witch arrived with her bounty of snacks.

“Oi, Moony, wakey wakey!” Sirius called, snapping his fingers, “Trolley’s here, don’t want to miss
your lunch, do you?”

“Oh, cheers,” Remus said absentmindedly, blinking as he turned away from the window. James
was scooping as many pasties as he could hold into his arms, while Sirius and Peter grabbed
fistfuls of sweets.

“We’ll never get through all of this!” Lily tutted.

“You’ve clearly never seen Moony eat,” James countered, winking.

“Oooh, I wish I had your metabolism, Remus!” Desdemona groaned, “My mother’s always telling
me I ought to start dieting.”

“Nothing wrong with having curves,” Mary said, biting down on her own pasty with relish, “Gives
‘em something to hold on to!”

Sirius supposed she wasn’t wrong, but he still felt his face heat slightly as all the girls giggled.

Of course, not even Mary’s playful flirting was enough to distract him as the train drew closer to
King’s Cross, and by the time they were pulling into the station Sirius’s heart had crawled into his
throat. It’ll be fine, he told himself, barely feeling it as Mary gave him one last kiss goodbye, It’s
just a few weeks.

James and Remus hung back, deliberately slow as they gathered their things, until it was only the
three of them left in the car.

“Check in every evening, right?” James reached out to grip Sirius’s shoulder, “If I don’t hear from
you I’m sending help.”

Sirius grinned, trying to assuage his friend’s fear,

“I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“Please be careful!” Remus said, suddenly, “Keep your head down, don’t be so...so...you!”

Sirius laughed, startled by the fervour in his friend’s voice.

“Sound advice, Moony.”

Remus looked away, as if embarrassed by the outburst, freckled cheeks stained with bright patches
of pink. Sirius opened his mouth to speak—but Regulus had appeared in the doorway, frowning,
arms folded.

“Ready?”

Sirius nodded, and left without turning back.

 * * *

Sunday 21st December 1975

The first night was quiet. Kreacher came to fetch them from the station, falling all over himself to
carry Reggie’s bags and grumbling under his breath when he saw Sirius. Apparently, even their
house elf was playing favourites, now—Sirius wondered what his little brother had done to get on
the dour creature’s good side.

The house was empty when they arrived. When questioned, Kreacher revealed that their parents
had been called away to a meeting. They must have ordered him not to say anything else about it,
though, because no matter how Sirius pressed for details, the gnarled old house elf kept his mouth
stubbornly shut. Sirius and Reggie were left to eat dinner alone, which was a painfully awkward
experience; the silence was punctuated only by the sound of their forks scraping against their
plates. Sirius’s brother hadn’t spoken to him since November, when he’d burned that note on his
birthday. Sometimes, Sirius wondered what might have happened if he’d answered the summons
and actually gone to visit Regulus...but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t, and things were the way they
were, and there was no use wishing that any of it might change.

* * *

Monday 22nd December 1975

The next morning, his parents were back. Sirius knew even before his mother summoned him; their
presence had a weight, like a gloomy fog cast over the house. Or maybe he was just imagining
things.

Either way, the mood was dire in his mother’s study. She looked…less put-together than usual,
with sallow skin and dark circles under her eyes; Sirius was a bit shocked to see threads of grey
sprinkled sparsely throughout her familiar dark hair. He remembered Reggie’s insistence over the
summer that their parents were “under a lot of pressure,” and wondered for the first time if his
brother had actually been telling the truth.

“Sirius,” she said, by way of greeting. No welcome home, no we’ve missed you, not even a how’s
school been?

“Mum.”

They regarded each other. She pursed her lips like she was tasting something sour.

“I understand that you continue to refuse any effort to improve the company you keep.”

Sirius lifted his chin, defiantly, remaining silent. Walpurga sighed.

“I wish you wouldn’t insist on behaving so childishly,” She tutted, speaking to him as if he were a
little boy having a meltdown. When he still didn’t respond, her jaw hardened, lips pressed into one
thin line.

“Fine, then,” her voice was bitter, “Let’s see the extent of the damage, shall we?” And without
warning, she slid with a vice-like grip into his mind.

But this time—this time Sirius was ready. Expecting it, even. Though the familiar feeling of
helplessness set his heart screaming, he wrestled it down, trying to focus. He couldn’t stop his
mother from pawing through his thoughts, but he could at least…redirect her. Distract her. Give
her what she thought she was looking for.

So Sirius thought of Mary. He thought of her bright laughter, the way she tugged on his arm when
she wanted him to follow her, the sneers of the Slytherins that saw them together. His mother took
the bait; her claws sunk in deeper—Mary’s perfume, her fingers skimming under the hem of his
shirt, that thing she did with her teeth—

Walpurga pulled back, and Sirius gasped. She was still frowning like she’d swallowed something
sour, but there was none of the…vitriol, none of the visceral disgust that had dripped from her
features when she stared at him last summer. Sirius felt a pathetic wash of relief—it had worked.

“A mudblood, Sirius, really?” His mother sneered, and before he could respond she had launched
into a familiar tirade about how Dumbledore was sullying the sacred halls of Hogwarts, how in her
day mudbloods knew their place, and would never have dared to imagine themselves good enough
to associate with purebloods—the familiar slew of hatred. Sirius clenched his fists, waiting for her
to wear herself out.

It could be worse, he reminded himself, it could always be worse.

Besides, it was easier to weather his mother’s lectures and his father’s disappointed looks when
Sirius knew that no matter what, James and Remus would be waiting for him at the end of the day.
Each night, he shut himself in his room and pulled out the mirror, grinning as his friends’ faces
appeared. They clamoured the moment they saw him, asking how he was doing—Sirius assured
them that he was fine.

“Reg’s being a complete prat, as usual, and mother is an eternal delight, but nothing out of the
ordinary.”

His friends seemed to accept that—if they pressed for details, he’d shrug and whisper,

“Can’t say much. Anyone could be listening—bloody portraits are spies here.”

Besides, he didn’t want to talk about his family—he wanted to hear about how things were going
at the Potters’. As James and Remus described afternoons of quidditch practice and evenings
gathered around the fire, toasting Mrs. Potter’s famous teacakes, Sirius felt simultaneously sick
with jealousy and hungry for every detail, not wanting to miss out on anything. After they said
goodnight, he’d curl up in bed, shutting his eyes and pretending that he was down the hall from
James instead of stuck at Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Tuesday 23rd December 1975

On his third day home, Sirius began to think that things might really be alright.

After the previous summer, he’d absolutely dreaded coming back, remembering all too clearly his
mother’s wine-soured breath as she’d hissed,

You are tainted. Tainted, just as he was…

He’d never admit it to his friends, of course—it wasn’t as if they could do anything, except worry
—but he’d been terrified that things would only be worse when he returned. He’d been studying
healing spells, just in case.

On the day before Christmas eve, though, his parents were acting…different. His mother wasn’t
glaring at him like she usually did, with her face all pinched up. Instead, her gaze was appraising,
slightly distant, as if she was thinking hard about something every time she looked at him. And his
father wasn’t glaring either—in fact, Sirius almost choked on his dinner when Orion turned to him
and said,

“Sirius, your mother and I have been informed that you’re at the top of your class.”

Sirius’s fork was halfway to his mouth; he paused, gaping slightly. Not once in five years at
Hogwarts had his parents ever acknowledged that he got top marks—even though he’d been doing
it since he was eleven.

“Er…yeah.” He was very aware of his brother staring, eyes darting back and forth between Sirius
and their father. Orion smiled, and Sirius felt as though the floor had dropped out from beneath
him.

“Very promising,” his father murmured, exchanging an undecipherable look with their mother,
“Very promising indeed…”

Sirius hated himself for the pathetic burst of pride that he felt. His father continued speaking,

“You’re a talented boy, Sirius. There are difficult times ahead of us, and we’ll need to move past
our problems as a family to get through them…I fear, sometimes, that your mother and I have been
lax in your education. Never forget that your first duty is always to your family, do you
understand?”

“I…I think so.” You’re a talented boy, Sirius. When was the last time his father had actually smiled
at him? Sirius went to bed that night feeling slightly dazed, with his stomach turning flips.

“They’re being ok today, actually,” he told Remus and James, “Actually sort of…nice. Friendly.
Dad smiled at me. I dunno if dad has ever smiled at me. They keep talking about moving past our
problems as a family…”

“That’s good!” James said encouragingly from the compact, “Maybe the war has knocked some
sense into them.”

“Yeah, maybe…” You’re a talented boy, Sirius. “Traditional Christmas Eve dinner tomorrow
night,” he said, “All the Blacks in one place – joy. I should be able to get away for our usual time,
just don’t laugh at my stupid dress robes, ok?”

His friends promised to abstain from laughter (although Sirius wasn’t entirely sure he trusted
Moony’s mischievous smirk), and they bid farewell. He went to bed that night feeling lighter than
he had in months; warm and confused and…hopeful. Maybe his parents were finally coming
around, somehow.

* * *

Wednesday 24th December 1975

The dinner was just as dull as Sirius remembered from previous years, though it had been some
time since he had seen his entire family gathered in one place. They were all there, even the distant
cousins and reclusive great-aunts. Sirius saw Narcissa and her new husband together for the first
time—since he hadn’t been invited to the wedding, he’d almost forgotten that Cissy was married,
now. It was strange, to see her and Bellatrix arm in arm with their husbands. They had all grown up
together, kids teasing each other at family gatherings, and now suddenly his cousins were adults. It
made Sirius feel nostalgic and uncomfortable all at once.

Any other year, he might have revelled in finding some way to disrupt his parents’ oh-so-important
dinner party—but not this one. This year, Sirius found himself actually following Remus’s advice
and doing his best to keep his head down. It just wasn’t worth risking his parents’ wrath, not when
things actually seemed to be going well. And it wasn’t as if one dinner party would make or break
the war—his relatives mostly just seemed interested in drinking and gossiping, anyway, so Sirius
doubted that he’d be disrupting any crucial plots by rolling dungbombs under the table or lacing
the punch with belching powder.

His family did toast to Voldemort, at one point, which made his skin crawl. But it was near the end
of the dinner, after everyone had already had a few glasses of wine, and his father didn’t seem all
that serious as he smirked and gestured with his glass. So Sirius refrained from interrupting, instead
choosing only to leave his cup deliberately untouched as the rest of his family raised theirs to join
in the toast. This small act of rebellion seemed to go unnoticed by his parents—Bellatrix was the
only one who reacted, shooting him a nasty glare from across the table.

Sirius was feeling very satisfied with how he’d handled things by the time he slipped away to talk
to his friends. In fact, the party had gone so smoothly that a small, needling voice in the back of his
brain piped up to question whether Regulus had been right all along, and Sirius had been needlessly
making things difficult for himself with his antics. He thought of all the times that his brother had
begged him to behave, feeling a kick of guilt as he recalled how he’d brushed Regulus off.

“Sirius.”

The sharp voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Sirius spun around. Bellatrix was standing
behind him, hovering in the shadows of the hallways like an unusually large and ugly bat. Had she
been following him?

“Where are you sneaking off to?” She moved closer, eyeing him suspiciously. Sirius swallowed,
stifling a burst of panic—he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a very good idea to admit he’d been
leaving to talk to his Gryffindor friends.

Instead, he diverted, heading into the library as if that had been his destination all along. “What’s it
matter to you, Bells?”
His cousin flushed, face screwing up at the childhood nickname. “I saw you at dinner,” she hissed,
tailing him into the library.

“Yeah, I saw you, too.”

“You know what I mean!”

“No, I don’t. If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out.”

Bellatrix fumed, rage flashing in her dark eyes. She cornered him against a bookshelf, sneering,

“I saw you during the toast. Disrespecting the Dark Lord. You have no idea what’s coming.”

“Oh, give it a rest, will you?” Sirius shrugged her off, unsettled by the frantic look in her eyes. He
started to move away, but she grabbed his arm, taloned nails digging into his skin.

“Is this a joke to you?” Bellatrix growled, “You’re nearly of age, Sirius! Why can’t you stop
behaving like such a child? You need to grow up and start taking responsibility for your role in this
family—stop crawling around after that stupid little blood traitor boyfriend of yours and—”

“Fucking hell, Bellatrix, d’you not understand the meaning of piss off?!” Sirius yanked his arm out
of her grasp, anger licking its way like a flame up his spine. “I don’t give a shit about all of this
pureblood nonsense, how many times do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick
skull? Merlin, I can understand why Andromeda ditched you the second she had a chance—you’re
such an insufferable bloody bitch!”

Sirius was a bit surprised to discover that he was shouting. He hadn’t realised how much anger
he’d been bottling up until the glass cracked, and it all came flooding out at once. Bellatrix glared
at him, violence curled in the knot of her eyebrows, the sharp line of her mouth.

“Aunt Walpurga!” She screeched, and Sirius had to refrain from rolling his eyes. What were they,
ten? He couldn’t believe Bellatrix’s immediate response was to snitch on him—especially when
she was the one who had started this whole mess.

It wasn’t just his mother who showed up at the library doors; his father followed close behind, and
Reggie skulked in after them with Barty Crouch in tow. Perfect. Just what they needed—an
audience.

“Bellatrix?” His mother asked sharply, “What is the meaning of this?”

Bella didn’t take her eyes off him, nearly spitting with rage as she said,

“He disrespected the Dark Lord, I saw him—”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “That isn’t what—”

“Sirius!” His mother said, sharply, “Do not interrupt your cousin!”

He frowned, taken aback. Bellatrix was so clearly acting insane—his parents couldn’t…they
wouldn’t actually side with her, would they?

“You should’ve heard the things he was saying,” Bellatrix hissed, venomous, “Those blood traitors
have indoctrinated him; he spits on everything we’re working towards. On the Dark Lord’s name.”

“Sirius,” his mother said, turning to him, “Is that true?”

The buzz of rage was leaving, now, replaced with the cold grip of fear. Sirius swallowed.

“I—I don’t—”

His father scoffed, moving to stand beside his mother.

“Well? Go on, boy—are you loyal to the cause, to your family, or not?”

Behind their parents, Reg was watching him. His brother’s face was very pale.

“What cause?” Sirius asked, laughing nervously. It had to be a joke—didn’t it? Not even his
parents could be this dramatic about a stupid little tiff with his cousin.

Walpurga threw her hands up. “I told you, Orion—” she said, turning to his father, “I told you we
shouldn’t delay, that it would be too late—”

Orion held up a hand, cutting her off. To Sirius, he said sternly,

“Don’t play stupid, boy. You know what this is about. Mudbloods are infiltrating our way of life,
stealing the secrets of our magic, polluting our government and our schools. This is war, and only
Lord Voldemort is brave enough to stand up and actually do something to protect real wizards.”
Next to him, Bellatrix was nodding sycophantically, an almost rapturous expression on her face.

“The choice you have to make,” his father continued, “Is whether you want to protect your family,
to fight for our way of life, or whether you want to bury your head in the sand and allow filthy
blood traitors like the Potters to tear it to pieces.”

Sirius sucked in a breath. “It’s not—like that. The Potters aren’t—”

“Merlin’s sake, boy!” His father barked, “Just once in your life, can’t you make me proud?!”

“I—I’m sorry, I’m trying, I—” his throat closed up, cutting off his speech. Sirius was mortified to
feel tears pricking at his eyes—what had happened? How had everything gone so wrong, so
quickly?

“Swear allegiance,” Bellatrix crowded towards him, ripping back her sleeves and brandishing her
forearm like a weapon, “You see this? I’ve chosen my side. You’re old enough, Sirius—it’s time to
choose yours.”

He stared. Tattooed on his cousin’s arm was a familiar black skull, with a snake twisting out of its
mouth. The Dark Mark. Fear beetled over his skin, skittering.

“No!” He yelped, backing away, “I’m not swearing anything to that—that murderer!”

“Then you’re a traitor!” His cousin shrieked, wildly, “Blood traitor!”

“If you care about this family, son, you’ll stand with us.” His father said coldly, a look of open
disgust on his face.

“Swear it, Sirius,” now his mother was rushing forward, “You can be forgiven. We all stray, at
times. Swear your allegiance, and the Dark Lord will be merciful.”

“No! Let me go!” He ripped his arm from his mother’s clawing hands, backing further into the
bookshelves.

“It’s time to choose a side, son.”

“I said no!”

“Grow up, Sirius!”

“Stop—just leave me alone!”

“Your blood is still pure—there’s still time to prove your loyalty—”

“No!”

“THIS ISN’T A GAME, BOY!” His father thundered, but it was his mother who first raised her
wand.

“You’ll understand,” she said, feverishly, “There’s only one thing awaiting those who defy the
Dark Lord.”

And then there was nothing, except pain.

 Fifth Year: Unforgivable
Chapter Summary

tw!! torture curse time

There weren’t words for it.

The pain burrowed; it burned; it tore; it gnawed; it gnashed; it shattered; it slavered; it writhed; it
consumed. His bones had turned to teeth; his body was trying to eat itself.

And then it stopped.

It was so sudden that for a moment—just a split-second—Sirius thought that he’d died. It was
impossible, that he should be able to feel his limbs moving, his heart beating, his lungs expanding
as he gasped for air, when just a moment before the only thing he’d felt was the wretched, fervid
pain.

“Swear your allegiance!”

His mother’s sharp voice pulled him back into his body, and Sirius sucked in a breath. He was fine,
he was okay; the curse didn’t actually damage the body, only targeted the mind.

“No,” he gasped, trying to stand—when had he fallen to his knees?

“Crucio!”

He collapsed, only vaguely aware of the way his head cracked against the hardwood floor. It was
nothing compared to the agony devouring him; a pinprick when every nerve in his body had been
skewered by red-hot knives. He couldn’t hear himself screaming—couldn’t hear anything except
his own traitorous heartbeat, pounding against the cage of his chest as it tried to escape his body.

And then it stopped, again, and he was on the floor, gutted like a fish.

“Swear it, Sirius.”

She was standing above him; she was so far away.

“Mum—” he choked out, voice knotted with tears, but it wasn’t his mother who raised her wand
this time.

“Crucio!”

His father’s pain was colder, locking his muscles, freezing the marrow in his bones. It howled like
a winter storm through his body, ravaging everything in its path.

“It’s time you learned your place, boy!”

“No, please, dad don’t—”

“Crucio!”
They weren’t stopping, it wasn’t ending, they were going to kill him, he was dying, it hurt, it hurt,
it hurt.

“Crucio!”

It hurt more than breaking his ankle, more than the animagus potion, more than the cuts on his
legs. Sirius had never imagined his own body’s capacity for pain.

“Swear it, Sirius!”

He couldn’t do it—he had to say yes—but he wouldn’t, the ink and the snake—the blood on the
outside, the twisting coils, the vipering of it, the poison—

“Swear to him! Make yourself worthy of this family!”

He’d never say yes—he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. His thoughts spun away from him, disjointed, and
Sirius followed them, searching for something—anything—to hold on to.

A memory surfaced: a library book. His research, all those years ago. Accounts of wizards inflicted
with lycanthropy liken the pain of transformation to the Cruciatus curse. Remus, screaming, body
breaking, body twisting, body taking itself apart until his voice was a howl—and the moon—and
they were running—

“Crucio!”

Was this what Remus felt, every month? The pain like a nesting animal, taking up all the space in
his chest?

If Moony can do it, so can I.

He clung to it, even as his parents lifted their wands, over and over and over again. He clung to it
as the pain battered him, ebbing and flowing with the pauses between spells, like waves on a
beach. He clung to it until he couldn’t cling anymore, until thought slid from his mind like water
through grasping fingers, until the entire world was nothing but pain and breath and pain and
breath and pain.

He might have said yes, then, if he could still speak.

* * *

Sirius came back to himself in pieces. Taste, first—copper and iron, where he’d bitten his tongue.
He spat blood onto the carpet.

Hearing—voices, from far away, the sharp click of heeled boots, the sound of a key sliding into a
lock. Snick. Silence. No—his own throat, gasping for air, so ragged with screaming that he hardly
recognized the sound.

Sight—when he cracked open his eyes, the room was fuzzy, as if everything were slightly out of
focus. He blinked tears away. The gaping maw of the fireplace beckoned, a promise, whispering
run.

Touch—the drag of his body over the floor, the fine, powdery dust in his fingers. The ache of his
tongue as he forced it to move, to press against teeth and speak the words, the prayer, the salvation.

And then he was gone, and then he was there, and then there were new voices, new colours, new
textures, but he was sinking so quickly. The water was so dark.

He was so, so tired.

* * *

When Sirius woke again, he was in a bed. He came awake kicking, fighting off the heavy blanket,
body screaming with adrenaline as he tried to scramble back. Get away, run, get away—

“Sirius, love, shhh, it’s okay, you’re alright!”

It took a moment for him to process the voice—when he turned, Mrs. Potter was there, leaning
forward, hands stretched out as if to touch him.

“You’re safe,” she murmured, “It’s alright, love, you’re safe.” She gripped his hand, rubbing her
thumb in soothing circles over his knuckles, and the touch was so incredibly gentle that it broke his
heart.

Sirius began to cry.

He didn’t understand it—he wasn’t sad. If anything, he felt detached, disconnected and numb, as if
he were floating somewhere slightly outside of his body, tethered only by the stubborn thumping of
his pulse. He didn’t mean to sob into Mrs. Potter’s arms—it was just that he couldn’t stop himself.
His body had become a wet dishrag, wringing itself out; salty tears squeezed from his eyes of their
own accord. Mrs. Potter wrapped her arms around him, and he shook, choking on his own breaths.
By the time it was over he felt scraped raw, hollowed out, and even more numb than before.

James’s mum left to go fetch some potions, leaving him momentarily alone. Sirius could hear her
speaking to someone in the hallway, but he was too tired to try and make sense of the words.

He stared at the wall, wondering what was going to happen to him. Would his parents try to make
him come home? Would they officially disown him? Would he stay with the Potters? Would he go
back to school? Would his family ignore him, like they had last year—would he have to go home
for the summer and pretend that nothing had happened?

He realised, vaguely, that what his parents had done was illegal. Cruciatus was an unforgiveable
curse. Technically, they could go to prison. Would he want that? His parents, locked away in
Azkaban? Would they deserve it? What would happen to Reg?

Sirius supposed it didn’t matter. Somehow, he doubted that the Ministry would get involved—they
didn’t seem inclined to stick their noses in family matters, as long as they were hidden behind
closed doors.

On the wall across from Sirius’s bed, the clock struck twelve. It was Christmas.

When Mrs. Potter returned with a sleeping draught, he was laughing.

 * * *

This time, sleep was languid in its retreat. There was no spike of adrenaline, no visceral instinct to
run—Sirius felt the warmth of the blanket around him, and knew he was safe. He opened his eyes
slowly, blinking away the confusing tangle of dreams the way someone might brush away a
cobweb.

He wasn’t alone—it took a moment for his eyes to focus in the gloomy room, but Sirius quickly
recognized the shape of his friends sitting beside the bed. His heart clenched as he saw their
expressions—mournful, pitying, concerned. It made his skin crawl. Don’t look at me like that, he
wanted to say, and didn’t.

Instead, he plastered on a smile, croaking,

“Bloody hell—who died?”

James laughed, pity giving way to relief,

“Wanker.”

“Tosspot.”

“Arse.”

“Oi,” Sirius smirked, pushing himself up on his elbows, “Be nice, I’m an invalid you know.”

“Tell you what,” James said, grinning, “You really know how to make an entrance.”

“It’s in my noble blood,” Sirius joked—and faltered as his mother’s voice rang, shrilly, in his head.
Your blood is still pure!

His friends noticed the look on his face, and the mood grew sombre once more as they all fell
silent. Sirius stared down at the bedsheets, embarrassed by the moment of weakness.

“Sorry,” he muttered, picking at a loose thread.

“Tea?” James deftly changed the subject, and Sirius nodded gratefully.

“Please.”

“Gully!” James called for the house elf, who hurried off to put together a tray.

“So,” Sirius said, beginning to relax again, “You two been keeping a bedside vigil for me?”

“Actually, it’s mum who was up all night.”

“Oh yeah…” He remembered Mrs. Potter’s murmured words, trying to soothe him as he sobbed
into her arms, and felt a rush of guilt at the stress he must have caused her. “I’ll thank her,
obviously. Say sorry for showing up like that…”

“Don’t be stupid,” James waved a hand, “She’d do anything for you. She loves you.”

He said it so casually—it was casual, to James. He’d grown up with Euphemia Potter’s
unconditional love, the warmth of her smile, the gentleness of her hugs. He couldn’t know how the
words would hit Sirius like a fist to the face, tugging tears into his eyes and closing up his throat.
He looked away, overwhelmed. She loves you.

Fortunately, Gully arrived at that moment with an overflowing tea tray, covered in cups, saucers,
toast, muffins, sausage, eggs, smoked salmon, kippers, and cereal. Sirius’s throat still felt tight, and
he struggled to eat much, but he sipped gratefully on a cup of tea.

“Oh,” Remus sat up, suddenly, “I was supposed to get your mum, James – as soon as Sirius woke
up.”

“Let her sleep,” Sirius said, setting down his cup and nestling back into his pillows.

“No, she wanted me to, so that she could get Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore? Sirius felt a shiver of unease.

“What for?” James asked, perplexed, “Everything’s fine, now.”

“He wanted to ask some questions—"

“No!” Sirius barked, before he could stop himself. The thought of their headmaster, looking right
through him with those pale blue eyes, asking him to talk about—about what—

He couldn’t do it. Not yet.

James and Remus were staring at him, taken aback by the urgency in his tone. Sirius stared back,
desperately. “Please,” he mumbled, “Not yet, just…just let me have Christmas, ok? I don’t want to
talk about it.”

“Okay mate, it’s okay…” James said gently, reaching over to pat his shoulder in a gesture that was
achingly similar to his mother. “We won’t wake her up. You can pretend to be asleep, if you want.
Anything you want.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said, breathless with relief as he relaxed back onto the bed, “Sorry.”

“Pffft.” James blew his hair up from his forehead, “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”
 Fifth Year: Aftermath
Chapter Summary

Dumbledore pays a visit

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

As it turned out, Sirius didn’t have to pretend to be asleep; when Mrs. Potter woke up, she agreed
with his friends’ decision not to summon Dumbledore immediately. Mr. Potter concurred as well,
and they elected to try and salvage the morning as best they could by opening presents. At first,
Mr. Potter suggested that they apparate all of the gifts to Sirius’s bedroom, but he refused.

“My legs work fine!” He said, standing up to prove his point, “I want to come down and see the
tree!”

Mrs. Potter still looked a bit wary about the idea of having him out of bed, but at Sirius’s insistence
she relented, and they all dispersed to go wash up and dress. Sirius smiled cheerfully until the last
person was out the door, only sagging back onto the bed once he was safely alone.

It wasn’t that he was hurt—aside from a bump on the back of his head where it had hit the floor
when he’d fallen, and a few scattered bruises that were signs of some sort of writhing or flailing
that Sirius didn’t remember, there were no physical signs of what had happened. Even the bruises
were already fading, thanks to Mrs. Potter’s healing magic.

But he felt...drained. A bone-deep exhaustion had burrowed into his limbs, and his body protested
as he dragged it into the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into the warm bed and
curl up under the blankets for a long, long time. In the mirror, his eyes were necrotic.

Don’t think about it, he told himself, firmly.

The Potters’ living room was unfailingly joyful, with its brightly wrapped presents and festive
holly wreaths and twinkling Christmas lights. Sirius began to feel a bit better as he sat, cocooned in
a blanket and sipping tea, on the sofa. Strips of torn wrapping paper fell like confetti across the
floor, paired with excited exclamations. There was a stack of presents for Sirius, even though no
one had planned on him attending, and James’s parents promised even more –

“We’ll get you some nice pictures, to brighten up your room,” Mrs. Potter said, using her wand to
sweep all the discarded boxes into a pile, “Which quidditch team do you support, sweetheart? Or
perhaps one of those rock stars you kids like?”

Your room. The words took a moment to sink in, and when they did Sirius was hit with such an
overwhelming wave of joy and gratitude that he could have drowned in it. How many times had he
wished, over the years, that the Potters were his family? How often had he fantasized, pretending
that James was his brother, Euphemia his mother, Fleamont his father? That he could wake up
here, in this house, every day?

“Most of my stuff’s at Hogwarts,” he said, feeling slightly dazed, “It’s just clothes at home...” He
thought suddenly of the rude posters on his walls, and flushed, embarrassed. He certainly had no
desire to retrieve those.

“Well, you can borrow some of James’s things for a little while. Perhaps we’ll go shopping in the
new year.”

Lunch was a quiet affair, just the five of them and Gully. The little house elf scuttled about,
humming cheerfully and carrying what seemed to be an endless procession of food to the table. He
was just about to set light to the Christmas pudding when a loud CRACK came from outside the
front gate, the tell-tale sign of apparition. Sirius jumped, startled, heart crawling into his throat—
his body screamed run, run, run, but he stayed put. He was safe here. This was his home.

Mr. Potter gave them all a reassuring smile and hurried to the door, leaving the rest of them to
listen intently from the table.

“Albus! Merry Christmas,”

“Fleamont. I take it Sirius has had his rest?”

“Yes, we were just about to have—”

“I did request that you contact me as soon as he woke up.”

“Come in, Dumbledore. Join us for some pudding.”

Sirius’s heartbeat, which had just begun to calm down, kicked up again as their headmaster swept
into the room. He looked very sombre, face deeply lined and mouth set in a steady frown.
Following behind him was a grizzled, stocky man, dressed in a brown leather trench coat. His dark
eyes scanned the room suspiciously, and the scrutinizing look he gave Sirius only put him more on
edge.

“Albus, Alastor,” Mrs. Potter stood, waving her wand to conjure up two additional places at the
table—chairs and all. “Won’t you join us for pudding?”

“Not now, Effie,” The shorter man – Alastor – grunted, “On duty.”

Mrs. Potter responded with one of her trademark looks, and Alastor quickly changed his mind,
clearing his throat and sitting down like a scolded child. Sirius might have found it funny if his
heart wasn’t crawling up the back of his tongue, making him gag. Dumbledore sat down across
from him, staring with an unreadable expression.

Just one day, Sirius thought, desperately, I just wanted one day—was that so much to ask? Still, he
dropped his eyes, looking down at the table in shame. There was nothing overtly disapproving in
the headmaster’s gaze, but he still squirmed with guilt, knowing that he had disobeyed the wizard’s
orders for his own selfish reasons.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said, quietly, “How are you?”

“Fine.” he responded politely, staring blankly at the dark pudding in the centre of the table. Gully
snapped his fingers, and it was suddenly crawling with blue flame, flickering like a will-o-wisp.

“I’d like to discuss last night’s events with you,” Dumbledore continued, “I know it isn’t pleasant,
and you may wish to forget, but anything you tell me might be useful, do you understand?”

“Yes. Fine.” As if he could ever forget—the memory had already been trying to claw its way out
from the back of his mind all day. Sirius nodded.

The flame died, and Gully snapped sharply once again. The pudding separated into eight neat
portions, all exactly equal in size. Sirius ate without tasting, chewing just to feel his jaw ache. The
silence coiled like a dragon in the middle of the table, heavy and scaled.

“Not seeing your family today, Moody?” Mr. Potter asked politely.

Alastor shook his head.

“The job comes first. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

“We’re very grateful,” Mrs. Potter said, warmly. James’s dad turned to the boys, explaining,

“Alastor is an Auror.”

Sirius swallowed, turning to study the gruff man. He had never met an Auror before—but he’d
certainly heard his parents complaining about them, along with most of the rest of the Ministry.
His parents…

Sirius left most of his pudding untouched; his stomach was unsteady, and he already felt a bit sick
as they all returned to the living room. He sat on the sofa, with James and Remus on either side.
Part of him wanted to ask them to leave—he couldn’t bear the thought of things changing, of his
friends looking at him like something vulnerable or broken, something to be pitied. But a bigger
part of him was scared, and needed them by his side.

“I hope this will not take long,” Dumbledore said, with a pleasant smile, settling in an armchair
across from the boys. “Sirius, we just need to know anything you can remember about the events
which led to you arriving here at eleven fifteen last night.”

“Was that the time?” Sirius asked, numbly, “I thought it was later.” Everything had been so hazy,
blurring together—what time had Bellatrix followed him into the library? What time had his
parents left? How long had it taken him to drag his body across the floor, to the fireplace? It had
felt like forever.

Dumbledore smiled, folding his hands in his lap.

“In your own time, please.”

“Er…” Sirius cleared his throat, trying to shove his heart back down into its rightful place in his
chest. He couldn’t hold Dumbledore’s penetrating gaze—instead he looked at James, who gave
him a gentle smile. You’re safe, he reminded himself, You’re here with James, and you’re going to
stay here, and you’re safe. He turned back to Dumbledore.

“I thought it would be ok. I never really got on with my family that well…since I’m in Gryffindor,
y’know. But they were…” They were being so much nicer than usual. They were only lecturing—
not even shouting, really. My dad said I was talented. “I thought it would be ok. We have a family
dinner every year on Christmas Eve – the whole family.”

“Who was there?” Moody asked. When Sirius glanced over, he had a quill out, parchment floating
in front of his chest to take notes.

“All of the Blacks,” Sirius tried to remember—he hadn’t exactly paid careful attention, it had all
been such a flurry of dress robes and wine and cursory chitchat. “And the Lestranges. The Malfoys
– Narcissa and her husband, anyway. Not Andromeda, obviously. The…the Goyles arrived later.
And the Notts. The Crabbes. Barty Crouch was visiting, he’s friends with my brother.”

“Crouch?!” Moody asked sharply, quill pausing. Dumbledore inclined his head,

“That would be Bartimus Junior, of course.”

“Yeah,” Sirius confirmed, “Little git.”

“Quite the gathering, eh Albus?” Moody muttered.

“Quite. Please, Sirius, do go on.”

“So…yeah, it was all normal really. Normal for us. Dinner, dancing. Snobby stuff. They…” he
hesitated, shame creeping up his spine, “They toasted to Voldemort. I didn’t join in though,
professor, I swear! It was sort of jokey, I don’t even know how serious they were. Dad was a bit
drunk.”

Dumbledore’s expression didn’t flicker—no sign of condemnation, or absolution. Sirius looked

down at his feet, speaking quickly, words spilling out,

“I was s’posed to talk to James at eight, so I tried to sort of sneak off. But my cousin – Bellatrix –
she caught me, and cornered me in the library. She said I was nearly of age, it was time I started
taking my role as heir more seriously, leave my friends behind, and grow up. I told her to…well, I
wasn’t very nice. She called my parents, Reg came in too. And Crouch.

“I wasn’t worried, because….well, everyone knows Bella’s a bit bonkers, so I thought they’d just
tell her to stay out of it. But they didn’t; they sided with her. Dad said…he said he wanted me to
make him proud for once. I told him I was trying, but. But…”

THIS ISN’T A GAME, BOY! Sirius sucked in a breath, wishing he could scrub his father’s voice
from his head—wishing he could scrub away all of it, until his mind was raw and bleeding and
clean.

“Anyway. They wanted me to swear allegiance to Voldemort. I thought they were joking. They
were saying all this mad stuff, about muggleborns, and blood traitors, and…then Bellatrix showed
me her arm – she’s got this tattoo,” he looked up, realising as he said it that the information might
be useful, “It’s the dark mark, sir, the skull and snake. She said she’s chosen a side, and it was time
for me to choose mine.” You’re a traitor—blood traitor! “I said no.” There’s still time to prove
your loyalty— “I said it so many times.”

He dropped his head, eyes sliding closed. It was all so clear—just the slightest nudge, and he was
back on the library floor, shattering.

“And they hurt you, for it?” Dumbledore prompted, “They tried to persuade you?”

He could hear it, so clearly. Crucio!

“Yes.”

“Bellatrix did this?”

Toujours Pur!

“No.”

“Your mother? Your father?”

My mother my mother my father my mother

He forced himself to nod, to speak.

“They took turns.”

Mrs. Potter stood abruptly, leaving the room. Sirius tried to breathe, but his lungs weren’t working
properly—the air turned to smoke, filling his throat.

“But you managed to escape?” Dumbledore pressed, gently.

Another nod,

“After a while, I must have stopped saying no, because…well, it just hurt too much, I couldn’t say
anything. They must have needed me to agree, because they left me there, they locked me in the
library. But there’s a fireplace there, and floo powder. I dunno, maybe they wanted me to go.”
There—that was it. Sirius felt sick, slightly dizzy, as if he’d accidentally vomited on the Potters’
living room carpet.

“Thank you, Sirius.” Dumbledore said, in a voice you might use with a frightened animal, “This
has been a great help. I won’t disrupt your Christmas any further.” He stood, turning to Mr. Potter.
“Your offer to house Sirius until he comes of age still stands, I assume?”

“As much as it did when he was twelve.” Mr. Potter said, straightening as he spoke. Sirius blinked
away the tears pricking at his eyes—he had never been so grateful for anything, in his entire life.
He wasn’t sure what he’d ever done to deserve the Potters.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore nodded, “I shall see you boys in January, then.”

“Wait!” Sirius scrambled to his feet, before their head teacher could leave, “Professor – what about
my brother?”

Dumbledore turned back to look at him, with those horrifyingly neutral eyes.

“Do you believe Regulus is in danger?”

Yes, yes—Merlin, yes, and I can’t save him, not on my own—

“Er…I don’t think they’ll hurt him. He’s good at doing as he’s told, he only wants to please our
parents. But they’ll make him join Voldemort, he’ll get marked – he’s sixteen next year, and—"

“Does Regulus want to leave?”

Dumbledore may as well have ripped his heart out of his chest and handed it to him, haematic and
beating.

“I…”

He thought of Reggie, carrying his chess set into the library. Reggie, holding clean bandages like
an offering, Reggie scowling as Sirius burned his note, Reggie rolling his eyes when they passed
each other in the hallways, Reggie saying that it wasn’t their parents’ fault—saying it so many
times, over and over, like he almost believed it.

“No. Not like I did.”

“Then we cannot force him. He is in no immediate danger. I’m sorry, Sirius.”

That’s it, then, Sirius thought, falling back onto the sofa as Dumbledore left, I’m abandoning him
again. He closed his eyes, and saw the dark mark inked onto his cousin’s skin. Reg.

“Mr. Potter,” Sirius said, stiffly, once the door had swung shut, “Please may I borrow some
parchment? I’d like to write to Andromeda.”

“Of course, my boy.” Mr. Potter nodded. Sirius and James followed him upstairs to his study,
where Mr. Potter ushered Sirius over to his desk, providing him with a fresh pot of ink, a quill, and
an entire sheaf of parchment. James didn’t say anything, just sat next to him as he wrote, a solid
presence.

Andromeda,

Something’s happened. I’m ok, so don’t worry, but I sort of ran away. Or mum and dad might have
kicked me out, I’m not really sure. Don’t think it matters. We all wanted me gone, I guess.

I’m staying with the Potters, for now—James’s dad said I could live with them til I’m of age, so
everything’s fine. I’m alright. It’s really great here; I’ve got my own room. They’re going to let me
decorate it however I want. Dunno how I got so lucky.

Anyway, you might hear some stuff over the next few days, so I just wanted to let you know that I’m
fine, and you don’t have to use the muggle post to write to me anymore. Which’ll be great—makes
everything easier, doesn’t it?

Your cousin,

Sirius

PS – Reggie’s still with mum and dad. Dumbledore said there isn’t anything we can do about it,
but he doesn’t think Reg is in any immediate danger, so it’s alright. He’ll be fine.

* * *

The afternoon proved to be unsalvageable—they played a few half-hearted games of chess, but
Dumbledore’s visit had left a permeating gloom over the house. Eventually, they just decided to go
to bed early, yawning as they slogged upstairs and piled into James’s bed—even Remus, who
usually preferred to sleep alone. Sirius crawled in between his two friends, curling up in the
middle, where it was warmest.

“Budge up, Moony,” he ordered, elbowing the taller boy in the ribs as he tried to get comfortable.
Remus retreated to the edge of the bed, as if to give him as much space as possible—which was
nice, but Sirius wasn’t fussed if things were a little cramped. He and James fell asleep in the same
bed all the time, and he’d gotten used to waking up with his friend’s arm flung over his shoulders
or knee poking him in the back.

Sirius listened as James’s familiar snoring started up, forcing himself to take deep breaths. His
body was exhausted, but his mind was still spinning, thoughts chaotic and jumbled. He was very
aware of Remus breathing next to him, still awake. He’d never actually shared a bed with Moony
before.

From the edge of the bed, there was a light, breathy chuckle. Sirius rolled over, looking at Remus.

“What are you giggling at, Moony?”

The other boy shifted slightly, looking back at him, startled. His eyes were very wide in the pallid
moonlight, and very dark.

“Nothing!” He whispered, breath warm and minty with toothpaste, “Just not used to sharing a bed.”

“Yeah, and James’s snoring is pretty bad.”

Their faces were very close together, now. Sirius realised he’d grown used to looking up at Moony,
but lying side by side, their eyes were level.

“Mm.” He murmured, and Sirius sighed.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I could get James’s mum? She might have some more potion.”

“Don’t want any more potion,” Sirius grumbled, feeling too-hot, like his head was buzzing.

“Well. Just shut your eyes, then.” Remus said, matter-of-fact.

“I keep thinking about it.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. What was it about Moony that made him feel
like he was overflowing, like he couldn’t keep anything inside?

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, not like that, I just mean…it’s weird, but while they were doing it – before I sort of stopped
thinking – I was thinking about you.”

“Me?!”

“Yeah. I was thinking…at least now I know how Moony feels. When we were researching all that
stuff to help you out on the full moon, there was a description in one of the records, written by a
witch who had lycanthropy. She said the pain of transformation was similar to the cruciatus
curse.”

Remus frowned. His upper lip was slightly longer than the lower, Sirius noticed—unbalanced.
“Oh. I never heard that. I don’t think it can be, I think cruciatus must be much worse.”

“Maybe,” Sirius whispered, “But it helped, a bit. I thought – if Moony can do it, so can I.”

Remus stared at him, just a few inches away on the mattress. Sirius waited for him to speak,
wanting—something. He wasn’t sure what.
 “Go to sleep, Sirius.”

He swallowed. “All right. Night.”

“Night.”

Sirius rolled back over, heart stuttering, and waited for his mind to switch off.

Chapter End Notes

apologies for the late update! i went to see the new spiderman movie :)
 Fifth Year: January
Chapter Summary

earrings, angst, and second base

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Crack, baby, crack

Show me you’re real

Smack, baby, smack

Is that all that you feel?

Suck, baby, suck

Give me your head

Before you start professing

That you’re knocking me dead

Sunday 4th January 1976

“Come on, please?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?”

“I said no!”

“It’s not like it’s difficult; you just have to stick it in!”

“What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.”

“Get James to do it.”

Sirius pouted. “I don’t want James to do it. You’re better at this stuff, Moony.”

Remus sighed. Sirius had been cajoling for the past two hours, slowly wearing him down. “I’ve
never pierced anyone’s ear in my life,” he said, in a resigned sort of voice, “How d’you know I’m
any better at it than James?”

“I just do.”

Remus rolled his eyes, not bothering to respond, and Sirius began to grin.

“Come on, Moony, do I have to beg?”

“You’ve been begging,” Remus snorted, and Sirius gave a haughty toss of his hair.

“That was negotiating.” He fell to his knees in front of the sofa where Remus was reading,
smirking devilishly, “This is begging.”

Moony’s eyes went wide. “What are you—”

“Oh please, great and powerful Moony,” Sirius proclaimed dramatically, raising his voice, “Have
mercy on your devoted follower!” He reached out, gripping Remus’s leg with his hands.

“Hey—”

“Benevolence, sire, for a poor and desperate wretch! Only you can save me from the awful
mundanity of an unadorned ear, only you can—”

“Alright, alright!” Remus shoved him off, standing abruptly. Sirius grinned up from the carpet.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, fine—s’long as you quit acting like a prat.”

“Deal!”

The whole thing had started a few days before, when Mrs. Potter took them all down to the village
to find new shoes for Sirius. (There would be no Diagon Alley, per Moody’s instructions—even
though nothing further had happened with Sirius’s parents. He wasn't sure if the Ministry just
didn’t care enough about the illegal use of magic to investigate or if Dumbledore was leaving it
unreported on purpose. He tried not to think about it too much, either way.) Sirius had been ecstatic
to find a pair of chunky black boots like the ones Remus had, complete with bright yellows laces.
Mrs. Potter insisted on buying them as an additional late-Christmas present, even though the
Potters had already done so much for Sirius that he had no idea how he’d ever repay them.

On the way back home, they’d passed by a group of muggles dressed quite differently from the
other residents of the sleepy little town. They were decked out in ripped jeans and leather jackets,
slouching against a brick wall and passing a cigarette lazily back and forth. One had startling green
hair. The other had a row of shiny silver rings in the cartilage of his ear.

Sirius was smitten.

Mrs. Potter forbid any hair-dyeing, and—counter to the way he felt about his own mother—Sirius
would never want to do anything that might upset her. But she hadn’t said anything about an
earring…

Remus used a potato and his prefect pin to do it, sterilizing the pin first. He instructed Sirius to hold
an ice cube against his ear as he ran a lighter under the needle, and Sirius complied, waiting for his
earlobe to go numb.

It took some manoeuvring to figure out the best position for the actual piercing—at first, Sirius sat
down on the edge of the tub, but then Remus had to either crouch or kneel, and after a minute or
two of awkward adjusting he finally sighed.

“Here, just—stand up.”

Sirius stood. Remus nudged his arm, moving him over to lean back against the sink. Long fingers
brushed his jaw as Remus positioned the potato against the back of his ear, frowning in
concentration. Their faces were very close together—Sirius could count the little wrinkles between
Moony’s furrowed brows. He swallowed.

“Will it hurt??” He asked, quickly, as Remus raised the pin. His heart was pounding—he felt
nervous, shaky. Remus paused.

“Well, we’ve numbed it a bit, but yeah, probably.” He smiled wryly, “Don’t be such a girl.”

“Be gentle with me, Moony!” Sirius teased, pretending to swoon. They both laughed, and Remus
gripped his shoulder, shaking him with a fond smile.

“Stay still, you big wuss!”

It did hurt, a bit, and it bled quite a lot. But the next morning, Sirius marched downstairs with his
hair mussed up for volume, flipped over one shoulder so that his new, gold earring was clearly
displayed (He was rather chuffed with it). He presented himself to his friends, shoving his hands
into his pockets and pushing back his cloak with his elbows to make sure everyone could see his
new boots.

“Muggle insight,” he said to Remus, sticking a cigarette between his teeth to complete the outfit,
“How do I look?”

“Like a twat.” James snorted.

“Like a rock star.” Remus said.

Sirius grinned, nearly letting the cigarette slip out of his mouth. When they arrived at King’s Cross,
he walked with a swagger, acutely aware of the eyes following him. They’d only made it a few
steps past the barrier when Mary spotted him, clacking over in a heeled pair of turquoise suede
boots that brought her up to his height.

“Hiya gorgeous!” She said cheerfully, throwing her arms around his neck. Sirius smiled, pleased
by the compliment. He hugged Mary back, breathing in the familiar smell of her perfume—
something vaguely fruity. Her curls tickled his face, and he scrunched his nose as she pulled back,
making her laugh.

Mary kept her arm looped through his as they boarded the train, chattering about her winter
holiday. She had four younger siblings, and it sounded as if Christmas had been quite hectic in the
Macdonald household. As they sat down in their usual carriage, Sirius prompted Mary with
questions—what presents had she got for her siblings, what sort of food did her mum make for
Christmas dinner, did any relatives visit—hoping to avoid the inevitable moment that the subject
would flip, and she would ask him how his break went.

He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to worry. Mary didn’t ask how his holiday had gone—once she was
done talking about her own Christmas, she transitioned smoothly into complaining about how
behind she was in History, which James joined in for. Pretty soon the whole car was talking about
coursework, the subject of holidays forgotten. Their carriage was a bit less crowded than it had
been leaving Hogwarts, as both Lily and Remus had abandoned them for prefect patrols, but the car
was still incredibly noisy and bursting with chatter from three different conversations by the time
they pulled into Hogsmeade.

Sirius didn’t really consider the deft subject change until later that evening, when he and Mary
were walking back to the common room after dinner. She was complaining about how she’d
missed him, cuddling into his arm in a very affectionate way, and Sirius laughed and said without
thinking,

“Come on, you’ll be able to visit me over summer holiday, stop whinging!”

“Oh, right,” Mary nodded, “You’ll be with the Potters, won’t you?”

Sirius blinked. “Er—yeah,” he replied, “Ehm…did James tell you that? Or…”

Mary flushed, guiltily, as if realizing what she’d let slip. She looked down quickly, fidgeting with
their entwined fingers.

“Oh, no. I just, um—I heard from Lily.”

“Lily?” Sirius frowned, confused—how would Lily know he’d moved in with the Potters? Had
James told her?

“Yeah, um, she…well, she told me that you’d. Y’know. Left home.”

“Left home.”

“Yeah, she said something happened with your family…”

Sirius bit back anger. “And how, exactly, did Evans come by that information?”

Mary chewed on her lip. “Don’t be mad, okay? She…heard it from Severus.”

“Snape?”

Mary nodded, and Sirius felt his stomach twist with nausea. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine how
Snape had found out—his parents’ entire network of creepy Voldemort fanatics must have loved
gossiping about him, about what a disgrace he was—probably half the Slytherins in school already
knew, and of course bloody Snivellus would go running his mouth to anyone who listened.

“Sirius, don’t be angry!” Mary pleaded, tugging on his arm.

“I’m not,” he lied, struggling to stifle the simmering rage. He didn’t want to take his anger out on
Mary—it wasn’t her fault, after all.

No, Sirius knew exactly who to blame. That slimy little git…

* * *

Thursday 15th January 1976

Their professors were trying to kill them. It was the only explanation—Sirius was pretty sure that
McGonagall alone had assigned enough pages of reading to quite literally bury him alive. With
OWLs just around the corner, the work was piling on in every class, until even Sirius had to admit
defeat and crack open a textbook to revise (instead of continuing with his tried-and-tested method
of leaving everything until the night before).

He wasn’t the only one feeling the strain—every fifth-year at Hogwarts was on edge, sporting dark
circles and stumbling around the library with haggard expressions. The only person who actually
appeared to be enjoying the ridiculous amount of schoolwork was Remus, who had accrued a
steady stream of followers that were constantly asking him for help with their essays or
incantations. He grumbled about it as if it were a headache, but his friends knew him well enough
to catch the small, self-satisfied smile anytime a student stopped him in the halls to ask a question.

In fact, Moony’s little study club was growing so much that the marauders had taken to calling him
‘Professor’—which, Sirius had to admit, had a ring to it. And Remus obviously enjoyed teaching;
though he rolled his eyes at the nickname every time they used it, he could never stop his lips from
quirking up automatically.

Unfortunately, his swot lifestyle kept Remus incredibly busy. He hardly had any time for
marauding, which Sirius couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful about—although Moony made up for
it by playing double agent whenever he was carrying out his prefect duties.

Even though they’d teased him about it in the beginning of the year, it was actually quite useful
having a prefect in your pocket. James and Sirius knew they could get away with almost anything
when Remus was on patrol, as he unabashedly played favourites and loyally manoeuvred whoever
he was patrolling with (usually Lily) in the opposite direction of whatever the marauders were up
to. This gave them the opportunity to experiment with even more daring pranks and schemes, and
Sirius felt unstoppable as he prowled the castle with James, hidden under the invisibility cloak.
They had a few close calls with Filch, but that only made things more fun—they would return to
the common room breathless, laughing, high on adrenaline.

When he wasn’t making mischief or resenting his professors, Sirius spent most of his time on the
quidditch pitch. Their first match against Slytherin had resulted in a tie, which meant James was
whipping the team into a frenzy as they competed for the cup. They practiced twice as often every
week, and Potter dragged Sirius out of bed every morning at daybreak to force him on a jog. He
complained about it, but privately, Sirius was grateful for the distraction—he was grateful for any
distraction.

The Slytherins had been just as nasty as ever, but there was a new glint in their eyes when they
looked at him—by the end of his first week back, it seemed as though the entire school knew he’d
been kicked out. Which was fine. Sirius didn’t give a toss about his family, or about what other
people thought about his family. As far as he was concerned, they were dead to him. Dead and
buried, deep in the recesses of his mind.

But he still had nightmares, dreams that left him screaming himself awake. They dissipated like
dust when he woke, leaving only hazy impressions—black ink pouring down his throat, hissing so
loud and horrible that it made his ears bleed, pain—always pain. He’d started casting silencing
spells over his bed after the first night that James shook him awake, brow furrowed in concern,
stomach-turning pity in the back of his eyes.

It didn’t matter. They were just dreams.

Besides, Sirius had plenty of other things to think about. Endless essays, pages of reading, stacks of
assignments, plots for pranks, quidditch strategies…and of course, there was Mary.

She’d said she missed him over holiday, and she hadn’t been kidding—it seemed like she was
always cuddling up to him, throwing a cheeky smile over her shoulder as she tugged him into an
empty classroom—a broom cupboard—once, the girls’ loos on the fourth floor. Sirius wasn’t
exactly sure how fast things were meant to progress, when you had a girlfriend; he’d heard how
some of the older boys talked, of course, but no one ever actually explained the timeline, when you
were supposed to move on from just snogging to…well. Other things.

Sirius was ready for other things. At least—he was pretty sure that he was. It was certainly
growing frustrating, spending long minutes with Mary pressed up against him, sighing in his ear,
kissing his neck, and then hopping off his lap and bidding him goodnight with a peck on the cheek
before scampering off to her own bed. She’d taken to trailing her fingers up his legs, sometimes,
when they kissed, and Sirius was beginning to wish that she’d just get it over with and touch him.

Of course, the thought of him touching her was a much more intimidating matter (and the primary
reason that Sirius hadn’t taken any steps to hurry things along). While he’d certainly gotten the
hang of the whole snogging thing, Sirius still felt a bit clueless about what he was meant to do with
his hands—sometimes Mary would huff in frustration, and move his fingers to her waist, or her
back, or her thigh, and he would grin sheepishly, so lost in the sensation of whatever she’d been
doing to him that he’d forgotten he was supposed to be reciprocating.

He knew he’d have to figure it out eventually—but Sirius was mostly content to let Mary take the
lead, following whatever pace she set. That was how he found himself, one Thursday night, tucked
into an alcove behind a tapestry, with Mary straddling his lap. They’d been at it for a solid fifteen
minutes when she pulled back, breathing quickly.

“Sirius,” she whispered, close to his ear—it was quite dark behind the tapestry, so he couldn’t see
the expression on her face, though he could certainly picture it—“Do you want to touch me?”

“Er—yeah,” he swallowed, throat suddenly dry, “Yeah, I do.” He wasn’t entirely sure what she
was asking, but he’d learned that when Mary said stuff like that while they were kissing she
usually already had something fairly specific in mind.

Sure enough, her arms snaked away from where they’d been wrapped around his neck, and she
leaned back slightly. He could feel her hands fumbling between them,

“What’re you—oh.”

Bloody hell—she was unbuttoning her blouse. Sirius felt a surge of panic, coupled with heated
excitement, as Mary’s fingers moved, surprisingly deft in the dark. She reached out and grabbed
his hand, placing it on her chest. Sirius swallowed again, and the panic resurfaced.

What the fuck was he meant to do?!

He was forced, abruptly, to confront the fact that he hadn’t the faintest clue how to go about
feelings up a girl’s—her—

Tits, Sirius thought, in a state of mild shock, I’m touching her tits.

He squeezed, experimentally—they were very soft, and rather squishier than he’d imagined. Sort
of like a water balloon. But warmer—much warmer. Mary giggled quietly, leaning forward so that
her forehead pressed against his.
“Here—like this…”

He was just beginning to feel like he was on to something—Mary had started making a sort of soft
sighing noise in the back of her throat—when voices drifted down the hall.

“Lacewing flies, dew from a field of clover, sea water, and…um…”

Sirius sucked in a breath, trying to keep from laughing. He recognised that voice—the familiar way
it trailed off as its owner got lost in thought, brow furrowed, lip poking out.

“Oh, come on, Remus!” came Lily Evans’ voice, sounding as if it were just a few feet down from
the tapestry, “This is fourth year stuff!”

“I know, but I can never—wait, did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Sh!”

Sirius held his breath, heart pounding as he listened to Remus’s footsteps draw closer and closer,
until—

“Lumos!”

The tapestry was ripped back, light flooding from Lupin’s outstretched wand.

“Shit!”

“Mary!” Lily gasped.

“Moony!” Sirius said, grinning sheepishly.

“What are you two doing?!” Lily demanded, hands on her hips. Sirius couldn’t help winking,
smirking as he said,

“Can’t guess, Evans?” Mary was still halfway on his lap, frantically buttoning her shirt back up.

“We ought to give you both detention,” Lily said sternly, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, be nice, Lily,” Mary smiled, rolling her eyes, “Everyone does it, just a bit of fun.”

“Well…as this is the first time,” Lily sighed, “Come one, we’re heading back to the Tower now
anyway.”

“Five more minutes?” Sirius teased, just to see Lily’s face flush with embarrassment. Mary
laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

“Bad boy!” She giggled, finishing with the final button on her shirt. “C’mon, it’s not like anything
else was happening tonight.”

Mary and Lily walked slightly ahead of them on the way back to the common room, giggling and
whispering, sneaking glances back at Sirius every so often. He tucked his hair behind his ear,
walking with a slight swagger and winking whenever they looked back. He tried to catch Remus’s
eye, too, with a knowing smile—James would have been nudging him the whole way back to their
room, wiggling his eyebrows and grinning cheekily. But Remus stared straight ahead, an irritated
frown on his face as he walked.
 By the time they got back to the common room, Sirius was beginning to feel like he’d done
something wrong. Had he offended Remus in some way? The boy continued to frown as they all
got ready for bed, a stormy expression behind his eyes.

“Alright, Moony?” Sirius asked, when they’d climbed into their beds and Remus still hadn’t
spoken.

“Yeah.” Remus replied gruffly. He rolled over, putting his back to Sirius—and that was that.

Chapter End Notes

early update today yay for weekends <3

song at the beginning is cracked actor by bowie!

 Fifth Year: Secrets
Chapter Summary

sirius writes a song

Saturday 17th January 1976

“This is rubbish,” James said, crumpling up a piece of parchment and chucking it into the
fireplace.

“Come on, don’t whinge—you just need to think of things that rhyme with ‘Lily.’”

“Like what??”

“It’s easy—here.” Sirius grabbed for another piece of parchment, scribbling a few lines. He set
down his quill and cleared his throat dramatically, humming a jaunty tune.

“Oh dear Lily….don’t be silly….I want you to suck on my—”

“Oi!”

James threw a book at him, and Sirius laughed as he dodged. “What? You asked for my help!”

“Singing songs about other women, Black?” Mary said, arching an eyebrow as she flopped down
next to him on the sofa. “Should I be worried?”

“’Course not,” he grinned, craning his neck to look back at the portrait hole, “Where’re Moony and
Marlene?” The three of them had gone to the library to study—Sirius had expected them to return
together.

“Still in the library,” Mary waved a hand, “What are you lot fussing over?”

“Trying to help James with his top-secret plot for our next Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Oh, you don’t say? Would that top-secret plot involve asking out a certain redhead that we all
know and love?”

“My dear lady,” Sirius gasped, clutching his heart, “However did you guess?”

James groaned, crumpling up another piece of parchment. “Bugger it…it’s hopeless…” he

muttered to himself, “Not a single bloody idea…” Mary and Sirius exchanged a look.

“Cheer up, mate,” Sirius said, encouragingly, “Mary and I’ll be there to support you—and Peter
and Desdemona. And Remus and Marlene, once I talk to him.”

“Oh, you haven’t asked him yet?” Mary murmured absentmindedly. She’d procured a file from
somewhere, and was working on her nails, “D’you want me to talk to Marlene about it? I’m sure
she’d say yes.”
“Nah, s’alright,” Sirius said, “I can talk to Moony.” At least—he was pretty sure that he could.

The problem was that Remus seemed to be avoiding him, ever since the tapestry incident. Sirius
wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to offend him, but for the entirety of the past two days anytime
Sirius entered a room Remus found some excuse to leave it.

He’d talked to James about it, who suggested that maybe Moony was miffed that he hadn’t been
more considerate. After all, they knew Remus was on patrol that night; maybe their friend felt like
they were taking advantage of his prefect status a bit too much. He could be touchy about things
like that, sometimes.

So Sirius had apologised, cornering Remus on Friday before he could dart off and saying,

“Sorry, Moony, I should have checked with you, or used the map or something. I know you hate all
that girl stuff, and I know you’ve done loads to keep us out of trouble this year…”

Remus had sighed for a moment, appearing to contemplate—then he shrugged and said, “It’s fine.
Bound to happen at some point, I suppose.”

But he continued to avoid Sirius, even after accepting the apology.

“Are you sure he’s not just busy, mate?” James asked, when Sirius complained, “He’s got that
study club and everything…”

Sirius huffed, crossing his arms. “But it’s just me he’s avoiding—I saw him talking to Pete earlier
in the common room, and he left right after I sat down.”

James shrugged. “It’s probably just the moon—he’s always a bit off near the full.” This was true,
but it didn’t make the behaviour any less annoying. Still, Sirius decided to take James’s advice
(again) and wait until after Sunday to talk to Remus about it—just in case Potter was right, and it
was nothing more than pre-moon jitters.

Monday 19th January 1976

Full moons were quickly becoming Sirius’s favourite time of the month. The wolf trusted them
completely now, and they’d begun to leave the shack and explore the Forbidden Forest. This made
the transformations much easier in some ways, as they didn’t have to worry about the wolf getting
so frustrated from being cooped up that he accidentally hurt himself. In other ways, it was a
challenge—as in his human form, wolf-Remus was just as difficult to dissuade when he set his
mind to something.

“We can’t stop you chasing rabbits if you want to chase rabbits,” James said bluntly, when Remus
began to panic the next morning as he realised there was blood on his tongue. “You seemed pretty
happy about it at the time.”

“It was bloody good fun,” Sirius added, licking his lips as he remembered the thrill of running
beside the wolf, hunting down the skittering animals.

Remus was not amused by the pun. “You were encouraging me!” he accused, dressing awkwardly
underneath the blanket, “You ought to know better, you have self-control!”
“Yeah,” Sirius shrugged, “But when I’m a dog, I’m a dog. It’s what we do.” He didn’t understand
what all the fuss was about—it was so much simpler to just embrace the animal when you
transformed. Besides, it was nice to let loose—and Remus certainly seemed like he needed it. He
was so uptight, lately.

“Don’t worry, Moony,” James said, around a yawn, “We wouldn’t ever let you hurt a person. And
you did have fun, I promise.”

Remus frowned, but didn’t complain any further, instead yawning back and saying,

“You’d better be off. See if you can get a bit of kip before breakfast.”

“Yeah, all right,” James agreed, bleary-eyed, “See ya, Moony.”

“Bye Prongs.”

‘Prongs’ had been settled on thanks to Peter, who—in a moment of hilarious confusion one
afternoon—had forgotten the word for ‘antlers.’ They’d all laughed until their sides hurt, and the
name had stuck.

Sirius’s nickname had been decided, too, after a dare one night between him and James. They’d
snuck out to the greenhouse under the invisibility cloak, hoping to filch some prank supplies, and
noticed a patch of biting thistles that Sprout was growing. Naturally, they dared each other to cross
it, and when James transformed into a stag and easily trotted through on his hardy hooves, Sirius
had transformed, as well—unfortunately, the pads of his feet were much more sensitive. James had
gloated all the way back to their room, and when he’d started calling Sirius ‘Padfoot’ the next
morning, neither of the others batted an eye.

With all four aliases selected, they’d finally been able to complete their Marauders’ Map, and they
used it now to make sure the coast was clear as they snuck back up to Gryffindor tower. Once they
were safely inside their room, all three boys collapsed, exhausted, onto their beds. Within moments,
they were asleep.

* * *

Sirius yawned through his classes, fighting desperately to keep his eyelids open. While he wouldn’t
miss a full moon for anything, the morning after was always rough—especially when it was a
school day. Remus, of course, was excused from classes, but unless the other marauders wanted to
reveal their illegal animagi status for a few extra hours of sleep, they simply had to tough it out.

Still, Sirius managed to make it through, and as it drew nearer to the mid-day break he even began
to perk up a bit. Now that the moon was past, Sirius thought, Remus should be back to normal. He
was very much looking forward to things going back the way they were before the whole tapestry
fiasco, especially because he still needed to pitch the Hogsmeade idea and was planning to do it
that afternoon.

When Sirius stopped by the hospital wing, he discovered that Madam Pomfrey had already
discharged Remus earlier in the day. Normally, the next place to look would be the library—but
Sirius had been avoiding the library ever since he arrived back at Hogwarts. It was stupid, he
knew, and something he’d have to get over eventually, but the thought of walking into those tall
shelves of books, towering around him the way they had when...well. He just wasn’t ready, yet.
Fortunately, Sirius didn’t have to confront the issue; upon his return to the Gryffindor common
room, he spotted Remus the moment he was through the portrait hole.

“Hiya, Moony!” Sirius bounded over, grinning. Remus was talking to one of his little followers
from the study club—a fourth year whose name Sirius couldn’t remember. He was a mousy sort of
boy who fidgeted nervously with his hands when he spoke, and the only reason Sirius recognised
him was because he’d seen him hanging around Moony so much.

“Hi, Padfoot,” Remus replied. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“So, settle a bet for me and Prongs,” Sirius said, ignoring the nervous fourth-year—it was a bit
irritating, the way he followed Remus around like a girl with a crush. The boy mumbled a goodbye
and scurried off (good riddance), and Sirius flung himself into the now-vacant space on the
window seat. “How many nifflers would we need to find Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem?”

“What the fuck is a diadem?” Remus asked, bemused, as he lit a cigarette.

“Like a crown.” Sirius leaned over and plucked the fag from Moony’s fingers, just because he
knew Remus would let him. He took a drag as Remus pulled out another cigarette.

“Why,” he paused to inhale, “Would you and James want a crown?”

“Dunno,” Sirius blinked, watching Moony breathe out smoke, “Finding treasure seems like a
marauder-type pursuit. Hey, what did that kid want?”

“Christopher.”

Boring name. “Ah, he in your fan club?”

“Study group.”

“Pfft. What did he want?”

“He was asking me out,” Remus said, and Sirius’s brain short-circuited.

Asking him out? Moony?? And—with a—

“Joking, Padfoot,” Remus smirked, spying the look on Sirius’s face. Sirius shut his mouth, feeling
a rush of embarrassment. Of course Remus was joking, of course he wasn’t—only Sirius would
make that leap, would actually think that—

He snorted, trying to save face. “Good one, Moony. Thought you were serious there.”

Remus continued to stare at him for a moment, but then he just shrugged, taking another pull on his
fag.

“If you did fancy going out with someone, though,” Sirius said, remembering why he’d come to
speak with Moony in the first place, “Who d’you reckon? Lily or Marlene?”

“Shut up.” Remus grumbled, with one of his trademark eyerolls.

“You’re right,” Sirius nodded, ignoring him, “Lily’s taken – I mean, she doesn’t know she’s taken,
of course...so Marlene it is! Hogsmeade on Saturday?”

“Are you asking me out on Marlene’s behalf?”

“Maybe.”

“No.”

“I can get her to ask you out herself, if you want, I just thought you’d say yes to me.”

Sirius wished he knew what Remus was thinking—he was staring out the window, fingers grazing
the cigarette at his lips.

“Marlene’s not interested in me,” he muttered, exhaling smoke.

“‘Course she is, you’re friends, aren’t you? Anyway, you have to come, we’re doing it to support
James.”

“Now James is involved.” Remus sighed as he stubbed out his cigarette, standing and shoving the
pile of books scattered around him back into his bag. “Lunch?”

“Yes.” Sirius flicked his own cigarette out the window and got to his feet. They walked, side by
side, to the portrait hole. “Yes, James is involved,” he explained, as they made their way to the
Great Hall. “We all need to be there – and ideally coupled up – so that he can ask Evans out.”

“James asks Lily out once a week.”

“True,” Sirius conceded, “But this time he’s going in with a game plan.”

“Oh?”

“He’s got a song and everything.”

“James writes songs?!” Remus looked genuinely surprised, and mildly amused.

“Well...I may have given him a hand...anyway, we all need to have dates, to plant the idea in her
mind. Like that muggle psychology stuff.” There was a name for it, which they had just learned in
Muggle Studies—but Sirius had been brainstorming lyrics in the back of the classroom with James.

“As much as I’d love to see James make a prat out of himself in the name of true love,” Remus
laughed, “I’m busy on Saturday.”

“Doing what?”

“None of your business.”

Infuriating—and thrilling. Another secret. It seemed that just as soon as Sirius thought he had
Lupin figured out, a new layer was revealed.

“See, Moony,” he sighed, “This is why the girls can’t get enough of you, so mysterious.”

Remus shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, clearly done with the subject. They
walked in silence for a bit, and Sirius wondered if he was irritating his friend—it was so hard to
tell, these days, what might set Moony off. Had he mucked things up by bringing up the girl stuff
again? Or...was it something else?

“Hey, Moony?”

“Yes?"
“Do you fancy Mary?”

“What?!”

They were just outside the Great Hall, now, and Remus spun around to stare at him. Sirius flushed,
fiddling with his earring—at first he wondered if he’d guessed correctly, but the shock on Remus’s
face didn’t seem to hold any traces of guilt. He just looked baffled.

“Well you’ve been a bit...off since we started going out. And I’ve hardly seen you since the,
er...the tapestry fiasco.”

Remus snorted, as if he was acting ridiculous.

“No. I do not fancy Mary.”

Sirius felt a wash of relief. He wasn’t sure what he’d’ve done, if Remus had said yes. “Ok, good,”
he smiled blithely, “So you’ll be Marlene’s date?”

“Still busy, sorry.”

* * *

Saturday 31st January 1976

Normally, Sirius might have begged, pleaded, cajoled, and generally made a nuisance of himself
until Remus admitted what he was up to. But things had been so strange between them recently that
he didn’t want to press, hesitant to risk pushing Moony even further away. So he let it go, allowing
Remus to keep his mysterious secret—even when he saw him borrowing the invisibility cloak,
which almost certainly meant he was up to some sort of mischief.

But even though he didn’t push, Sirius was still distracted during that Hogsmeade weekend—he
kept glancing at the door to the Three Broomsticks, wondering what Remus was up to. Mary even
got a bit cross with him, when he didn’t pay enough attention to her story about something stupid
that Isadora Finch had said in the hallway; she frowned and started pouting when he asked her to
repeat it, and he had to spend a few minutes winning her back over with compliments. By the time
James was gearing up for his big moment, Sirius was beginning to wonder if he should warn his
friend that having a girlfriend wasn’t always all that it was cracked up to be.

The song went over quite well—in fact, Sirius thought he would go so far as to say it went
swimmingly, as by the end of it James looked like he had taken a dip in a pond full of butterbeer.

Lily huffed and left them all laughing at the table as she stomped off to get a new drink, but when
she returned she was pink-cheeked and very smug, which Sirius took as evidence that she didn’t
really mind James’s antics as much as she liked to pretend. James moped like a kicked dog across
the table, sneaking mournful glances at Lily and dripping butterbeer onto the floor.

It was around that time that Remus reappeared, from whatever secret mission he’d gone off to.

“Moony!” Sirius grinned, waving him over, “You missed all the fun!”
“Yeah, sorry,” Remus nodded at the packed table, raising an eyebrow when he saw the state that
James was in, and pulled out a chair. Sirius flagged down the barmaid for another butterbeer.
“Er...” Remus looked pointedly between James and Lily, “How is...everyone?”

Peter began to giggle, still recovering from an earlier bout of hysteria. He clamped a hand, quickly,
over his mouth, as if to prevent himself from falling to pieces once again as the whole table turned
to glance at their poor, soaked friend.

“Oh, quite well, Moony, quite well...” Sirius smirked, “I was just saying, it’s been a while since the
marauders have done a proper prank.”

“You put stink bombs under the rug in the Slytherin common room last week.” Lily said.

“And yesterday you reversed the lenses on all of the telescopes in the Astronomy Tower.” Marlene
pointed out.

“And you said that tomorrow you were planning to—” Mary started, but Sirius interrupted her,

“Yeah, yeah, but those things are child’s play.” He said dismissively, “Plus, that was just me and
James mucking about. A proper marauder prank needs all four of us.”

“Remus doesn’t want to join in with your silly pranks,” Lily sniffed. Remus frowned.

“Yes I do.” He said, a bit belligerently, and Sirius caught his eye, beaming, mind already spinning
with ideas.
 Fifth Year: Dung Bombs & Broom Cupboards
Chapter Summary

impulsive decisions and unforeseen consequences

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

No moon at all

What a night

Even lightning bugs have dimmed their lights

Stars have disappeared from sight

And there’s no moon at all

Don’t make a sound

It’s so dark

Even Fido is afraid to bark

What a perfect chance to park

And there’s no moon at all

Monday 23rd February 1976

It started with a tried-and-tested classic: dung bombs. Throughout the numerous years of pranks,
the marauders had found that nothing was quite as reliable when it came to causing chaos as the
powerful little incendiaries. But of course, they couldn’t just repeat the mischief of previous years;
James and Sirius competed to see how many dung bombs they could acquire (amassing four
hundred, between them), Remus had been working on a timing delay spell that he was keen to try
out, and they all agreed that the legwork would have to take place after curfew.

Sirius was eager to put their plan into action as soon as possible—unfortunately, that didn’t turn out
to be very soon. It took quite a bit of nagging to get Remus to agree to forgo homework for an
evening, and even then, he refused to abandon his prefect duties. This meant scheduling around the
prefect patrol rota, which might have been fairly simple—if not for Potter’s ridiculous quidditch
practice schedule. And, of course, there was the full moon to contend with. In the end, it wasn’t
until late February that all four marauders were present and accounted for, gathered around James
as he shook out the invisibility cloak.
“Been a while!” he said, broad grin disappearing as he pulled the cloth over his head.

Peter transformed into a rat and settled down comfortably onto James’s shoulder, squeaking. Sirius
and Remus ducked under the cloak, as well, but quickly encountered difficulties as they tried to
manoeuvre the cloth to cover all of their feet.

“You two use the cloak,” Remus said, sighing as he ducked back out, “I’ll just flash my prefect pin
if anyone asks what I’m doing.”

“Takes all the fun out of it, though,” Sirius grumbled, pouting slightly. It was supposed to be like
old times—all of them squished together, whispering and shushing each other as they tried to
shuffle through the halls.

“I’m sure you’ll still find a way to have fun,” Remus said dryly, “Come on then.”

They exited the dorm, making their way slowly down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower. Though
Sirius was disappointed that they weren’t all getting the complete pranking experience, he had to
admit that it would have been a bit of a headache to navigate with three of them squeezed under the
cloak. He and James were slow enough as it was, and Remus had to shorten his long stride just so
that they could keep up.

“Hiya, Remus!”

They had just turned a corner when an irritating, chirpy voice interrupted them. Through the fabric
of the cloak, Sirius could see that Moony had been halted by the scrawny git from his study club—
what was his name?

“Hi Christopher, how’s it going?”

Ah. Christopher. Sirius frowned, watching Remus smile down at the boy.

“Not bad!” Christopher gushed, staring up at Moony with an adoring smile, “I was just going to the
common room, fancy a game of chess?”

Chess? Seriously?

“Er…sorry, I’m on patrol.” Remus gestured to his prefect badge.

“Oh right. Where’s Lily, then?”

“In the loo. I’m just waiting for her.”

“I’ll wait with you!” Christopher declared, still smiling like a complete nitwit. Sirius rolled his eyes
—someone obviously couldn’t take a hint.

“Oh, no,” Remus forced a laugh, voice slightly strained as he said, “No, you go off to the common
room…it’s nearly curfew, I don’t want to have to give you detention!”

The smaller boy’s face fell, slightly. “Oh, ok then.” He nodded, “See you later, maybe?” He turned
to go, then spun around, adding, “I forgot to say, I’m so excited about your party!”

“My what?!”

Sirius groaned in irritation, glaring daggers at the gormless interloper. James nudged him, and he
held his tongue.
“Your birthday party! I can’t wait, I couldn’t come to Sirius Black’s party in November, I had a
Potions essay due, but this year I’ll make sure to get everything out of the way first!”

Was he stupid? Daft? Brain dead? Did he not understand the meaning of surprise party?

“T’riffic,” Remus gave him a thumbs up, “See you there, then.”

The younger boy bounced away, looking extremely pleased with himself. Once he was gone,
Remus threw a smirk over his shoulder, saying,

“My party, eh?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” James whispered.

“Who is that little git, anyway?!” Sirius scowled, trying to remember to keep his voice low.

“Leave him alone,” Remus said, beginning to walk again, “He’s just friendly.”

“Such a benevolent professor,” James teased, “He’ll be bringing you apples next.”

“Well, one of you should tell him I prefer chocolate, then,” Remus responded, deadpan. James
chuckled; Sirius rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, they didn’t encounter any other interruptions as they distributed the dung bombs, and
were able to make quick work of it. Remus performed the timing delay incantation that he had
been preparing, muttering under his breath as he waved his wand. He’d been instructing them on
where to place the bombs, explaining that they needed to be scattered equally throughout the castle
if they wanted the prank to reach its full chaotic potential.

“I’ve spaced the times out at hourly intervals,” Remus said quietly, “I reckon it should take Filch
about an hour to clear away the first lot, so as soon as he’s finished the second lot will go off…
then the third.”

“We’ll never make fun of you again, Moony,” Sirius grinned, “You bloody legend.” It was nice to
have things back to normal, for once—Sirius loved it when Moony took control of pranks,
revealing the evil genius behind the mild-mannered swot façade.

“Yeah, well as long as no one knows it was me,” Remus chuckled, “I’ve got my reputation to think
of.”

“Ooh yeah, can’t have little Christopher finding out his hero is a bad boy, can we?”

Remus elbowed him in the side, and Sirius laughed.

“Hurry up,” Peter urged, wringing his hands, “I promised I’d try and say goodnight to Dezzie
before curfew…can we do the Ravenclaw floor next?”

“Ah, young love,” James shook his head fondly, “Giving your girlfriend a goodnight kiss as your
friends booby trap her exit points…”

“She thinks it’s funny,” Peter mumbled, blushing.

“Oi, Pete, how far have you got with Desdemona, anyway?” Sirius asked, bluntly. He’d tried a few
times to talk to Peter about – girl stuff, as he was the only other marauder who actually had a
girlfriend. Unfortunately, this single qualification did not make Pete an excellent partner to swap
notes with, as he always acted incredibly prudish and embarrassed whenever Sirius brought it up.
The present moment was no exception, as Peter began blinking wildly and blushing even more.

“Err…what do you mean?”

“You know,” Sirius drawled, juggling a few dung bombs to pass the time, “Over the clothes or
under the clothes, above the waist or below the—"

“Nothing like that!” Peter squeaked, looking as if he would very much like to transform back into a
rat and hide in James’s pocket, “And…it’s none of your business anyway.”

Ugh. Pete was so annoying. Everyone knew that half the point of snogging birds was to talk about
it!

“Oh go on, I’ll tell you how far I’ve got with Macdonald.”

“I don’t want to kno—”

“She’s let me feel up her—"

“Ok, finished!” Remus interrupted, loudly, “Next stop, Ravenclaw!”

It was another hour before they had completed their mission, and well past curfew by the time they
were heading back.

“In hindsight,” James yawned, “We should have started laying them further from the common
room and worked our way back.”

Remus nodded in agreement, eyelids drooping.

“We did it, though!” Sirius said, too high on adrenaline to share in his friends’ exhaustion, “The
marauders are back!”

“We never went anywhere,” Peter muttered sourly. He was still pouting about being asked a
bloody question, which Sirius thought was ridiculous. For someone who spent so much time
talking about his girlfriend, one might think Pete would be happy that someone was taking an
interest!

They were over halfway back when Remus suddenly froze, shushing them. Peter yelped and
transformed immediately into a rat. Seeing the look on Moony’s face, James began to raise the
cloak—but it was too late. Mrs. Norris, Filch’s awful cat, appeared suddenly from around the
corner, mewling. Sirius, struck with inspiration, whispered,

“Watch this!” With a wink, he transformed into Padfoot, barking three times. Mrs. Norris fled
immediately, hissing, and Sirius was laughing hysterically when he transformed back.

The humour was short-lived. “Who’s there?!” Came Filch’s sandpaper voice from around the same
corner—Sirius froze. He hadn’t realized the cat and the caretaker were together; usually the animal
roamed the halls independently.

“You’ve done it now!” Remus hissed, “You idiot!”

“Run!” James ordered, breaking into a frantic sprint towards the common room. Peter scampered
behind him, squeaking. Sirius began to run, too, but it quickly became apparent that Remus wasn’t
going to be able to keep up—he didn’t have James forcing him out to the quidditch pitch every
morning for a jog, and he was limping slightly.
“Go!” Remus panted, waving a hand at Sirius when he began to lag, “I might not get in trouble, but
you will, don’t slow down…”

“Nonsense, Moony,” Sirius said, scanning the corridor—he couldn’t leave his fellow marauder
behind! Luckily, there was a broom cupboard just a few paces ahead.

“In here!” Sirius grabbed his friend’s wrist, pulling him into the cupboard and closing the door
gently so as not to make any sound.

“Perfect,” Remus hissed, snatching his hand out of Sirius’s grasp, “Now if we get caught they’ll
know we were up to something.”

“Oh, relax, will you?” Sirius huffed, prickling at the other boy’s accusatory tone, “The worst we’ll
get is detention. You used to get loads of detentions, you used to be fun.”

“Well I’m sorry if my idea of fun doesn’t involve spending all night stuck in a cupboard with you!”
Remus retorted, and Sirius tried to ignore how much the words stung. Seems like your idea of fun
doesn’t involve spending any time with me, anymore, he thought, sourly—but didn’t say. He didn’t
want to fight, not when the night had been going so well.

Instead, he decided to focus on getting them out of their current situation—maybe then Remus
would stop acting like such a prat. Sirius rummaged in his pocket, whispering, “Lumos!”

“What are you doing now?!” Remus demanded, shifting so that he was pressed further into the
wall—away from Sirius. Since when was Moony claustrophobic? Sirius seemed to recall him
squeezing into many a hidden alcove when they were younger…

“Calm your tits,” he muttered, “I’ve got the map…hang on…aha!” He grasped the parchment
shoved into his back pocket, pulling it out and tapping it quickly with his wand, “I solemnly swear
that I am up to no good…”

Nothing.

Sirius frowned, clearing his throat. “Ahem. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good…Moony, it’s
broken.”

“Or that’s just a bit of old parchment and someone else has the map.” Remus said.

“Potter! I’ll bloody kill him.”

“No, it’s good. If James has it, then he can find us. Or at least he knows where we are.”

Sirius considered that. “Oh, yeah I suppose you’re right. Think we should wait, then?”

“Well since you’ve put us in a corner, I don’t think we have a choice.” Now the sharpness had
returned to Moony’s tone, snide and needling.

Sirius sighed in frustration, feeling his own irritation return. Why was Remus acting so uptight?
Did he actually care so much about his new goody-two-shoes reputation that he couldn’t handle
the thought of one detention?

Remus shifted again, as if trying to put more space between them, and Sirius felt a rush of
exasperated anger.

“Godric,” he hissed, “What is your problem?!”

“What?!” Remus yelped, as if he hadn’t been grumbling from the moment Sirius shut the door of
the broom cupboard—before that, even.

“You’ve been dragging your heels about this prank for ages, avoiding me and James since
Christmas—"

“I’ve been revising and you’ve had quidditch! We’re not twelve anymore, we can’t spend all our
time together.”

That was utter bullshit—Moony still had free time, he just chose to spend it all with his other
friends. Sirius felt all the pent-up frustration from months of weird behaviour rising to the surface.

“Seem to spend plenty of time with Evans.”

“We’re prefects together, she helps me with Potions.”

“And the mood?”

“What mood?”

“You! You’ve been grumpy all year.”

Remus huffed, as if Sirius was acting ridiculous—which only made the frustration tighten in his
chest.

“It’s nothing. Exam stress.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sirius insisted, trying to make out Moony’s face in the dark. He wished he
could see the other boy’s expression—wished he could search for some clue, some hint—anything
that might reveal what was really going on. “Something’s wrong, Moony, tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Leave it alone, will you?”

Sirius deflated, frustration giving way to confusion—and hurt. He didn’t want to beg, but he still
heard himself saying, “Ok, but I wish you’d tell me.” I wish you’d trust me. “You used to tell me
your secrets.”

“Look, this isn’t the time.” Remus whispered, “We’re about to get caught out of bed and probably
get a month of detentions. We need to be quiet.”

Sirius nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Had he done something wrong? He wished Moony would just tell him. He wished they could just
talk, without the strange, awkward barrier that always seemed to be between them these days.
Every time he tried to bring it up, Remus insisted that everything was fine, acting as though nothing
had changed. It made Sirius feel like he was losing his mind, sometimes—had he imagined their
previous closeness, made it all up in his head? Had he misinterpreted the shared secrets, the private
smiles, the comfortable banter—had it not meant as much to Remus? Did the other boy honestly
believe that nothing had really changed? Did he simply not care about the distance between them—
was Sirius desperately trying to scrabble closer, when Remus preferred to keep him at arm’s
length?

More and more, Sirius thought, being friends with Moony was like running in circles. He’d fight
his way past all the walls, wear them down bit by bit, brick by brick, until it finally felt like Remus
might let him in, only for the other boy to retreat behind some new, impenetrable barrier.
 Sometimes, Sirius was able to figure out what had caused the withdrawal—other times, he could
wait it out. He’d thought that after five years, Remus might stop pushing him away, but lately he
had begun to feel further apart than ever.

It wasn’t like Remus was ignoring them; not outright, at least. He still talked to the marauders, still
ate meals with them, still helped out with pranks and joked with them and lent them his notes. But
it felt as if he was doing all of it from behind some sort of veil, until Sirius was left wondering if he
would ever truly understand his friend.

It drove him mad. Especially now, pressed close in the dark, breathing each other’s air. Remus was
so close, and yet no matter how Sirius reached, he couldn’t quite touch him. Whenever they were
alone together, Sirius just found the same questions running, over and over again, through his head.

Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me? Why are you so far away?

“Moony?” he whispered, before he could stop himself, “Are you—”

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing James’s smirking face and Wormtail, squeaking on his
shoulder.

“Having fun, lads?”

Sirius swallowed, heart pounding.

“Our hero,” Remus said dryly, smiling as he slid out of the cupboard. Sirius watched as his friends
began to walk back towards Gryffindor Tower. After a moment, he followed them.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "No Moon At All," the 1962 version by Ella Fitzgerald (a bit
of a throwback for '76, but it just works so well)
 Fifth Year: Sweet Sixteen
Chapter Summary

remus turns sixteen

Chapter Notes

notes at the end explain why i've decided to rewrite this chapter, but for anyone who
would prefer to read the mkb version, i've bolded the line at which her chapter starts so
that you can switch over! here's the link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752685/chapters/34149527

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tuesday 9th March 1976

Despite Remus’s concern, none of them were caught—Sirius resisted the urge to say I told you so,
as Moony still seemed a bit peeved when they got back to their room; he went straight to bed and
drew the curtains without saying more than two words to any of them.

When Sirius talked to James about Remus’s strange behaviour that night, the other boy simply
shrugged.

“I dunno, mate. He’s always been a bit moody, yeah?”

“Yeah, but it’s different this year,” Sirius huffed, “Isn’t it?”

James scratched his chin, thoughtfully. “Well, I reckon it’s all the girl stuff, innit.”

“What?”

“You know. Girlfriends and that. Seems like it makes him uncomfortable.”

Sirius sighed, flopping back onto the pillows. “I already asked him if he fancied Mary, though, and
he said he doesn’t.”

“Yeah, well…maybe he fancies someone else.”

“Someone else?”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, Black, but there are other girls in the castle.”

Sirius frowned, considering. Could that be it? Had Remus been so distant just because he fancied
someone?
“But why wouldn’t he talk to us about it?”

James laughed, poking Sirius in the ribs. “Not all of us like to overshare as much as you do.”

“Oi—you should be thanking me! I’m helping you prepare for the far-off day that Evans breaks
down and snogs you!”

“A-ha! So you admit that it’s going to happen!”

“Yeah,” Sirius snorted, “Probably when you’re ninety-five and on your death bed, making your last
wish.”

Still, he considered James’s theory, turning the idea over in his head. Sirius supposed it wouldn’t
be entirely out of character for Remus to keep something like a crush secret, and it would help
explain why he was so touchy about all the girl stuff. Maybe James was right, and the odd
behaviour didn’t have anything to do with Sirius at all—he knew that he had a tendency to blow
things out of proportion; perhaps he really was exaggerating the extent of the distance between
them.

Either way, there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it, other than carry on as usual. James
thought that if they didn’t push him, and tried to be supportive, then eventually Moony would open
up to them. Sirius didn’t normally have the patience to wait for results, but Remus wasn’t exactly
giving him much say in the matter.

Besides, there were plenty of other things to take up Sirius’s attention. Their prank went exactly as
planned the next day, forcing Dumbledore to cancel lessons for the morning while Filch ran pell-
mell about the castle, trying to get rid of the stench. Their afternoon classes were moved outside to
the grounds, which the marauders considered a win—listening to their professors drone on was
much more enjoyable in the early spring sunshine than it was cooped up in the castle walls.

Even better was the discovery, when they returned to their common rooms that evening, that a
notice had been pinned to the corkboard. In bold letters, it declared that dogs were NOT on the
approved list for pets at Hogwarts, and as such, the animals were NOT allowed in the castle. Sirius
could hardly contain his glee as confusion broke out amongst the other students,

“I’ve never seen a dog! Who’s got a dog?”

“If one of the Slytherins got a dog in, then I want to bring my rabbit from home!”

“I think I have seen one in the grounds, actually – maybe it’s a stray?”

For Sirius and James, the jokes practically made themselves.

“I’ll sniff him out!” Sirius promised, giggling.

“I bet he’s right under our noses!” James declared.

“Could be closer than we think!”

The other marauders laughed along, and the rest of their friends simply rolled their eyes and wrote
off the hysterical response as more of the high-spirited antics they’d come to expect from the boys.

As February drew to a close, Sirius threw himself whole-heartedly into mischief-making. He

planned pranks instead of doing his homework, studied new hexes instead of his textbooks, and
spent nearly every night in detention as a result. While the marauders had been known since their
first year at Hogwarts for their shenanigans, in the spring of 1976 Sirius took things to a new level,
until even James expressed some concern.

“Are you alright, Black?” He asked one night, after Sirius had been caught out past curfew for the
third time in as many days.

“Brilliant, why?”

James shifted, uncomfortably. “Just…you know, maybe you should slow down a bit. We do have
OWLs coming up.”

Sirius groaned. “Ugh, not you too! Moony already doesn’t let me forget…”

James’s laugh was slightly strained, and after a moment, he sighed.

“Look, Sirius…you know that you don’t have to, erm…prove anything, right?”

“What?”

“Just, with everything that’s happened with your family—I thought maybe—”

“I’m not trying to prove anything, Potter!” Sirius snapped, sitting up, “My sincerest apologies for
not turning into a bloody swot like the rest of you, but I still know how to have fun!” He yanked the
curtains open, stomping back to his own bed and dragging the covers over his head to block out
anything else James might try to whisper.

At least Mary was there to appreciate his roguish charm. She didn’t seem all that bothered when
Sirius wanted to skip homework to sneak off to the Astronomy tower—in fact, half the time she
was the one tugging him out of the common room in search of a more private venue. The two of
them became very familiar with a certain stall in the sixth-floor girls’ loos over the course of a few
weeks.

Between Mary, mischief, and Potter’s sadistic quidditch practice schedule, Sirius had more than
enough to worry about. Remus remained distant, but that might have just been because he spent
more than half his time in the library—the one place at Hogwarts that Sirius continued to avoid. Or
it might have been what James had said, that he didn’t like all the girl stuff. Either way, Sirius tried
not to think about it too much.

As February gave way to March, however, Moony became an unavoidable subject. All of the
marauders, along with Mary, Lily, and Marlene, had been planning his surprise party for weeks,
and as the date drew closer, their preparations only became more frantic. There were decorations to
organise, beverages to purchase, invitations to send…although, of course, the party wouldn’t be
quite as surprising as they’d originally intended.

Remus promised to feign shock after a bit of cajoling from James, but he still spent the first week
of March trying to talk the marauders out of it. The pleading was half-hearted, as if he’d already
resigned himself to their decision, yet he still gave it one last shot at dinner the night before.

“Don’t make a fuss on my account!” He said, poking at his food, “Lily will go mental…”

“Wrong,” James shot him a smug grin, “Lily sent out half the invitations!”

“Invitations?!”

“Yeah, we’ve had a lot of interest. Considered charging entry, actually.” Sirius smirked from
across the table, trying to catch his eye—but Remus quickly looked away. Sirius tried not to read
too much into it; maybe Moony was just really fascinated by the way the house elves had cooked
the potatoes tonight.

“Your little library gang wanted to come,” James explained, “And they’re not all Gryffindors, so
we had to open it up to other houses…then there’s this weird group of seventh years who said
you’re a ‘total legend’ – no idea what that’s about, have you got a secret double life or something,
Moony?”

Remus shrugged, still staring at his food. Sirius tried, again, to catch his eye—to share a smirk,
revelling in the inside knowledge of Moony’s underground cigarette enterprise—but Remus didn’t
look up. Probably just didn’t want to clue James into anything.

“Well, anyway,” Potter continued, pushing his glasses up his nose, “You simply have too many
fans, Moony, and we can’t let them all down at short notice, can we?”

“Fine,” Remus sighed, “No drinking, though. It’s a school night.”

* * *

Wednesday 10th March 1976

Sirius dreamt of Grimmauld Place.

He was in the library, as he so often was. The shelves towered, stretching higher than the walls, up
to a ceiling that disappeared into shadows. They went on endlessly, on either side—one long,
eternal hallway. The stench of fear was thick in the air, cloying, and Padfoot growled, a low sound
from the back of his throat. He was gnawing on something.

Sirius knew, in the strange way that one knows things in dreams, that if he could swallow the thing
in his mouth, he would be free. It was soft, fragile-boned like rabbit neck, and he could already
taste the heady tang of blood on his tongue. Someone whimpered beneath him, and when he
looked down Reggie was there, eyes blurred with tears, pleading—hands outstretched and caught,
fast, in Padfoot’s jaw. He was rancid with pain. Padfoot growled, tearing—Reggie screamed—

Sirius gasped, eyes snapping open. His heart pounded, frantic, behind his ribcage—the dream was
already fading, swept away like ash in the wind, but he remembered the fear on his tongue, his
brother’s eyes, the shelves—

“Oh, good,” James said, popping his head behind Sirius’s bedcurtains, “You’re awake. Come on,
Remus is about to open his presents!”

It was raining outside, a grey, drizzly day. The dream lingered, stuck like a bitter taste on the back
of his tongue, but Sirius shoved it down. He wished Moony a happy birthday, smiling as he
watched his friend open the gifts piled at the end of his bed. At breakfast, they continued their
usual tradition of conducting the hall in a coordinated rendition of ‘Happy Birthday,’ which ran for
five encores before Remus crawled under the table, insisting he would die of embarrassment if
they subjected him to such torture any longer.
Everyone was in high spirits, which was good—it made it easier for Sirius to shake off the unease
that clung like cobwebs in the back of his mind. He pulled Mary into his lap, wrapping his arms
around her waist and smiling as she tugged on the ponytail he’d put his hair in for quidditch
practice, taking comfort in the warmth of another person. Sirius wanted nothing more at the
moment than to hide from the dreary weather, to curl up with Mary in front of the fire in the
common room – to hold her, to be held.

It seemed that he wasn’t the only one dreading the rainy day.

“Do we have to, Potter?” Marlene groaned, staring up at the enchanted ceiling, which gave them
all a clear view of the gloomy weather.

“Yes, if we want that cup.” James grinned, reaching over to refill her mug of coffee. “And again,
after last bell, before the…you-know-what.” He shot her an exaggerated wink, and Marlene
frowned.

“Smooth, Potter.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

“Right, I’ve got to get to the library,” Mary chirped, hopping off of Sirius’s lap, “Got to hand that
Divination book back before Pince calls to have me hung, drawn and quartered.”

“See you after second quidditch?” Sirius asked, hands still stuck to her hips. He was hoping they’d
be able to snag a bit of time alone before Remus’s party—he’d found that there was nothing quite
so reliable when it came to making his mind go blank as snogging Mary, especially now that the
snogging had begun to evolve and was starting to include quite a bit more exploration with hands.

But Mary shook her head, curls bouncing. “Nah,” she smiled, “I’m really behind on History,
thought I’d drop in on one of Remus’s classes.”

“Study sessions,” Remus corrected, without looking up from his eggs.

“Whatever you say, Professor Lupin,” Mary smirked, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Oi,” Sirius tugged on her sleeve, reclaiming her attention, “I thought you were going to sit in the
quidditch stands and do your homework?”

“Well, I said I might,” Mary wriggled away from his hands, “But it’s bloomin’ freezing out today,
and Remus is really good at explaining—”

“Fine,” Sirius snapped, irritation spiking before he could stop it, “Do whatever you like, I don’t
care.” He was pretty sure she had promised—but whatever. It wasn’t like he needed her to feel
better; he was perfectly fine.

“Oi, don’t start with me, Mr. Black.” Mary frowned, “You’ll lose, I promise.”

Sirius scowled, refusing to meet her eye. He hated it when she tried to scold him—as if he were a
little kid. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mary put her hand on her hip.

“Kiss me goodbye, then?”

Sirius continued to stare down at the table, unmoving. After a moment, Mary huffed.

“Fine,” she stamped her foot, slightly, in annoyance, “I’ll see you when I bloody well see you.”
And with that she marched off, shoes clicking on the flagstones as she left.
Sirius could feel the rest of his friends glancing at him, awkward silence settling across the table.
He could tell they were judging him—probably thinking that he was acting ridiculous, since Mary
had made herself seem so reasonable, but he knew she had promised, and it wasn’t like he was
wrong for being upset that she hadn’t kept a promise. People shouldn’t go ‘round making promises
in the first place if they weren’t going to keep them.

He shoved back from the table, skin crawling with irritation, and muttered, “See you on the pitch,”
to James before stalking off.

* * *

“You know, it was me that asked her to go,” James said, flying up next to Sirius on his broom.
Sirius tried to manoeuvre away, but James was too fast—there was no avoiding him.

“Someone needed to make sure Moony was distracted,” he continued, raising his voice to be heard
over the wind, “So that we’d have time to finish setting up.”

“Could’ve asked Marlene.”

“Second quidditch.”

“Alright, then Lily.”

“Who d’you think’s going to be setting everything up?”

“Fine, but she still could’ve told me!” Sirius snapped. He knew James was being entirely
reasonable—but that only made him more annoyed. He hated being wrong.

“Yeah, but I’m just saying, it’s not her fault that I—”

“Just drop it, Potter, will you?” Sirius smacked away a bludger with perhaps a bit more energy than
necessary—he winced as the force of the blow reverberated up his arm. James opened his mouth,
looking as if he were about to say something else—but at that moment Marlene called out for him
from across the field. He frowned at Sirius, turning and flying off to see what she needed.

After practice was over, James was back at it again, pestering Sirius throughout the day to try and
convince him to patch it up with Mary. But the more James talked, laying out the issue to show
how utterly ridiculous it would be to make a tiny spat over virtually nothing into a huge deal, the
more Sirius’s irritation grew, until he was ready to bite the other boy’s head off.

The problem was, Sirius knew he was acting like a complete tosspot. But that did nothing to cool
the anger lodged in his chest – which made him frustrated, which made him angrier, which made
him even more frustrated, which made him even more angry, until the idea of just letting it go was
unthinkable. He couldn’t expect James to understand—Potter held on to anger about as well as a
sieve held on to water; negative emotions seemed to slide right through him, as if there were
nothing for them to cling to. But Sirius—well, Sirius had plenty of dark places for anger to take
root, and thinking about how his friend would never fully understand that only made him feel sorry
for himself—which, of course, made him angry.

By the time second quidditch had ended and they were heading back to Gryffindor Tower, he was
in a stormy mood, and James had given up trying to fix it. Instead, he took a different tack, telling
Sirius sternly that if he couldn’t suck it up and play nice then he was to stay in their room until he
was ready to apologise, so as not to disrupt Remus’s birthday. Sirius stomped up the stairs in a huff,
slamming the door and feeling incredibly sorry for himself as he curled up, alone, on his bed.

Downstairs, he could hear the sounds of the party beginning—music, coupled with a swelling
wave of chatter. Sirius cast a silencing spell on the door, blocking out the cheerful noises, and
filched a cigarette from the pack in the bottom of Remus’s trunk. He sat on the windowsill,
smoking, staring out at the dark clouds.

He was nearly finished with the cigarette when the door swung open, bringing with it a muffled
spill of laughter and what sounded like a Bowie song thumping from the record player downstairs.
James walked in, with a cup of firewhisky in hand.

“Ready to stop acting like a prat?” He asked, holding out the drink. Sirius eyed it, then turned back
to the window. James sighed.

“Right. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

He left the firewhisky on the sill, and Sirius frowned as the door swung shut. Usually, James would
stay with him, listening and sympathizing and coaxing him into a better mood. But today even
Potter thought he was in the wrong—Sirius downed the firewhisky in one swallow, miserably.

He knew he was being a prick, but he couldn’t help it. At this point, he’d already dug his heels in;
to admit he’d been making a fuss over nothing would just be even more embarrassing. He knew
that his friends already thought he was dramatic, over the top, prone to making mountains out of
molehills – and he wished he could prove them wrong. He just didn’t know how to explain that it
didn’t feel like he was overreacting, in the moment; that his emotion sometimes surged so
powerfully that it was overwhelming, and by the time it had ebbed it was always too late.

James came to check on him a few more times, bringing up drinks with each visit. After an hour of
downing firewhisky and butterbeer by himself, Sirius’s anger had cooled considerably, and he was
beginning to think that he might have to bite the bullet and admit that he’d been stupid.

“Come on, mate,” James said, after his fourth trek up the stairs, “It’s Moony’s birthday. Just
go down and say you’re sorry so we can all have a good time together.” He sat down on the bed
next to Sirius, nudging his shoulder, “It’s a stupid argument anyway.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sirius muttered, fidgeting with his hands. He wished he had a time turner, and
could take it all back—at this point, the alcohol had soothed his hurt feelings quite a bit, and he
was beginning to regret missing out on the party. Why had he even been so upset in the first place?

“So you’ll come down?” James asked, standing and moving towards the door, brows raised
expectantly.

“S’pose…” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. He really did feel guilty about missing
Moony’s party—they’d all been looking forward to it so much. He hoped Remus wouldn’t be
offended, and decided that he’d have to make it up to him, somehow.

“Come on, Pads,” James urged, opening the door, “I’m not bringing any more booze up here.”

“Fine.” Sirius stood.

“Good man,” James grinned and clapped him on the back, then started back down the stairs.
They’d only made it halfway, however, when they bumped into none other than the birthday boy
himself.
“Sorry, Moony,” James said, shuffling past, “He’s coming down, now.”

Sirius hesitated a few steps back, stomach twisting. Remus glanced at him over James’s shoulder,
and he suddenly felt very stupid about all his moping. He was the one who’d been complaining to
James for the past month about how Remus avoided them, but now here he was on his friend’s
birthday, too stuck in his own head to even celebrate properly. Sirius resolved, firmly, to apologise.

“Not going to bed, are you?” James asked.

“No,” Remus said, voice slightly blurry around the edges—he’d been drinking too, then. “Fags.”

“Filthy habit,” James teased, glancing back over his shoulder, “C’mon then, Black.”

“Just a sec,” Sirius said, taking another step down, “I just want to say happy birthday to Moony.”

“Fine, but hurry up.” James said, slurring. “Remus, tell him to swallow his stupid bloody pride and
get down there and snog Mary, eh?”

“Ok, Prongs.”

James pushed through the door, and for a moment music and laughter swarmed through, bright
light and noise—then it was gone, muffled, leaving Sirius and Remus alone in the shadowed
passageway.

“Happy birthday, Moony.” Sirius said sheepishly, walking down the few steps between them so
that they were level on the stairs.

“Cheers,” Remus smiled, gently, scanning his face. “You er…you ok?”

Sirius’s stomach knotted even more tightly with guilt. Trust Remus to be concerned about him,
when he’d spent half his friend’s birthday acting like a prat. Sirius hadn’t a clue what he’d done to
deserve such great mates.

“Yeah, fine.” He was still holding the empty cup from James’s most recent delivery, and he fiddled
with it anxiously, “Sorry if I ruined your party.”

“You didn’t. It’s been great.”

Sirius swallowed. A small, selfish part of him wished that Remus had been missing him at the
party—that his absence had sort of ruined it. But he supposed Moony had plenty of other friends to
keep him busy, now. It wasn’t like they were as close as they used to be.

“Good.”

Sirius looked down, searching for something to say. He hadn’t felt all that drunk before, alone in
their room, but now everything was slightly fuzzy, and his pulse kicked in his throat. “James
reckons I need to be the one to go and make up with Mary.”

Remus nodded. “Probably a good idea.”

“You think so?”

“Well…yeah?” Now Remus was giving him a bemused smile, the one that made his eyebrows
wrinkle together, “You…um. You like Mary, I thought.”

Everything was so simple, with Moony. He was so clever. James had a tendency to moralize, to
make things feel like they were always divided between right and wrong—but Remus just looked
at the facts: if you like someone, you apologise to them. Simple.

Remus was watching him, pupils blown wide in the dark. There was something of the wolf in that
gaze, something hungry. Sirius licked his lips. It was the first time they’d been alone since the
fiasco in the broom cupboard—he wondered if Moony was still upset about that. He’d never had
the chance to ask if he’d done something wrong.

Sirius thought, again, about James’s theory: that Remus fancied someone, but he was keeping it a
secret. Moony was so good with girls that Sirius didn’t know why they would make him
uncomfortable—but maybe if he just showed Remus that he could talk to him, confide in him, then
the strange awkwardness would disappear. It could be like the reading, or the newspaper clippings.
Sirius could keep a secret, if it was Moony’s.

“I do like Mary,” he said, leaning closer.

“So go and snog her then, silly prat.” Remus huffed, stepping back slightly. It was a bit crowded,
with both of them sharing one stair—but Sirius didn’t mind.

“I will,” he said, wondering again how Moony could be so shy about girls when he gave such good
advice. “I will, in a minute.”

He hesitated, then decided to just ask—no use dancing around it.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Remus?”

The taller boy scoffed. “No, you know I haven’t.” He said it casually, but there was a slight strain
to the words. He was definitely hiding something.

“It’s really not as scary as you think it is.” Sirius said, wishing his friend would just talk to him,
about whatever it was.

Something shifted in Moony’s eyes.

The gaze had a physical weight to it, searing, leaving every nerve in Sirius’s body raw. It pinned
him, pupils like the edge of a cliff, something you could fall from and keep falling. Sirius held his
breath, waiting, sure that Moony was about to say something—a secret, just for the two of them,
something no one else would ever know. Come closer, he thought, feverishly, Stop moving away.

And then Remus’s hands were on him—those long fingers, gripping the back of his neck, pulling
him in, pressing their bodies together. Sirius was plummeting, powerless to stop as their lips
collided, mind turned to sparks, heart alight and burning in his ribcage. He’d been waiting for this
—he didn’t know how long he’d been waiting for this. Moony tasted like whiskey and birthday
cake and desperation, and Sirius was kissing back, mouth falling open—Moony’s tongue slid
inside, and Sirius was reaching for his hips, grasping, touching, wanting more, wanting everything.

Toujurs pur, Sirius!

He gasped, pulling away. Remus was staring at him, shocked, and shame poured like cold water
down his spine. He had to go—he had to get away.

“I’d better—” Sirius stumbled down, towards the common room, choking on his words.

“—Yeah, I was just…” Remus backed away, and Sirius didn’t wait for him to finish, just flung the
door open.
 The sound assaulted him, music blasting, voices all talking over one another. Sirius felt breathless,
dizzy, like all the air had been pulled from his lungs. He blinked, staring out at the common room
—there were too many people, he couldn’t see—he needed to talk to someone—James—

“There you are!” Mary appeared, hands on her hips. She was vivid; sparkling; covered in gold and
turquoise sequins that clung to every curve of her body.

“Here I am,” Sirius murmured, blinking. She was dazzling—she was so, so bright. Shame sunk its
teeth into the back of his neck.

“Potter said you had something to tell me?” Mary folded her arms expectantly, waiting.

Words were crawling up the back of his throat like bile, things he knew he couldn’t say. He shoved
them down, blurting out,

“Sorry!”

Mary smiled, absolution, and the sticky feeling in his gut was washed in a wave of relief. She
didn’t demand anything further, just flung her arms around his neck. He gripped her back tightly—
she was familiar, warm. Safe.

“That’s my lovely boy,” she whispered, stroking his hair as she pulled him in for a kiss.

He kissed her back, insistent, blood still hot in his veins as he pinned her against the mantel of the
fireplace. Around them, partygoers cheered and hooted. Sirius shut his eyes, blocking out
everything, shoving down all the clamouring thoughts until the only thing left to hold onto was
Mary.

Chapter End Notes

hello there! i debated quite a bit about whether to rewrite this scene or not, and in the
end it came down to two things:
1. there were a few things that i felt would click a bit differently considering the kiss
scene from the perspective of a oneshot versus in context with a larger fic
2. i like rewriting! and i didn't want to interrupt my own flow by leaving out the end of
the chapter as i wrote :)

i'm unsure about whether i'll be rewriting every chapter mkb wrote from sirius's
perspective--i figure at the end of the day this is all just fanfiction written for fun, so
i'm trying not to agonize over it and just go with the flow as i get to those scenes <3
 Fifth Year: Morning After
Chapter Summary

uh oh!!

Thursday 11th March 1976

Sirius shifted, groaning, exhaustion a thick fog over his brain. His head was pounding. There was
something heavy on top of him, body heat and soft skin, stale perfume—Mary. They’d fallen
asleep on the sofa.

He began to open his eyes, then immediately squeezed them shut as the sunlight invaded, piercing
through corneas like a spike driven into the back of his skull. The pounding in his head grew
stronger, vengeful. His tongue was a wad of cotton in his mouth.

The hangover wasn’t surprising. Sirius wasn’t quite sure how much he’d had to drink the previous
night—he just remembered refilling his cup, over and over, punch and firewhisky and witches'
brew. He’d kept drinking until he couldn’t stand, until the room blurred around him, until all
semblance of coherence fled from his mind, leaving only broken flashes—swaying to something by
T. Rex, Mary’s mouth on his neck, the dizzy sparks as James tried to conjure up an impromptu
fireworks show. He didn’t remember how he’d ended up on the couch.

“Fuck,” Mary groaned, shifting on top of him. Sirius smiled past the pounding in his head.

“Couldn’t’ve said it better myself, Macdonald.”

“Ugh, your breath stinks like a troll’s arse.”

“Does that mean you don’t want a good morning kiss?”

“Are you two lovebirds finally awake?” James bounded into the common room, looking as
cheerful and refreshed as if he’d just woken up after downing one of Pomfrey’s sleeping draughts,
and not at all like someone who had been slurring so badly he couldn’t even say Lily’s name
properly the night before (not that that had stopped him from trying, repeatedly). Sirius and Mary
both winced.

“Lower your voice, Potter,” Sirius moaned, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“C’mon, up you get—you’ll make us miss breakfast!”

“Please don’t talk about food,” Mary groaned, elbow digging into Sirius’s side as she levered
herself up, “I feel like something’s crawled down my throat and died in my stomach.”

“Lovely.”

Sirius protested as James dragged him to his feet, eyes still closed against the harsh sunlight.
“Shut it, Black,” James laughed, tugging on his arms, “I know how long it takes you to wash your
hair—if you want a shower before classes you’d better go now, I mean it about breakfast.”

Sirius sighed, squinting as he finally opened his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” he reached out to grab Mary’s hand, winding their fingers together. “See you at
breakfast?”

She squeezed his hand, seeming to consider for a moment—then shook her head.

“Nah. Think I’m just gonna go back to bed, get Marls to tell our professors I’m sick.”

“Mmm, an intriguing idea...”

“Oh, no you don’t,” James said, catching sight of the expression on Sirius’s face, “We’ve got
quidditch practice—you're toughing this one out.”

Sirius groaned loudly, but knew better than to argue with Potter about quidditch. He followed
James to the stairs, blinking sleep from his eyes, and started up to their room, climbing the cool
stone steps of the narrow alcove—

Abruptly, Sirius realised where he was. He froze; it all came rushing back.

Moony’s eyes, magnetic and searching in the dark, his fingers, calloused, tangling in Sirius’s hair
—the sharp hipbones in the palms of his hands, the taste, the muffled sound in the back of his
throat—

“You alright, mate?”

James was staring back at him, a few steps ahead, and Sirius realised that he’d paused in the middle
of the stairway. He started a bit, yelping as he said,

“Yes! Fine! Brilliant! Alright!”

He hurried to catch up to James, who shot him a bemused smile. They drew closer to the dorm, and
Sirius’s stomach tried to swallow itself as he thought about seeing Moony again—hair untidy, the
way it always was in the morning, long fingers looping his tie around his neck…

“Er—are the others in there?” Sirius blurted, as James reached out to open the door. His friend
paused.

“Pete’s waiting, yeah, but I dunno where Remus is. He was gone when we woke up—probably in
the library, if I had to guess.”

Sirius felt limp with relief. He followed James into their room, where Peter was searching
frantically for his Potions essay, and headed straight for the bathroom, locking himself in as James
shouted,

“Ten minutes, Black! If you take any longer, we’re not waiting for you—I mean it!”

He stood under the streaming water, eyes shut, wishing he could erase the memory from his brain.
But it was burned; branded; seared. He had only to close his eyes and drop his guard the tiniest bit,
and it all rose to the surface—Remus’s lips, crashing into his, Remus’s hand on the back of his
neck, Remus’s tongue sliding into his mouth—

Dangerous. It was very, very dangerous. Sirius turned the water from steamy hot to punishingly
cold.

Shame crawled up his spine and wrapped its hands around his neck. Sirius had thought—he’d
thought that things were going well, with Mary. He liked her. He liked talking with her, teasing her,
kissing her. He’d used to think—well, he’d used to worry, sometimes, secretly, that his feelings
weren’t normal; that he didn’t…think about girls the way that everyone else did. But he’d thought
that he’d figured it out, that it just took some time, the right person, the right situations. Merlin’s
sake—he spent half his time snogging Mary, these days, and he enjoyed it! It was fun.

Kissing Remus wasn’t fun. It was like—starving, all visceral hunger and sharp teeth. Like realising
that he had been holding his breath, and suddenly tasting fresh air.

Sirius wondered if he was going mad.

James pounded on the door. “You’ve got three minutes before Pete starves to death, Black, and I’m
not helping you bury the body!”

“Alright, calm your tits!” Sirius shouted back. His voice was hoarse, scratchy. He shut the water
off, shivering as he stepped out of the shower.

He dressed quickly, using a drying charm on his hair. With one minute to spare, Sirius stared at his
reflection in the mirror, searching for any sign of changes. He felt as though something had shifted,
fundamentally, inside of him—like finding a hole blasted in a dam that he hadn’t even realised he’d
built, so that suddenly he was trying desperately to keep from drowning as the water surged out.
There was no ignoring it, now; something had irrevocably broken, or spilled, and he felt acutely
visible, like anyone looking at him would be able to see it leaking through his pores. He raised a
hand to his lips, chasing the ghost of another touch.

“We’re leaving without you!” Came Potter’s voice, sing-songing from outside the door. Sirius
hurried out of the bathroom, and James grinned at him as they headed back down the stairs.

“How’s the hangover?” He asked, cheerfully, a jaunty spring in his step.

Sirius grunted in response, not trusting himself to speak. His heart had crawled into his throat as
they walked over the step where—where—

Toujours pur!

His mother’s voice hissed in his head, and Sirius had to stop himself from flinching. He felt sick.

The nausea only worsened as they approached the Great Hall, and Sirius thought of having to face
Remus again. He felt a wash of relief when he saw that their usual spot at the Gryffindor table was
empty, but it was quickly replaced with a coil of anxiety that wound ever tighter as he glanced
obsessively towards the door, anticipating the other boy’s arrival.

“Looking for Moony?” James asked, after the fifth time Sirius craned his neck to check the
doorway.

“No,” he snapped quickly, forcing himself to stare down at his mug of tea. James gave him a funny
look, but was distracted by a quidditch scheduling question from Marlene before he could question
the odd behaviour. Sirius forced himself to stop turning around, feeling edgy and exhausted at the
same time. The back of his neck prickled—he kept imagining that Remus was right behind him,
standing just over his shoulder.

He didn’t know what to do with the cold pit of guilt that threatened to swallow him. His mother’s
voice continued to echo in the back of his head, vicious and cold,

You are tainted…

Sirius had never felt more disgusted with himself. It was bad enough that his own body betrayed
him, that his own mind couldn’t be trusted—bad enough that he couldn’t control this…urge, this
hunger. But now he had dragged Remus into it, had—tricked him, manipulated him—made him
feel like he had to kiss someone, by pressuring him with questions, or—made Moony feel bad for
him, like he had to—go along with this, this thing that he wanted, that he’d been wanting—

Stop it, Sirius scolded himself, Stop thinking about it.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop wondering what Remus would do when he saw him, what he
would say. Would he be angry? Hurt? Betrayed? Would he—Godric, would he tell their friends?
Would he tell everyone?

A horrible thought occurred to Sirius. Was this the reason that Remus had been avoiding him? Was
this the truth behind why he’d been acting so odd? Had Moony—sensed it, somehow? Had he
smelled the desperation, the heat that Sirius had tried so hard to bottle and destroy, that was now
spilling everywhere, released, no longer something he could ignore? Had Remus realised that it
was dangerous? Sirius didn’t know what he’d do if he had to watch Moony’s face transform, to
look at him like he was something disgusting, depraved, selfish—

“Here he is!” James shouted, jovially, almost making Sirius spill his tea. He stared staunchly down
at the table, letting his eyelids droop, terrified to look as Remus sat down.

“Not so bloody loud, Prongs, I’m begging you,” Peter groaned, from where he was holding his
head in his hands. Breakfast didn’t seem to be agreeing with him; he looked a bit green around the
gills.

“Oh, eat your eggs, you’ll feel better.” James laughed, completely unsympathetic to the struggles
of those mere mortals at the table who lacked his godlike immunity to hangovers. Sirius could see
Remus’s hands moving out of the corner of his eye, long, scarred fingers flicking over the table,
deft and—

Stop. Don’t think about it.

Sirius was not the only one watching Moony load his plate up with food. Marlene clicked her
tongue, saying dryly,

“I can’t tell if you’re hungover, or it’s just that incredible metabolism of yours.”

“Bit of both.” Remus said, and—fuck, had his voice always sounded like that?

What’s wrong with me?? Sirius thought, feeling slightly hysterical.

“And something else,” James teased, mock-scolding as he continued, “Been down at the
greenhouses already, Moony? Is this how you want to enter your sixteenth year?”

“Yes.” Remus said, around a mouthful of food.

Sirius could feel Moony’s eyes on him, magnetic, begging him to turn and look back—but he
couldn’t. Shame and fear were one big, tangled mess in his stomach, making it difficult for him to
do much more than sip his tea.
“Macdonald’s being a wimp,” Marlene said conversationally, “Pulling a sickie, even though
everyone saw her down an entire bottle of Witches’ Brew by herself.”

“She did?” Remus asked, “Wow, impressive, she probably deserves a lie in then.”

He was acting so—normal. Sirius wondered if he was losing his mind. Had he imagined the kiss?
Had it been a particularly vivid dream?

“We’re all feeling rough, though,” Marlene said, “Evans was chucking up for at least an hour
before bed.”

“Is she ok?!” James asked, suddenly on high-alert. But it wasn’t Marlene who answered.

“Yeah, I saw her this morning in the prefect’s bathroom.” Remus said, still talking with his mouth
full—which was very bad manners, and gross, and not endearing at all—“She’s ok.”

“In the bathroom, eh?” James said slyly, “You’ve got to stop your philandering ways, Remus, give
the rest of us a chance.”

Moony snorted. “Oh yeah, that’s me,” he reached out for a glass of pumpkin juice, “The Casanova
of Gryffindor Tower…”

Sirius snapped his head up, staring. The Casanova of Gryffindor Tower? What was that supposed
to mean? Was it—directed at him? Did this mean he remembered the kiss, too?

Remus caught his gaze and held it, without shying away. He seemed calm, casual, completely at
ease as he ate his breakfast and listened to their friends chattering away. Sirius scanned his face,
desperately searching for some clue as to what Remus was thinking—was he angry?
Uncomfortable? Annoyed? Was he upset by what had happened—what Sirius had made him do?
Did Moony hate him now?

It was impossible to tell. Remus stared back at him with an indecipherable expression, completely
neutral, and when the screaming anxiety of uncertainty threatened to overwhelm him, Sirius gave
up, turning back to his tea without speaking.
 Fifth Year: Stale Mate
Chapter Summary

sirius spirals

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Hey kids, plug into the faithless

Maybe they’re blinded

But Bennie makes them ageless

We shall survive, let us take ourselves along

Where we fight our parents out in the streets

To find who’s right and who’s wrong

Tuesday 16th March 1976

Sirius Black was a coward. He was the biggest, stupidest, rottenest coward that had ever graced the
halls of Gryffindor Tower, and he was almost entirely certain that if someone put the Sorting Hat
on his head now it would determine, for the first time in its long history, that it had made a mistake
in placing him here. He wasn’t courageous—and he certainly wasn’t brave.

He just wanted to hide.

Seeing Remus had become a new and unique form of torture. Sirius could tell the boy wanted to
talk to him—he’d try to catch his eye, or hang back in the dorm or after class, with a subtle,
imploring look on his face. But the thought of being alone with Remus, even for a moment, was
enough to make his stomach clench, to make his palms sweat and his heart pound as heat crawled
up the back of his neck, and he remembered the feeling of Remus’s lips—

No. Being alone would be a very, very bad idea.

Even if he managed to string two words together, Sirius hadn’t a clue what he would say. He was
ridiculously grateful that Moony didn’t seem inclined to tell anyone about what had happened, but
it was clear that he wanted an explanation, and Sirius had none to give. He wasn’t even entirely
sure how to explain to himself what had happened; the only thing Sirius was certain of was that
whatever it was, it had been his fault.

You are tainted...

 He felt an overwhelming swell of guilt whenever he thought about it—which happened quite
often, no matter how hard he tried to push the memory to the back of his mind.

Even with Mary, Sirius found his mind wandering. She’d wrap her arms languidly around his neck
and he’d remember how Remus had gripped there, urgently, with calloused fingers—or he’d catch
a whiff of her fruity perfume as he kissed her and remember Remus’s scent, warm and burning
sweet, firewhisky and birthday cake. He hated himself for it, hated himself for continuing to kiss
her, for growing hot and eager. He hated himself for pinning her wrists down, for stopping her
touching him, for using his hands and his mouth as penance, doing all the things he knew she liked
until there was nothing but her skin, her sharp, panting breaths, the noises she made. He hated that
it was never enough—that she could smile up at him, and not know that when he slept at night he
was dreaming of someone else.

Mary deserved better. Sirius knew that. She was so vibrant, so bright—she was a sun, the centre of
her own solar system. She deserved adoration, devotion, someone who could faithfully, gratefully
orbit, who would fully appreciate her warmth and light.

But Sirius didn’t want the sun. At night, he dreamt of the moon.

If he was brave, he might have tried to explain that to her. If he had even an ounce of courage, he
would confess, and give her the honesty she deserved. If he wasn’t so selfish, he would let her go,
instead of dragging her into his own downward spiral.

But Sirius Black was a coward. And sometimes, Mary felt like the only thing standing between him
and a precipice, a sharp incline that he knew he would never return from if he let himself fall.

The problem was that he still liked Mary. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have fun, snogging her. It wasn’t
as if she’d suddenly stopped being beautiful, and funny, and kind. She was everything he should
have wanted—and he did want her. Mostly. Just not the way he wanted—

Well. There were a lot of things that he wanted, many of which he’d never have. There was no
point in dwelling on it—better to shove it all down, lock it away, bottle it up. It was what he’d
always done, and there was no reason to stop now.

Besides, Sirius was sure that if he just gave it enough time, these...urges would go away. It wasn’t
as if they were normal—no one else seemed to have them. Mary—Mary was normal. Mary was
right. If he just stayed with Mary, and pushed everything else away, then eventually it would all be
okay. Eventually he’d be able to look Remus in the eye again.

As it was, though, Sirius spent the week after Remus’s birthday avoiding the boy as much as
possible. There was one close call, after a Charms class, when James hung back to chat with
Flitwick and Peter hurried off to the loo. The other two marauders were left behind, but the
corridor was busy. Sirius thought it was safe.

“Look, about the other night—"

Remus began to speak, and panic seized him. Sirius cut him off before he could finish, blustering,

“Yeah, we were all so pissed, right?!” He forced a laugh—people were staring, Merlin, they were
looking—“Mental. Can hardly remember half of it!”

Please, he thought desperately, incoherently, Please, please, please.

“Er…yeah, right.” Remus frowned, and something shuttered in his eyes, but he didn’t bring it up
again. Sirius felt sick with relief, and gratitude, and guilt. It was such an obvious lie, and he knew
that Remus knew, and that Remus knew that he knew. The shared knowledge sat between them, a
line that Sirius couldn’t force himself to cross.

By the time the full moon came around, Sirius felt stretched-thin, like he had been dancing on the
edge of a knife. It was so difficult, trying to smother your own mind—James’s mum had been
right. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and he didn’t know how to cover it.

He had already transformed into a dog when they entered the shack. Feelings were easier, as a dog
—everything was. Sometimes Sirius wished that he didn’t have to change back; he wondered how
long he could stay as Padfoot. (Ages, he bet. Not that he would ever find out.) James was the only
one still human, and he greeted Remus as they walked in.

“Evening, Moony.” Padfoot watched James poke his head through the door.

“It’s starting,” came Remus’s voice—Padfoot already knew, he could smell the blood moving, the
sharp canine scent—“Hurry up, get in.”

James transformed immediately, and the stag, the dog and the rat stood vigil as their friend began
to scream.

Once the brutal transformation was over, it was an easy moon. The wolf didn’t know about the
kiss; or if he did, he didn’t care. There was nothing to separate them as they ran, and hunted, and
howled at the moon. They were what they’d always been: friends. More than that—pack.

Of course, the second Sirius was human again, all the messy feelings came rushing back in. He
averted his eyes as Remus covered himself with a blanket, disgusted with himself and already
missing the easy camaraderie that came when they were animals. Sirius ducked under the cloak the
moment James pulled it out, feeling a wash of relief as they returned to Hogwarts without their
friend. Even though he didn’t have any new injuries, Pomfrey would probably keep Remus in the
hospital wing for at least a few hours to recuperate from the trauma of the transformation, maybe
even overnight if Sirius got lucky—

He froze.

“Oi!” James hissed, as the cloak was nearly tugged from their shoulders by Sirius’s sudden halt,
“What are you playing at, Black?”

“Sorry—sorry,” He muttered, and quickly began moving again. James gave him a funny look, but
refrained from questioning—they couldn’t make any noise when they were creeping around under
the invisibility cloak, unless they wanted to get caught.

The boys made it back to their dorm and flopped down on their respective beds, hoping to catch a
few minutes of sleep before they had to leave for classes. But Sirius stayed awake, staring blankly
at the wood grain of the bedframe with a hollow feeling in his chest.

What was he thinking? Hoping that his best friend had been damaged enough by the torture of his
werewolf transformation that he would have to spend the night in the hospital wing, just so that
he’d have a few extra hours of space? Every time Sirius thought he couldn’t get any more selfish,
he surprised himself.

Things couldn’t go on like this, he decided. He couldn’t—succumb to his own weaknesses, not if it
meant sacrificing his friendship with Remus. If Moony was going to get angry at him for what had
happened in the stairwell, he would’ve done it by now; if he was going to tell someone, he
would’ve done it by now; if he was going to decide to stop being friends with Sirius, he would’ve
done it by now. None of the worst-case scenarios had happened—if anything, Remus didn’t seem
to have really been all that affected by the kiss; he had been entirely calm and casual in all their
interactions since.

Which was fine. Good, even—it didn’t mean anything, so it shouldn’t have had any effect. Sirius
was just—

Tainted.

He swallowed. He would go to the hospital wing that afternoon, he decided; he couldn’t keep
avoiding Moony forever. At some point, he would have to address what had happened, assure
Remus that nothing had changed, so that they could both move on. It had been a mistake, whatever
it was. An accident. No big deal.

When he arrived at the hospital wing at a quarter to four, Remus was still sleeping. Madam
Pomfrey warned Sirius, sternly, not to wake her patient, but allowed him to pull up a chair next to
his bed.

Sirius kept his eyes glued to the floor. He felt strange, watching Remus sleep. He didn’t want to
stare at the soft rise and fall of his chest, the long fingers that twitched as he dreamed, the
unclenched line of his jaw. The scar crossing the bridge of his nose. His mouth.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. Sirius had only been seated for a few minutes when
Remus began to stir, eyelids fluttering open. When he saw Sirius sitting there, his eyes widened
slightly in unguarded surprise.

“Morning,” Sirius mumbled, smiling self-consciously.

“Morning.” Remus said back, sitting up. “Good night, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, great,” Sirius nodded, clinging eagerly to the topic, grateful for something safe to talk
about, “Can’t believe we found that waterfall, Prongs reckons there’s a cave behind it. Told him if
there is, then a troll probably lives there. They like caves, don’t they?”

“They do, yeah.” Remus was staring at him, with a cautious smile—their eyes met. Sirius looked
away.

Say something, he told himself, just say something. He knew he would have to, eventually.

“We’re ok, aren’t we, Moony?” He heard himself ask. He didn’t know—how else to say it.

“‘Course.” Remus responded, immediately.

“Because you – You, James, Pete. You’re my best mates.”

“Yeah. You’re my best mate. You all are.”

Sirius felt a crushing wave of relief. Moony wasn’t looking at him like he was angry, or disgusted,
or betrayed. He looked...earnest. Like he wanted Sirius to know that he really meant it, that nothing
had changed.

“Ok, good.” Sirius exhaled. Nothing’s changed. He caught sight of the clock over Moony’s
shoulder, and frowned. “There’s...there’s Mary, just now, too.”

“Mary.” Remus echoed.

“Yeah, I said I’d go and meet her. Pete’ll be along in a bit.”

“No, it’s fine. Once Madam Pomfrey's back she'll probably let me out. I’ll...see you this evening?”

“Yeah, of course.” Sirius relaxed, smiling. Remus didn’t hate him—Remus still wanted to be
friends. Best Mates.

He stood, turning to leave. “See you at dinner, mate.”

* * *

Wednesday 14th April 1976

Sirius woke to a shriek. He startled, leaping to his feet—James grabbed his arm and shook a head,
finger pressing to his lips. They both turned to look at the door. There were voices, coming from
below.

“...rat. Horrible things. Sorry, dear, I wish we could find a nicer place for you...”

“Oh, it’s fine...see you in the morning.”

Sirius sighed and leaned back against the wall. Peter. Sure enough, a large rat scurried into the
room, transforming into a very sheepish looking boy. The three of them waited, listening to the
sound of footsteps, a door shutting; a few more minutes of silence, then Remus’s voice,

“Pete? Was that you?”

“...Sorry, Moony,” Peter said, heading downstairs. James and Sirius followed, still blinking sleep
from their eyes. “I was supposed to be keeping guard...”

“What are you two doing here?!” Remus frowned as he saw them, “What about the match?!”

“We’ve been sleeping since the final bell,” James yawned, “Then we’ll get another hour or two’s
kip in the morning...and lunchtime, if we can swing it.”

“You’re mental.” Remus smiled fondly, shaking his head, “Both of you.” He glanced at Sirius,
catching his eye.

“Anything for our Moony.” Sirius said. He held the gaze until a shiver of heat began to crawl up
his spine—then looked away. Things were better now, more normal, but staring at Remus still felt
like playing with fire. Like moving his fingers closer and closer to a flame, seeing how long he
could hold out before they started to burn.

“We’re early,” Peter observed, sitting down on Remus’s cot, “Aren’t we, Remus?”

“Yeah, I think so,” He rolled his shoulders, assessing, “Yeah, I’m a way off.”

“Oh, good, can I go back to sleep?” Sirius didn’t bother trying to hide his yawn, settling down on
the floor and leaning his head against James’s shoulder. The other boy shrugged him off.
“Oi, when’s your appointment with McGonagall?”

Sirius frowned. “Err...First thing next Friday, I think. Why?”

“What are you going to say?”

“Say?”

“About careers, idiot.”

“Oh, right,” Sirius tried to hide another yawn. “Ugh, I dunno. Don’t really fancy the idea of a job,
much. Father wanted me to go into politics, so I s’pose...not that.”

“My mum says It’s a bad time to join the ministry,” Peter mused, “But Dezzie reckons it’s the best
time – when the war’s over we’ll be in on the ground floor to rebuild.”

“Well that’s one way of looking at it.” Sirius replied, trying not to sound too sceptical. He turned to
James, nudging his shoulder. “Go on then, tell us what your plans are.”

“Hm?” James raised his eyebrows, innocently.

“Oh, come on Potter, don’t tell me you haven’t got it all laid out in front of you. Puddlemere?
Hollyhead? The Cannons? Who’s shown the most interest so far?”

“Actually,” James said, loftily, as if he weren’t the one who had brought the subject up in the first
place, “If you must know, they’ve all inquired, according to McGonagall. But I’m turning them
down – for now, anyway.”

“Oh yeah? Going to have a gap year and live off your Sleek-ezy millions?”

“No, you git. I’m going to fight.”

Sirius blinked, processing the words. He supposed—he should have known James would say
something like that. He was so unfailingly noble.

“You what, mate?” Remus asked, brow furrowed.

“Well,” James fiddled with his hands, self-consciously, “The war won’t end unless people fight it.
Mum and dad are working so hard and...well I couldn’t be any kind of son, if I didn’t help, would
I? Dumbledore needs as many people as he can get. Plus,” he attempted a shaky laugh, “If Wormy
wants a job at the ministry, we’d better make sure the ministry is still standing, right?”

“So...when you speak to McGonagall you’ll say...”

“That quidditch can wait? That I want to do everything I can to make sure the wizarding world is
safe for everyone, not just purebloods? Yeah, pretty much.” He finished speaking, still staring
down at his hands.

Sirius thought of his family. He thought of the tattoo on Bellatrix’s arm, her crazed, reverent smile
as she’d spoken of the Dark Lord. He thought of Mary, shaking in his arms after Mulciber hit her
with a muffling charm, temporarily stealing her hearing. He thought of his brother, lurking behind
corners and in alcoves, following him around the castle when he thought he wouldn’t notice,
ducking out of sight whenever Sirius tried to look him in the eye.

“Then that’s what I’ll say too.”

 James looked at him. “Mate, you don’t have to...”

“What else am I going to do? Retire with my uncle’s inheritance and let you have all the fun? Piss
off.”

“Me too!” Peter chirped, eagerly, “I can help!”

“‘Course you can,” James said, with a glowing smile, “You’re a marauder, that’s basically the best
qualification you can have.”

“What about you, Moony?” Peter asked, eyes bright, face split in a broad grin.

“I’m going to...mmph.” A groan of pain escaped his lips, “Shit—change! Quick!”

Sirius leapt to his feet, wondering what Moony would have said—and then he was Padfoot, and he
no longer cared very much about the future. He was here, now, with his friends. And he wanted to
run.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "bennie and the jets" by elton john :)

 Fifth Year: The Week Before
Chapter Summary

a conversation with regulus

Wednesday 21st April 1976

Regulus was following him again.

Sirius sighed as he turned the corner, gripping his school bag. It had started after Christmas, though
he wasn’t sure exactly when—one day in late January he’d realised that his brother was tailing him
on the way to Astronomy. He’d turned to confront him, but Reg had scurried away the moment he
realised he’d been spotted.

After that, Sirius had begun to notice it more frequently. He’d be on his way to class, or sneaking
off to rendezvous with Mary, or working with James on a prank, and he’d feel that prickling
sensation on the back of his neck, like someone was watching him. He didn’t always catch his
brother—Reg was very good at sneaking around—but he caught him often enough to know that it
was always him.

It had gotten so bad that he’d even complained to Mary about it, one evening when they thought
they were alone in an empty corridor only to hear the distinctive sound of scuffling footsteps
around the corner.

“Bloody little creep!” Sirius had snarled, when he dashed over only to see a dark flash of robes
disappearing down the stairwell.

“He’s been following you?” Mary asked, trotting over to stand next to him. Sirius nodded, and she
leaned her head against his arm.

“My baby sister used to do that,” she sighed, wistfully, “The first year I left for Hogwarts. She was
too little to understand why I was gone, so when I came home for the summer she followed me all
around the house, scared I’d disappear again.”

Sirius frowned. “Regulus isn’t a baby.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss you.” When she saw the look on his face, Mary had shrugged.
“You miss him, too.”

Sirius stared at her. “You think he’s a hateful git.”

She laughed, but it was a sad sort of sound. “Yeah,” she agreed, “But I know what it’s like to miss
your siblings.”

The words had stuck with him, burrowing. When he’d talked to James about it, the boy had agreed
wholeheartedly that Regulus was being a spiteful little creep—he didn’t have a shred of sympathy
left for any one of Sirius’s family members after what had happened over Christmas. This had
vindicated Sirius’s own frustration with the situation, and made it easier to ignore the guilt
struggling just beneath the surface of his anger.

But Mary’s words dislodged it. After that, he couldn’t stop thinking about his conversation with
Dumbledore on Christmas day—how the headmaster had said there wasn’t anything they could do
to get Regulus out. Not unless he was in danger—or he wanted to leave. Every time Sirius noticed
his brother trailing him in the halls, it was another painful reminder that he had abandoned Reg.

Again.

By the end of April, Sirius had had enough. He was on his way to the Astronomy tower to meet
James for a prank involving the telescopes and a mild confunding charm, intended to rearrange the
constellations anyone saw through the lenses so that they made slightly more...interesting pictures.
But he couldn’t exactly work in peace if his kid brother was hiding just around the corner.

Sirius began a series of evasive manoeuvres on the seventh floor, walking briskly up and down
corridors, making sharp turns and doubling back, ducking in and out of classrooms—hoping that
Regulus would give up the chase and bugger off back to his dorm.

He didn’t.

Sirius was beginning to get properly fed up—at this rate he would miss his meeting with James,
and he’d gotten so muddled by his detours that he wasn’t even entirely sure where he was
anymore. Fortunately, he had just doubled back down a hallway, and noticed a narrow-looking
passageway with a door tucked at the end of it. It was unfamiliar, which was unusual—after
cataloguing the castle for their map, the marauders knew Hogwarts better than anyone; but Sirius
hadn’t personally drawn up the entire thing, and there were always bound to be a few spots he
didn’t remember. Besides, he needed to catch Regulus—to put a stop to…whatever this was, once
and for all.

He ducked through the door, shutting it quickly behind him. Instead of continuing to run, he waited
—sure enough, a few moments later, the door creaked open, and his brother’s head poked
cautiously inside.

Sirius grabbed him, yanking him by the robes to drag him into the room.

“Sirius—what—” Reg spluttered, stumbling, and Sirius slammed the door shut, pressing his back
to it. There were no other exits—it was the only way out.

The inside of the room was no more familiar than the outside; it looked to be some sort of lounge,
or perhaps an old teacher’s office. It was small, cosy, with a fireplace that had merry, crackling
flames and a plush armchair surrounded by a stack of books. There was a round table near the
centre which held only a chess set, flanked by two wooden chairs. The windows looked out on the
setting sun, which was odd—Sirius could have sworn they were on the east side of the building.

“Alright,” he said, folding his arms, “Spit it out.”

Reggie blinked. “That’s my chess set,” he said, distantly, “The one mum got me for my eighth
birthday.”

Sirius snorted. He knew the one Reg was talking about, and it did look incredibly similar—the
same colourful, delicately painted porcelain figures—but that was impossible. Their mother had
smashed that chess set in a fit of rage three months after buying it, when Reggie was unable to stop
crying over a dead bird he’d found in the garden.
“Reg,” Sirius said, trying to get his brother’s attention, “Why are you following me?”

Regulus turned, a strange expression on his face. He looked—lost. But a moment later, the walls
came up, and he scowled petulantly as he began to say, “I’m not—”

He stopped, lips twisting. It was such an obvious lie that he didn’t seem to be able to finish it.

“Why are you following me?” Sirius asked again. After a moment, he added, “I’m not angry. I
just…want to know.”

Regulus continued to stare at him, lips twitching. There was a beat of silence; he turned to look
back at the chess set.

Sirius studied his brother. In the past, he’d been able to read Reggie like a book; he’d known every
expression, every shift in posture, every tiny movement. It was startling, how unfamiliar the boy
had become. He was no longer a child; the planes of his face had shifted, sharpening the same way
Sirius’s had when he’d hit puberty. He was taller, now—they were practically the same height—
and his voice had deepened in his chest. It felt almost like looking into a mirror—and yet there was
so little that Sirius truly recognised. He couldn’t begin to guess at the expression in his brother’s
eyes.

“Have they…hurt you?” He heard himself ask.

Regulus spun around. “What? No—that's not—no.”

“If they have, you can tell me, it’s alright.”

“I said no, Sirius. I’m fine.”

They stared at each other. His brother’s expression was unwavering. Sirius might have believed
him, except that he’d picked up one of the pawns off the chessboard and was fiddling with it in his
fingers.

“I can get you out.”

He blurted it without meaning to. Reggie’s fingers froze.

“What?”

His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Sirius repeated himself, heart pounding,

“I can get you out, Reg. I can.” He began speaking faster, words tripping over each other as they
rushed off his tongue, “You could stay with me, at the Potters—they'd take you in, I know they
would—you just—if you want to leave, you can. You just have to want it. Dumbledore—I asked
him after Christmas, but there was nothing he could do, not unless you were in immediate danger
and I—I said you weren’t.” He swallowed, feeling a wave of guilt. If he had just lied, then maybe...

“But if you went to him—if you asked him, if you told him you wanted to leave—I could go with
you, I’m sure that he’d—”

Regulus laughed.

It was a cold, ugly laugh, with a slightly unstable edge—wobbling. Sirius fell silent. When Reg
stopped laughing, he turned to him and said, in that same flat voice,

“Dumbledore isn’t going to get me out.”

Sirius frowned. “He could, if he knew you were in danger—if you told him you wanted to leave
—”

“I didn’t say he couldn’t. I said he won’t.”

Now frustration was beginning to coil in the pit of Sirius’s stomach. “What’s that supposed to
mean?” He snapped.

“Do you honestly think Dumbledore gives a shit about you? About me—about any of us?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“A serious one. Do you actually think he sees any of us as more than anything but—” Reg broke
off, glancing down at the pawn in his hand. He laughed again, bitterly, and when he looked back
up his eyes were bright with rage.

“If Dumbledore cares so bloody much, why didn’t he report it? There was never an investigation,
Sirius, not even a fucking secretary from the Ministry knocking on our door. They were using
unforgivables on you for forty minutes, and nothing happened.”

“That’s not true,” Sirius said, stubbornly, “He got me out.”

“You got yourself out! The fucking—Potters got you out! Dumbledore’s the one who sent you back
in there! If he’s such a bleeding fucking heart, then why didn’t he get you out after last summer?
Why send you back, when he knew—”

“He didn’t know! I didn’t tell him!”

“I TOLD HIM!”

Reg was practically screaming. Sirius didn’t think he’d ever seen his brother so angry—his eyes
were incandescent, luminous with fury. He was panting, breathing in quick, sharp gasps.

“…What?”

“I told him,” Regulus repeated, steadier, this time, “I went to Dumbledore. The day after we arrived
at Hogwarts. When you—said you weren’t going to see Pomfrey. I told him.”

Sirius stared. He felt unmoored, like he was floating.

“Why?”

Reggie stared back at him, incredulous. “Sirius, I had to drag you out of a pool of your own blood.
I couldn’t use magic; I had to force you to walk up the stairs, with your legs—” He broke off,
sucking in a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was low, flat. Controlled.

“I told Dumbledore what had happened. I told him that you couldn’t go back home. I told him that
he had to get you out of there, because I thought that next time, she might kill you. Do you know
what he said?” That bitter laugh, again, “He said, ‘Do you know what caused your mother to take
such extreme measures?’ Those were his words—extreme measures. He didn’t even ask if you
were alright, just wanted to know if it had anything to do with Voldemort.”

“That…that’s not…” Sirius felt dizzy, off-balance. He didn’t know how to process what his
brother was saying. Reg ploughed on,

“Once he realised that it was just ‘a private family matter,’ he didn’t care. Said the domestic
misuse of magic laws were too vague. That there was nothing he could do unless you came to him
directly, because there wasn’t any proof. He knew that anything you heard from our parents about
Voldemort would go straight back to the Potters, and it was more useful to send you back than it
was to protect you.”

Sirius shook his head, disbelieving. “What—he told you all that?”

Reg smiled wanly. “He didn’t have to. You’re not—a strategist, Sirius; you always get so caught
up in the big picture, and you never consider the details. You don’t think the way he does.”

Sirius scoffed. “Strategist,” he muttered, glancing pointedly at the table, “I’ve beaten you at chess.”

“Only because I know you won’t play unless you think you can win.”

Silence. It stretched between them, a tether, an anchor. Sirius swallowed.

“I don’t care if you don’t trust Dumbledore,” he said, “I can get you out. You can stay with me at
the Potters. I’ll—I’ll break you out, if I have to, I can—”

“Break me out?” His brother’s face had gone pale, a note of panic in his eyes. Sirius doubled
down.

“I can do it, Reg, James had this whole plan last summer—if we came at night, James has a way to
sneak in, I can’t explain how, but we wouldn’t be caught, and if we brought our brooms—”

“No.”

“It’s really not that far to fly back to the Potters’, we’ve looked it up, and if we had a head start—"

“I don’t want to go.” The words were hissed, venomous. The panic was gone; everything was
gone. His eyes were as cold and flat as a blood-sniffing shark. Sirius blinked.

“What?”

“I. Don’t. Want. To go.”

He hesitated, studying his brother’s face. “Reg…if you stay, you know they—they’ll—”

“I don’t want to go.”

“But—why? You—I thought—” He didn’t know how to do this; he didn’t know how to talk to him
anymore. When was the last time they’d talked?

“You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Regulus asked, mildly, with about as much emotion as
someone else might ask about the weather. Sirius felt as if he’d been struck. His brother huffed
with a sound that might have been a laugh, if there had been any humour in it.

“Just because I don’t enjoy seeing you tortured doesn’t mean I want to run off and play house with
your filthy little blood traitors. Unlike you, I have no desire to disgrace and degrade our family
name. I’m not a failure.”

“You don’t mean that,” Sirius whispered, wishing it didn’t feel like there was a knife lodged in his
throat. Reggie’s eyes flashed.

“You’re despicable, Sirius. You had every opportunity, and you wasted it, threw it all away to
chase some compulsive need to feel like a hero. You made your entire family into an enemy just so
that you’d have something to fight against, because you can’t accept that there’s nothing inherently
righteous about your stupid fucking self-destruction. You—you either abandon the people you love
or you pull them into the crossfire, and you’re too fucking selfish to even acknowledge that that’s
what you’re doing. So no, I don’t want to go with you. I don’t want to live with you. I hate you.”

There was a dull roaring, in the back of his skull. Reg still had the pawn gripped in his fist.

Sirius opened his mouth. “I’m still your—”

“Shut UP, Sirius! Just stop it! You aren’t my brother. You haven’t been for a long time.”

“You don’t mean that,” Sirius forced the words past his teeth, “Reg, I can get you out. Just—let me
get you out.” Please.

His brother stared at him, white-faced in the setting sun. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Do you know what mum says about you?” He asked quietly, “What she’s told me? She rattles on
and on about it, when you’re not there. How depraved you are. How impure.”

Sirius felt sick. He didn’t need to ask what his brother was talking about. He could see it in his
face.

“You disgust me,” Reg spat; then, with a small, cruel smile, “Do you really think you’re fooling
anyone, with your little mudblood girlfriend?”

Sirius didn’t know the boy in front of him. Regulus was right; they weren’t brothers. They were
strangers. He curled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Just go away, Sirius.” Regulus said, “You’ve already left. If you’re really so desperate to do
something for me, then stay away. Don’t ever come back. It makes me sick to look at you.”

Before Sirius could respond, Reg was striding past him, moving for the door. It had just creaked
open when he managed to speak.

“You never answered my question.”

He heard Regulus pause.

“What?” Sharp, flat. Cold.

“Why you’ve been following me,” Sirius said, hollowly, “I want to know why you’ve been
following me.”

Another pause. Then, in a sneering voice,

“It doesn’t matter. It won’t happen again.”

* * *

Thursday 14th May 1976

Sirius tried to hide the worst of it from his friends. The fits of anger, the rage. The nightmares. He
had never thought of himself as a particularly violent person—hot-tempered, maybe, but not
vicious. That spring, though, he had to stifle the urge to hurt—someone, anyone. It didn’t matter
who.

His friends noticed, of course. It was impossible to keep it all inside. He knew what they saw when
they looked at him: reckless, impulsive, eager for a fight. Angry.

That was fine. As long as they didn’t see the depths of it—Sirius wasn’t entirely sure that he
himself knew how deep the hatred went. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

Mary helped. So did James, when he hadn’t sequestered himself in the library to study (he was
becoming more of a swot than Moony, obsessing over OWLs.) And quidditch—smacking bludgers
was incredibly therapeutic. Sirius’s performance in practices improved remarkably near the end of
April.

By the time the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match rolled around, he was in top form. He flew at
breakneck speed across the pitch, diving sharply without an ounce of fear. He didn’t miss a single
bludger for the entire game; they won in a landslide.

As he landed back on the field with the rest of the team, Mary came dashing out from the stands,
flinging her arms around his neck. He kissed her enthusiastically as a crowd of students rushed onto
the field to congratulate them, cheering, surrounding him in red and gold.

When Sirius broke away he was grinning. He felt lighter than he had in weeks—the anger was still
there, but it was further away, simmering where it usually blazed. It was hard to be anything but
euphoric when he was engulfed in a cheering crowd, students slapping him on the back and singing
his praises. James looked just as chuffed, smiling ear to ear as a couple of fourth-years gushed over
him. Peter was there, tugging on James’s robes to get his attention, Desdemona at his side—Lily
had pushed through the crowd to find Marlene, and now the two girls were huddled next to Mary,
who still had Sirius’s arm wrapped around her shoulder…

Sirius scanned the crowd for Remus. Normally, he’d stand out—literally, as he was several inches
taller than the average Hogwarts student—but today, he was nowhere to be seen. Sirius frowned.
Must still be in the hospital wing.

But then he saw James waving towards the stands, grinning broadly. Sirius turned and spotted
Moony—he was making his way slowly down the rickety stairs. Sirius began to wave too, smiling
so hard his face ached, and Remus paused, lifting an arm and—

Suddenly, Remus plummeted, pitching forward abruptly as he fell down the stairs. Sirius’s heart
leapt into his throat—he was moving before he realised it, shoving through the crowd.

It took a few minutes to extricate himself. As he reached the fringes of the mob, Sirius stood on his
tiptoes to peer out towards the stands, trying to see what had happened. Remus was sprawled on
the platform with his wand drawn. At first, Sirius didn’t see anyone else—and then he noticed a
flash of Slytherin green, disappearing behind the stands.

He shoved past the few remaining students with a bit more force than necessary.

“Bloody hell, you ok Moony?” James asked, having followed Sirius out of the crowd when they
saw their friend fall. He offered his arm, helping Remus straighten up.

“Fine, yeah…must have tripped. Stupid long legs, eh?” Remus smiled weakly, trying to hide a
wince. He was lying—why was he lying?

The girls arrived before Sirius could say anything and immediately began to make a fuss, nattering
on about deep breaths and asking where he was hurt and advising him to sit down. Remus stared as
they buzzed around him like a trio of particularly agitated bees, seemingly at a loss for what to do.

“Remus, you really are awfully pale,” Lily fretted, staring up at him.

Marlene reached out and placed her hand on his forehead, and Sirius watched as Remus shook her
off, clearly annoyed.

“I’m fine,” He insisted. The girls continued to talk over each other, ignoring him.

“Alright, give him some air, for Merlin’s sake!” Sirius burst out, marching over and pushing them
all away. He frowned, placing his hands on his hips. “You lot go to the changing rooms, or the
great hall or wherever you’re supposed to be. Moony, c’mon, let’s go back to the castle, we’ll go
by the hospital wing. Prongs, you’ll take my broom back.”

Nobody protested, and Remus grasped his arm, standing stiffly. He stumbled as he put weight on
one of his legs and ended up leaning against Sirius, who thought about wrapping an arm around his
waist to steady him—but didn’t.

“I’ll come too!” Mary offered, springing up. Sirius swallowed. Moony’s ribcage was pressed into
his shoulder; he could feel the other boy’s heartbeat.

“No, it’s fine,” He smiled, but spoke firmly. “We don’t need a big fuss, do we, Moony? C’mon.”

He pecked Mary quickly on the cheek before helping Remus the rest of the way down the stairs,
where they hobbled slowly away from the quidditch pitch and back towards the castle.

Remus pulled away once they were alone, and something twisted in Sirius’s chest. He hoped he
hadn’t made his friend uncomfortable.

“We don’t have to go and see Pomfrey if you think you’re ok,” he assured, “I just thought you’d
like to get away from that lot.”

“Yeah...cheers,” Remus said, watching him.

“I know you hate people worrying over you.”

“Yeah.”

They were walking side by side. Sirius had to slow so that Remus could keep up, even with his
long legs.

“Moony? How did you actually fall? You never fall over, even after a moon.”

Remus looked away. “Oh, I dunno. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Sirius frowned, but didn’t push, and they made their way up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower at a
snail’s pace. Once they had finally reached the safety of their room, Remus collapsed onto his bed,
breathing hard. He was sweating slightly, cheeks flushed, clearly in pain—Sirius half-wondered if
he should have forced him to go to the hospital wing.

“I’m just going to have a shower, if that’s ok?” He asked quietly, apprehensive as to whether he
should leave the other boy alone. But Remus nodded, eyes sliding shut.
Sirius showered quickly, replaying what had happened in his head. He was sure that he had seen
Slytherin robes—Remus's fall wasn’t an accident. He just didn’t understand why the other boy
would keep it a secret. Unless...

Unless it was Reg.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Remus was still sprawled on top of the bed. His eyes were
closed, but Sirius couldn’t tell if he was asleep—he was still breathing quickly, and there was a tiny
furrow between his brows. He had his head lolled to the side, chin tucked against his shoulder, so
that he was facing away from the sun. The sharp line of his jaw was illuminated; tousled curls
haloed his head.

“Are you sleeping?” Sirius whispered.

“Almost,” Remus murmured, eyelids fluttering open slightly, so that he was peering up through his
lashes.

Sirius drew the curtains, blocking out the sun. He hovered next to the bed, unsure if he should
leave—there was a jar of murtlap essence that hadn’t been there before. He picked it up.

“What’s this for? Cut yourself?”

“No...”

“Moony, please tell me what happened?” Sirius pleaded, “It obviously wasn’t an accident. Don’t
you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Remus frowned, “I just...look, I don’t need you going out for revenge, ok?
It’s stupid, and it’ll blow over.”

“Who?” Sirius asked, already knowing the answer. Anger bubbled like acid in his gut.

“Three Slytherins. They tripped me – yanked my foot through the stairs, that’s all. Cowardly gits.”

“Which Slytherins?” He needed Remus to say it, to know—

“Not Regulus.”

Sirius blinked. Remus continued,

“Snape, obviously. Mulciber and Crouch. Sirius,” his voice was stern, now, “I’m fine, ok? Please
don’t make it worse.”

“I won’t.” Sirius said. But the anger was still there, burning. Snape.

Remus shut his eyes, sighing, and Sirius was pulled back to the present. “Shall I leave you to
sleep?” He asked, carefully.

“Yeah, cheers,” Remus mumbled, already sounding half gone.

“I’m knackered too,” Sirius said, lingering, “After that match. Sort of jealous of you for having the
excuse. Almost wish I could just lie down here with you and not get up again until tomorrow.”
Remus’s lips had parted as he breathed. In the muted sunlight, he looked like a painting.

Sirius turned away. “Better get down for the feast, though. Can’t miss James’s victory speech.”
“Don’t go near the Slytherins,” Remus mumbled, drowsily, “Promise?”

Sirius swallowed. “Promise.” What else could he say?

 Fifth Year: OWLs
Chapter Summary

bullying time

Chapter Notes

MsKingBean89 had no desire to rewrite the scene from Order of the Phoenix in
ATYD, and I completely understand why. However, I am not MsKingBean89, and I
wanted to rewrite it :) dialogue in the scene is unchanged from the original, as per
usual

See the end of the chapter for more notes

And don’t you know, don’t you know

That it’s wrong to take what is given you

So far gone, on your own

You could get along if you try to be strong

But you’ll never be strong ‘cause

You’re a rich girl, and you’ve gone too far

‘Cause you know it don’t matter anyway...

Thursday 3rd June 1976

Sirius was beginning to think that he couldn’t trust professors. The past five years at Hogwarts had
basically consisted of a series of increasingly dire warnings about the difficulty and importance of
OWLs, and yet he found himself sitting in the Great Hall, leaning back on his chair and trying to
find some means of entertainment as his peers scribbled frantically around him.

Defence Against the Dark Arts had been a doddle—as he’d known it would. He’d been telling
James for weeks that he didn’t need to bother with all his last-minute cramming, which had him
spending hours holed up in the library and obsessively poring over textbooks at dinner. But his
predictions hadn’t been heeded, and with all his friends lost to studying, Sirius had found himself
spending most of his free time with Mary.

Of course, he had very few objections to this arrangement. With the majority of students flocking
to the library, the common room was quite frequently empty—and even when it wasn’t, neither
Sirius nor Mary minded a bit of an audience as they curled up on the sofa in front of the fire.

The audience minded, however. Marlene even went so far as to assault them with a slipper one
evening, shouting hysterically, “Go and find a broom cupboard like everyone else!”

Sirius might have acquiesced, but Mary was no longer comfortable with sneaking off in the castle.
She’d had a few close calls with some of the nastier Slytherins, and though she insisted that she
could handle them just fine, it clearly upset her more than she let on. Sirius tried to reassure her that
he’d always protect her, no matter what—that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. But in the
meantime, Marlene would just have to suck it up. It wasn’t like they were being obscene; things
were (mostly) limited to kissing.

Four seats ahead of him, James yawned and rumpled his hair, then turned to look back at Sirius,
grinning. Sirius gave him a thumbs-up, tilting his chair back onto two legs.

“Quills down, please!” Ordered Professor Flitwick, who was proctoring, “That means you too,
Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment. Accio!”

An entire hall’s worth of parchment rocketed towards Flitwick, slamming into him with such force
that he toppled over, and Sirius couldn’t help but laugh. The cheerful professor didn’t seem too
perturbed, smiling gamely as a few students helped him to his feet.

“Thank you...thank you,” He panted, “Very well, everybody, you’re free to go!”

The marauders exited the hall together, heading for the grounds. It was a warm, sunny day, lazy
with early-summer heat. As they walked, Sirius nudged Remus, smirking.

“Did you like question ten, Moony?”

“Loved it,” Remus responded, with a brisk nod, “’Give five signs that identify the werewolf.’
Excellent question.”

“D’you think you managed to get all the signs?” James asked, eyes wide with overdone concern.

“Think I did,” Remus said gravely, “One: He’s sitting on my chair. Two” He’s wearing my clothes.
Three: His name’s Remus Lupin...”

James and Sirius laughed as they exited the castle, breaking away from the throng of students to
head towards their usual spot beneath a beech tree. Peter, however, was still fretting,

“I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes, and the tufted tail, but I couldn’t think what else—”

“How thick are you, Wormtail?” James teased, interrupting, “You run round with a werewolf once
a month—”

“Keep your voice down,” Remus hissed. James shot him a sheepish grin, nodding.

“Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake,” Sirius announced, as they settled onto the grass,
“I’ll be surprised if I don’t get Outstanding on it at least.”

“Me too,” James agreed, smiling slyly as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fluttering
Golden Snitch.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Nicked it.”
Sirius grinned. It was good to know that his best mate hadn’t turned into a complete swot over
OWLs—he loved Moony, but he didn’t think he could handle two of him.

James began to play with the Snitch, catching and releasing it, waiting til the very last second to
snatch it out of the air. Peter watched, gasping and applauding sycophantically. Sirius stared out at
the lake, feeling restless and edgy. He could see Mary sticking her feet in the water with Lily and
Marlene, laughing. A group of Slytherins passed by and shot her a dirty look, which made his chest
twist with anger—he half-wanted to march over and tell them off, or throw a hex their way, or snog
Mary right in front of their smug, hateful faces. But she had already talked to him about what she
called his “white knight complex”— he didn’t completely understand what she’d been on about,
but he gathered that she wanted him to let her fight her own battles. He supposed he shouldn’t have
expected anything less from a Gryffindor.

Still, he wished he could do something. It seemed like nobody wanted his help anymore—not
Mary, not Remus, not...

Peter cheered, interrupting his thoughts, and Sirius felt a spike of irritation. “Put that away, will
you?” he snapped at James, “Before Wormtail wets himself from excitement.”

James grinned, shrugging. “If it bothers you,” he said, tucking the Snitch safely back into his
pocket.

“I’m bored,” Sirius sighed, flopping back onto the grass. Remus already had another book open,
and his lip was poking out as he read. “Wish it was a full moon.”

“You might,” Remus said, frowning, “We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could
test me...Here.” He offered the book.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.”

“This’ll liven you up, Padfoot,” James said, in a low voice, “Look who it is...”

Sirius turned, and spotted Snape lurking in the shadows of a clump of bushes. He was staring
pointedly at the question paper from their exam, trying to make it look like he was absorbed in his
reading—but Remus had confided in the marauders about how the boy had been following him,
after James and Sirius nearly removed the invisibility cloak when they thought the three of them
were alone.

Staring at the sour-faced boy, Sirius felt another sharp kick of anger. He hadn’t forgotten about
Remus’s fall down the stairs, and now it appeared that Snape was creeping around again, following
them.

“Excellent.” He muttered darkly, “Snivellus.”

Snape seemed to realise that they’d noticed him. He shoved his paper into his bag, still staunchly
avoiding eye contact, and stood, beginning to walk away. Sirius stood, too, and James followed
him, calling out,

“All right, Snivellus?”

Snape’s reaction was immediate; he dropped his bag and went straight for his wand, raising it
halfway before James could shout,

“Expelliarmus!”
 The wand flew from Snape’s greasy fingers, landing in the grass behind him. Sirius barked a
laugh, pointing his own wand,

“Impedimenta!”

Snape was knocked off his feet, preventing him from retrieving the fallen wand. He panted, flat on
his back, and James and Sirius advanced. A few other students were watching, now.

“How’d the exam go, Snivelly?” James asked, conversationally.

Sirius grinned viciously. “I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment. There’ll be
great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.”

This drew a few laughs from the forming crowd; Sirius felt a cruel thrill of vindication. Snape was
still struggling on the ground, impeded by the hex. Good, Sirius thought, savagely.

“You—wait,” Severus panted, glaring up at them, enraged, “You—wait...”

“Wait for what? What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?”

Snape began spitting slurs and swears, mixed in with a few hexes. But without his wand, he was
powerless.

“Wash out your mouth,” James said, coldly, “Scourgify!”

Frothy pink bubbles began to spill from Snape’s lips, and he gagged, choking—

“Leave him ALONE!”

Ah. Sirius had been wondering how long it would take for Lily to get involved. She marched over
from her spot at the lake, eyes ablaze with righteous indignation.

“All right, Evans?” James asked, pleasantly. His jinx hadn’t been strong—Snape was no longer
choking, though bubbles continued to spill off of his tongue.

Still, Lily repeated herself. “Leave him alone,” she scowled, “What’s he done to you?”

“Well,” James said, making a show of considering the question, “it’s more the fact that he exists, if
you know what I mean...”

This drew quite a few laughs, including from Sirius. Snape was a right little creep—he'd been one
of the Slytherins tormenting people all year. It seemed that everyone was more than happy to see
him get his just deserts. Everyone, of course, excluding Lily.

“You think you’re funny,” she spat, fuming, “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter.
Leave him alone.”

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” James said, smirking, “Go on...Go out with me and I’ll never
lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” Lily flushed.

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid!”

“Bad luck, Prongs,” Sirius said, patting his friend on the shoulder. He turned back to Snape—who
was not where they had left him. Apparently, the impediment jinx had worn off, and he had
managed to wriggle over to his wand.
“Oi!”

But Sirius was too late; Severus had already pointed his wand, and there was a flash of light. A
moment later, a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering blood onto his robes. James
whirled on him, flinging out a full-body levitation spell, and in the next second Snape was
suspended upside down in mid-air, robes falling over his face to reveal a pair of greying
underpants.

Sirius clutched his stomach, laughing. The crowd around them cheered.

“Let him down!” Lily demanded, with a little stamp of her foot.

“Certainly.” James smirked, ending the spell so that Snivellus plummeted to the ground, where he
landed in a crumpled heap. Sirius felt a dark twist of satisfaction—serves him right.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he shouted, as Snape tried to crawl to his feet. The boy went stiff, keeling
over once again.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted, drawing her wand. Sirius eyed her warily—he had no
particular desire to curse Evans, annoying as she might be.

“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” James frowned.

“Take the curse off him, then!”

James sighed, but did as he was told, muttering the countercurse as Sirius watched.

“There you go,” He said, as Snape struggled to his feet, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus
—”

“I don’t need help from filthy little mudbloods like her!”

Silence—James's face twisted with a fury that Sirius had never seen before.

“Fine,” Lily said, coldly, “I won’t bother in the future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you,
Snivellus.”

“Apologise to Evans!” James roared, brandishing his wand at Snape.

“I don’t want you to make him apologise,” Lily shouted, rounding on James. “You’re as bad as he
is...”

“What?” James reeled back, as if struck, “I’d NEVER call you a—you-know-what!”

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your
broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who
annoys you just because you can—I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that
fat head on it. You make me SICK.”

She spun around, rushing off with her robes whipping about her like an agitated animal.

“Evans!” James called after her, distressed, “Hey, EVANS!”

She ignored him.

“What is it with her?” He tried to make the question sound casual, but his voice was strained. He
continued to watch Lily until she disappeared back into the castle.

“Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” Sirius said lightly,
nudging his shoulder.

“Right,” James muttered, face darkening, “right—”

Another flash of light, and Snape was upside down in the air once more.

“Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?”

The crowd cheered again, and Sirius laughed.

* * *

They didn’t actually remove Snape’s pants, of course—it wasn’t as if anyone wanted to see that—
but they did leave him dangling in the air, and Sirius heard later that it had been ten minutes before
a group of Hufflepuffs took pity on him and got him down.

“You’ve blown any chance you ever had of being with her now, mate.” Sirius laughed, as they
watched Lily storm out of the dining hall that evening just after she caught sight of James at the
table.

“Fine.” James scowled down at his plate, “Do you know what, I’ve wasted too much bloody time
pining after her, and if that’s how she feels—”

“Isn’t it how she’s always felt?” Peter asked, pushing his food around mournfully with his fork.
He’d been moping all evening, ever since Desdemona had heard about what happened. They’d had
a blazing row—apparently, she thought it was bullying.

Which was ridiculous. Snape had been properly foul to everyone he came into contact with for the
past five years; it wasn’t bullying to teach him a lesson. If anything, they were doing a favour to
their fellow students—after all, they were marauders. They were the good guys, the loveable
rogues, the defenders of those unable to defend themselves. Sirius absolutely refused to feel guilty
—Snape had gotten exactly what he deserved.

“Shut it, Pettigrew,” He rolled his eyes, turning to James. “Forget about her, Prongs, she’s always
been up herself.”

“Oi,” Mary, seated next to him, slapped his thigh, “Lily’s my friend, if you don’t mind. Though,
James, I do think you’d better leave her alone for a bit. She’s really upset.”

“Really?” Remus asked, looking up guiltily from across the table. Sirius frowned. We didn’t do
anything wrong!

“Of course!” Mary said, matter-of-factly, “Don’t ask me why, but Snivellus has been her best
friend since they were kids. I’ve tried telling her what a massive tosser he is, but it doesn’t really
get through. She feels sorry for him, I think. He’s madly in love with her, of course.”

“Eurgh, she doesn’t like him back, does she?!” James looked horrified.

“No,” Mary said, popping a bite of roast potato into her mouth, “But they’re friends all the same.
Or at least they were. She’s not talking to him, now.”

Sirius sighed, watching as all of his friends went back to glumly staring at their dinners. At least
Mary didn’t seem all that fussed over what had happened—in fact, she seemed pretty satisfied.
Snape had cast a hex that made her fingernails fall off, earlier in the year, and Sirius knew he’d
never been caught for it. Sometimes, he wondered privately if—behind the bubbly, vibrant exterior
—Mary was just as angry as he was.

* * *

Friday 12th June 1976

Their Transfiguration exam was just as easy as Defence Against the Dark Arts. McGonagall had
allotted three hours for it, but Sirius was done in half the time. He leaned back in his chair, trying
to catch James’s eye and wishing there was a way to make time move faster.

Sirius supposed it was the burden of genius, that he had nothing to do but sit and fidget for an hour
and a half. He found his mind wandering, thinking about the upcoming full moon—they had been
planning it over the past week, and he was ridiculously excited. On the last moon, James had
glimpsed a unicorn, so they’d been reading up on how to track them down. Sirius was pretty sure
that the wolf wouldn’t attack; after all, he never attacked Prongs, and unicorns weren’t all that far
off from stags. Four legs, hooves. Pointy bits.

Once the exam was finally over, McGonagall instructed the students to stand back against the
walls as she collected their papers and re-set the tables for dinner. From across the large room,
Snape glared murderously at James.

“Dunno what more he wants,” James said, frowning, “We’ve got detention, haven’t we?”

“Did a teacher see you?” Mary asked, as they headed over to their usual seats.

“Nah, bloody Evans.” Sirius scowled.

“My dear friend Lily.” Mary corrected, pointedly.

“Whatever.” Sirius grunted. “She just better not drag it out until tomorrow night.”

“Why?” Mary asked, smiling eagerly, “Taking me somewhere nice, for once?”

“I think the sixth-floor girls’ loo is nice,” Sirius drawled, “Anyway, no. Got something else.
Marauder business.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Mary sighed dramatically, “I forgot I have to share my boyfriend with his
boyfriends.”

James and Peter snickered, and Sirius felt the sharp, familiar bite of anger.

“Fuck’s sake,” he snapped, glaring irritably from across the table, “Why do you have to say shit
like that? Spiteful cow.”
“Pureblood snob.” She said it sweetly, but something flashed in her eyes.

“Please,” Remus groaned rubbing his temple, “Peter and Desdemona are arguing this week. You’ll
get your turn next week.”

Everyone laughed, and just like that, the tension was dispelled. Sirius caught Mary’s eye and
smiled, apologetically. She beamed back.

When they finished eating and James stood up to head to detention, Sirius waved him away, with
assurances that he would catch up later.

“I want to make sure Mary gets back to the tower ok,” he explained.

“You don’t have to,” she demurred, “I’m not going alone, Remus is coming too, aren’t you
Remus?”

“Yeah,” he nodded as he stood, swinging his book bag over his shoulder, “I’m finally going to read
something with a plot, now exams are over.”

“Such a thrilling life you lead, Moony,” Sirius teased, smirking. He reached out to grab Mary’s
hand, “Still, I’d rather come with you. So I don’t worry.”

“How can you be such a prick one minute and then so sweet the next?” Mary mused, tilting her
head up to kiss him.

“All right, but don’t be too long,” James warned, “Detention is with Filch. Evans is a sadist, I
swear.”

“Won’t take fifteen minutes.” Sirius promised, and the three of them started off towards
Gryffindor Tower.

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Mary groaned, as they reached the portrait hole and found a familiar, greasy-
haired figure, leaning against the wall outside. “Look, she’s not interested in talking to you, so
bugger off!”

“Black,” Severus sneered, “Tell your muggle bitch to shut up.”

“What did you call me?!” Mary shrieked, and Sirius didn’t think—just whipped out his wand,
raising it to—

“Stop it right now!” Remus commanded, stepping between them. “Snape, go back to your own
common room, or I’ll give you detention. Black, just...calm down, ok?”

Sirius glared, anger surging in his veins. He hated being told to calm down.

From behind Remus, Snape raised a brow. “Listen to him, Black, even Loony Lupin knows you
couldn’t beat me in a duel.”

“That’s not what I said,” Remus snapped, “Shut up and get lost.”

“Should I get someone?” Mary murmured, anxiously.

“No, it’s ok...just go in.” Remus said. She obeyed, throwing a single nervous glance over her
shoulder before disappearing through the portrait hole. Remus turned back to Sirius, saying
steadily, “Come on, you’ve got detention now, let’s go...”
“You’re not looking well, Loony Lupin.” Snape spat, suddenly. Remus jerked his head around,
staring, as he continued, “Coming up on your time of the month, is it?”

Sirius felt cold. Next to him, Remus stammered,

“You...you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Snape smiled viciously, turning back to Sirius with a wild glint in his eye,

“You all know, of course. You and Potter and that little rodent, Pettigrew? You know what he is? I
always wondered why three purebloods would want to waste their time on filthy scum like him, but
now I see – he’s your little pet project, isn’t he, Black?”

“Confringo!”

“Expelliarmus!”

Sirius wasn’t quick enough—before he could cast the spell, his wand was in Remus’s hand. He
watched as the taller boy turned, looming over Snape.

“I don’t know what you think you know,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, pointing both wands
directly at Snape’s pallid face, “But whatever it is, you’re wrong. Now get back to the dungeons
before I summon McGonagall.”

Snape blanched, edging away and scurrying off without another word. Sirius felt like his blood was
boiling—he couldn’t believe Remus was just letting him go, not when he—he knew—

But his friend wouldn’t return his wand until Severus was out of sight. Once they were alone,
Moony held out his hand; Sirius snatched his wand back and glared at him.

“What did you do that for?!”

“Sirius! Do you want another detention?!”

“Didn’t you hear the things he said about Mary?! The things he said about you?!”

“Of course I did,” Remus snarled, “And he’s a complete knob. A complete knob who you
humiliated yesterday, and who you promised me you wouldn’t go after.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You promised, Sirius.”

They stared at each other. Remus was standing very close, using his height to impose—his eyes
were hard, commanding, and he was breathing very quickly. Sirius felt hot, and prickly all over.
Like he could crawl out of his skin, or punch something, or—

Remus stepped back.

“I know what I said,” Sirius bit out, trying to tamp down on the rage creeping up his throat, “But I
won’t have him spreading rumours about you! He deserves a taste of his own bloody medicine.”

“Sirius,” Remus shoved a hand through his hair, exasperated, “Please just...just go to your
detention and calm down, ok? I’ll see you later.”

Sirius watched him turn and walk away.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "rich girl" by hall & oates!

also wanted to include a quick note related to the bullying scene + the upcoming
chapters: just to clarify, i'm not really interested in absolving any of these characters of
the shitty things they do. i think sirius has his share of flaws and does many hurtful
things, and while i'm interested in examining the reasons behind those actions i am not
necessarily interested in excusing them.

that being said, i have obviously taken somewhat of a different perspective on the
bullying scene. in the original version, we're getting harry's perspective (who has no
context about what is going on) of snape's memory (which is inherently biased). i think
the scene comes off as unusually cruel, and i think it was intended to come off that
way. i don't necessarily think that characterization fit with the mkb canon, so this side
of the story doesn't make snape seem so blameless. each version is a biased
perspective, and neither changes the fact that what was done was shitty, but hopefully
together they add a bit more nuance to what was going on. :)
 Fifth Year: Crossfire
Chapter Summary

sirius gets angry

Chapter Notes

tw!! some thoughts related to self harm in this chapter, please be mindful

See the end of the chapter for more notes

No fun, my babe

No fun

No fun to hang around

Feelin’ that same old way

No fun to hang around

Freaked out

For another day

Saturday 13th June 1976

When Sirius was eight years old, he ate frog legs for the first time. It was at a Black family
banquet, of course, and he had the misfortune to be seated next to his cousin. Bellatrix leaned over
while they ate, whispering in his ear.

“Do you know how to kill a frog?” She’d asked, with a small, vicious smile, “You stick it in a pot
of water. Then start a fire, and you slowly, slowly turn up the heat. Frogs are too stupid to notice
the temperature changing; they’ll stay in the water until it boils them alive.”

In the future, when Sirius looked back on that day, he sometimes wondered if he’d let himself
become like Bellatrix’s frog. Sitting in his own rage, allowing it to burn, slowly, hotter and hotter,
until before even realising it, he was boiling. He would wonder if what had happened was
inevitable, if he had already begun to blister with violence. Other times, he’d tell himself that it
could have been prevented, replaying over and over again the series of events that had led to his
actions. Telling himself that it was just bad luck.

It was bad luck that he was in a sour mood, that Remus still seemed rather fed up with him, that
James was in the library. It was bad luck that he saw Reggie laughing with Barty Crouch, that he
argued with Mary, that he decided to smoke alone in the Astronomy tower. It was bad luck that he
was walking by himself back to the common room. It was bad luck that he bumped into Snape.

“Snivellus,” he sneered, fingers on his wand, “What are you doing here? Come to skulk around
after Evans, again?”

Severus flushed, dark eyes glittering with hate. Maybe Sirius should have stopped, then. But he
didn’t.

“It’s completely pathetic, you know. Thinking she’d ever want a disgusting piece of shit like you.
Honestly, it’s a miracle that she was able to put up with your stench for as long as she did—it
would almost be funny watching you beg for her attention, if you weren’t so bloody creepy about
it.”

He said it all with a slow, casual drawl, smirking cruelly. Snape’s pale face had gone bright red. He
opened his mouth—then hesitated, glancing out the window over Sirius’s shoulder.

“Don’t you have a dog to take care of, Black?” he sneered, “Wouldn’t want anything to
happen...it’s already getting quite late.”

“You shut your foul mouth, Snivellus,” Sirius spat, “You don’t know anything.”

“Don’t I? I suppose it wouldn’t matter, then, if I were to let slip some of the things I’ve
noticed...Loony Lupin gets sick quite often, doesn’t he? Almost every month, in fact...”

Rage; Sirius was submerged in it. Anger, all around him, churning and bubbling and boiling.
Cooking him from the inside out.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he hissed, words burning like steam from the back of his
throat, “Here’s something you don’t know, Snivellus: there’s a knot on the Whomping Willow. A
small knot, right near the base of the tree. If you’re so certain of your stupid theories, then why
don’t you run off and find out what it does?”

Later, he would tell himself that he didn’t think Snape would actually do it. That he didn’t think
he’d make it past the willow, didn’t think that he’d figure out how to press the knot, didn’t think
that he’d actually follow the tunnel all the way to its very end. He’d tell himself that he was
thinking of Remus—that he simply wanted to scare Snape, to protect his friend, to stop Severus
from spreading rumours that could have ruined everything.

But the truth was, he wasn’t thinking of Remus at all. The truth was, he wanted Snape to suffer—
badly. The truth was, he didn’t care how it happened, as long as Severus got hurt.

By the time the anger faded, and he realised what he’d done, it was already too late.

James came bursting into their room minutes before they were supposed to leave, saying,

“Sorry—sorry, was just looking up a few last things for the unicorns. Did you know they’re—”

He stopped talking when he saw Sirius’s face.

“Mate?” James hovered, still in the doorway, “You alright?”

Sirius was pacing, tugging fingers through his hair. He felt frantic, animal—he didn’t try to hide
the panic on his face.
“James—James, I fucked up. I fucked up, James, I really—fuck, shit, I didn’t—”

“Okay—okay, hey, calm down. Just calm down, mate, it’s alright.” James had him by the
shoulders, steadying him. Sirius shrugged him off.

“It’s not alright!" He shouted, voice rising.

James was staring at him, clearly at a loss for what to do. Sirius felt like he was choking. He didn’t
want to say it, but he had to.

“I told Snape.”

James blinked.

“What?”

“He was—he was saying all this stuff about Remus, about Moony, and I just got so—angry, and I
—” he broke off, dragging in a deep, shuddering gasp of air, “I told him about the willow. I told
him, James.”

A cold, terrible sort of understanding washed over his friend’s features. James was staring at Sirius
like he didn’t recognise him.

Then, as if a spell had broken, he began to move. Sirius watched as he raced to his trunk, pulling
out the invisibility cloak and swinging it over his shoulders. He turned to Sirius, a floating head,
and said briskly,

“You have the mirror?”

Sirius nodded, mute. It was in his school bag; he always carried it with him.

“Good,” James shoved his own compact into his pocket, hand appearing and then disappearing
again under the cloak. “Keep it ready. If I need help, I’ll use it to contact you.”

“I’ll come with you—” Sirius started forward, but James cut him off.

“No.” He spoke sharply, “You need to stay here. Someone needs to be ready to get McGonagall, in
case anything’s gone wrong. You have to be ready. Okay?”

Sirius swallowed. “Okay.”

James nodded, once. Then his head disappeared, and the door opened and shut, and Sirius was
alone, standing in the middle of their room, wishing he could crawl out of his skin. Reg had been
right—all he ever did was pull people into his own crossfire.

The door burst open, and Sirius spun around.

“Sorry I’m late,” Peter panted, out of breath, “I was just in the kitchens, and—” He paused, taking
in Sirius’s expression. After a moment, he frowned.

“Is everything okay?”

Sirius began to cry—great, shuddering sobs that made him feel as if he might break. Peter stared at
him, mortified.

“Where’s James?”
 * * *

“...have never been so appalled by a student’s behaviour in my life!” McGonagall screeched,

pacing furiously across the floor of Dumbledore’s office in her nightgown and dressing robe,
“Endangering the lives of your fellow students! Failing to inform a professor—have you considered
what could have happened if Mr. Potter had arrived even a second later?!”

Sirius had, in fact, considered it. He’d been considering it quite a bit, ever since James burst back
into their dorm, sweating and panting and shaking. He had arrived just as Remus began to change,
yanking Severus—who stood frozen, watching Moony’s bones snap and shift—away and shoving
him at full speed down the tunnel. They had heard the echoing snarls the whole way back, the
howls of a werewolf with a scent he couldn’t reach.

Snape had gone to Dumbledore the second they got back, of course. Sirius supposed he hadn’t
really expected anything different—he'd assumed that their headmaster would find out. What he’d
done wasn’t just some casual prank, nor was it light-hearted mischief.

He could have killed someone. He could have—he could have made Remus kill someone. Sirius
thought of his friend’s visceral panic, the first morning that he woke up with rabbit blood on his
tongue, and wanted to turn himself inside out. He wanted to set his own heart on fire.

In front of him, McGonagall was still going.

“One hundred points from Gryffindor, Mr. Black, and I will expect to see you in detention every
night for the rest of term. You are off the quidditch team, effective immediately, and...”

I deserve this, Sirius thought, bitterly, I deserve worse than this. He stood with his head down,
unmoving, silent. Behind McGonagall, Dumbledore watched from his desk, hands clasped behind
his back. Those pale blue eyes stared neutrally down, wiped clean of any emotion. When
McGonagall had finished, he only nodded, slightly, and said pleasantly,

“Thank you, Minerva. If you would be so kind as to inform Poppy about what has happened, I
would like a moment alone with Sirius.”

McGonagall nodded back, tersely, and marched out of the room after shooting one final,
disappointed look in Sirius’s direction. He listened to the door shut behind him, still staring at his
feet.

For a moment, it was silent. Then,

“Sirius.” Dumbledore spoke softly, but there was a grave undertone to his voice. “I see no reason to
repeat what Professor McGonagall has already said. I assume that, by now, you understand the
severity of your actions.”

Sirius swallowed, nodding. He still couldn’t bring himself to look up. Dumbledore continued,

“But I am afraid that there is one question I must reiterate. I know you have already told your side
of the story, but I must ask again: you are absolutely certain that you acted alone?”

Sirius’s head snapped up in shock. Dumbledore was gazing at him with that infuriatingly neutral
expression, the one he could never quite read.
“Yes!” Sirius said, quickly, “I swear, professor, James had nothing to do with it. He only got
involved after I—told him what I’d done. I—I wouldn’t lie about that. It was just me.”

“...And there were no…outside influences, urging you to act?”

It dawned on him, suddenly, what Dumbledore was asking.

“Are…are you talking about my family?”

The headmaster stared at him, blinking slowly.

“No—no, nobody put me up to it. I haven’t even spoken to my parents since…since…”

Dumbledore nodded, studying him. After a moment, he unclasped his hands from behind his back,
steepling his fingers as he spoke,

“There have been reports of…tests. For those wizards seeking to join Voldemort. Tasks that they
must complete in order to be marked.”

Sirius felt sick. “It—it had nothing to do with Voldemort, sir, I promise—I would never—you can,
you can give me veritaserum, or—”

Dumbledore raised a hand to stop his rambling, offering a small, thin smile that didn’t quite reach
his eyes. “I believe you, Sirius,” he said, “But you understand why I had to ask.”

“Yes,” Sirius breathed, as a new wave of guilt crashed over him. Yes, he understood—what he’d
done was bad enough that Voldemort might have asked it of his followers. What he’d done was—
he was—

Evil.

When Sirius returned to their room, he could barely look James in the eye. He shut himself in the
bathroom, pausing as he changed into his pyjamas to stare at his reflection in the mirror.

What’s wrong with you?? He demanded of himself, furious, How fucking selfish can you be? How
cruel and spiteful and thoughtless? Reg was right about you—all you do is hurt the people you
love. You deserve to suffer. You deserve pain. You can pretend to be good all you want, but deep
down you’re as rotten as they always said. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

He sat on the side of the tub, hunching over and shoving his head in his hands. His chest felt tight;
he sucked in short, shallow breaths.

I hate you I hate you I hate you You deserve this I hate you I hate you

No matter what he did, he would always be a Black. Even Dumbledore thought that he’d somehow
been in league with his family—but the truth was much worse. Because the truth was that Sirius
had conjured up this cruelty all on his own; even without his parents’ influence, he had still wanted
to hurt.

His trousers lay in a heap on the floor; he was in his pants and school shirt. As he sat, trying to hold
himself together, his eyes caught on the ugly scars criss-crossing the backs of his legs.

Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he did deserve punishment. Maybe he did deserve to hurt. He
had certainly caused enough pain to others.

I hate you I hate you I hate you

 No one would notice one more scar. There were already so many—who would be able to tell? He
deserved it, didn’t he? Pain?

I hate you I hate you I hate you

His wand was sitting on the sink; all he’d have to do was stand up and grab it—he knew the spell
so well, could close his eyes and hear it, his mother’s voice shrieking—

“Sirius??”

James was pounding on the door.

“Sirius, are you…alright in there?”

Sirius swallowed, struggling with his own mind, trying desperately to crawl out of the thoughts that
dragged like quicksand in his head. He stood, and finished changing into his pyjamas. When he
opened the door, James was waiting.

“You’re asking if I’m fine?” Sirius croaked, trying to force a smile. It didn’t work—he was going
to cry, he could feel it. James stared at him with concern that he didn’t deserve.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, frowning, “I’m bloody furious. I mean, I can’t believe you’d…” he
trailed off, running an agitated hand through his hair. Sirius stared at the floor, trying to swallow
his tears.

James sighed. “But…I know you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. It’s just—Merlin, Sirius, I
don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life. When I saw Remus changing, I thought—”

He broke off, fingers tugging once again at the dark hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered, weakly, “I’m so, so sorry, James.”

His friend sighed. “I know, mate,” he reached out, grasping Sirius’s shoulder, “I know.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "no fun" by the stooges

 Fifth Year: Closing
Chapter Summary

sirius says sorry

Chapter Notes

no specific trigger warnings, but continuing dark thoughts in this chapter -- please be
mindful

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Lean love

All you give to me is lean love

I’m like a beggar in the sand

With the sky in his hand

And I’m blue

Monday 15th June 1976

Remus was gone for two days.

James went to the hospital wing on Sunday, to tell him what had happened. Sirius was too much of
a coward to say it himself—and besides, he was pretty sure that he’d be the last person Moony
wanted to see once he found out. When James returned, Sirius hesitated before asking,

“Is…is he okay?”

James shrugged, sighing as he sat down on his bed.

“About as well as can be expected. He’s got Pomfrey looking after him; don’t worry.”

But Sirius did worry. He couldn’t do anything but worry—he worried about how Remus had
looked after full moons back when he’d spent them alone, fresh scars and new bruises. He worried
about what Remus would do when he returned, what he might say. He worried about how Remus
would look at him.

You’ll deserve it, he reminded himself, Whatever he says, whatever he does. You’ll take it, and
you’ll deserve it.
Monday dragged by, torturously slow. It felt unreal that life should continue on as normal at
Hogwarts, their peers blissfully unaware of what Sirius had done—what he had almost caused.
Mary hugged his arm and smiled like he hadn’t nearly killed two people, staring up in confusion
when he mumbled excuses and pushed her away.

By the time evening rolled around and Remus still hadn’t returned, Sirius began to relax just the
tiniest bit, thinking that at least he’d have one more night before he had to force himself to look
Moony in the face, with the knowledge of what he’d done like spilled blood between them. But it
wasn’t to be.

The door slammed open just as they were about to go to bed, and Remus swept inside. He didn’t
look at them, just walked straight to his bed and picked up his pyjamas, then immediately shut
himself inside the bathroom. Sirius sat up straight, hardly blinking as he stared at the door. His
heart was writhing in his chest.

When Remus came out, he forced himself to speak.

“Moony, I…”

But Remus didn’t even look at him, just turned deliberately towards James and said,

“Thank you for stopping Severus, James,” in a flat, dead voice, “You saved both our lives.”

“Er…” the other boy stammered, caught off-guard, but Remus didn’t wait for an answer. He
crawled onto his bed, shutting the curtains and leaving only a heavy silence behind. Sirius felt as if
he’d stepped into a tomb.

* * *

Tuesday 30th June 1976

Sirius had expected anger. He had expected rage, wrath, vitriol. He had expected shouting, or
cursing—he’d even expected Remus to throw a punch.

He had not expected silence.

For their remaining two weeks at school, Moony wouldn’t even look at him. He apologised every
chance he got, in every way he knew how—he whispered it between classes, he murmured it at
meals, he said it each night before bed, like a promise. He apologised until he was sick with it, until
the words were carved into his tongue, until they crowded his chest so he couldn’t breathe. He
apologised in French, in Latin, in Italian. He made up new languages, and apologised in those. He
repeated the words silently to himself, like a mantra, like a spell:

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

It didn’t matter. Remus turned away from him, every time. It was like begging with a stone.

Mary noticed that something was wrong, of course. He almost broke down one day, when she
leaned her head against his shoulder and said, gently,
“Have you and Remus had a fight?”

Sirius’s throat closed up, thick with tears that always seemed to be stuck halfway between his eyes
and his chest, those days. Mary sighed.

“Thought as much. Lily said he’s been, and I quote, ‘surly.’ What happened?”

Sirius shook his head. “I…” he tried to swallow, “I hurt him. Really, really badly. It—it’s all my
fault.” His voice broke, and Mary wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Oh, Sirius,” she said, quietly, “I’m sure he’ll forgive you. Just give it some time.”

It was what James said, too. He seemed to think that with enough space and time, it was inevitable
that Remus would come around—but that was because James Potter couldn’t imagine a world in
which you wouldn’t forgive your friends. He himself been quick to absolution, of course—James
was a man of many talents, but holding grudges was not one of them.

“You didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” he’d insisted, benevolently, “You just weren’t thinking.”

But Sirius knew that wasn’t true. He had meant for someone to get hurt; James just couldn’t let
himself see that. His sense of justice, of right and wrong, was one of Potter’s greatest strengths. It
was also one of his most dangerous flaws. Sirius knew that to James, he was a good person, and
good people did not intentionally send other people to be slaughtered or maimed. Good people did
not have dark enough hearts for such deep-rooted hatred.

Sirius could not bring himself to rid his friend of this illusion. Even though he knew it was untrue,
and it sent guilt pulsing like a fever through his blood, he was too terrified of what might happen if
James ever truly understood the darkness in his heart. Sirius needed James; as long as he had his
best friend, everything would be okay. The thought of giving him any reason to turn his back and
leave was impossible; it would be like trying to live without lungs, or a stomach, depriving the
body of an essential part that was needed to function.

So he didn’t correct the misconceptions underlying James’s forgiveness. Instead, Sirius promised
himself that he would do better; be better. He’d become the person James thought he was. He
would cut away the rotted bits of his soul like necrotic flesh, until he was worthy of the kindness
that he clung to like a parasite.

But Remus was different. Remus saw straight through him, down to the core. There was no hiding
from those piercing eyes, from the light that danced like embers inside them. Sirius knew that
Remus carried none of the same idealistic fantasies as James. He knew exactly what Sirius had
done. He knew exactly why Sirius had done it. And he knew exactly what had been meant.

It was why Sirius could do nothing, absolutely nothing, except apologise until his tongue bled.
Because he knew he deserved the anger—they both knew. And James and Mary might be sure that
he would eventually come around, but that was wishful thinking. Remus would only forgive him if
he deserved it—and Sirius knew, deep down, that he didn’t.

But that didn’t make it any less painful.

It was made worse by the fact that Remus started avoiding them. He stopped going to classes; he
skipped meals. He began spending more and more time down at the greenhouses, according to a
few Hufflepuffs that Mary was friends with. He came to bed late, and woke up early, and always,
always left without saying a word.

It made Sirius want to scream. James had gotten Snape out in time—Dumbledore had said that
 everything was fine—but still, here he was, watching the life drain slowly out of his friend, and
knowing the whole time that it was entirely his fault. That there was absolutely nothing he could
do to fix it.

He wished that Remus would just punch him. He wished that he would yell, or scream, or shout—
that he would just say, out loud, that Sirius was despicable, and selfish, and unredeemable. He
wished Remus would cast a curse, or a jinx, or a hex. I’d break bones for you, he thought
feverishly, on the bad nights, I’d pull teeth, open veins—I’d gut myself to make you forgive me.

In the morning, he would wake up and whisper, “I’m sorry,” as he watched Remus walk out the
door.

Sirius knew he would have to be patient. He knew that if he had any chance at forgiveness, it
would only come after he had proved himself—that for Moony, it would take something more than
words. I’ll do it, he thought, I’ll change. I’ll become a better person, I’ll be someone he can trust
again. He clung to this goal, feeling sometimes as though it were the only thing keeping his head
above the dark water of a mind that tried, more and more often, to drown itself.

Even in his dreams, he begged. There was no relief; he crawled on hands and knees to Remus, like
a supplicant at an altar. He cried and pleaded and tore his hair out, he clung with shaking hands, he
stared into the fiery pits of his eyes, burning with rage, until his skin caught fire and he screamed,
incandescent.

But at least in the dreams, Remus looked at him. At least in the dreams he touched him, fingers
bruising and brutal and angry. At least in the dreams he spoke, vengeful and spitting, I hate you, I
hate you, I hate you. I hate you murmured as Remus’s lips brushed his neck, I hate you whispered
as his fingers skimmed over Sirius’s chest, I hate you groaned into Sirius’s shoulder, as their
bodies tangled together. I hate you, I will never stop hating you.

When Sirius woke, it was shaking and desperate with want. The dreams would melt away, leaving
only shame behind, and he would press his fingers to his eyes, hating himself more than ever.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "lean woman blues" by t. rex (no song in the original, but i
thought this chapter needed one)
 Summer 1976, Part One (The Potters)
Chapter Summary

mary visits

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone

It’s not warm when she’s away

Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone

And she’s always gone too long

Anytime she goes away

The Potters’ house was lovely. Sirius had his own room now, wallpapered with posters of
quidditch teams and rock stars and pages torn out of muggle magazines. He had a shelf for his
records, and a stand for his broom, and a chest for his clothes. He woke in the morning to the smell
of breakfast wafting up the stairs and ate in the kitchen with James. He was allowed to go into
town if he wished, and Mr. Potter even gave him money for the muggle cinema. He could fly
anywhere on the grounds, he could read any books that he wanted, and he could blast his records at
top volume in his room, or James’s, or the living room. For the first time in his life, he was free to
do absolutely anything that he wished.

And he was miserable.

Remus hadn’t said a single word to him since the night of that awful full moon. He sat in a separate
car from the rest of the marauders on the trip back to London and didn’t stick around to say
goodbye; Sirius searched for him when they arrived at the station, but he’d already disappeared.

If he were a better person, Sirius might have accepted it. He might have acknowledged that it was
possible that Remus would never forgive him, and that he didn’t have to, because forgiveness was
not something that Sirius was owed. He might have accepted that he had broken his friend’s trust,
and that apologising might not ever be enough to rebuild it, and that if Remus never wanted to talk
to him again, then that was his choice to make. A better person might have resolved to move on, to
focus his efforts on never, ever causing such gut-wrenching harm again, on preventing himself
from hurting Remus any further rather than fixating on atonement.

But Sirius was not a better person. He was a teenager, and he was selfish, and he was angry, and he
was scared. He didn’t know how to go on living with himself if Remus couldn’t forgive him—
sometimes he thought he’d stop breathing if Moony never talked to him again.

He needed Remus to tell him that he could still be a good person. He needed Remus to take this,
the worst parts of him, to examine them raw, unfiltered, and tell Sirius that he was not yet lost. That
he was still something that could be salvaged. It was something that only Moony could do, because
Moony was the only one who really understood him—the darkest parts of him.

Or maybe Sirius was just being dramatic. Either way, all he wanted to do was mope.

James wouldn’t let him, of course. He dragged Sirius out of bed, into the summer sunshine, where
they’d race around the house on their broomsticks or see who could climb higher in the old oak tree
or go swimming in the pond. It was harder to stay gloomy with the sun beating down on his face,
bright behind his eyelids, although sometimes Sirius would still look at his friend’s smile and feel
crushed by the weight of a love that he knew he didn’t deserve.

James’s parents, of course, didn’t realise that there was anything wrong, and Sirius did his best to
keep it that way. He didn’t want Mr. and Mrs. Potter to think he was ungrateful, or unhappy—not
when they’d gone above and beyond to make him feel at home.

And Sirius did feel at home. It was strange, disconcerting. He hadn’t realised how trapped he’d felt
at Grimmauld place, how cornered, until he was suddenly somewhere where he didn’t need to
worry about what would happen if he tracked dirt on the floor, or broke a dish play-fighting with
James, or decided to read one of his uncle Alphard’s muggle books. Sirius still sometimes felt on
edge, unsettled, as though he were waiting for the other shoe to drop—for James’s parents to
realise that he wasn’t the nice boy they thought they’d taken in, but something worse, a
disappointment. But like a stone washed repeatedly in the waves of the sea, the tension slowly
eroded, until Sirius woke up one morning and realised it had been an entire week since he’d had a
nightmare.

Of course, it was not all bliss at the Potters. James’s parents were deeply involved with the war
effort—more deeply than Sirius had realised, until he started living with them. Mr. Potter spent
more and more time shut away in his office, and even Mrs. Potter seemed busier, meeting with odd
guests or hurrying off on errands after giving James a quick kiss on the cheek and telling the boys
to ask Gully if they needed anything.

It wasn’t quite the same as it had been with Sirius’s parents; Fleamont and Euphemia didn’t shroud
themselves in the same sort of suspicious secrecy that Sirius remembered from his family’s
meetings. They would tell the boys where they were going, when they could, or what they were
working on—they never went into detail, of course, but if James asked his father where he had
been he would smile grimly and say, “Just helping Dumbledore with something…” or; “Writing to
our allies in the Ministry…” or; “Research for a new spell that might be useful…”

Even if James’s parents hadn’t been so open, the boys would still have found themselves
confronted with the reality of the war. It was impossible to avoid, that summer, all over the papers
—headlines screamed about missing wizards, attacks against muggles, political fractures in the
ministry. Things got worse as the months wore on; Sirius read about slaughtered families,
kidnapped children, and stomach-turning curses, all discovered under the shadow of the writhing
dark mark. His heart jumped each morning as he scanned the Daily Prophet, searching for familiar
names—and settled back, pounding with relief, when he found none.

All in all, it was a very odd summer. Sirius sometimes felt dizzy with the sudden shifts in his
emotions; he found himself fluctuating wildly between abject guilt, vivid joy, jaw-grinding anxiety,
and dark, familiar rage. He did his best not to lash out or withdraw, as much as he sometimes
wanted to. It was easier when he was surrounded by the Potters, grounded by their seemingly
endless well of love.

James’s parents seemed to want them to have as normal a summer as possible. Though they didn’t
try to hide the war from the boys, they encouraged them not to dwell on it, insisting that there were
plenty of capable wizards fighting with Dumbledore to ensure that the wizarding world remained a
safe place for everyone.

“This isn’t your battle to fight, love,” Mrs. Potter would say, when James insisted stubbornly that
he wanted to do something to help, “You’re young—go outside, enjoy your summer! You’ve got
your whole life ahead of you; just let your father and I worry about this war, for a little longer.” She
smiled as she said it, but there was something deeply sad in the way she smoothed James’s hair
back from his forehead, cradling his face like she was trying to memorise it. Sirius didn’t think
he’d ever seen anyone love someone as much as Euphemia loved her son; he sometimes felt like he
was intruding when he watched them.

It was, perhaps, this desire to provide the boys with a normal summer that made James’s parents so
quick to agree when Sirius asked whether Mary could visit. He was a bit surprised by the response,
blinking as he held her letter—Mrs. Potter even suggested that they set her up in the guest room, so
that she could spend a few days.

Mary was the picture of charm when she met James’s parents, smiling brightly and complimenting
their beautiful home. She chatted with Mrs. Potter about her family, and asked about the flower
garden out front, and proclaimed that the Victoria sponge Euphemia had baked was the most
delicious thing she had ever eaten. Once introductions had been made, she allowed Mrs. Potter to
sweep her upstairs to the guest room, where she placed her suitcase in the middle of the floor and
thanked her hosts effusively for their generosity.

The moment James’s parents were gone, Mary flopped back onto the bed, smiling.

“Blimey, Potter, I knew you were rolling in it, but this is ridiculous. Feels like I’ve been invited for
tea with the bloody queen! No wonder you two are so insufferable—if I had a bedroom the size of
a flat, I’d strut around Hogwarts like I was royalty, too.”

Sirius laughed, flopping down next to her, and James chuckled, though he looked a bit
uncomfortable.

“That’s rich, coming from the girl who already struts around Hogwarts like she’s expecting the
statues to fall at her feet,” Sirius said, poking Mary’s side. She rolled over onto her elbow, grinning
down at him.

“Trust me, Black, if I had eleven bathrooms in my house, I’d be the most insufferable person on
the planet.”

James frowned. “We’ve only got ten…” He muttered, “And one’s always getting lost, ever since
Dad experimented with that concealment charm on it…”

Mary threw back her head, laughing.

* * *

Tuesday 10th August 1976

It was a bit odd, having Mary around. Nice—but odd. Usually, when Sirius hung out with Mary,
they were alone; in groups, one of the other girls was typically there, someone to provide a sort of
balance, or a buffer. Mary got along easily with James and Peter, of course, falling comfortably
into her familiar teasing banter as if they were all still at Hogwarts. And she didn’t seem to mind
that Lily and Marlene weren’t around, didn’t seem uncomfortable spending time alone with the
marauders.

Still, it was an odd configuration. Sirius couldn’t help feeling like Mary had fit herself into a very
obvious gap amongst the boys, a gap that was a little over six feet tall, with long limbs and a lanky
torso and scarred hands…

He tried not to think about it too much. But sometimes, Mary’s presence just made Remus’s
absence feel more acute; she laughed at the jokes Remus would have rolled his eyes at, and
encouraged Peter when Remus would have teased, and she never lay still and listened when Sirius
put on a Bowie album. She never closed her eyes and smiled and hummed under her breath the
way Remus did.

Of course, there were plenty of things that Sirius could do with Mary which he couldn’t do with
Remus. Even though Mrs. Potter set them up in separate bedrooms, no one seemed all that fussed
about making sure it stayed that way—Sirius was pretty sure Euphemia knew that he was sneaking
down the hall to Mary’s room, but she didn’t try to put any locking charms on the doors, or pull
him aside for a stern conversation. She seemed to trust that they were old enough to know what
they were doing, although there was one morning when Sirius hung back in the kitchen, helping
wash dishes while James gave Mary a tour of the house’s secret passages, when Mrs. Potter placed
her hand on his shoulder and said gently,

“Sirius, love, I can see that you care about Mary very much. I want you to know that you can
always talk to me, or to Mr. Potter, if you have any questions.”

Sirius had blushed from head to toe, and stammered something unintelligible, feeling incredibly
embarrassed. Mrs. Potter just smiled and squeezed his shoulder before returning to the dishes,
humming a cheerful tune as she worked.

“Oh, gawd!” Mary groaned, laughing, when he told her about it later that night. “Whatever did you
say?”

“I didn’t say anything!” Sirius cried, distressed, “I didn’t know what to say!”

“I can’t believe James’s mum knows we’re shagging,” Mary snorted, smiling with a sort of
mortified amusement as she covered her face with her hands.

“Well,” Sirius shifted, defensively, “I mean, it’s not like we’re actually shagging.”

She uncovered her face, raising an eyebrow. “Sirius, your hand was down my pants approximately
seven seconds ago—before you decided to bring up James’s mum.”

He flushed, embarrassed. “Yeah, but that’s not—y’know, I mean, it’s not like we—well, that is—”

Mary laughed, rolling over and pressing herself on top of him, pushing him back into the mattress.

“Do you want to?” She whispered. In the dark, her white teeth flashed. Sirius swallowed.

“Erm…do I want to….?”

“Have sex.”
“With you?”

“No, with James’s mum.” Mary rolled her eyes, “Yes, with me, you prat.” As if to emphasize her
point, she rolled her hips—which was a bit unfair, as they were very snugly positioned on top of
his hips, and his thin pyjamas provided absolutely no insulation from the torturous friction that the
movement created. Sirius groaned.

Now Mary’s lips were at his ear, breath hot against his neck. “Use your words, Black.”

“I…um….it’s just that I—I’ve never done. That.”

Mary pulled back a bit, sliding her hands down his arms to curl their fingers together.

“Neither have I,” she said.

Sirius swallowed. “Oh,” he licked his lips, “Right. And you…want to?”

Mary began to pull back. “Look, Sirius, it’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“No—no!” He reached out, grasping her wrist, “No, I—I want to. I do.” She was so warm, and so
soft, and so close. He licked his lips.

“I want to. I just…I might be rubbish at it.”

Mary smiled, leaning back down. “You were rubbish at everything, before I got my hands on you,”
she said, smirking. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that, Macdonald—but I seem to recall you singing my praises,
not so long ago…or, not singing, I guess, but…”

Mary laughed, shamelessly. “Mmm, that was before you started talking about—I reiterate—
James’s mum. Which reminds me—should I be concerned?”

“Well, look where that conversation got us! Now I’ve got you begging me to defile your maidenly
purity. Should I be concerned?”

“You’re impossible, Black,” Mary said, and he was going to respond, but then her lips were at his
neck, and her hands were sliding down his stomach, and they were both quickly preoccupied with
other matters.

* * *

Wednesday 11th August 1976

Sirius woke slowly, the next morning, groaning as he stretched. He flung his arm out, yawning—
only to hear a sharp smack as his palm came into contact with bare skin.

“Ow—what the fuck, Sirius?!”

Mary rolled over next to him, propping herself up on her elbow to glare. Sirius blanched.

“Shit—” he whispered, “Shit! I fell asleep!”

 “Obviously,” Mary said, huffing as she snuggled back into the blankets.

“I forgot to go back to my room!” Sirius hissed, shaking her to keep her from dozing off again. She
groaned.

“So? James’s mum already knows that we’re shagging, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, but—but—” Sirius stammered, imagining the absolute horror he would feel if he tried to
sneak back down the hallway in broad daylight and Mrs. Potter caught him. Oh, Merlin—what if
she’d already popped her head in his room to wake him up for breakfast, and seen he wasn’t there?

Mary eyed him, amused.

“Oh, calm down, Black. I’ll go and check the hallway’s clear, if you’re so worried about it. Go on
—put your shirt back on.”

Sirius extricated himself from the twisted sheets, yanking his pyjama shirt over his head as Mary
pulled on a robe and padded over to the door. He watched as she cracked it open, poking her head
into the hall.

“Well?”

When Mary turned back to him, she had a very odd look on her face.

“It…it’s clear, but, Sirius….I thought I heard….” She trailed off, frowning. A chill ran down his
spine.

“What? What did you hear??”

Mary shook her head.

“I could have sworn I heard Dumbledore’s voice coming from downstairs. Is he friends with the
Potters?”

Sirius didn’t think—he rushed past her, yanking open the door and catapulting into the hallway. He
took the stairs two at a time, bursting into the living room with such speed that he had to catch
himself, skidding to a halt so that he didn’t run into James.

The Potters were all there, congregated in front of the fireplace. Euphemia was sitting on the sofa,
looking very pale. Mr. Potter had his hand on the mantle, gripping it, brow furrowed. James was
right in front of the door, and when he turned, the panic in his eyes made Sirius’s blood run cold.

In the middle of it all stood Dumbledore, straight-backed and regal, pale eyes flashing as they
landed on Sirius.

“What is it?” he gasped, out of breath, “What is it, what’s happened?”

Dumbledore studied him, mouth a thin line. After a moment, he said quietly,

“I am afraid that young Mr. Lupin has gone missing.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "ain't no sunshine" by bill withers!

st. edmund's next ch i promise <3

 Summer 1976, Part Two (London)
Chapter Summary

field trip!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Wednesday 11th August 1976

“What?”

Sirius blinked. He felt like someone had just shoved his head underwater.

“His Matron contacted the muggle authorities at approximately 9:43 a.m. this morning to report
that he had disappeared. It would appear that he has run away; however, he has left his wand and
various other possessions at St. Edmund’s, which warrants some concern.”

Remus was gone. Remus was missing. Remus had disappeared and left his wand—why would he
leave his wand??

“I had hoped to find him here,” Dumbledore sighed, “Fleamont, you will let me know if he stops
by?”

“Of course,” Mr. Potter said, nodding, “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dumbledore paused, briefly; then, “If we are unable to locate him within twenty-
four hours, I am afraid that I will have to report this to the Ministry.”

Sirius’s head snapped up. “What—why? What do you mean, report it?”

Dumbledore turned to gaze at him. “I will have to tell the Ministry that I have knowledge of an
unaccounted-for underage wizard, with a potentially dangerous medical condition.” He said it
calmly, eyes tepid.

None of them had to ask exactly what the headmaster meant. Rage cut like a blade through the fog
that had enveloped Sirius’s mind.

“No!” He cried out, before he could think about it, “You can’t do that!”

Dumbledore continued to stare at him, calmly. “I’m afraid I will have no choice. You will learn
about it shortly in the paper, I am sure, but I must inform you all that there was an attack last night.
It would appear that Voldemort is now in league with dark creatures—there were several deaths.”

Mrs. Potter gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. Sirius felt sick.

“Albus, surely you don’t believe that Remus—”

“No,” Dumbledore held up a hand, cutting Mr. Potter off, “Remus was not involved in any way.
Poppy confirmed this morning that he remained at St. Edmund’s for the duration of the night.”

Sirius felt a wave of short-lived relief. “But—then why—”

“I am sorry, Sirius, but I’m afraid that it is out of my hands.”

Dumbledore spoke as if it were final, as if the matter were already settled. He continued to stare
placidly, calm and sympathetic and infuriating. It was Christmas all over again.

“Then you have to find him,” Sirius insisted, hands curling into fists, “He could—he could be in
danger. Those disappearances, in the papers—what if they targeted him? What if he’s been
kidnapped? If Voldemort’s using—”

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Dumbledore spoke gently, “But there is nothing more I can do. For right now,
it must remain in the hands of the muggle authorities.”

His brother’s voice rang in his head. Do you honestly think Dumbledore gives a shit about any of
us?

“That’s bullshit!” Sirius really was shouting, now, “You’re supposed to be the most powerful
wizard in the world! There must be something you can do!”

Over Dumbledore’s shoulder, Mr. Potter was frowning at Sirius, and Mrs. Potter had gone pale. He
couldn’t see James’s face, but he was sure that it was a mirror of his parents’ shock. Sirius didn’t
care—he was seething, heart twisting in his chest.

Dumbledore remained poised and calm, the picture of level-headed rationality. But Sirius thought
he saw something flash in his eyes.

“I have already done all I can,” his voice didn’t waver, “Without drawing attention. If I were to
take any further action, I fear that the Ministry may begin asking questions, whether we want them
to or not.” He softened, slightly. “I truly am sorry, but there is nothing else I can do that would not
risk causing more harm.”

Sirius wanted to hit him, to scream and kick and claw at those stagnant blue eyes. Stop it, he
reminded himself, You’re on the same side. Dumbledore stared at him, as if he knew what Sirius
was thinking.

“Fine. We’ll find him then.”

Sirius turned to look at James, and his friend stared back. Wide-eyed shock was replaced with
staunch determination; James nodded firmly, stepping to stand at Sirius’s side.

Dumbledore looked at the two of them, standing together. After a moment, he smiled.

“Your loyalty to your friend is admirable. I have the utmost faith in your ability to succeed—if you
would like, I can give you the address of St. Edmund’s, so that you might begin your search there.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, still trying to strangle the anger in his voice. After a moment, he added,
“Please.”

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a slip of paper with an address on it appeared. Turning to
James’s parents, he said,
“I do not believe that Remus is in any immediate danger. It seems that the most likely situation is
that he has simply run away. It would therefore be prudent for someone to remain here, in case he
drops by.”

Mrs. Potter was pale, still clutching her chest. “Of course,” she said quickly, “Of course, I can wait
here. But Fleamont can’t go with the boys, today, he has to—”

Dumbledore nodded, and she stopped talking. All three adults glanced pointedly at the boys,
engaging in some sort of silent agreement to keep private the details of whatever it was Mr. Potter
had to do.

“As I’ve said, Euphemia, I do not believe that Remus is in any immediate danger. The muggle
world should be safe enough, during the day—although,” and here he turned to James and Sirius,
“I would advise that you ensure you are home before dark.” Both boys nodded obediently when
faced with the sombre warning.

While Dumbledore said his farewells to the Potters, Sirius rushed back upstairs, dashing down the
hall towards his room. As he ran, Mary’s door swung open, and her head poked out.

“Sirius?” she asked. He skidded to a halt. “What’s going on?”

Sirius blinked, trying to catch his breath. He’d completely forgotten that Mary was still there.

“Remus has gone missing,” he heard himself saying, “James and I are going to find him.”

Mary made a dismayed noise in the back of her throat.

“Missing?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine, James and I are going to find him.”

“But—what happened? How long’s he been missing? When did it happen?”

“This morning,” Sirius bit out, quickly losing patience—he didn’t have time to answer Mary’s
questions, he had to find Remus—“They think he’s run away.”

Mary’s brow furrowed. “D’you know why—”

“No, Mary, sorry. He ran off this morning, that’s all we know—now I’ve got to go find him. I
think you should probably go home.”

“Maybe I can help—”

“No!” Sirius snapped, regretting it immediately when he saw the hurt leaking over his girlfriend’s
features. “Look—I’m sorry, it’s just…this is something James and I need to do alone. Please,
Mary, just go home—I’ll write to you once we’ve found him, okay?”

Mary sniffed, looking offended despite the apology. “Fine,” she said stiffly, “I’ll go.”

Sirius grabbed her arm as she turned, stopping her, feeling frantic and guilty and like he was trying
to swallow his heart.

“Mary,” he said, earnestly, “I really am sorry. I just—we need to find him.”

Mary studied him, eyes roving over his face. After a moment, she said quietly,
“Okay.”

* * *

Sirius was not sure what he had expected of St. Edmund’s. Someplace like Hogwarts, he supposed
—smaller, and less magical, obviously, but…warm. Domestic. It was a home, after all—at least, it
was supposed to be.

But there was nothing welcoming about the building in front of him. Sirius stood alone on four
legs, having transformed into Padfoot to wriggle through a hole in the fence. James was on the
other side, waiting, dressed in muggle clothes.

Behind the fence was a rough, scrubby yard, with a few scattered trees and a handful of boys
kicking something that looked vaguely like a quaffle around. That must be football, Sirius thought,
remembering his Muggle Studies lessons. The home itself looked less like a home and more like a
prison; it was a severe sort of building, harsh grey stone and dark windows. The entire place stank
of desperation and mildew.

Remus lives here, Sirius thought, dazed. And then: Remus.

He focused, pushing away his more human emotions and tapping into the instincts of the dog. Find
Remus, he thought, sniffing, I’ve got to find Remus. He could smell the trampled grass, the packed
earth, the sweating muggle boys, and—there. Something warm, something sweet, something
gamey and feral and coppery with magic. Remus.

Once he had the scent, there was no stopping him. Padfoot tracked it, back out through the hole in
the fence, down bustling streets, into a train station—nothing could tear him away, no other smells
or sights or noises. He could taste the magic Remus left behind, sharp and hot on his tongue, and
he followed it with single minded determination. James scrambled after him, apologising to the
muggles that he startled. They made their way through London, down cramped, dirty streets, past
sprawling buildings and sniffling children with no parents in sight. When they stopped, they were
in front of a building that looked as if it were falling apart, graffitied walls and dingy brick. It stunk
of unwashed bodies and mouldering garbage and hopelessness.

But inside—Padfoot could smell him. Remus, there—burning and bright, like a star, with his own
gravity. Padfoot felt frenzied, hysterical. He couldn’t stop barking. Remus is in there. He whined at
James, who tried to quiet him. He’s in there, James, get him out.

“Whose fucking dog is that?” Came a voice from inside the flat. James ducked behind some bins
before he could be spotted, but Padfoot continued to bark. Come out, Moony, please, come out.

“Hello, Sirius.”

He turned, and Remus was there. He was covered in a layer of unfamiliar smells—other people,
other bodies, their scents, and pot, he’d been smoking—but beneath all the confusion he was
familiar. Clove and parchment and burnt sugar.

“James with you?”

As if on cue, James stepped out from his hiding place. “Hiya, Moony,” he forced a smile, “Lovely
place you’ve got here.”
“Look, I’m not in the mood.” Remus crossed his arms, glaring, “What do you want?”

Sirius could smell old blood on him, bandaged wounds—it had been a full moon, last night. Why
was Remus here? It wasn’t safe, here—he should be resting. He smelled all wrong.

“What’d you mean ‘what do we want?’” James asked, incredulous, “We were worried about you!
Your Matron called the muggle police and said you’d escaped, somehow Dumbledore found out
and got in touch with my parents – I think they thought you’d come to ours. Sirius was sure you’d
gone into London, he followed your scent practically all the way from the children’s home.”

“You were at St. Edmund’s?”

“Yeah.”

Remus cringed, momentarily, before collecting himself—but Sirius could smell the
embarrassment, saccharine and fetid, swimming from his pores. He held out his arms, presenting
himself to them.

“Well, you’ve found me.” Beneath the embarrassment was anger, embering and heady, “As you
can see, I’m perfectly fine. Now go away. And tell your dog to stop barking.”

Padfoot whined, ducking his head. Come with us, he thought, retreating into the canine instinct,
You’re all wrong here—you’re meant to smell like magic.

“You’re not perfectly fine,” James huffed, “Never mind the fact that you appear to be hanging out
in a muggle squat, or the fact that the muggle police are looking for you. We have to bring you
back, right now. Dumbledore can only avoid telling the ministry you’ve gone walkabout for
twenty-four hours, he said. Then they’ll set the aurors on you.”

“What?! Why??” But the realisation dawned on Remus’s face the second he had asked the
question, and he scowled. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Come home with us, Remus,” James said softly, reaching out, “Dad said you can stay for the rest
of the summer.”

There were a few seconds of tense silence. Then,

“I haven’t forgiven him,” Remus said. Padfoot could taste the stifled rage in his voice.

“I know, mate. It’s ok, he gets it.”

Remus continued to scowl; but after a moment, he sighed.

“Look, I’ve got a friend here, let me go and tell him I’m leaving.”

James and Padfoot waited, obediently, at the bottom of the stairs, as Remus stomped up to the
landing and called down the hall.

A skinny muggle boy tromped out, with a head of curly blonde hair and bony arms. Padfoot
sniffed, curiously. His scent was all over Remus.

Even with the dog’s hearing, he couldn’t quite make out what the boys were saying—they were
speaking in low voices, leaning towards each other as if drawn, unconsciously, together. Remus
smiled at the stranger, and Padfoot wanted to growl—wanted to run up the stairs and lock his jaws
around Moony’s leg and drag him away, out of this place that sucked the magic from his skin like a
drain.

But he didn’t. He waited, even when Remus pressed a hand against the boy’s shoulder and pushed
him back, out of sight. Even when he emerged after, with the interfering scent wrapped even more
strongly around his skin. Even when he walked down the stairs with his heart pounding, his blood
rushing—Padfoot could smell it, could smell something like longing on his breath. Remus left with
them, and Sirius knew it was only because they hadn’t given him any choice.

* * *

They rode the Knight Bus back to James’s house. Remus curled up in the purple armchair and fell
asleep, despite the dizzy, jerking movements of the vehicle. Padfoot sat at his feet, watching him.
Wishing he’d stop smelling like other people, and start smelling like Moony again.

James had to shake Remus to wake him once they’d arrived. It was late afternoon, and the sun was
full-bellied and low in the sky as they paused in front of the gate.

“Will Dumbledore be there?” Remus asked, anxiously.

“I think he’s gone,” James said, reassuring; then, “Er…Moody might have stopped by, though…”

“For me?”

“Er…he’s seeing dad…look, I didn’t want to say anything on the bus, but it’s been a bad summer,
you know, for the war. We’re losing.”

“Losing?!”

“Yeah…let’s talk about it inside – Padfoot.” James snapped his fingers, and Sirius transformed at
once. Remus turned away, refusing to look at him. Sirius tried not to wilt.

The moment they stepped through the door, Mrs. Potter came bustling over.

“Remus!” She pulled him into a hug, weary with relief.

“Euphemia!” Barked a gruff voice from the living room.

“Oh…for goodness sake.” James’s mum huffed, taking a step back to look Remus in the eye.
“What did Monty and I give you for Christmas in 1973?”

“A chess set,” Remus responded, immediately, looking over towards the living room.

“It’s him!” Mrs. Potter shouted, crushing Remus back into her arms. “We were all so worried about
you, dear!”

“I’m ok.” Remus assured her, uncomfortable with the attention.

“We thought you’d been…oh, well it doesn’t bear thinking about. People going missing…dark
marks…I really don’t…” Her lip trembled for a moment, before she gathered herself. “Never
mind,” she smiled, warmly, “Something to eat? Or would you like a wash, first? Albus sent your
things, they’re up in your usual room.”
“My…my things?!”

“From the Home, dear. Dumbledore sent them first thing this morning…”

As she spoke, Moody appeared in the doorway of the living room, surveying the scene. One of his
eyes was now covered by a dark leather patch—neither James nor Sirius had been brave enough to
ask why, when he’d arrived earlier at the house.

“Lupin,” Moody said gruffly, “A word.”

“No, Alastor,” Mrs. Potter said firmly; Sirius watched, surprised, as she placed herself between the
two of them, “He’s only just arrived, and look at him – he’s clearly exhausted. This can wait until
tomorrow.”

“Effie, this is a matter of ministry—"

“Oh, I don’t give a toss!” She scolded, hands on her hips, “He’s only sixteen, he’s not of age, and
he’s in my care. Remus,” She turned, and her voice abruptly became gentle, honey-sweet, “You
just pop upstairs, eh? I’ll have Gully send some food up, but don’t you come down until you’re
quite ready.”

Remus blinked, looking just as shocked as the rest of them. He murmured a quick thanks before
obeying her instructions, shuffling over to the stairs and trying to conceal a slight limp as he
climbed.

Sirius watched him until he disappeared from sight, weak with relief. He’s safe, he told himself,
He’s fine, he wasn’t hurt. He’s safe.

Now that the frantic energy of the search had worn off, Sirius felt wrung-out, like he could lie
down and sleep for an entire day. But he followed James to the kitchen, waiting silently as Gully
made a tray—and when James asked to bring it up, Sirius followed him to the stairs, where he
turned and said,

“Look I’ll…I’ll ask him if he wants to see you, okay?”

Sirius nodded, numbly, “Okay.”

“But if he says no, just—don’t push it, alright? Not right now.”

Sirius nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He stood stiffly in the hallway as James knocked on
Remus’s door.

“Come in.”

James stuck his head into the room, and Sirius resisted the urge to peer over his shoulder.

“Hiya…I offered to bring the tray up, hope you don’t mind?”

Sirius couldn’t see how Moony responded, but he must have done something, because James asked
carefully, “Can I come in?”

“Ok.”

“Can…can Padfoot?”

“No.”
“Ok.”

James retreated into the hallway, leaning over to whisper to Sirius,

“Give him a bit of time, eh?”

Sirius nodded, swallowing hard, and James disappeared into Remus’s room. He shut the door
behind him, leaving Sirius alone.

* * *

Thursday 12th August 1976

Remus locked himself away and did not emerge until the next morning at breakfast. He was cordial
to James, and perfectly polite to Mrs. Potter—but when Sirius nudged a jar of honey towards him,
Moony scowled and looked away, shoving spoonfuls of unsweetened porridge spitefully into his
mouth.

“We’ll go to Diagon Alley today, I think,” Mrs. Potter said cheerfully, putting the kettle on, “Your
letters arrived this morning. Remus…I’m very sorry, but you’ll have to stay here, dear. I’ll pick up
your bits.”

“I get my books second hand,” Remus mumbled, cheeks pink, “From the supply at Hogwarts. I’ve
got no money.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t mind, I’m already sorting it for James and Sirius.”

“I’m paying you back!” Sirius said, quickly, “As soon as I’m seventeen, I promise.”

“I know, dear,” Mrs. Potter smiled warmly at him, patting his arm.

“I can’t pay you back.” Remus finally looked at him for the first time since he’d arrived, glaring
daggers from across the table. “Even when I’m seventeen. I haven’t got an inheritance.”

Sirius swallowed and dropped his eyes, unable to hold the gaze. Why was he always saying the
wrong thing?

“Why can’t Remus come, mum?” James asked, glancing between the two of them, “He’s never
been before.”

“I’m afraid it’s not very safe, love,” Mrs. Potter said, sympathetically, “Dumbledore and Moody
both agree…after the attack.”

A stiff silence fell over the table. Moody was still in the house—he refused to leave until he spoke
with Remus, which had resulted in a very awkward dinner the previous night. Luckily, the auror
had abstained from breakfast, but he was still hanging about somewhere, waiting to talk.

“Wait,” James yelped, suddenly, “Our letters arrived?!”

Sirius shot him a questioning look—but then realised, abruptly, why his friend was so excited.
 “My goodness,” Mrs. Potter chided, eyes twinkling as she pulled out three thick envelopes, “If it
took you that long to cotton on, then I’m very concerned about your OWL results…” She passed
the letters over to their respective owners, and the envelopes were quickly disposed of.

Sirius scanned his paper hungrily, the familiar competitive spark lighting in his chest as he stared
down at his grades. He felt a swell of pride when he saw three ‘Outstanding’s, in Transfiguration,
Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Muggle Studies. Everything else was mostly Exceeds
Expectations, except for the classes that he already knew he was dropping—and who gave a toss
about those, anyway?

Across the table, Remus was trying to stifle a grin as he read; James peered over the taller boy’s
shoulder, scanning for a moment before he cheered,

“Yes, Moony, you beauty!”

“H-how did you do?” Remus asked, flushing. James passed his paper over, and Sirius watched as
they compared, heart beating painfully in his chest.

“Go and show your father!” Mrs. Potter urged, pressing a happy kiss to her son’s cheek. James
grabbed a plate of toast to take up to his dad’s study—Mr. Potter had not yet left his desk.

This left just Sirius and Remus at the table, still seated across from each other. Sirius gnawed on
his lip, sick with curiosity.

“You did well, then?” He asked, hesitantly. Remus nodded brusquely,

“I’m pretty happy, yeah.”

He didn’t ask to see, but Sirius slid his parchment across the table anyway, in case Moony wanted
to compare. Remus looked down, scanning the paper, but made no move to reveal his own.

Sirius wished, desperately, that he could read Moony’s mind. It was impossible to decipher his
expression as he looked up, though his voice was cool.

“I beat you in History.”

Chapter End Notes

this chapter marks the halfway point (!!!) so i just wanted to say a quick thank you to
everyone who's taken the time to read this :) i love reading all your comments, and
even though i no longer have time to respond to everything, the kind words and
support mean a lot to me, so thank you! <3
 Summer 1976, Part Three (Peace Talks)
Chapter Summary

remus performs first aid

They reached a strange sort of truce as those last few weeks of summer bled away. It might not
have happened, if not for Euphemia Potter—the house was certainly big enough that Remus could
have avoided them if he wanted to, and Sirius probably would have let him. But James’s mum
clearly expected the three boys to spend all their time together, having no idea about any of the
events that had taken place just a few short months ago at Hogwarts.

So although Remus and Sirius were still at odds in many ways—and although James was still
caught somewhere in the middle—there was one unspoken rule on which all three boys could
agree: none of them wanted to disappoint Mrs. Potter. The resulting stalemate consisted mostly of
James and Sirius trying their best to go on with the summer as normal, while Remus resigned
himself to hovering near enough to avoid raising any suspicion while still staunchly ignoring them,
nose stuck at all times in the pages of a book.

It was better than nothing. And of course, Sirius wasn’t in any position to complain.

For his part, he resisted the urge to apologise to Remus every time they were within ten feet of each
other, as that hadn’t seemed to do anything except upset Moony further when they were back at
Hogwarts. It was still excruciating, feeling the distance between them like a physical barrier every
time they shared the same space, knowing that he was the one who had placed it there—but Sirius
was trying to learn how to unpick the need to assuage his own guilt from the desire to actually fix
things. And he was beginning to understand that fixing things would mean prioritising Remus’s
feelings over his own.

So he did his best. He tried not to fixate on the way things used to be, knowing that he had
shattered whatever trust they’d built. There was no turning back time to repair it. Instead, Sirius
reminded himself that he was starting over; that it would take time; that he would take what he
could get, and be grateful for it. Every time Remus looked at him, or spoke to him—even if it was
just one word—his heart kicked in his chest. This is better, he reminded himself, Things are getting
better. He could learn patience, if he tried hard enough.

Still, Sirius wished that Remus would talk to him. Really talk, about what had happened. He knew
there was no explaining what he’d done, but he couldn’t help feeling that there needed to be some
sort of…catharsis. His betrayal was a drain between them, something that they inevitably circled,
siphoning the life from their friendship. If they never addressed it, Sirius wasn’t sure how they
could move on—and he desperately, desperately wanted to move on. To prove that he could do
better.

But until then, he took what he could get.

Peter continued to come over practically every day, and Sirius would glance down as they flew on
their brooms, just to see Remus reading under the shade of a tree. They lounged on the lawn, and
Sirius accepted the cigarettes that he passed around, holding the smoke in his lungs as long as he
could, like it was something precious. He let Remus choose the records they listened to, or else
played the ones that he knew were his favourites. He watched the sun soak into Remus’s hair and
skin, until he was nut-brown and freckled and glowing, with curls the colour of summer.

On the penultimate day of the holidays, they were back out in the sun, lying in grass that was fever-
hot and tickled their backs. Sirius, James, and Peter lay side by side, with Remus a little further
away—as he always was, those days.

“So tell me again,” Peter said around a yawn, arms stretched behind his head, “What was the
Knight Bus like? I’ve always wanted to go on it.”

“Dream big, Petey.” Sirius grinned lazily. He could feel the sun pulsing on the backs of his eyelids.

“It wasn’t that great,” James said, “Can’t wait until we can all apparate—lessons start in January.”

“I’m going to be rubbish at it.” Peter sighed, “Dezzie has been reading the theory books, I can’t get
my head around it.”

“Well it’s better than relying on that stupid bus.” James snorted, “It’s fine for magical locations,
but the driver kept getting lost on the way to St. Edmund’s.”

“I can’t believe I missed that too,” Peter pouted, “Were there loads of muggles? What was it like?”

Sirius felt a twinge of annoyance at Pete’s tone—it wasn’t as if they had been gallivanting around
London simply for the fun of it. He still remembered, vividly, the panicked frenzy of trying to find
Remus, of not knowing whether he was safe, or if he’d been targeted…

“C’mon, Pete,” Sirius could hear the frown in James’s voice, “That’s Moony’s home you’re
talking about.”

“It’s fine.” Remus said.

Sirius thought of the grim, grey building, the parched grass, the boys that smelled like sweat and
split knuckles.

“I bet it’s great, living with loads of other people your age,” James said wistfully; it was no secret
that the only thing he had ever wished for growing up was a sibling.

“It’s…” Remus hesitated, “It’s noisy. Did you go inside?”

“Padfoot did, crawled under a hole in the back fence.”

“Didn’t go in the building, though,” Sirius said, rolling over as he opened his eyes to keep the sun
from shining directly into his face. Even with his shirt abandoned three feet away, he still felt like
he was melting. “Some bitch started throwing stones at me.”

“Matron.” Remus said. Their eyes met, briefly.

“Must’ve been.” Sirius tried not to feel too pathetically happy about the fact that they were having
some semblance of a conversation, “If she treats people the way she treats dogs then I don’t blame
you for running away.”

“It wasn’t really about her,” Remus said, looking away.

“It’s lucky Prongs and Padfoot found you though, eh Moony?” Peter smiled blithely, “Otherwise
you’d be lost in muggle London!”
“I wasn’t lost,” Remus said coldly, snapping his book shut, “I was with a friend.”

Sirius exchanged a glance with James—they both recognised the prickly tone of voice.

“But James said—"

“I said he was in a squat, Pete, not alone,” James said quickly, “He was with this muggle chap—
sorry Remus, I’ve forgotten his name…?”

Sirius thought of the skinny boy with blond curls—the one who’d had his scent all over Remus’s
skin. “He didn’t tell us his name.”

Remus sat up, squinting down at him, and Sirius stared back. Moony seemed—tense. Irritated. He
was frowning, brow furrowed, sweat beaded at his temple.

“No,” he said flatly, “I didn’t.” He stood, without further explanation, and announced “I’m going
in, it’s too hot.”

James, sensing the tension, shot up as well, saying cheerfully,

“Yeah, you’re right Moony. Shall we all go in for a bit? Have a drink and do that washing up mum
wanted sorting. She’ll be back soon.”

Mrs. Potter had gone out on another private errand, leaving them alone with Gully—Mr. Potter was
at work. They had been instructed to call on the house elf if they needed anything, but unless
summoned, Gully usually left the boys to their own devices.

“I’ll go home if you’re going to do chores,” Peter muttered, huffing as he clambered to his feet, “I
can do housework at mine.”

“Cheer up, Wormy,” James slapped him gamely on the shoulder, “There’re jam tarts in the kitchen,
you can have the marmalade one if you want.”

This seemed a satisfactory compromise for Peter, who went straight into the house to seek the
promised tart as James and Sirius stopped by the shed to put their brooms away. Remus hovered on
the patio, frowning and waiting, book hanging limply at his side. Inside the shed it was dark,
shadowy—Sirius blinked as his eyes adjusted from the bright sun.

“I ought to polish the handle again before I pack it away…” James murmured, running a hand
lovingly over his broomstick.

"Bloody hell, Prongs, you polish it twice a day already.”

“It’s called looking after your equipment, Black.”

“I call it sexual frustration.”

“Piss off!”

James swatted at Sirius’s head with the tail end of his broom, and Sirius laughed as he ducked,
blocking the blow with his own broom’s handle. An improvised fencing match promptly ensued,
with broomsticks in place of swords.

“Wait ‘til we’re back at school and I can curse your bollocks off!” James warned, and Sirius
grinned.
“Don’t you dare—some of us use our bollocks!”

“You tosser! I ought to—oh shit, watch out…”

In trying to dodge a blow, Sirius had stumbled back slightly, losing his balance—he flung one arm
out to catch himself, and had the bad luck to come into contact with one of the sharp gardening
tools that Gully used for trimming the hedges.

“Ah!” He winced, feeling the bite of metal against his skin. “Bugger! That hurt.”

James hurriedly shoved the brooms away, and Sirius clutched his hand as they stumbled back out
into the blazing sunshine.

“What did you do?” James asked, leaning over to get a good look at Sirius’s hand. Seeing what had
happened, he immediately blanched and backed away. “Sorry mate, you know how I am with
blood…”

“Eurgh, it’s really bleeding, too…” His hand throbbed in time with his pulse, angry red rivulets
running down his wrist.

“Oi, get away from me!”

“What shall I do? Wait ‘til your mum gets home?”

“No choice – I dunno any healing spells…”

Sirius still remembered a few of the spells he’d studied, but he hadn’t exactly practiced them—and
besides, they weren’t supposed to use magic outside of Hogwarts. Plus, he wasn’t keen on
explaining to his friends why he’d tried to learn how to patch up cuts.

“Ow, it bloody hurts…”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Remus said sharply—Sirius was a bit surprised to find that he was still
waiting on the patio—“Let me see.”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, glancing at James, before he obeyed, walking over to Remus with
his arm outstretched. Blood continued to drip from the cut, hot and dark and smearing.

Remus frowned, a strange look on his face. “You need to clean that, it’ll get infected…hang on,
I’ve got some stuff in my trunk.”

Sirius followed him into the house, feeling slightly dazed as Remus led him upstairs to the
bathroom. He turned on the cold water and instructed Sirius to rinse his hand, then disappeared
down the hall. A moment later, he reappeared, carrying gauze and cotton balls and an odd, squarish
bottle.

“Come here,” Remus said, perching on the edge of the bathtub. He motioned to the closed toilet
seat, indicating that Sirius should sit—he did. The water had soothed the cut, somewhat, but it was
still bleeding.

“What’s that?” He asked, watching Remus pour some of the liquid from the bottle onto the cotton.

“TCP,” He replied, all business, “It’ll clean the wound.”

“Is it muggle stuff?”

“I’m sure it will work just the same,” Remus said dryly, raising a brow. Without warning, he
reached out and grabbed Sirius’s wrist, fingers rough and still burning with sunshine. Sirius’s heart
leapt into his throat—it was the first time Remus had touched him since…since—

“It’s going to sting,” he said, and that was all the warning Sirius got before Moony was pressing
down. He flinched, unconsciously, at the acidic bite on his palm.

Remus wasn’t gentle; he swiped the muggle medicine across the wound briskly, then wrapped it
tightly in gauze.

“Probably throb a bit,” he said as he finished, “Meant to be tight. Stops the bleeding.”

“Thanks, Moony.”

“Any time.”

He said it casually, an afterthought, but it made Sirius feel as if his heart could crawl its way out of
his throat, up the back of his tongue, until it spilled over teeth and lips. Remus started to stand, and
before he knew what he was doing, he had reached out and placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Remus frowned, “You’ve said.”

And Sirius knew—he knew he shouldn’t do it, that he should respect the boundaries that his friend
was so clearly trying to set. But Remus was right there. He was so close, and Sirius wanted—he
wanted—

“What I did…” he struggled, searching for words, fingers still wrapped around Remus’s arm.

“Don’t.” Remus said, quietly.

“But we ought to talk—"

“We can’t.” He didn’t sound angry, just tired, “I can’t, anyway. There are no words for what you
did to me.”

Under the bandages, the cut was throbbing.

“No.” Sirius released Remus’s arm, pulling his hand back to his chest, “You’re right.” Remus
glanced at the door, but he didn’t walk away.

Sirius tugged his uninjured hand through his hair, frustration building in his chest. “I’m such an
idiot,” he said, half to himself. Remus didn’t respond, but he didn’t leave, either.

“It was a really good year, wasn’t it, fifth year? Spending the moons together, and the parties…
then I went and ballsed it all up.”

There was a moment of tense silence; then Remus spoke. “Well.” He said, slowly, “I made some
mistakes too. I made things…things were different, after my birthday.”

Sirius jerked his head up in shock. “What? Moony, no!” He studied his friend’s face, trying to see
if he was serious. Remus stared back at him, brow furrowed. Surely Moony didn’t blame himself—
surely he didn’t think—

“I know I wasn’t…” Sirius hesitated, trying to make sense of his tangled feelings. “You didn’t do
anything wrong. That, what happened on your birthday, it was…”

My fault. But he couldn’t say that—couldn’t say I wanted it, couldn’t say, I made you think you
wanted it, too.

Remus was staring at him, waiting for him to say—whatever he was going to say. Sirius
floundered, feeling like he might drown in his own head.

“It was really brave.”

Confusion bled through Remus’s features, and Sirius felt a rush of fear. He couldn’t let Moony see
—what it had meant, what it had done to him—couldn’t stand the thought of Remus, staring at him
in disgust, all those tainted feelings suddenly revealed. He backtracked, saying quickly,

“I just mean that you shouldn’t worry about it. It didn’t…that didn’t change anything, ok?”

“Ok.” Remus looked away from him, and Sirius tried not to panic—I’m normal, I’m normal, it’s
nothing, I promise. When Moony looked up, there was still a question in his eyes.

“We never talked about that.”

“You’re my best friend, Remus.” I promise, I promise, nothing has to change.

“Sirius, please…”

“And I know what I did. There aren’t words, no, so I’ll shut up and I’ll…I’ll do actions, instead,
ok? I’ll prove I’m sorry, every day. I swear, I’ll never do another stupid thing without thinking
again.”

After a moment, Remus smiled.

“Come on.”

Sirius smiled back, overwhelmed with relief.

“Yeah, ok, maybe a bit ambitious. I’ll never do anything to hurt any one of my friends, ever again,
how’s that?”

Remus sucked in a breath. Please please please please…

“It’s a start.”
 Sixth Year: September
Chapter Summary

mary gets mad

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Wednesday 1st September 1976

“This is the year, lads. This is the year it finally happens. Six years of waiting and it all pays off.”

“You can’t be talking about what I think you’re talking about,” Remus said, raising a sceptical
eyebrow from over top the pages of his book.

“Oh yes,” James grinned maniacally, “Lily Evans is definitely going to realise she’s mad about me.
I can feel it.”

“Are you sure, though?” Sirius drawled, glancing over his shoulder from where he sat at the
window, “You've had these feelings before.”

“I have,” James conceded, solemnly, “You’re quite right, Padfoot. But something is different this
time. I can practically taste it. Love is very much in the air.”

“Or lust,” Remus returned to his book, muttering, “You’re probably just picking up on the raging
hormones coming off these idiots.” He jerked his chin towards Sirius and Peter, who were both
pressed against the windows of their carriage, searching King’s Cross for their girlfriends.

“Who’re you calling an idiot, Moony?” Sirius shot back, “I can’t help it if I drive women wild with
desire.”

“SIRIUS BLOODY BLACK, I COULD KILL YOU!” The train shook with the wrath of Mary
Macdonald as she pounded down the corridor in her heeled boots, shrieking furiously.

Remus nodded smugly.

“Wild with something, anyway.”

James (the traitor) almost choked on his Bertie Botts every flavour bean from laughing so hard.
Sirius shot him a glare, but when James grinned back it was hard to remain annoyed. He’d been
effusively happy since discovering that Sirius and Remus had reconciled, and although he was
tactful enough not to mention it directly, it was obvious that he’d been counting down the days
until they made up almost as much as Sirius. Now that he was no longer caught in the no-man’s-
land of tension between the two boys, James was practically bouncing off the walls with energy,
making grand declarations about all that would be accomplished in the new school year (most of
which had to do with Lily Evans).
James was still trying to catch his breath when Mary barged into their carriage, eyes aflame. Her
gaze locked onto Sirius, and he could have sworn that the temperature in the car went up by a few
degrees.

“What have I done?!” He demanded. He was sure that he hadn’t had time to do anything to warrant
his girlfriend’s fury, yet—the train hadn’t even left the bloody station!

“You really don’t know, do you?!” Mary shook her head in disgust, fuming. The gold hoops in her
ears jangled with motion. “Diagon Alley?!” She stamped her foot.

Sirius felt the blood drain from his face.

“Bugger."

“Fuck you, Black!” She whirled around, slamming the door open just as the train began to move.
Sirius scrambled to his feet, hurrying after her,

“Oi, Mary, wait! I’m sorry!”

He followed her into the corridor, stumbling a bit as he tried to grab her arm.

“Mary—hey, just—hang on a minute! Where are you even—ow, fuck’s sake!”

The third year that had just opened a door in his face squeaked an apology and ducked back into
her compartment, watching anxiously through the window as he stormed by.

Mary continued to stomp down the corridor, with no apparent destination in sight. Sirius could feel
frustration knotting in his chest.

“Bloody hell,” he shouted, catching up to her, “Would you just calm down for a second?!” He
wrapped his fingers around her wrist, tugging her to a stop.
Mary spun, eyes flashing dangerously, and yanked her arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” She shouted right back, glaring furiously, “I waited for
TWO HOURS. Two hours, Sirius!”

He winced.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just—”

Mary cut him off with a sharp bark of laughter, folding her arms across her chest.

“Oh, this’ll be brilliant, go on then.” She raised an eyebrow, “Let’s hear it. What’s your excuse,
Black, hmm?"

Sirius flushed, trying to tamp down on the anger that wanted to creep up his throat—reminding
himself that he was, unequivocally, at fault for this situation. He just wished Mary didn’t have to
make such a scene about it.

“I...don’t exactly have an excuse, I just….forgot, but—”

She threw her hands up, voice rising as she said, “Well, that’s absolutely delightful, isn’t it? Just
bloody forgot your girlfriend’s birthday—you really have a unique way of showing how much you
care, Sirius.”

There were students poking their heads out into the corridor, now, trying to see what all the
shouting was about.

“I do care! I didn’t mean to forget, Mary, I just—”

“Well of course you didn’t mean to, you never mean to—”

“Would you let me finish a bloody sentence?!”

“No!”

She spun on her heel again, stomping off, and he followed, gritting his teeth.

It took several more minutes of pursuit through the corridors before Mary finally shoved into an
empty carriage, flinging herself down next to the window and pouting. Sirius collapsed across from
her, letting his head fall back against the seat as he groaned,
“Merlin’s sake, woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

She snorted, staring belligerently at the landscape blurring past outside. Sirius stretched his leg out,
nudging her ankle with his foot. She scowled at him.

“Come on, Macdonald, I really didn’t mean to.”

“That’s the problem, Sirius,” she snapped, “You treat me like an afterthought! I didn’t agree to be
your girlfriend just so that I could provide some sort of entertainment whenever your friends are
busy.”

“You’re not—I don’t—Mary, I care about you!”

“Well, then act like it!”

Sirius frowned, taken aback by the outburst. He didn’t think he treated Mary as an afterthought—in
fact, he thought he spent quite a bit of time with her. He’d invited her to visit over the summer,
hadn’t he? Sure, James had been there, but it was his house; what did she expect?!

Mary continued to stare out the window, refusing to look at him. Sirius watched her as tense silence
filled the car, dulled only by the rumble of the train around them.

What was she getting at, bringing up his friends? He didn’t see that they had anything to do with
him forgetting her birthday; he’d just had other things on his mind. And besides, he was capable of
caring about more than one person. The marauders were practically his family, it was natural to put
them first sometimes, wasn’t it? Besides, it wasn’t like he and Mary were in love…

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Look, Macdonald, I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

She huffed. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. I’ll…I’ll take you out for a day, first Hogsmeade weekend, alright? We can do anything you
want to do—I’ll even brave Madam Puddifoot’s."

Mary rolled her eyes, but he could see from the way that her shoulders began to droop that he was
winning her over.

“I mean it, Mary, I’ll make it up to you. You’re amazing, and I’m a right idiot, and I’ll do better
next time. Okay?” He caught her eye, earnest, hoping she could hear the sincerity in his voice.
After a moment, she sighed.

“You’re such a prick, Black, why is it so bloody difficult to stay mad at you?”

He grinned.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“It means that your apology is under consideration.”

“Mmm, and when can I expect to receive a decision?”

Mary sniffed. “Three to five business days.”

Sirius stretched out his leg again, nudging her foot.

“Is there anything I could do to…accelerate the process?”

Mary rolled her eyes, but her lips quirked up before she could stop them. “You’re impossible,
Black.”

“Is that a no?”

She smirked at him, from across the empty carriage.

“I never said that…”

* * *

By the time they arrived at Hogwarts, slightly tousled and breathless, Sirius’s apology had been
moved from “pending consideration” to “conditionally accepted,” so long as he lived up to his
promise to treat Mary to a day in Hogsmeade. They reunited with their friends for the feast, and
Sirius was incredibly relieved at how normal it all felt—watching the nervous first-years as they
were sorted, listening to Dumbledore’s vague speech about focusing on what connects rather than
what divides, and chatting over dinner about their summers and their new timetables (Sirius was
rather looking forward to his schedule—he had dropped four classes after OWLs).

As they finished up their pudding, James stretched, groaning. “I’m knackered,” he said, slapping
the table as he stood, “Early night tonight, eh, Marlene? Practice first thing—"

“Oh no you don’t, Potter, you’re coming with me.” Lily shot him a chastising look, and James’s
eyes widened in delight, as if he could think of nothing more blissful than being scolded by Lily
Evans. She tutted, “We’ve got to lead the first years to bed – have you already forgotten you’re a
prefect?!”

“Oh shit, yeah – I mean bugger – I mean…whoops.”

Lily shook her head as she stood,

“We’ll work on your language, too. Come on.” She glanced at the rest of the group, “Password’s
‘lion heart.’”
They thanked her and left the two prefects behind, Lily eyeing James’s adoring smile sceptically.

Once they reached the common room, Sirius made a beeline for the largest, comfiest couch,
flopping down and sighing as he settled back against the pillows. Mary sat beside him, stretching
her feet across his legs. On the carpet beside them, Peter talked Marlene into a game of chess, and
Remus folded himself into an armchair, book appearing in his hands as if he had plucked it from
thin air. Sirius sighed happily, revelling in the return to normalcy after their tumultuous summer.

After a few minutes had gone by, though, he had had his fill of revelling in peace and quiet, and
was ready for a bit of excitement.

“When’s our first party, then?”

Marlene responded from the floor, eyes still glued to the chessboard—no one knew how he did it,
but if you looked away from Peter for even a second he would have your king in check by the time
you turned back.

“Our first match is in November. You can organise the victory party if you want, Black.”

“That’s aaages away,” Mary drawled, tapping her foot against Sirius’s knee, “Halloween? Close to
your birthday. We can do it after the feast.”

Remus perked up at the mention of food, setting down his book,

“Wonder if there’s time to go down to the kitchens…”

“You can’t possibly be hungry,” Sirius said, amused, “You had three helpings of pudding!”

“You’re probably right,” Remus sighed, sinking back into the armchair. He twisted to the side,
swinging his long legs over one arm and slouching back into the other as he opened his book again.
Sirius’s back ached just looking at him.

After a moment, he turned back to Mary, who had begun a running commentary on Peter and
Marlene’s chess game (much to Peter’s irritation). A few minutes later, she grew bored, and
switched over to discussing music with Sirius. They were in the middle of a debate about which
ABBA song was the best (Moony had dozed off in his chair, it was safe) when the portrait door
burst open, and a very frazzled-looking Lily dragged James inside.

“Stay still Potter!”

“I’m trying!"

James appeared to be compulsively and vigorously dancing an Irish jig, which immediately sent
the rest of his friends into hysterics. Mary leapt to her feet, giggling, and hurried over to help.

On the rug by the hearth, Marlene and Peter were boneless with laughter, chess game abandoned.
Sirius chuckled, watching them, and then looked up when he noticed Moony shifting. The
commotion appeared to have woken him from his nap; he blinked and smiled groggily at the sound
of his friends’ laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. His shoulders rolled as he straightened,
shifting beneath the fabric of his jumper; his hair was flattened against his temple on one side,
where he’d had his head pressed into the back of the chair. Sirius watched him stretch lazily,
twisting his neck from side to side—and then Remus turned, and their eyes met, and he raised an
eyebrow. Sirius realised he was staring; he looked away quickly, face heating.

“What happened?” Mary asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“Silly prat was showing off, as per usual. His hex hit a suit of armour and backfired.” Lily looked
both amused and somewhat frantic as she chased James around, trying to corner him so that she
could perform the counter jinx.

“Who were you trying to hex?!” Sirius crossed the room, moving to stand by Mary.

“Bloody Mulciber,” James scowled, which created a delightful contrast with his jaunty, jumping
footwork.

“Petrificus Totalus,” Sirius yawned as he cast the spell. James stiffened immediately, collapsing to
the ground like a plank of wood.

“Black!” Lily groaned.

“What?!” he said, innocently, “I was only trying to help!”

Lily shot him an exasperated look, then began discussing which spell to break first with Mary.
Sirius grinned down at his friend’s immobile face.

“Why go to all the trouble—we can just levitate him upstairs like this!”

* * *

Wednesday 8th September 1976

“With your OWLs now behind you, and your NEWTs over a year away, do not fall into the trap of
believing that this will be an easy year. Your sixth year lays the foundation for your advanced
exams, and the work you do will be pivotal in determining the opportunities available to you once
you leave school…”

Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d had quite enough of all their professors’ dire warnings
—especially now that they were on the fifth iteration of the same speech. Currently, it was
Flitwick giving it, and though his squeaky voice added a new twist, it was still almost word for
word the same thing that Binns and McGonagall and literally every other professor had already
said. Sirius wished they’d just sit down and compare notes so that they could consolidate, and save
everyone else the trouble.

He was out of his seat the moment class ended, shoving his things haphazardly into his bag and
bidding farewell to James, who rushed off to a prefect meeting—he was attending them all
religiously, though Sirius had a feeling that it had more to do with a certain redhead than it did any
real sense of duty.

He finished packing up and glanced over at Remus, expecting the other boy to be ready to leave—
but he was staring out the window, seemingly unaware of the students streaming out the door
behind him.

“Moony? Wakey wakey!” Sirius reached over and shook his shoulder, snapping him out of his
daydream.
“What?!” Remus blinked, startled.

“Lesson’s over, dopey. Where did you wander off to?”

“Just distracted.” He mumbled, sweeping his quills and parchment into his bag as he stood. Sirius
eyed the familiar furrow between his brows, and leaned in as he asked,

“Is it because of tonight? Are you nervous?”

It was a full moon, their first since…. well, since everything that had happened the previous term.
Sirius was determined to ensure that everything went smoothly, to show his friend that he could
still trust him.

Remus shrugged, smiling slightly. “No more than usual."

Sirius studied his face a moment longer—but if Moony didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going
to push. Instead, he changed tack, saying cheerfully,

“We’ve got a free now. Want to pop round the greenhouses?”

“Nah,” Remus smiled back at him, “S’ok, I actually…I have to go to the owlery. Got a letter to
post.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll come with you, James has another poncey prefect meeting. I swear you never went
to this many meetings.”

“Nah, I sort of left it all up to Evans, to be honest,” Remus smirked, “Of course, I wasn’t trying to
impress her.”

Sirius grinned,

“Too bloody right—at least you know where your priorities are, Moony. Who’s the letter for?”

“Er…do you mind not asking?” Remus glanced away as they entered the corridor, joining the
stream of students flowing to and from lessons. Sirius had to walk a bit faster than normal to keep
up with Moony’s long stride—miraculously, he had grown another inch over the summer.

“Oh, of course, mate.” Sirius said quickly, “Don’t mind me, I’m just bored, y’know.”

He was just grateful that Moony was talking to him again, let alone spending time with him—
walking to the owlery together was already enough to set his heart bouncing with joy in his chest.
They made their way quickly through the halls, tramping single file up the narrow winding
staircase.

Aside from the heavy stink of bird shit, the owlery was one of the most beautiful places at
Hogwarts, with a better view than even the Astronomy tower. There were windows on all sides,
allowing bright sunshine to stream through and catch on the stones. Sirius walked over to one of
the open windows that faced out on the forbidden forest, giving Remus space to select a bird and
attach his letter to its leg.

Once he was done, Remus walked over, joining Sirius at the windowsill. They stared down
together at the dark trees.

“How far d’you reckon we got, last year?” Sirius asked, “Couple of miles, at least…”

“At least,” Remus agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Think we could reach those mountains? There’re caves, I bet. I used to quite fancy living in a
cave, when I was little. Me and Reggie were going to run away from home and become cave
dwellers.”

“Weirdo,” Remus shook his head, smiling, “It’d be freezing.”

“Yeah, well you don’t think about that stuff when you’re seven, do you?”

“I s’pose.” Remus’s voice was quiet, thoughtful, “I never actually thought about running away, to
be honest. Lots of boys actually did it, but the police normally brought them back. Matron used to
say that if one of us went missing it was no skin off her nose—she still got paid, at the end of the
week.”

The sunlight picked out the freckles on his cheeks, highlighting them. Sirius felt like something
had caught in his chest.

“Moony, that’s…"

Remus laughed, humourlessly, and headed towards the staircase.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here, I’m hungry.”

They had to pause their descent halfway down the spiral steps when they heard footsteps,
flattening themselves against the wall to let whoever it was pass. Sirius waited, and after a moment
a mousy blond head appeared.

It was that annoying little bugger from Remus’s fan club—the one who had ruined his surprise
party. Sirius felt a vengeful twist of satisfaction as he observed what appeared to be a nasty
sunburn splattered across the boy’s pale face. He froze when he caught sight of them.

“Hi, Chris,” Remus said, politely.

“Hi.” The younger boy’s eyes skittered away—he was clearly uncomfortable. It was a marked
change from the last time Sirius had seen them speak; he wondered what had happened. On
Christopher’s robes, a silver prefect pin glinted in the sunlight.

“Well done on getting prefect,” Remus said, encouragingly—but Sirius could hear the strain in his
tone. He wondered if it was because of the silver, or if it was because of whatever had happened
between the two of them.

“Yeah…thanks.” Christopher mumbled, smiling weakly as he walked past. His arm brushed Remus
as he hurried by, and Sirius had to stop himself from jumping when Moony suddenly leaned
forward, long fingers gripping his shoulder for support. Sirius swallowed; he could hear Remus
breathing at the back of his neck. He hesitated a moment, then slipped an arm around his friend,
helping him keep his balance.

It’s just the silver, Sirius reminded himself, as his traitorous heart started pounding, Only the silver.
Remus’s fingers dug into his shoulder. They were very warm.

After a few seconds, Remus opened his eyes. He seemed to realise how close they were standing,
and stepped away quickly, clearing his throat and adjusting his robes.

“Sorry,” he said briskly, “Took me by surprise.”

“S’ok,” Sirius smiled, turning away and beginning back down the stairs, “Another reason to hate
 prefects, eh?”

Chapter End Notes

my laptop broke today :)) so i am currently working from my phone as i try to get it
fixed. this might lead to some delays over the next few days as i sort everything out--
luckily i've written ahead a bit, so i should be able to keep posting on time, but please
bear with me!
 Sixth Year: October
Chapter Summary

trouble in paradise

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

His name was always Buddy

And he’d shrug and ask to stay

She’d sigh like Twig the wonder kid

And turn her face away

She’s uncertain if she likes him

But she knows she really loves him

It’s a crash course for the ravers

It’s a drive-in Saturday

Saturday 9th October 1976

“Ugh,” Remus groaned, climbing unsteadily to his feet as his body finished fitting itself back
together.

“That didn’t seem too bad?” James transformed back into a human, smiling encouragingly as
Remus winced.

“Depends what you mean by bad,” their friend muttered, yanking on his trousers.

James politely averted his eyes, and Sirius, still a dog, plucked Remus’s shirt from the floor and
trotted over with it in his mouth. “Cheers, Padfoot,” Remus smiled down at him, and Sirius wagged
his tail, panting. He flopped over on the floor, hoping to coax Remus into a belly rub—but the tall
boy just shook his head and rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Thank Merlin it’s Saturday,” James said through a yawn, settling down onto the beaten-up couch
(a new addition, transfigured from one of James’s shoes. It had taken quite a few tries to get it
right, and once they did the marauders quickly discovered why there was so little furniture in the
shack—the poor sofa already had deep claw marks and stuffing hanging out from one side).

“Yeah, if Madam Pomfrey lets me off the hospital wing, I’ll probably go straight to bed anyway,”
Remus agreed, stifling a yawn of his own and reclining on his cot.
“You’re lucky,” Peter said, shifting abruptly from rat to human in one of the corners, “S’posed to
be taking Dezzie to Hogsmeade at eleven. Prongs, don’t you have to lead the third years down?”

“Nah,” James yawned again, groaning loudly, “Now Evans knows about Remus’s furry little
problem she’s actually cutting me some slack. That fifth-year kid with the sunburn is doing it
instead.”

“Evans doesn’t know anything else, does she?” Sirius asked, turning back into a human to speak.
He threw himself down on the sofa next to James.

Lily finding out about Remus’s lycanthropy was a new development—apparently it had happened
at the end of the previous term. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it (it was the
mararuder’s thing, knowing the secret), but he certainly wasn’t going to kick up a fuss, seeing as
she’d found out from Snape, who’d found out from Sirius...

James shook his head in response, settling back onto the sagging pillows and shutting his eyes.
“Oi,” Sirius poked his shoulder, “We’ve got to go soon, don’t sleep.”

“You lot go,” Remus said quietly, watching them, “Get some rest. Thanks for coming, and all
that...”

“Coming to Hogsmeade, Moony?” Sirius said hopefully, dragging James off the couch, “Three
Broomsticks?”

“Can’t,” Remus murmured, “Didn’t I tell you? Had my permission revoked. After the attacks...”

“What?!” Sirius felt a flash of heated anger, “They can’t punish YOU for something some other
bastard’s done!” It was completely unfair—Dumbledore had already confirmed that Moony had
nothing to do with the attacks; he would never hurt anyone!

“Shhh!” Remus hissed, frowning. “It’s not to punish me, it’s for my safety. Now get lost, the lot of
you.”

Sirius blinked, abashed. He hadn’t even considered that Moony might be in danger...did this mean
that Dumbledore thought Remus could become a target? It was hard to imagine anything
happening so close to Hogwarts; the war was meant to be something separate, somewhere far
away. Sirius had always thought that surely, as long as they had Dumbledore around, nothing truly
awful could happen. But he supposed that line of thinking had always been a bit naïve...

He made his way back to Gryffindor Tower with James and Peter, shuffling under the invisibility
cloak. By the time they finished climbing the seemingly endless stairs, all three boys were utterly
knackered; they collapsed on their beds, breathless.

“Reckon we can get a few hours’ kip in before Hogsmeade, yeah?” James mumbled, burying his
face in his pillow. Sirius nodded in agreement; Peter was already asleep.

When he next woke, it was to the sound of Peter fumbling frantically in his trunk, muttering to
himself.

“Bollocks...where is it?? I could’ve sworn I stuck it in here...”

“Keep it down, Pete,” Sirius groaned, rolling over.

“Aren’t you lot getting up for Hogsmeade?”

Sirius groaned again, mumbling, “No,” into his pillow. Peter continued to dig noisily through his
trunk. From behind the drawn curtains of his bed, James snored loudly—seemed as if he’d be
skipping the Hogsmeade excursion, too, and if Remus wasn’t going then Sirius figured there was
really no point in getting up, anyway. It wasn’t as if Pete would want company; he’d be with
Desdemona the whole time.

Peter must have found whatever he was looking for, because the lid of his trunk slammed shut.
James snorted from his bed, and Sirius thought for a moment he’d wake up—but then the snoring
resumed.

“Oi, Pete—hang on!” Sirius sat up, rustling around in the pocket of his cloak. Peter paused by the
door, looking a bit irritated.

“What? I don’t want to be late!”

“Oh, calm your tits, I’m sure Dezzie’ll wait. C’mere, take this—” he shoved a few galleons into
Peter’s hands, “—for the Halloween firewhisky. Just slip it to Rosmerta, she’ll know what we
want.”

Peter huffed, but pocketed the money, hurrying out the door with a quick farewell. Sirius fell back
onto his bed, curling up under the blanket. It was so warm...

“Bloody hell!”

Sirius was pulled once more from sleep’s grasp, this time by the loud slam of the door and James’s
accompanying exclamation.

“Oh, sorry!” Remus apologised, “I thought you’d be in Hogsmeade!”

“We were going to,” Sirius yawned and stretched, rolling over, “But our beds looked so
comfortable...”

“Damn, I didn’t mean to sleep that long.” James rolled his shoulders, standing, “I was going to slip
Rosmerta a bit of cash for the Halloween firewhisky, too.”

“Don’t worry, I got Peter to do it.” Sirius folded his hands behind his head, resisting the urge to
close his eyes and drift off again. “Is it lunch time?”

“Yeah,” Remus smiled, looking quite pleased to have company, “Shall we go down?”

“Let me shower first,” James said, slouching over to the bathroom. “Ugh, and I really ought to start
that Defence Against the Dark Arts essay on patronuses—have either of you done it?”

Sirius didn’t bother responding—he knew the question hadn’t really been for him.

“Drafted,” Remus said absentmindedly, beginning to flip through his own stack of homework,
“You can take a look if you want, but I bet you know it better than me anyway.”

“Hardly had time for the reading,” James shouted from inside the bathroom, shirt off and
toothbrush in his mouth. He never shut the door, desensitised from years in the quidditch locker
room, “With the game coming up and these prefect patrols – not that I’m complaining about
those... patrnouses look really cool though, I wanted to be the first one to do it.”

Sirius rolled his eyes fondly, smiling. Normally, he tried to give James a run for his money in
Defence Against the Dark Arts—but when it came to patronuses, there was no denying that Potter
was best suited to the task. The power of the spell was tied directly to emotions; more specifically,
positive emotions. When it came to sheer, stubborn optimism, James had everyone beat, and Sirius
didn’t think he’d be surprised if Potter managed the spell on his very first try. Of course, Sirius was
sure that he’d pick it up easily, too—but he couldn’t conjure happy memories in a split second the
way James could.

“So, we’ve sorted the booze,” he said, speaking up so that James could hear him over the running
shower, “Food is easy – and it’ll be right after the feast, anyway, so no one’ll be hungry except
Moony.”

“Up yours.” Remus said, calmly, as he reclined on his own bed, leaning against the headboard.

“Decorations...” Sirius grinned, “Well, I’ve asked Avni in Hufflepuff to do something creative with
pumpkins, so we’ll see how that goes...then all we need is music. You’ll do that again, won’t you,
Moony?”

Remus shrugged,

“I could, but last time everyone just put on whatever they wanted anyway.” He still seemed
distracted, frowning down at the notes he’d taken on patronuses.

“That’s fine,” Sirius reassured him, “Just get them going for the first few tracks. Er...something
they can dance to, this time?”

Now Remus looked up, smirking sarcastically,

“You can dance to Pink Floyd, if you try hard enough.”

Sirius’s throat felt dry. He swallowed.

“I know you have standards, but er...Mary’s asked if you could stick on some ABBA, maybe?” (He
would die before he admitted to Remus the absolutely sickening amount of time that he had spent
listening to SOS that summer).

“Oh, Jesus,” Remus threw himself dramatically back onto his mattress, flinging an arm over his
face, “Spare me.”

Sirius laughed, trying not to stare at the sliver of skin along his waistband where his jumper had
tugged up.

“Shit! Mary!” James shouted, suddenly.

Sirius frowned,

“What?” He yelled back.

James bolted out of the bathroom, towel wrapped hastily around his waist, soaked through and
dripping all over the floorboards.

“Mary!” He repeated, earnestly, “You were supposed to treat her to a day out in Hogsmeade, to
make up for her birthday!”

“Oh, buggering fuck.” Sirius smacked himself in the forehead, groaning, “How do I keep
forgetting?!”

“Not your fault, mate,” James said soothingly, grabbing another towel and turning his hair into an
absolute bird’s nest as he dried it, “You’ve been busy.”

Sirius doubted that that excuse would mollify Mary. She knew better than anyone how little of his
time was spent on homework, and now he didn’t even have quidditch as an excuse for why he’d
been so preoccupied. It was just bad luck that Hogsmeade had fallen the day after a full moon—
Sirius had been so anxious to make sure the night went well that it was practically all he’d been
thinking about for the past week.

“Ah, well, she’ll forgive me.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the tangled strands, “I’ll
take her out next time, and really go mad on Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s months away,” Remus pointed out.

Sirius shrugged. It wasn’t as if there was a closer holiday he could take advantage of—they were
doing the party for Halloween, and he’d be at the Potters’ for Christmas. James shoved his glasses
onto his nose, still clad in nothing but a towel as he rifled through his dresser for clothes,

“Your funeral, mate,” he shook his head, “You’re going to lose that girl if you’re not careful.”

***

Thursday 21st October 1976

It wasn’t as if he was trying to be a bad boyfriend. Sirius did care about Mary, and he didn’t enjoy
making her angry, but…there were just other things that he cared about more, sometimes. Besides,
he thought it was bloody ridiculous, expecting someone to become the centre of your universe just
because you were dating—he wasn’t like Pete, he didn’t spend every waking minute thinking
about his girlfriend. He hadn’t thought he’d be expected to.

But clearly, Mary had different ideas. She kept bringing up the fact that their anniversary was
coming up, and making snide remarks along the lines of, ‘You’d think that after a year you’d start
to take things more seriously!’ (She did not appreciate his response: But Mary, I’m always taking
things Siriusly!)

This led to quite a few arguments in which Mary insisted that he didn’t care about her, and Sirius
insisted that he did, which led Mary to demand that he prove it, which led Sirius to demand that she
explain why she was suddenly needing him to prove himself every ten seconds.

“Bloody hell, Macdonald, we’re dating, aren’t we? Why would I have asked you to be my
girlfriend if I didn’t care about you?”

“I don’t know Black, that’s what I’m trying to figure out!”

Sirius began to feel as if they were running in circles, rehashing the same fight over and over again
as the weeks slipped by—but he wasn’t sure how to fix it. He would always try to make it up to
Mary, showering her with attention to apologise for offending her. But it was never sustainable; he
would eventually find his interest tugged away, becoming preoccupied with his friends or research
for his latest prank. Inevitably, he would forget to walk her to class, or snap at her when he was
having a bad morning, or make a joke that had her bristling like a cat, and the cycle would start all
over again.

At least the make-up sex was bloody good fun.

In fact, one Thursday near the end of the month, Sirius skived off Arithmancy specifically to spend
a bit of quality time making up for his latest slight—James and Remus were in class, Peter was off
doing something with chess club, and Mary had a free, which meant it was the perfect opportunity
to sneak up to the boys’ dorm room and cast a locking charm on the door.

Sirius had a Bowie record on in the background, and his brain had just begun to go fuzzy with heat
when he felt Mary’s hands at his hips, tugging on his trousers. He froze.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking your trousers off, obviously.”

“Why?”

Mary grinned, wickedly. “Do you really want me to explain it to you, Black?” She leaned forward,
lips brushing against the juncture of collarbone and shoulder, hands sliding down his thighs—and it
felt amazing, but it was still light out, sunshine bright through the windows, and his legs—she’d
see—

“Stop!” Sirius yelped, pushing her away. He was breathing hard, heat tangling with cold panic in
his gut. Mary stared at him, shocked.

“What?”

His heart pounded fists inside his chest, tongue knotted with anxiety. Sirius thought of the sharp,
ugly lines marring the backs of his legs, the way she’d look at him if she saw them—disgust and
pity and horror, and she’d ask what happened and he’d have to say something, to explain, and—

“I just—don’t want to do that.”

Now Mary looked hurt, confused, embarrassed. “And what exactly is it that you think I was going
to do?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Sirius backtracked,

“Nothing, just—I mean—I should probably keep my trousers on. In case…in case one of the lads
comes back.”

Mary frowned. “You said they’ve got Arithmancy for the next hour.”

“Yeah, but Pete doesn’t. Wouldn’t want him walking in on anything—I’m pretty sure he and
Dezzie have only made it to second base.”

Mary studied him, leaning back on her heels. After a moment, she said slowly,

“You know, Sirius…we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want…”

Something about the way she was looking at him, eyes piercing like arrows through his chest,
made him dizzy; he sucked in a shallow breath.

“No—no, I want to, just….c’mere.” He reached out, snagging her wrist, tugging her towards him.
She hesitated, but eventually relented, falling back into his arms.
Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "drive-in saturday" by bowie! (no song in the og ch, but i
thought it needed something for mary ♡)
 Sixth Year: Halloween
Chapter Summary

mary calls it quits; sirius gets carried away

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sunday 31st October 1976

In hindsight, he probably should have seen it coming. They’d been running in circles for nearly
two months, driving all their friends mad with their constant bickering, and never seemed to get
any closer to reaching a stalemate. Looking back, Sirius supposed that it had always been sort of
inevitable, the sharp decline of something that was never meant to last.
But at the time, as October gave her last dying gasps and Halloween drew steadily closer, Sirius
was too preoccupied to spend much time reflecting on the state of his relationship.

Halloween of 1976 just so happened to fall on a Sunday, and considering the importance of the
holiday to the student body, Dumbledore had wisely elected to cancel classes for the following
Monday. This, of course, meant the perfect opportunity for a party the likes of which the castle had
never seen—and Sirius was determined to throw it.

The problem with being a genius event-planner—a connoisseur of celebration, a supervisor of

spectacular soirees—was that every party with the marauders’ names attached to it simply had to
outdo the last. With the new heights reached after Moony’s legendary birthday bash the previous
term, Sirius was entirely absorbed in ensuring that Gryffindor’s Halloween party would be even
more memorable.

Fortunately, he had James to help him. Being a prefect had done sod all to staunch Potter’s
Halloween spirit—in fact, if anything, he seemed to be even more daring now that he had the
authority of the shiny silver badge to fall back on. Together, the two of them amassed a hidden
collection of Filibuster’s fireworks which they planned to set off at midnight, along with copious
amounts of alcohol (for the older students, of course; prefects would be packing the first and
second years off to bed at a reasonable hour, per Lily’s regulations, and she also warned James that
if she saw any sloshed thirteen-year-olds she would hold him personally responsible).

So although things remained quite tense with Mary, and although they continued to spend a
majority of their time either fighting or making up, Sirius was too busy to worry about it much. He
felt guilty for letting her down when he’d promised to do better, but he also couldn’t help feeling a
bit resentful—Mary seemed to want some sort of nebulous commitment that she only ever defined
as “acting like you CARE about me,” and no matter how Sirius reiterated that he already did care
about her, it never seemed to be enough. Sometimes he felt as though they were speaking two
entirely different languages, words sliding past each other and never really sticking.

Still, Mary always forgave him. And he always forgave her. He figured that maybe this was just
the way things were, in relationships—after all, it wasn’t like he had anything to compare to. He
still liked Mary, and she clearly still liked him, so Sirius didn’t see why, eventually, the problem
wouldn’t just blow itself out.

So on the afternoon of the party, when Mary asked if he felt like a walk, Sirius didn’t think
anything of it. All the preparations had been finished; the alcohol was safely stashed, Avni’s
pumpkins were in place, and he and James had spent the morning double-checking the time-delay
spell on the fireworks to make sure they’d all go off at the right time. With nothing else to do,
Sirius agreed, looping his fingers through Mary’s and following her lead.

He was mildly surprised when she led him out to the grounds—it was a bit chilly for a stroll
around the lake, or for a rendezvous under the quidditch stands (and besides, Potter was trying out
new beaters—Sirius doubted he’d be able to focus properly on snogging if he had to listen to James
shouting drill instructions in the background). But he didn’t complain, allowing Mary to guide him
over to the edge of the lake. She paused as he reached down to skip a stone, fingers still
intertwined.

The stone bounced three times, then sank. Mary said,

“I think we ought to break up.”

Sirius jerked around to stare at her, blinking.

“What?”

“Me and you,” she said, as though that were the confusing part, “I think we should break up.”

“But…why?”

Mary smiled up at him, a little sadly. “Come on, Sirius,” her voice was quiet, “Are you actually
surprised?"

“I…I mean, I know we’ve been fighting, but—”

“It’s more than that.” She untangled their fingers, wrapping her cloak more tightly around her
shoulders. “I think…when we started dating, I had this sort of silly idea in my head. I thought that
if I could be the girlfriend that you wanted, then eventually you’d just…magically become the
boyfriend that I wanted, and we’d sort of balance out and everything would click. But…I don’t
think it works like that, anymore. I thought that if I just changed enough, then you would
automatically change, too, but you didn’t, and now I keep getting mad at you for it, and it’s not fair
to either of us.”

“Wh—what’s that supposed to mean? Change how?”

Mary shook her head. “I dunno, Sirius. I don’t really know how to describe it. It’s just like…
sometimes, it’s like your feelings are so big that there isn’t room for anyone else’s. And I don’t
think you mean for it to be like that, but….well. I dunno.”

They were quiet, for a bit. Then,

“Are you mad at me?"

Mary laughed.

“No, you big oaf. I’m tired of getting mad at you. I think things would be better if we were just…
friends.”

“So,” Sirius swallowed, “You want to stay friends, then?"

Mary smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Of course I do, Sirius. I still care about you—I
think we just want different things.”

He huffed a laugh, staring down at the dying grass beneath his feet. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” She nudged his shoulder with hers, smirking, “I want a boyfriend who doesn’t forget my
birthday, and you want…” she trailed off, hesitating. After a moment, she leaned her head against
his shoulder and sighed. “Well, to be honest, I’m not sure what you want. But I don’t think it’s
me.”

* * *

Eventually, Mary went back inside to get ready for the party. Sirius waved her away, insisting he
was alright, and stayed at the lake, skipping stones and watching the ripples they made on the
surface of the placid water.

He supposed that he ought to be sad. It was meant to be a big deal, ending a relationship—
especially one that had lasted for nearly a year. He should probably be moping, or angry, or
frantically scrambling to gather the shattered pieces of his heart.

Instead, he felt oddly calm. It was a strange sort of relief, knowing for sure where he stood with
Mary. He would miss some parts of the relationship, he was sure—the inside jokes, the easy
comfort of being wrapped in her arms, the sense of intimacy that came with knowing there were
experiences they shared only with each other. But if Sirius was being honest with himself, there
were also quite a few things that he wouldn’t miss—first and foremost, the constant pressure that
came with feeling as though there were some sort of standard for being a good boyfriend that he
was simply incapable of grasping.

At the end of the day, he’d never really understood how dating Mary was supposed to differentiate
so greatly from being friends—aside from the snogging (and, later, the shagging). If they were still
able to spend time together, still able to laugh and talk comfortably with each other…well, that had
always been the part he liked the most.

Sirius began to trudge back towards the castle, thinking about what Mary had said. He agreed that
they would probably be better off as friends, when he stopped to consider just how frequent their
arguments had become over the past few weeks. It bothered him, a bit, thinking that the way he
acted may have hurt Mary’s feelings; he certainly didn’t want to keep her in a relationship if she
felt he wasn’t…meeting her needs (whatever those were). Overall, he supposed it was the mature
thing, breaking up—no use being sad about it if it had to happen.

Sirius climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower, considering Mary’s final comment—how she’d said
they wanted different things. He had no doubt that she was right; wanting different things was,
essentially, the root of most of their fights. He thought of her voice as she’d said, I’m not sure what
you want, the unhappy line of her smile, the resigned look in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her for
the confusion; he knew he hadn’t made things easy.

The problem was that Sirius wasn’t sure what he wanted, either. At face value, Mary was a perfect
girlfriend—funny, beautiful, kind. Almost any bloke in the castle would have considered himself
the luckiest man alive to date her. And she’d been an excellent girlfriend; caring and attentive and
more patient than he had any right to, even when she was losing her temper. If he was being honest
with himself, he didn’t think he had ever truly deserved her, even though he’d enjoyed dating her
quite a lot. It had been good fun, being Mary’s boyfriend (at least, when she wasn’t trying to bite
his head off for acting like a prat).

And yet…

Sirius sighed as he entered the dorm room, feeling even more confused now that he’d tried to
untangle his feelings than he had when he just ignored them. As the door swung shut behind him,
the familiar twanging guitar of Diamond Dogs filled the air.

‘In the year of the scavenger, the season of the bitch

Sashay on the boardwalk, scurry to the ditch
Just another future song for lonely little kids…’

The curtains were drawn around Remus’s bed, and when Sirius poked his head behind them,
Moony was reclining, record player spinning near his feet.

“Oh, hello.”

“Hi.” Remus sat up, shifting self-consciously. “Did you want your record player back?”

“Nah,” Sirius shrugged his way past the curtains, crawling on the bed to settle down next to Remus
—it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do, the party was still a while off. And besides, it had been
a long time since he and Moony had listened to a record together.

They lay side by side in silence, listening to the jangling piano and brassy horns that accompanied
Bowie’s scratchy vocals. Sirius tried to relax, but his mind was still buzzing, thoughts circling
Mary’s words like vultures around carrion.

Eventually, he opened his mouth.

“Broke up with Mary.”

It felt strange to say it out loud. Final.

“Really? Sorry about that, mate.”

Sirius shrugged, casually,

“Nah, it’s ok. Not like I was in love with her or anything.”

“Plenty more fish in the sea.”

“Yeah,” His laugh was slightly strained, and they both fell silent again. The dizzy, barking music
of the first song ended, replaced by the dark swell of Sweet Thing. “Love this track,” Sirius said
quietly, as Bowie crooned between them. Remus murmured in agreement.

‘If you want it, boys, get it here thing,

Cuz hope, boys, is a cheap thing, cheap thing…’

The music was doing strange things to him, loosening the muscles in his jaw, stirring the blood in
his veins.
“We did it,” he blurted, “Me and Mary.”

Remus’s brow furrowed. “You did…oh. When?”

“Over the summer. Once or twice since we’ve been back at Hogwarts.”

“Right. Is that…I mean, that’s not why she dumped you?”

“No!” Sirius scoffed, offended, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don’t think I was that
terrible. We just broke up, that’s all.”

“…How was it?”

“The break-up?”

“No!...How was…It?!”

Sirius felt a shiver of smug satisfaction—Moony was so knowledgeable that he forgot, sometimes,
how inexperienced he was.

“Oh, yeah…it was good. Great. Not like I imagined, but…yeah, good.”

“Well…good, then.”

He felt like he was meant to say something else.

“She’s really gorgeous. Mary.”

“Yeah, she is.”

‘Then let it be; it’s all I ever wanted

It’s a street with a deal, and a taste
It’s got claws, it’s got me, it’s got you…’

“Remember when we were kids, and we were convinced Bowie was a wizard?” Sirius grinned,
shifting slightly to look at Moony’s face. He was smiling.

“Yeah, I think I still sort of believe he is.”

“One day, when we all live in London, we’ll go and find him, and then we can ask.”

Remus burst out laughing.

“What?!” Sirius tried to sound indignant, but he was smiling so hard his cheeks ached.

“You can’t just meet someone like Bowie!”

“Don’t see why not. We could go to one of his gigs, or find out where he lives. Have some
imagination, Lupin – once we’re of age we can do anything.”

Rebel Rebel started up, abrasive guitar and kicking drums. Sirius felt as if his heart was pounding in
time to the beat.

“Anything,” Remus smirked, and Sirius tried to ignore the way it made his stomach flip, “You
already think you can do anything.”

“Calling me arrogant?” He sat up, attempting to sound affronted even as he smiled. Remus smiled
back,

“Going to deny it?” He had that mischievous glint in his eye, the one that made his entire face light
up, “Your ego is so big it has its own orbit.”

“Harsh!”

“Your ego is so big,” Remus continued, eyes bright, “When you were doing it with Mary you
probably closed your eyes and imagined yourself!”

“You wound me, Lupin!” Sirius protested, snatching a pillow and beginning to beat him with it.
Remus kicked at him, kneeing him in the shin as he tried to roll out of the way—but Sirius’s
vengeance would not be thwarted. He scrambled on top of Remus, breathless with laughter, and
pinned his wrists over his head. “Ha!” He shouted, victorious, “Apologise!"

“No.” Remus narrowed his eyes, laughing as he tried to yank his arms free. Sirius straddled him,
using his body weight to keep Remus in place, shoving him back down.

“You can’t escape!” Sirius cried, “I’ve got you Moony!”

His heart was pounding, blood surging through his veins—and then their eyes met, and there was
something dark behind Remus’s gaze, something familiar and hungry. Sirius could feel him, hot
skin and sharp hipbones, pressed flush together. There was nothing soft about him—nothing soft at
all, except the thin skin of his wrists, where his pulse fluttered like a trapped bird under Sirius’s
fingertips.

Remus jerked upwards, deliberately, eyes searching, searing—and Sirius wanted…he wanted—

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, voice scratching its way out of his throat, “What are we doing?”

But Sirius was already gone. “Sh,” he begged, not trusting himself to speak, “Shh,” He fell
forward, unable to bear the weight of Moony’s eyes, releasing his wrists, burying his face in the
pillow beside his head. “Just this…just…” he rolled his hips, without meaning to, as the opening
refrain of Rock ‘n’ Roll with Me began to play.

‘You always were the one that knew…’

“Ok,” Remus whispered, breath like a flame against Sirius’s neck.

Which was good, because Sirius wasn’t sure he could stop if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to.
He wanted this, this, wanted Remus’s voice in his ear, the small, caught sounds in the back of his
throat, the uncontrolled snap of his hips. He wanted the ache and release of pressure, the friction
between their bodies, the heated press of skin. He wanted more—more, and then Moony’s hands
were there, like magic, like he could sense every dark and hungry thought, tugging at the buttons
on their jeans. Sirius tensed as he felt Remus’s hands on his skin—but he wanted it, wanted the
long fingers, the callouses, the scars. Remus was rough and hot and demanding and yet somehow
excruciatingly gentle, as if Sirius was something that might break, and it didn’t make any
difference, because he was shattering all the same.

I want this, he thought, unable to do anything but succumb to the force of his own piercing desire, I
want this, I want more, I want him. It had never felt like this, with Mary. Sirius hadn’t realised it
could feel like this.

Beneath him, Remus twitched, gasping, tremoring, and that was all it took. Sirius couldn’t stop the
moan that tore its way out of his throat, muffled against the bedsheets. Remus’s fingers were still
 wrapped around him.

For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of their shallow breathing and thundering
heartbeats. Then cold dread sank like a stone to the pit of Sirius’s stomach, chasing away any
lingering heat, and he untangled himself, freeing Remus from the cage of his limbs. The silence
was an agitated animal between them, pacing and predatory as they did up their trousers and
straightened their clothes.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Got a bit carried away.”

Remus was staring at him, eyes flickering over his face.

“Right...”

He sounded sceptical, and Sirius thought of what he’d just done—climbing on top of him, pinning
him down and grinding into his hand like some sort of animal, fucking moaning—

“Sorry.”

“What? No, it’s ok.”

It wasn’t okay. It very, very much was not okay, and Sirius wasn’t sure why Moony was trying to
make him feel better when he should have been furious.

“I’m going to have a shower. Not long until the feast.” He wasn’t sure how many more seconds he
could bear the weight of his friend’s searching gaze before he fell apart completely.

“Right.” Remus nodded, still watching as Sirius climbed awkwardly back through the curtains. He
hesitated, turning back once, hating himself as he asked,

“You won’t tell anyone?”

Remus snorted like he had said something ridiculous.

“’s'if I would.”

Sirius nodded, guilt and gratitude mixing sickly in his stomach. He locked himself in the bathroom
before he could throw up.

Chapter End Notes

old laptop unfixable :( new laptop acquired :)

 Sixth Year: Parties and Pustules
Chapter Summary

sirius acts normal

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Rock me, give me that kick now

Rock me, show me that trick now

Roll me, you can do magic

Baby, and I can’t get enough of it

Rock me, give me that feeling

Roll me, rocking and reeling

Baby, so don’t stop doing it, don’t stop doing it now

Sunday 31st October 1976

Everything was fine.

Sirius sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, surrounded by his friends. The Halloween feast
was just as spectacular as always, a mouth-watering golden hog roast with such a wide assortment
of sides that it was impossible to try everything. James was laughing at Marlene’s impression of
something one of their teammates had done at practice, Lily was listening politely as Peter tried to
explain his new chess strategy, and Remus was drinking pumpkin juice—head tilted back, throat
exposed, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed—

Which was fine. Sirius felt fine. It was all perfectly fine.

Everything would be alright, he reminded himself, as long as he followed The Plan. The Plan had
been created in the shower, as Sirius debated whether it would be easier to drown himself or look
Remus in the eye again. It was a close call, but at the end of the day he wasn’t sure that his
traitorous lungs would accept it if he tried to fill them with water, and Sirius had to resign himself
to the fact that he would be seeing Moony again quite soon.

Still, he could have punched himself in the face. As it was, he spent a solid thirty seconds banging
his head quietly against the tile wall. What was wrong with him?? Remus had only just forgiven
him, and now Sirius had to go and muck everything up again, all because of his...because he
was...because he wanted...
Sirius crawled down shame’s familiar throat and sat, burning, in the acid of its stomach. He
thought again of the way he’d thrown himself at Remus, like a dog with a bone, unyielding, giving
him hardly any say in the matter.

But he didn’t push you away, said a small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind, He touched you.

Sirius strangled it. Of course Remus had been...up for it; Merlin’s sake, the boy had spent sixteen
years with nothing but the company of his own hand! (Well—probably not all sixteen of those
years—but still). And now Sirius was taking advantage of his—repression, his shyness when it
came to being anything more than friends with girls, by dragging Remus into his own
uncontrollable mess.

Because Sirius knew, deep down, that he was beginning to run out of excuses for his behaviour. It
might have made sense if he were pent up, like Remus, eager for any sort of contact. But he’d
already snogged himself silly with Mary for nearly a year, and it seemed to have done nothing to
sate the desperate...need, the desire like something with teeth, something gnawing, bone-snapping,
blood-spilling. Sirius felt a cresting wave of hopelessness as he wondered whether his mother had
been right about him, all along.

He shut off the water and stepped out, glaring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. No. Whatever
this was, he would tame it, control it. He would have to, unless he wanted to permanently ruin his
friendship with Remus. They had already—discussed this, and Moony had made it clear that he
didn’t want things to change. Sirius just needed to respect his boundaries; it wasn’t like he was
actually an animal. He was capable of rational thought.

So he had slipped up, once—or, twice, sort of. If he counted last spring. That was fine. Sirius
would just have to do better. He’d been unprepared for the sheer force of his feelings, before, that
was all, but now he knew better. Now he was able to formulate a Plan—an excellent Plan, an
utterly fool proof Plan.

The Plan went like this:

Step 1 – Act normal.

Step 2 – Don't think about it.

Sirius thought that he was doing quite a good job with step one. He laughed and joked with his
friends at dinner, eating despite the knots in his stomach. He even managed to look Moony in the
eye, fleetingly, once or twice. The other boy was perhaps a bit quieter than usual, but he didn’t
seem to be angry, and he didn’t try to corner Sirius into any sort of confrontation.

Once the party began, it was even easier to follow The Plan. Sirius was at the centre of attention
with James, playing host to the flood of students that crowded in through the portrait hole. Soon
the common room was so jam packed that the only reason Sirius could even see Remus skulking
over by the record player was because of his ridiculous height—he was surrounded by a group of
girls, but he stood at least a foot taller than all of them.

Mary was in close proximity to the record player, too, devastatingly beautiful in a tight red dress as
she danced with a Ravenclaw bloke, Roman Rotherhide (who Sirius thought was very obviously
trying to copy his hairstyle). A few feet away, Peter spun Desdemona across the floor, and Lily and
Marlene giggled behind their cups of Witches Brew. James kept glancing wistfully at Lily, who
was wearing some sort of sparkly eyeshadow that made her green eyes glitter.

The abundance of alcohol made it easier to follow The Plan, as well. Sirius couldn’t very well
spend all his time thinking about what had happened with Moony if he was unable to form a single
coherent thought—a few shots of firewhisky, and he’d almost completely relaxed.

He was talking to Avni Chaudry about her pumpkin decorations when Remus abandoned his spot
by the record player, moving over to an open window. He leaned against the sill, bottle dangling
from the fingertips of one hand, cigarette in the other. Avni was explaining the spell she’d used,
shouting to be heard over the music and the buzz of voices, and Remus was lifting the cigarette to
his lips, inhaling, exhaling smoke—

Sirius swallowed.

“Hey, d’you fancy another drink?” He asked, interrupting Avni’s explanation. She paused, blinking
up at him, and then smiled.

“Sure!”

So Sirius took a shot with Avni. And Florence, and Tara, and Stacy—even Effie Scunthorpe. It
seemed that news of his breakup with Mary had spread quickly, and there was suddenly a constant
stream of smiling girls pushing more firewhisky into his hands. Sirius smirked and winked and
tossed his hair, grinning when they blushed.

As the night wore on, things grew blurrier, hazier, until Sirius could hardly keep his eyes open to
watch the fireworks show that he and James had prepared when it finally went off. He squinted out
the window, arm slung over Avni’s shoulders, trying to focus on the streaks of colourful light as
his classmates cheered around him. Bright gold sparks flamed in front of his eyes, and Sirius was
hit with a sudden wave of dizziness—the next thing he knew, he was upstairs, being dragged into
the bathroom.

“Oi, Moony! Wakey wakey, mate,” James’s voice exploded like thunder next to his ear, making
him wince. There was a weak groan from the tangled pile of limbs on the floor.

“Gnuuughh.”

“Bloody hell,” James tutted, “Scourgify! C’mon, up you get, it’s Padfoot’s turn to puke…”

At the mention of puke Sirius suddenly became urgently aware of the nausea spiralling from his
gut, and he flung himself down on top of the toilet bowl, clutching it for dear life as all the
firewhisky he’d had to drink made its second appearance of the night. He was vaguely aware of his
feet bumping into Remus’s sprawled legs, but he was too preoccupied to care.

Behind him, James was saying something to Moony, helping him to his feet and leaving Sirius
alone in the bathroom. His stomach clenched painfully, and Sirius gasped for breath, bracing
himself against another wave of nausea.

“Jaaaaames…” he moaned, before he had to lean over the toilet bowl again, retching. His friend
reappeared, kneeling on the floor next to him and rubbing soothing circles over his back.

“You’re alright, Pads, that’s it…”

Sirius spat, gagging; the lingering taste of puke on his tongue was almost enough to unsettle his
stomach a third time. He slumped against the toilet, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Why aren’t’choo sick…” he mumbled, slurring, and James laughed.

“Unlike you two degenerates, I know how to pace myself.”

Sirius flapped a hand weakly, attempting to smack him. “S’not fair…”

James chuckled, moving his hand back to rest on the floor. Sirius continued to talk, eyes closed,
cheek pressed pathetically against the porcelain toilet.

“S’not fair, Prongs…you’re too good at things…”

“Please, Black, you’ll make me blush.”

Sirius sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out. “I don’think’m a good person…” he sighed, words
blurring together, “Moony’s gonna hate me…”

“What are you on about, you silly prat? Moony doesn’t hate you, I promise. Now c’mon, let’s get
you to bed…”

* * *

Wednesday 10th November 1976

For the next week, Sirius didn’t spend a single moment alone with Remus. It wasn’t that he was
avoiding him (well, okay, he was sort of avoiding him), but they were both so busy that he hardly
had to make any effort to just…stay out of Moony’s way.

It helped that Remus had re-started his study club. He spent long hours in the library, which only
cemented it more firmly as the one room in the castle where Sirius avoided setting foot. It also
helped that Sirius had started seeing Avni, who was incredibly enthusiastic and fantastic at rolling
a joint.

They weren’t dating, not like he and Mary had been. It was just…casual. Fun. Sirius had made that
very clear when it started, not looking to get himself in over his head, and Avni had wrapped her
arms around his neck and kissed him and said,

“Fine by me, Black.” And that was that.

It was sort of refreshing, in a way. No strings attached. With Mary, Sirius had always been
preoccupied with feelings—wondering if he should feel more or less, better or worse. Wondering if
he cared enough, in the right ways—and clearly, he hadn’t. After all, they’d broken up. Sirius
figured that if he hadn’t been able to get things right with Mary, then he didn’t stand much of a
chance at being a decent boyfriend to a bird he wasn’t even friends with. Better to save all the
hassle.

Avni was a decent kisser, and she always had pot, and her smile was nice. It was fun, snogging her.
It was easy. And if Sirius sometimes closed his eyes and imagined that it was someone else’s
fingers skimming his hips, someone else’s mouth at his neck—well, no one needed to know.

He was spending a pleasant afternoon with Avni out by the greenhouses when a paper aeroplane
zipped through the air and knocked into his shoulder, falling to the ground. Sirius recognised the
locomotor charm as James’s, and he pushed Avni off his lap to pick it up and unfold it.
Marauders assemble! We have lain dormant too long.

Tonight. Midnight. Garden tapestry. Mischief.

He grinned from ear to ear, shoving the note into his pocket. When Avni asked him what it was, he
only smiled enigmatically and said,

“Oh, nothing…just Potter…”

* * *

Thursday 11th November 1976 (Midnight)

Sirius could already hear voices as he approached the tapestry, strolling leisurely through the dark
corridors.

“…had patrol.”

“What about Wormtail?”

“He’s here, on my shoulder. We didn’t fit otherwise.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, drawling,

“You two are making so much noise.”

“Padfoot!”

“Prongs.”

“How did you get here without the cloak?”

“I walked, you wuss.”

“Lucky Filch didn’t see you.”

“I was born lucky.”

At James’s feet sat a large and intriguing wooden box, which Sirius assumed was the reason that
he’d called for the prank. He also assumed that Potter’s intended target was Slytherin, as the
selected meeting spot was just outside the entrance to the dungeons. He was right on both counts.

“Some of the bubotubers accidentally cross-bred with some puffball mushrooms,” James
explained, as the three of them (plus Wormtail) snuck down the stone steps, “Professor Sprout
asked me to chuck them on the compost heap, but I thought that would be a waste…”

“Where are we going to put them?” Sirius asked, eagerly—marvelling at how, once again, Potter’s
prefect status only seemed to be lending itself to his mischief-making abilities.

“Well, I don’t know this year’s Slytherin password – any of you?”

They didn’t. James shrugged and sighed, whispering, “Then I thought we could probably just leave
them scattered about a bit – they’re just about ready to spore, I reckon…”

Once they had successfully crept into the belly of the dungeons, Peter changed back into a human
and James set down the crate, releasing his locomotion charm. He lifted the lid with a flourish,
presenting the marauders with the delightful sight of what looked to be over a hundred bulbous,
pulsating mushrooms.

“Eugh.” Peter wrinkled his nose.

“Yup,” James whispered, cheerfully, picking one up and presenting it, “Don’t squeeze ‘em, they’re
full of pus and ready to blow.”

“This is going to be excellent.” Sirius chuckled, grabbing two mushrooms and picturing what
Snape and Mulciber’s faces would look like covered in bubotuber pus.

They began immediately to hide the mushrooms, concealing them strategically in suits of armour,
behind tapestries, inside alcoves and under carpets. The puffball-bubotuber hybrids pulsed in an
extremely off-putting way, clearly ready to explode at the slightest provocation. The marauders
had to handle them very gently to ensure that they didn’t prematurely set the fungi off.

They were only halfway through the box when Remus suddenly stiffened, spinning around and
hissing,

“Shit – quick, look!”

When the other boys turned, it immediately became apparent what had upset him—Mrs. Norris,
Filch’s awful cat, was glaring at them spitefully, large yellow eyes glowing in the dim light.

“Oh, bugger!” James swore, “You three take the cloak and hide, I’ll—”

“Who’s there?” Filch snarled, sounding as if he was just down the corridor.

“Quick!” James whispered frantically, dashing in the opposite direction.

Peter, Sirius and Remus exchanged a panicked glance before scrambling for the nearest open
doorway – which, as luck would have it, was the girls’ loos.

“That fucking cat has it in for me,” Sirius scowled, “Ever since I became an animagus.”

“You can talk!” Peter yelped, eyes darting nervously towards the door. Remus had had the
forethought to drag the mushrooms out of the hallway, but was now looking helplessly about the
bathroom for a spot to put them.

“Push it in front of the door!” Sirius hissed.

“I don’t think that will—"

“Locomoto!”

“No!”

But it was too late. Acting on instinct, Sirius had already waved his wand, with none of the subtlety
normally required of the spell—the crate sailed forward, slamming into the door, and he could do
nothing but stare in shock as every single mushroom exploded, showering pus over the entire
bathroom.
 Peter, the bloody coward, shrank down into a rat before he could be caught in the storm, scuttling
down the drain to escape and leaving Sirius and Remus alone as bubotuber pus rained down over
their heads.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "rock me" by abba!

 Sixth Year: Boundaries
Chapter Summary

sirius and remus clean a bathroom

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Hey, hey, mama said the way you move

Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove

Ah, ah, child, way you shake that thing

Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting

Hey, hey, baby when you walk that way

Watch your honey drip, can’t keep away

Friday 12th November 1976

It was not the first time professor McGonagall had shouted at him in her nightgown, and this time
Sirius was at least not being eaten alive by his own guilt (he had no regrets about trying to cover
the Slytherins in pus). Still, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience—especially not with Remus
standing at his side, staring contritely at the floor.

James and Peter had both escaped, of course. It seemed that all of Potter’s morning jogs had paid
off, and he’d actually managed to outrun the old caretaker and his vile cat. Of course, Filch had
been distracted by the explosion in the bathroom, which had also helped James to evade notice. He
felt horrible about it, and offered repeatedly to tell McGonagall that the whole thing had been his
idea—but Sirius wasn’t having it. There was no need for James to be punished when he’d been
quick enough to get away.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he and Remus couldn’t handle a bit of detention—although the task
McGonagall had assigned them was rather ghastly.

“You both have an hour free before lunch tomorrow,” she’d said, scowling, “I expect both of you
to report to the dungeons in order to clean up your mess. Without magic.”

No, it wasn’t James that Sirius was mad at. But when he returned to their dorm and saw Peter,
already in his pyjamas and sitting on the end of his bed, he had to stifle a wave of rage. He couldn’t
believe the slippery little git had just left them there—did he have no code of honour?

At least the prank was not entirely ruined—Filch hadn’t found any of the hidden mushrooms, and
the next morning the bubotuber-puffball crossbreeds exploded just as the Slytherins were leaving
the dungeons for breakfast. Sirius felt an immense wave of satisfaction when he later learned that
both Snape and his darling brother had been in the wave of students heading to the Great Hall, and
only wished that he’d gotten the opportunity to see Reggie covered head to toe in bubotuber pus.

Of course, their professors knew immediately who the culprits were—McGonagall pulled Sirius
and Remus back into her office at once, reprimanding them thoroughly for a second time and
subtracting twenty more house points from Gryffindor (Sirius very much doubted that they would
be winning the House Cup that year, but he wasn’t all that fussed either way). She also tacked on
an extra night of detention, which started James up again.

“I’ll tell her it was my idea, I was the one who brought the mushrooms into the castle—"

“Oh, shut it, Potter,” Sirius groaned, reaching for a goblet of pumpkin juice, “We can’t have you
throwing away all that hard work to build up your swot reputation—what would Evans think?”

Peter, of course, did not offer to turn himself in—only shovelled eggs obliviously into his mouth.
Sirius shot him a nasty look, but he seemed too preoccupied with his breakfast to notice.

Sirius was still irritated that afternoon, when he and Remus made their way down to the dungeons.
He fumed as they stood outside the pus-filled bathroom, waiting for Filch to stop by with cleaning
supplies.

“Bloody Wormtail, this is all his fault.”

“No it isn’t,” Remus said bluntly, yawning and leaning back against the wall to wait.

“The little twerp ran away like the vermin he is!”

“Hey, be nice,” Moony scolded, “He only did that because someone got over excited and blew up
all those mushrooms.”

Sirius flushed—Remus wasn’t actually suggesting that this was his fault, was he?!

“I was thinking on my feet.”

“You weren’t thinking at all.”

“Well, you weren’t doing anything!”

“I was trying to hide it! If we’d hidden the box and got under the cloak, no one would have got in
trouble at all!”

“Well you didn’t say that at the time!” Sirius scowled, resentfully.

“You didn’t give me a chance!”

Sirius folded his arms stubbornly, leaning against the wall across from Remus. “He still didn’t have
to run away.”

Remus scowled right back, snapping,

“James ran away too. Don’t see you cursing his name.”

Sirius glared daggers at him, feeling frustrated and hot and twice as angry as he’d been when they
first walked down to the dungeons. James running away was different—he hadn’t already been
trapped in the bathroom with them, abandoning them to certain discovery like a proper coward.
Plus, James had offered to turn himself in, to bear some of the burden of punishment—never mind
that Sirius had refused him, what mattered was the principal of the thing. Peter hadn’t even
offered, and if he had turned himself in, then they’d have had three people to clean this ridiculous
mess and Sirius wouldn’t be stuck alone with Remus, and—

Well. It was just different. But clearly, Moony didn’t understand that.

Filch beamed with vindictive delight as he shoved mops and scrubbing brushes into their hands,
dropping two large wooden buckets at their feet. Inside the bathroom, the pus had dried into a
disgusting, sickly-yellow crust that covered every surface it had hit—the walls, the floor, the
mirrors.

“I’ll be back to check on you in two hours,” Filch said, still smiling sadistically, “You ought to be
done by then. No wands and no funny business.” He left with a spring in his step, looking so
pleased that Sirius was surprised he didn’t start humming.

Remus turned to him, and Sirius straightened, frustration still a burning ember in his stomach.

“I’ll start over there,” he said, brusquely, jerking his chin towards the far end of the bathroom,
“You go over there.” He gestured to the opposite side.

“Fine,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes as he slouched over to the sink and began to fill his
bucket. Sirius’s heart clenched with stifled anger; he turned his back on Remus the moment he’d
filled his own bucket, feeling scattered and prickly, like he could shout or kick something.

Instead, he channelled his energy into scrubbing bubotuber pus off the tile, gripping his scrub
brush in a white-knuckled fist and gritting his teeth as he mercilessly scoured his section of the
bathroom. Despite the daunting appearance of the thick crust, the pus came away easily with a bit
of warm water and soap, and it was surprisingly satisfying to watch the tile reappear from under the
yellowy paste. If he was alone, Sirius thought he might have even found the work mildly
therapeutic.

But he wasn’t alone. Although they worked in silence and at opposite ends of the room, Sirius was
very aware of Remus’s presence, the way one might be aware of the heat emanating from a
fireplace. He was acutely attuned to the quiet sounds of Remus moving, footsteps against tile and
the slosh of water as he refilled his bucket at the sink. It was the first time they had been alone
since Halloween.

It was very cold in the dungeons—Sirius knew that. But he still felt like he was standing next to an
open flame.

It took an hour for them to clear away the pus, so that the only thing left to do was a final rinse of
the sudsy bathroom. Remus moved to the sink, washing out his bucket. He splashed water on his
face and neck, cheeks pink with the exertion of vigorous scrubbing. Sirius watched a drop of water
running down the line of his jaw.

“Nearly finished,” Remus said, lightly, when he joined him at the sink to wash out his own bucket.
Sirius snorted, scowling,

“No thanks to Wormt—"

“Shut up about Wormtail, will you?!” Remus snapped, frowning, “Grow up!”

Sirius didn’t bother to respond, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He splashed water on his
face, too, trying to cool down. After a moment, Remus stomped back over to his wall, washing the
suds away with clean water.

Sirius found himself drifting closer, as if magnetised. He tried not to stare at the firm line of
Moony’s shoulders, shifting and flexing under his thin school shirt as he stretched to reach the
higher parts of the wall. That frustrated heat was still coiled, tightly, in his stomach.

“You missed a bit,” he grunted, pushing the taller boy out of the way and leaning past him to swipe
a patch of suds off the wall. Remus glared at him, bristling.

“Thought we were sticking to our own sides.”

“Yeah, thought you could be trusted to do a decent job.”

“If I didn’t have you breathing down my neck the whole time!”

“You’re so sensitive,” Sirius huffed.

“Nah, you’re just acting like a prick.” Remus shoved an elbow into his side, a sharp shock of
momentary pain.

Sirius didn’t think, just moved, shoving him against the wall, skin hot through the fabric of his
shirt. Remus lost his balance and reached out, gripping Sirius’s shoulder to keep from stumbling—
his fingers were long, rough, bruising, and then Moony was pushing him back, palms against his
chest, voice thick with frustration as he said, “Wanker.”

Sirius kissed him.

It felt more like falling than kissing; inevitable, the implacable downward pull of gravity, the
heady euphoria of crashing and burning. Remus’s mouth was hot; his breath was hot; his hands
twisting in the cloth of Sirius’s shirt were hot; he was on fire, and Sirius never wanted to stop.

Toujours pur!

Sirius ripped himself away, stumbling back as reality flooded back in.

Oh, Merlin, he thought, horrified, Oh buggering fuck, I’ve gone and done it again, I can’t—he
won’t—he’ll—

“Remus,” he choked out, “I’m…shit, I’m sorry. I dunno what keeps happening to me.”

“S’ok,” Remus mumbled, staring at the ground like he couldn’t even stomach the thought of
looking at him.

Tainted, disgusting, depraved—his mother’s words echoed in his head, and Sirius felt as if
everything he had worked so hard to preserve was crumbling around him. He had to fix this, before
he ruined everything, before he drove Moony away permanently.

“You know I’m not a—"

“Yeah,” Remus interrupted him, “Yeah, course. Me neither.”

Sirius’s heart twisted in his chest. Of course, he wanted to say, Of course you’re not. There was
nothing wrong with Remus; Remus was perfect—lips shiny with spit, hair tousled, shirt rumpled
deliciously from where Sirius’s hands had—
Stop it, he thought, furiously, Just stop. His mind was a tangle of guilt and heat and fear and
wanting—and this was all his fault, he was the one who kept making Remus—who kept losing
control and—who kept—

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tug on the hem of his shirt. Remus had caught him,
drawing his attention, staring into his eyes.

“No one’s gonna find out,” he mumbled, softly.

His eyes were dark with pupil, wide and cautious and beautiful. I could drown in you, Sirius
thought, feverishly.

“You won’t say anything?”

Remus shook his head, and Sirius found himself moving closer—knowing he should stop, knowing
it was wrong, even as Remus said,

“I won’t. We…we don’t have to stop. Unless you want to—"

A stronger man might have resisted. A stronger man might have turned away, might have left
Remus alone, might have resisted the urge to drag the boy in front of him down into the yawning
cavern of his own selfish desire.

But Sirius was weak. He was so, so weak, and Remus was right there—solid and warm and so
achingly lovely that he thought he might combust if he didn’t touch him now, right now—and then
they were kissing, gasping into each other’s mouths, and he could feel Remus, hard against his hip,
firm and hot and just as desperate as he was. Their hands were on each other—twisting in hair,
running over shoulders, ripping at belt buckles until they were pressed together, hands wrapped
around each other, panting into each other’s necks.

When it was over, Sirius stood with his forehead pressed against Moony’s shoulder, trying to
remember how to breathe. Eventually, he pulled back, heart pounding as their eyes met. Remus
reached out, skimming fingers across his temple, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, and the
touch was so gentle that Sirius thought he might break.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered, because it was true, and because he couldn’t bear to keep the words
locked inside his chest. Remus smiled, soft and private, and Sirius was nearly overwhelmed with
the urge to kiss him again.

“C’mon,” he turned away, buttoning his trousers, “We’d better finish this cleaning.”

He felt cold as he washed his hands, cold as he picked up his mop, cold as he moved back to his
own side of the room. Thoughts clamoured in his mind, a rising tide that threatened to swell and
overtake him.

“You’re not—” Remus spoke suddenly—hesitated, then said, “Don’t run off, this time.”

Sirius turned to look back at him, trying to swallow his heart.

“I’m not going anywhere, Moony,” he promised, quietly.

“Oh, ok. Good, then.”

“I felt bad about that. Last time. Sorry.” He tapped his fingers anxiously against the mop handle in
his hands, “But I thought you’d be angry or something. I dunno.”
 “No, I wasn’t.”

“We’re still friends, aren’t we?” Sirius held his breath as he asked it. He needed—this. He needed
Remus to tell him that he could take this, could have this, without destroying what they already
had. It was selfish, but that didn’t make him want it any less.

“Of course!” Remus was earnest, solemn and wide-eyed and far too good to be anything that Sirius
deserved, “We’ll always be friends, Padfoot.”

Sirius took a breath. Always. He smiled, shyly, and turned back to cleaning, feeling guilty and
relieved and so happy that it hurt.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "black dog" by led zeppelin (of course)

 Sixth Year: New Normal
Chapter Summary

no homo <3

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

A stud is a lamb

With the thoughts of a tiger

Who moves like a cat

And knows how to ride her

But I can’t get no satisfaction

All I want is easy action, baby

Mid-December 1976

Avni knew how to kiss. She was clearly somewhat experienced, employing her tongue in a way
that suggested previous practice. Florence was good with her hands, and Daisy had a filthy mouth,
and Tessa knew how to move her hips just so. They were all lovely, pretty and eager and pliant.

And it didn’t matter one bit.

None of them, not a single one, could hold a candle to the forest fire that seared in his blood when
Sirius was with Remus.

It was as terrifying as it was thrilling, a sensation like plummeting—as if he had jumped from the
Astronomy Tower and was now in freefall, pretending he could fly. One day this will kill me,
Sirius would think, pressing his mouth to Remus like he was starving, like he needed it, like he had
never wanted anything else. One day we’ll crash. But he couldn’t make himself care enough to
stop.

It was never Remus who initiated—only Sirius. He knew, vaguely, what this meant: that it wasn’t
urgent for Remus the way it was for him, that the other boy didn't need it. When he let himself
think about it, Sirius felt the slow creep of guilt, like he was using Remus, corrupting him—but his
friend never stopped him, and Sirius was too selfish to stop himself.

So he didn’t. He kept going, dragging Remus into broom closets, empty classrooms, hidden
alcoves. He snuck into Moony’s bed at night, shaking with the overwhelming force of his own
desire. Never under the covers, of course—it wasn’t like they were queer. They were
just...teenagers. Remus was clearly pent up, and Sirius...well, he still liked girls, obviously. Nobody
could deny that, not when he had a new one in his lap every other week. He was still normal. What
he had with Remus was just....different. Separate. He could keep them separate. Even when he
found himself staring at Moony’s hands in class, watching those long fingers twitch as he took
notes, thinking about how it would feel to have them tangled in his hair...

It didn’t matter. Sirius had self-control. At least—he had enough self-control to wait until they were
out of class, until James had left for quidditch and Peter to find Dezzie. He had enough self-control
to make it to the nearest broom cupboard, to wait until they were in the dark before sliding his
hands under Remus’s jumper, tracing the patterns of his scars, running his tongue along the
juncture of jaw and neck...

Yes, Sirius was very much in control.

Besides, he told himself, it wasn’t as if this thing with Moony was meant to last. Eventually,
Remus would find a girlfriend, and whatever it was that existed between them would fade, and
everything would go back to normal. Sirius wasn’t unreasonable; he knew that what they were
doing didn’t actually mean anything to either of them. It wasn’t like it had been with Mary, where
he was supposed to worry about feelings. That would be queer.

So if looking at Remus sometimes made his chest ache, or if kissing him stole the air from his
lungs, or if Sirius found himself staring at Moony, afterwards, as they passed a cigarette silently
back and forth, thinking I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you—it was no matter. Nothing
but teenage hormones and his own dramatic flair; Sirius stomped it out, like sparks from a fire.

Above all, he knew he couldn’t let Remus see how...affected he was. He was sure that if Moony
knew the things he sometimes thought, the emotions he sometimes felt, that he would be horrified;
appalled; disgusted. Sirius was disgusted with himself—he wouldn’t blame his friend. And he
couldn’t ruin what they had—not when he’d already almost destroyed their friendship once.

So, he turned to the girls. At first, Sirius was sure that if he just found the right one, then
everything would be different; some deep stirring of passion would awaken, and the scales would
fall from his eyes, and he’d finally understand what everyone had been banging on about. But after
six weeks and five girls, he began to grow frustrated—it didn’t seem to make a difference who it
was; being with them was like trying to get drunk on butterbeer when he’d already tasted
firewhisky.

But that didn’t matter. It was Sirius’s problem to figure out, and not anyone else’s—especially not
Moony’s. Sirius knew that his friend had enough on his plate without being dragged into some
strange, private mess of tangled emotion.

There had been another werewolf attack on the night of the December full moon, early on in the
month. Witness reports indicated that it had been a pack working together; as in the summer, a
family had been slaughtered. The Ministry was now on high alert for the rogue werewolves, and at
Hogwarts, it suddenly seemed to be all that anyone wanted to talk about. Silver jewellery became
all the rage, and Sirius spent quite a bit of time perfecting his transfiguration spell so that he could
mutter it easily under his breath, turning necklaces, bracelets, and rings into tin.

In addition to the silver jewellery, everyone had developed an opinion overnight on what, exactly,
the Ministry should do about this new, impending threat. Students who had obviously never
bothered to crack open a textbook on werewolves suddenly fancied themselves experts, making all
sorts of ludicrous proclamations that made Sirius cringe.

“Why can’t they tag them?” Avni suggested, on the afternoon following the attack. She was seated
next to Sirius in the quidditch stands, watching the Gryffindor team practice with Remus, Peter,
and Lily. “I mean, there’s already a registry, and they can trace underage wizards – why not put a
trace on dangerous animals?! It doesn’t make sense.”

Sirius had the sudden urge to push her down the stairs—he stifled it.

“They’re not animals,” Lily said sharply, shooting Avni a dirty look, “They’re people.”

Remus said nothing, staring straight ahead.

“Tell that to the Mundays!” Avni sniffed, reproachfully, “Tell that to this latest poor family.” She
scooted closer to Sirius on the bench, snuggling into his arm,

“Sirius, darling, I’m cold...”

“Go in, then.” He snapped, wriggling out of her grasp. He kept his eyes on James, who was yelling
at the keeper.

“Excuse me?” Avni stared at him, offended.

“You heard me,” Sirius said coldly, “Piss off.”

And that was the end of things with Avni.

Of course, she wasn’t the only one to express such ideas. In fact, it seemed to be a fairly common
sentiment amongst Hogwarts students that the Ministry should either tighten restrictions related to
the registry or institute some other form of protocol that would involve tracing werewolves. Sure,
there were students that argued the opposite perspective, maintaining that such measures would
constitute too severe an encroachment on personal freedom—but even most of those students
seemed to agree that the registry was necessary, and typically focused more on the idea that tracing
werewolves would be a slippery slope that could eventually harm wizards, rather than displaying
any real concern for the werewolves themselves.

They were the kinds of ideas Sirius had grown up hearing his entire life. But it was different, now
—he felt very aware of Moony anytime one of their peers made a passing comment about the
attack. Remus never said anything, never reacted in any overt way. But his face would always go
flat, like a door closing, and the deep bags under his eyes lasted even after the moon was long past.

Even worse, mid-way through the month Remus told them he’d received a letter from his old Care
of Magical Creatures Professor. Apparently, he worked with Moody, and had written to
‘encourage’ Remus to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas instead of going back to the Potters’.

“It’s not bloody fair,” James fumed, “You’re no danger to anyone, the full moon isn’t until the new
year!”

“It’s the pack thing, though,” Remus said tiredly, tugging on his tie to loosen it and throwing
himself down on his bed. “They’re worried I’ll get captured or join up or something.”

Sirius frowned, allowing the door to slam shut behind him. “I thought Ferox liked you,” he said,
shrugging his book bag off his shoulder, “He ought to know you’d never join them.”

“He does know,” Remus said, fingers picking at the knot of his tie, “But he thinks they might force
me or…well, none of us really know what might happen if I met another one…”

Sirius glanced nervously at James and Peter, chewing his lip. What was that supposed to mean—
did Moody really think this pack of werewolves would try and kidnap Remus? Should they be
worried?

Before he could think much about it, Moony pulled off his jumper, shirt riding up as he tugged it
over his head. He balled it up and threw it towards the end of his bed, hair sticking out almost as
crazily as James’s thanks to the static. When he turned and grinned at them, Sirius felt his throat go
dry.

“It’s fine, anyway, I really don’t mind. It’ll be great to have some peace and quiet; I’m looking
forward to a Christmas break from you lot.”

James shook his head fondly, chuckling as he grabbed his quidditch duffle bag,

“None of us believe you, Moony. Right, I’ve got practice, then an hour for homework, then
patrolling with Evans.” The packed schedule sounded like an absolute headache to Sirius—but
James grinned like he could think of nothing better than shouting at his teammates, holing up in the
library, and then following Evans around like a lost puppy while she scoffed at him. “Fancy it,
Black?”

“Nah, you’re alright, Prongs,” Sirius said casually, trying very hard not to stare as Remus
unbuttoned his school shirt. “You go on, I’ll get a head start on that Charms homework…”

“Yeah, right,” James waggled his eyebrows, “Who is it tonight, Florence again? See you.” He left
the room whistling, with a jaunty spring in his step.

Remus was reclining on the bed, fingers fiddling with one of his buttons. He met Sirius’s eye and
smirked, slightly, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard.

Sirius licked his lips and looked away, turning to Peter.

“You go and watch him then, Pete, if you fancy?”

“Nah,” Peter said, flipping through his scattered Charms notes. He had settled against the
headboard of his bed, leaning back and looking concerningly comfortable right where he was.

“Oh right, you’re probably seeing Dezzie?” It was a bit of a struggle to keep the strain from his
voice—Remus was now pulling the tie slowly from around his neck.

“Nope,” Peter chirped, selecting a quill, “She’s got patrol tonight. And she says we need to get
serious about our studies now we’re NEWT students…Can I do my homework with you two?”

Sirius glanced at Remus, raising an eyebrow. The other boy shrugged, looking as if he wasn’t too
fussed either way. Sirius bit his lip.

“I tell you what – I forgot to return that book to the library. Better go and – oh, Moony, while I’m
at it, wasn’t there another book you told me I should…”

“Oh, right, yeah!” Remus nodded, limbs tangled in the fresh jumper that he was pulling on, “Er…
it’s a complicated title, I’d better help you find it.”

“Oh, do you want to relocate to the library, then?” Peter asked, glancing up at them from where
he’d started to scribble on his parchment.

“No point,” Sirius said quickly, as Remus followed him out the door, “Won’t take long…”
“Won’t take long?!” Remus hissed, as they scurried down the stairs.

“I had to say something!”

They walked quickly through the common room, before any other interruptions could distract them
—but outside in the hallway, they paused, realising that neither of them actually had a destination
in mind.

“What about the fourth floor girl’s—” Sirius began,

“No.” Remus scowled.

“Fine. Er…Charms classroom is free, I think? On Fridays Flitwick finishes early and there aren’t
any clubs.”

“How do you know that?!”

“Oh, shut up and follow me,” Sirius said, resisting the urge to reach out and grab Remus’s hand to
tug him along, the way he would if he was with Florence, or Daisy, or Eunice.

They’d both become pretty good at basic alarm spells, and shoved a desk in front of the door as an
extra precaution—but there was no need to worry. It was a Friday afternoon; everyone was busy
avoiding the classrooms at all costs. The second Remus had finished moving the desk around,
Sirius was on him, pushing him into the wall and divesting him quickly of the jumper that he had
just put on.

When it was over, they pulled their clothes back on, and Sirius fixed his hair using the reflection in
the window. Remus sat on Flitwick’s desk and pulled out a pack of cigarettes; after a moment,
Sirius joined him.

“We’re going to actually have to go to the library now,” Remus said absentmindedly, focused on
blowing a chain of rings (which really, really shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was all Sirius could
do to stop staring at his lips).

“Nah,” he shook his head, looking away, “Just say they didn’t have it in.”

It had been nearly a year, now, since he had set foot in the library—he’d thought, originally, that
time would make things easier, but it seemed that the more he avoided it, the harder it became to
imagine walking into those dark, towering shelves…

“Well, that would be fine, except I was actually planning to do my Charms essay this evening…”

Sirius rolled his eyes, mostly because he needed something to keep his gaze from straying back to
Remus’s mouth again.

He stared out the window, exhaling smoke and listening to the faint sound of James’s captain
whistle from the quidditch pitch. Sirius found himself trying to imagine what the castle would be
like at Christmas, with nearly every student gone home; cavernous and empty and
lonely….private…

“Moony, are you definitely not coming for Christmas?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to trust Ferox. He knows me, he knew my dad.”

“He knew your dad? You never told us.”

 “I don’t have to tell you lot everything,” Remus said, prickling, “He worked with him, we had a
few chats about it, that’s all.”

“Well, if you trust him then.”

“I do.” Remus snapped. He was definitely irritated—though Sirius had no idea why. Sometimes it
seemed like Moony could be perfectly calm one moment, and ready to bite your head off the next.

“Ok! I was just going to say…” Sirius swallowed nervously, heart pounding, “Well, I mean, I could
stay too. Over Christmas. At Hogwarts. If it’s ok with you.”

“Oh.” Remus blinked, surprised. He turned to face Sirius, studying him in a way that made heat
creep up his neck. “Do you want to?”

Yes. Sirius swallowed again, focusing on his cigarette. “You shouldn’t be stuck all by yourself,
James has his family – and Pete, if he gets really desperate.”

“Yeah, but won’t they expect you? James’s parents? They’re mad about you.”

Sirius felt a warm rush of joy, at the easy way Remus said it—like it was simple, just a plain fact.

“They can have a Christmas as a family, for once, without me crashing in. C’mon, Moony, don’t
want to share the common room with me? I’ll be quiet and let you study if that’s what you really
want.”

He smirked, keeping his voice playful. Remus continued to stare at him, eyes burning like coals as
he stubbed out his cigarette. He leaned in like it was a challenge, kissing Sirius hard, sending heat
spiralling down his spine.

“As if,” he said, voice low in his throat. Sirius blinked as he drew away, resisting the urge to pull
him back.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "solid gold easy action" by t. rex!

2 quick notes:

1 - i'm going to be traveling for the next few days and will be doing my best to upload
around the usual time each night--but apologies in advance if there are any delays!

2 - i've noticed a few different comments expressing disbelief over how oblivious
sirius seems, and while i mostly just find them funny, i know there are a lot of younger
teens in this fandom and that it's possible some readers may really have never
experienced the isolation of growing up without access to any information/positive
representations regarding sexuality. so, i just wanted to put it out there that if you grow
up hearing literally nothing about queerness except that it's dirty, wrong, and
abnormal, it's completely understandable to struggle for a looooong time to unlearn
that kind of thinking--and internalized homophobia is something that many, many
people still struggle with today.
in conclusion: keep the jokes coming, but please continue to be mindful of the fact that
this remains a very current issue in many people's lives <3
 Sixth Year: Mince Pies
Chapter Summary

mary is observant; christmas break begins

Tuesday 14th December 1976

“Alright, who d’you reckon for keeper?” Sirius asked, tugging his sagging school bag back up onto
his shoulder, “Filch, or Slughorn?”

James frowned, deep in thought. “Hmmm...I figured Filch for a beater. Sadistic old bugger seems
like he’s just itching to whack something.”

“Ugh, too right he is—Slughorn, then?”

“I dunno...who’ve we got left?”

“Well, we’ve already done Hooch, McGonagall, Flitwick...suppose there’s Sprout, and—”

“Evans!”

Sirius sighed, resigning himself to an unfinished conversation. There would be no getting James to
focus, now that he’d spotted Lily. She was walking next to Mary, and the two girls spun around,
peering back.

“Oh. Potter.”

“Hello James, Sirius.”

“Macdonald.”

Sirius returned Mary’s smile, and James gave her a friendly nod before his eyes drifted inevitably
back over to Evans.

“What are you lads up to?” Mary asked, as the four of them fell into step.

“Trying to build a Hogwarts quidditch team with the professors.”

“Of course you are. And how’s that coming along?”

“We’re stuck on Slughorn.”

“Mm...Keeper?”

“That’s what I was saying!”

James interrupted, eyes still glued to Lily as he asked, “Where are you lot off to?”
“Library,” Lily sniffed, primly.

“Going to one of Remus’s classes,” Mary supplied, “He’s been saying for the past week that each
one’s going to be the last, but I think he might actually be serious this time.”

“Well, that’s not possible, because I’m—”

“Shut it, Black,” both James and Mary chorused, simultaneously. Sirius grinned.

“Mind if we tag along?” James asked, and for a moment Sirius’s heart sped up, pulse kicking—but
then,

“Black doesn’t go to the library,” Mary said. He turned to look at her, and their eyes met. “He’s got
a reputation to maintain, after all,” she added, smirking.

James laughed, and Lily rolled her eyes; neither seemed to think anything of the casual excuse. But
Sirius was still looking at Mary, who raised her eyebrows slightly and smiled, as if to say, you’re
welcome. He swallowed, feeling jittery, unmoored.

“Why don’t you two go on, then?” Mary said, turning back to their friends. Lily’s head whipped
around, and she gave Mary a very pointed frown, eyes wide. Sirius grinned.

“Yeah, Evans, let’s switch...”

Lily narrowed her eyes at him, and Mary giggled.

“To be honest, I didn’t much fancy spending the afternoon in the library, anyway,” she said
cheekily, “Think I might prefer to pop round to the greenhouses...”

“A woman after my own heart!” Sirius slung an arm around her shoulders. “Remind me why we
broke up, Macdonald?”

“Because you’re an idiot who wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit him on the nose.”

“Ah, of course. I knew there was a reason.”

James chuckled, turning to Lily with a hopeful smile.

“What do you say, Evans?”

She paused, pursing her lips and looking him up and down as if she were scanning for any signs of
hidden dung bombs or ink-squirting quills. After a moment, she sighed.

“Oh, alright. But I don’t want you distracting Remus—I really do need to revise.”

James placed a hand over his heart. “No funny business,” he promised solemnly, eyes bright with
laughter, “Just studying.”

Lily gave another long-suffering sigh, but she was smiling grudgingly as she turned back towards
the library. “Come on, then.” She set off at a brisk pace, and James turned back to Sirius.

“Black. Macdonald,” he saluted, grinning himself silly, and then turned to trot off after Lily.

They stood for a moment, watching their friends hurry off down the hall. Mary shook her head.
“Those two…” she murmured fondly. Once James and Lily had rounded the corner, she gently
manoeuvred Sirius’s arm from around her shoulders, linking their elbows together and setting off in
the opposite direction.

“Er…” Sirius cleared his throat, “Did you really want to go down to the greenhouses? We don’t
have to, if you don’t want—I mean, I would, but if you’d rather—”

“It’s fine,” she cut him off, smiling, “I want to.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They were silent for a bit, walking quietly side by side. Sirius thought of the automatic way Mary
had said, Black doesn’t go to the library, the knowing glint in her eye when she’d looked at him.
His skin felt prickly, like there were ants crawling over it.

Finally, he said softly, “Erm…Mary?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you…known? About the library?”

She turned to look up at him, head tilted to the side.

“I noticed last spring,” she said, simply, and he nodded.

“Right.”

More silence. Then, even more quietly,

“I didn’t realise anyone would notice.”

Mary patted the back of his hand. “Well, you’re not obvious about it, so don’t fret. But we were
dating for the entire term, Black; I’m not completely oblivious.” She continued to stare up at him,
studying his face. He flushed.

“Right. Okay.”

Mary smiled, gently, catching his eye. “I won’t ask why,” she said quietly, “But…is it something
you want to talk about?”

He shook his head.

“Alright.” Mary gave his hand a little squeeze, “If you ever do, just let me know.” They continued
on towards the greenhouses, and as they stepped out into the biting December wind Sirius turned to
look at her.

“Thanks, Macdonald.”

She smiled, a bit of tiny, vibrant sunshine. “Anytime.”

* * *

Sunday 19th December 1976

Sirius hunched his shoulders against the wind as they walked to the edge of the grounds to see
James and Peter off, burrowing further into his Gryffindor scarf.

“You sure?” James asked, hesitating, “Ferox never said you weren’t allowed, and Mum and Dad
honestly wouldn’t mind at all…”

“Next year, hopefully,” Remus smiled, “It might all be over by then. And I couldn’t live with
myself if anything happened to your family because of me.”

“Black? You’re really going to say no to mum’s mince pies?”

“Ah, but I’m not, my dear Prongs,” Sirius smirked, although it was obscured somewhat by the
scarf, “She sent some ahead, first thing this morning. I’ve got an entire tin full.”

“Foiled again,” James sighed, smiling. He hugged Sirius, then Remus, who stumbled forward a bit
and looked mildly surprised by the contact.

“Go on, get on the train, eh?” Sirius gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder, “You’ll have
Evans all to yourself…”

James needed no further encouragement; he shot them a cheeky wink as he hurried away, with
Peter tailing him, as usual. Sirius shivered as he stood with Remus, waving. Even after their friends
were out of sight, they spent a few minutes watching their classmates stream like spilled ink across
the white snow, listening to the happy chatter about holiday plans.

“Seeya, Remus!” Called an annoyingly chirpy voice. Sirius turned, and saw the mousy surprise-
party spoiler, blushing as he scurried past, “Have a good one!”

“You too,” Remus grinned at him, and Sirius felt a twist of irritation in his gut.

“That kid again,” he muttered, frowning, “Who is he?!”

“I’ve told you before, he’s a fifth year. In my study group.”

“Right. He looks like a complete drip.”

“He’s ok.”

Sirius was still scowling at the scrawny boy’s retreating form when he heard a familiar, sharp
voice.

“What’s wrong, Potters kick you out too?”

Sirius felt as though someone had wrapped a fist around his heart and squeezed. He hadn’t spoken
to his brother in months—not since their confrontation the previous spring. A hot flash of anger
burst through him as he remembered Reggie’s final words, the things he had said…

“No,” Sirius glared, “I’m just staying here this year.”

“Why?” There were dark circles under Reg’s eyes, and he looked thinner—drawn, cheekbones like
knives.

He chose this, Sirius reminded himself, firmly, He hates you.

“None of your business, that’s why. Now run along, little Reggie, I’m sure mummy’s waiting.”

His brother raised an eyebrow, as if to say, THAT’s your best comeback? Sirius flushed. Beside
him, Remus had tensed, fingers clenched into fists. He was glaring at Regulus with such searing
anger that Sirius was momentarily taken aback, wondering if he had missed something.

Then Reggie tilted his chin, defiantly, and for a split-second Sirius was looking at his little brother
again, petulant and pouting—but then he opened his mouth.

“Not a prefect anymore, Loony Lupin? I wonder why? Something to do with my delinquent
brother, perhaps? Surely that greasy half-blood Severus wasn’t telling the truth…?”

Sirius didn’t think, just moved, lunging forward, fists clenched—but Remus was there, strong arms
around his shoulders, holding him back. He struggled, anger like bile in his throat.

“Take that back you brown nosing little—"

But Remus was too strong; no matter how he twisted, Sirius couldn’t wrestle free. Regulus strolled
away, releasing a cold, barking laugh that reminded him of—of—

“I can curse him from here,” Sirius muttered, when Remus finally released him.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Moony’s voice was light, incongruent with the spitting anger inside
Sirius’s chest. He nudged his shoulder, nodding to the castle. “Look, we’ve got it practically to
ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Sirius mumbled, staring down at his brother’s footsteps in the snow. By tomorrow, the
imprints would be gone—it would be like he had never been there at all.

“C’mon then,” He muttered, turning back to Remus, “Let’s go in. Freezing my bollocks off.”

He couldn’t get his brother’s face out of his mind for the rest of the morning—the bleached look in
his eyes, like someone had scrubbed the soul out of him. Sirius kept replaying the words he’d said,
over and over, the icy laugh that sounded as if it came from someone else’s mouth.

At lunch time, he walked down to the Great Hall with Moony—and blinked when they stepped
through the doors.

“Blimey.” He had never seen the grand room so empty. There were only three other students—a
Slytherin seventh year and two Ravenclaw sixth years— all sitting at one table near the front of the
room, by the professors.

“I reckon it’s the war,” Remus said under his breath as they walked across the room, “Parents want
their kids home this Christmas.”

“Just you and me, then, Moony,” Sirius smiled, despite himself, “The orphans of Gryffindor
tower.”

Although there were hardly any students to appreciate it, Flitwick had still gone to town with the
Christmas decorations. There was silver and gold everywhere; shimmery streamers twirled along
the rafters and enchanted papery snowflakes fell from thin air, disappearing before they touched
the ground. A massive tree stood proudly in the centre of the room, glowing softly, and a flock of
bright, cheerful robins chirped Christmas carols as they fluttered about.

Sirius settled down next to Moony, and spent most of the meal ignoring the other students—the
Ravenclaws were busy with Arithmancy, and the Slytherin was sucking up to Slughorn, who
looked delighted with the attention.

“Remember first year?” Sirius asked, nudging Remus’s knee with his under the table, “It was just
you and me for Christmas then, too.”

“Yeah,” Remus smiled down at the table as the food appeared, “Electric Warrior.”

“We’ll have to have a listen, later.”

So they did. Sirius levitated the record player down to the common room, and they lay side by side
in front of the fireplace, silent as the music washed over them. Sirius played Monolith twice, just to
sneak glances at the way Remus shut his eyes and smiled as he listened to Marc Bolan’s crooning
voice.

‘And dressed...as you are, girl

In your fashions of fate

Baby, it’s too late…’

Sirius was replaying Jeepster for a third time when he looked over at Moony and noticed that the
other boy had drifted off to sleep. His chest rose and fell softly, lips parted as he breathed. The
firelight danced in the freckles on his cheeks, over the backs of his pale eyelids, in the soft curls of
his hair. Jeepster ended, and Monolith began again. Sirius rolled over and rested his chin on his
hands, watching Moony dream.

‘Baby it’s too late, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah…’

His heart felt swollen in his chest, aching and full, heavy enough to break his ribcage if it kept
beating. Sirius turned over, staring up at the ceiling and forcing himself to breathe.

Remus was still asleep when the mirror in Sirius’s pocket began to vibrate with a familiar voice.

“Padfoot…Paaadfoooot….”

He sat up, pulling the compact out and shushing it.

“Shhh! Moony’s sleeping, hang on.”

Sirius stopped the spinning record and moved over to an armchair, where he curled up and grinned
down at his friend’s smiling face. He was still whispering to James when Remus eventually woke,
sitting up slowly, languid with the lingering fog of sleep. Sirius could feel Moony’s eyes on him,
watching, and he suppressed the urge to shiver, trying to focus on James’s incredibly detailed
account of every single thing that Lily had done or said to him on the train.

Still, by the time they said their goodbyes, Sirius was only half-listening, excruciatingly aware of
Remus’s gaze. He snapped the compact shut, uncurling from the chair in a languorous stretch.
Remus’s eyes tracked his movements, and Sirius felt a heat coiling in the pit of his belly that had
nothing to do with the crackling fireplace.

“How’s James?”

“Fine.” He stood, walking to Remus slowly, watching the hunger spark in his eyes. “Misses me,
obviously.”

“Obviously,” Remus said, staring in a way that was downright sinful—wolfish and bone-meltingly
eager. Sirius stood above him, for a moment, feeling powerful and helpless all at once. He sank
slowly to his knees, straddling Moony’s hips, and bent forward, leaving a few inches of space and
waiting for Remus to close the distance between them—just to see if he would.

He did. He always did.

When things first started, Sirius had assumed that eventually, the sensation would…dull,
somehow. That they would kiss themselves out of each other’s systems, do everything there was to
do and grow bored, expel the secret urges and move on.

But being with Moony wasn’t like that—it wasn’t like that at all. Being with Moony was like
cigarettes, something that crept into his lungs and his blood, until he wanted it more than air. Being
with Moony was like drowning, like opening his mouth and swallowing the sea, like forgetting to
swim, like kicking the water and knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Sirius had never imagined he
could know someone like this, could burn the patterns of their skin onto his fingertips, could taste
every freckle on their shoulders, could learn the language of every soft sigh and strangled moan.
When Remus tugged at the waistband of his jeans, he didn’t think before slipping them off.

After, it took longer and longer to come back to his body. Even sated and buzzing with the
aftershocks of pleasure, Sirius would look at Remus and feel an indecipherable longing, a want that
he couldn’t understand. He didn’t know what more he could take—not when he was already taking
so much.

So he would squash it, and suffocate it, and smile once he could breathe again.

“Fancy a mince pie? I’m starving!”

Sirius leapt to his feet, pulling his jeans on quickly, before Remus could look at his legs. He waved
his wand,

“Accio biscuit tin.” It flew down the stairs with such incredible momentum that Sirius nearly fell
when it slammed into him. “Oof.”

“Your wandwork is too broad,” Remus tutted, buttoning his trousers and yanking a t-shirt over his
head.

Sirius stuck his tongue out and tossed him a mince pie, settling back down into the armchair he had
occupied earlier. His knees throbbed, dully, and he winced, rubbing one with the hand that wasn’t
holding a pie.

“Carpet burn.”

“You should see my back,” Remus said, wryly. He sat across from Sirius on the sofa, leaning his
elbows on his knees.

They were quiet as they ate, stealing glances at each other. Sirius licked the sticky fruit from his
fingers once he was finished, brushing the crumbs roughly from his bare chest.

“Aren’t you going to put your shirt back on?” Remus asked, casually, folding up his pie tin into
neat little triangle.

“Nah. No one’s here.”

“Yeah, but still…” Remus waved a hand, helplessly. Sirius smirked.

“Prude.”

He was rewarded with a laugh, and Remus narrowed his eyes as he flicked the folded up tin in
Sirius’s direction.

“Tart.”
 Sixth Year: 12 Nights
Chapter Summary

just guys being dudes

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

You’ve got a cute way of talking

You’ve got the better of me

Just snap your fingers and I’m walking

Like a dog, hanging on your lead

Monday 20th December 1976

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon now TOUCH ME BAAAABE!” Sirius belted at the top of his lungs, using
his shampoo bottle as a microphone. Andromeda had sent him The Doors’ Soft Parade album for
his birthday, and he’d nearly perfected his American accent. He tapped the bouncy drumbeat out
on the tile, singing the trumpet’s blaring notes: “BA-DAH Ba-daah...!”

He continued to hum the song as he stepped out of the shower, towelling off quickly and pulling on
his clothes. When he exited the bathroom, Remus was leaning against his bedpost with an
exasperated sort of smile. Sirius smirked.

“No applause?”

No applause—instead, Remus rolled his eyes, moving towards the door,

“Hurry up, I’m starving...”

They left the cosy privacy of Gryffindor tower, braving the empty stone corridors to make their
way downstairs for breakfast. They were early, thanks to Remus’s demanding stomach, and when
the two Ravenclaws arrived they sat closer than they had at dinner.

“Isn’t it ridiculous that they serve this much food when there are only five students?” Asked the
girl, who had a mass of frizzy hair clipped back from her freckly face, “It seems so wasteful…”

Indeed, although there were only four students at the table (the Slytherin liked to sleep in,
apparently), the plates had filled just as they would for a full-size feast; fried eggs, bacon,
sausages, black pudding, baked beans, fried tomatoes, toast, cereal, porridge, and a truly
astonishing array of fresh juices.
“Nah,” Sirius smirked, nodding meaningfully towards Remus, “You’ve clearly never seen Moony
here eat.”

“Shut up.” Remus said, words muffled around a mouthful of toast.

The Ravenclaws watched in awe as Remus proceeded to eat enough food to feed a small family,
and Sirius had to keep himself from laughing at their gobsmacked expressions. He was grinning
and sipping his tea when the morning post arrived, owls swooping through the hall and dropping
their wares haphazardly onto the table. Six brightly coloured envelopes landed next to Sirius’s
mug, and a soft purple package was delivered to Remus.

“You’re popular,” the Ravenclaw boy commented, watching as Sirius shoved the envelopes out of
the way.

“Don’t encourage him,” Remus said, dryly, examining his own package.

“We’re going ice skating before lunch,” chirped the Ravenclaw girl, cheerfully tucking a letter of
her own into the pocket of her robes. “The lake’s frozen over. Want to come?”

“Sounds good,” Sirius nodded, smiling, and stirred more sugar into his tea. When they stood up to
return to Gryffindor tower, Remus collected his post from the table, flicking through the letters as
they walked.

“Are these all Christmas cards?!” He asked, as the door to their room swung shut behind him.

“Oh, yeah, I think so.” Sirius responded absentmindedly, flinging open his wardrobe to search for
his ice skates—he was sure he’d brought them along…

“Who are they from?”

Sirius shrugged. “Whoever.” He couldn’t really be bothered to open them—after the first few, he’d
realised that they were all along the same lines, and that it was all pretty much just a load of
twaddle. Besides, he had more important things to focus on; the skates had to be there, they
must’ve just been tucked in the very back corner…

“Sirius.”

“What?”

He was halfway inside the wardrobe, kneeling on the floor outside and leaning in, so that he could
reach all the way to the very back.

“These are all from girls…”

“Aha!” Sirius cried, triumphantly, extricating himself from the wardrobe with his ice skates
gripped by the laces in his fist. “I knew I brought a pair during first year.”

“Are you telling me your feet haven’t grown since you were eleven?”

“They have a growing charm on them,” Sirius said smugly, brushing away the dust that had
collected after years of abandonment. “They get bigger to fit me. Only the best for the Blacks!”

“Clever. These cards, though…”

He turned, and found Remus sitting in a heap of colourful paper with an odd look on his face.
“Oh, those? What’d you open them for? You want to be careful. One of them squirted perfume at
me. Perfume.” He grimaced.

“Are these all girls you’ve…?”

It took him a moment to figure out what Remus was asking—when he did, Sirius grinned. “Really,
Moony, I’m flattered. As legendary as I’m sure my stamina is, no. They’re just girls. They send me
nonsense all the time.”

“All the time?” Remus was frowning. What was his problem?

“Oh, c’mon, what are you, jealous?” Sirius teased, “They’re just cards.”

“I suppose…”

“Now, let’s get you some skates…”

“I don’t want any, I’ll break my neck.”

“You’ll be fine, I’ll show you how to do it.”

Remus turned back to the cards again, flipping through them.

“There must be twenty here, altogether…”

What was he on about?? Sirius felt a prickle of unease—was it possible that Moony was jealous?
Was there some bird he liked, in that stack—did he wish that he was getting Christmas cards, too?
He always kicked up such a fuss about avoiding the subject of girls, but maybe it was because he
was just insecure…

“Look, Remus, why don’t we find you a girlfriend, then you won’t be so interested in my love life.”

“What?!” Remus yelped, whipping his head around in shock. Sirius stared back, wishing
desperately that he could read Moony’s mind—it was impossible to decipher his expression.

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, trying to be encouraging, “I reckon that freckly Ravenclaw likes you. Or
Marlene! What about Marlene? She’s pretty, nice. Likes you.” All the girls he hung out with liked
him—he was so bloody charming.

“She offered to snog me once,” Remus said, thoughtfully. “It was a joke though – Marlene’s not
interested in me. I don’t need a girlfriend.”

Sirius ignored the little thrill that went through him, at that. It doesn’t mean anything, you dolt. He
kept his voice light, teasing,

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it! Right, let’s see what we can do about these skates…”

It had been ages since he’d gone ice-skating, but Sirius fell back into it easily, gliding across the
lake and yelling,

“Look, Moony—watch this!” Before twirling in faster and faster circles, until he was dizzy and
laughing. Remus smiled at him, wobbling precariously near the grass, cheeks pink with cold.

It turned out that the Ravenclaw boy, Arnold, was pretty good at skating, and Sirius challenged him
to a race across the ice. As he sped over the frozen lake, wind whipping at his hair and eyes, Sirius
felt a thrill of nostalgic joy. He laughed, glancing to the side, and saw the dark flash of Arnold’s
hair, just like—

“Race you to the other side!”

“Wait, Sirius, no fair! You have to say one two three and then go—hey! Siriuuuss! It’s not fair!”

“Oh, come on, Reg, don’t be a cry baby. Here, I’ll teach you how to spin…”

Sirius won the race.

He and Arnold paused, panting, hands on their knees, and looked back towards the shore. Remus
was there with the freckly Ravenclaw girl, his hands on her shoulders as she led him around in
small circles. She kept glancing back at him, smiling. Sirius frowned.

“Hey, Arnold—race you back!”

Sirius stopped by the tower on their way in for lunch, waving Remus ahead.

“Go on, I know what you’re like when you’re hungry—I don’t fancy a stroll up to the tower and
back with you acting like a grump. I’ve just got to put my skates away, it’ll only take a minute!”

He hurried up the stairs, tossing his ice skates back into his wardrobe—and paused, looking down
at the heap of cards still spread across his bed. He thought of Remus’s face as he’d flipped through
them, Remus’s hands on the Ravenclaw girl’s shoulders.

You’re being silly, Sirius told himself, firmly, So what if he wants a girlfriend? But he crumpled
the cards into the bottom of his trunk, all the same.

By the time lunch was over, Sirius was feeling sleepy and slow, exhausted from a morning of
vigorous skating followed by running up and down the tower stairs. He yawned as Remus lit the
fireplace in their bedroom, watching him rifle around for another jumper.

“Still cold?”

“Freezing.” Remus yanked on a second pair of socks, huddling in front of the fire.

“Should have moved about a bit more, gets the blood pumping. Still,” Sirius kept his voice casual,
teasing, “You had a nice chat with freckles?”

“Tina. She’s interested in Goblin Finance.”

“Excellent, you can marry rich.”

Remus attempted to nail him in the head with a slipper, which he dodged.

“Oi!” Sirius released a startled laugh, “I’m just trying to help you get out a bit, Moony, you ought
to have other interests outside of that bloody study group.”

“I think, if anything, I would be doing more studying if I started going out with Tina. Which I’m
not going to.” Remus turned back to the fire, with a grumpy frown on his face.

Sirius watched him, trying to stifle the smug twist of satisfaction that came with having Moony all
to himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Remus to get a girlfriend—it was just…well, it was hard to
imagine any girl that would be right for Moony. That was all.

Besides, none of that mattered right now—Sirius brushed the thoughts away, the way someone
might swat at flies. Remus had turned to look at him, ridiculous in his thickest jumper and two
pairs of socks, shivering. Sirius couldn’t stop the devilish smile that twisted across his lips.

“Bed’s warm…”

* * *

Tuesday 21st December 1976

“Bloody Regulus.”

“It was two days ago, get over it.”

“He’s such a prick.”

“I know. Left a bit!”

“I can’t go any further left, there’s no room.”

“Careful! Not there…”

“Oops. Anyway, you should have let me hit him.”

“You weren’t going to hit him, you were going to break a knuckle. You can’t punch.”

“Yes I can!”

“No, you can’t. Look, can you please concentrate? You keep missing.”

“I’ve punched loads of people – oops, sorry…”

“You’ve play-fought with James. Not the same thing.”

“Oh, and you know how to punch, do you Moony?”

“Yeah, I do, actually – aha, I win!”

“It’s not fair. Can’t we get closer?”

“No, that’s cheating.”

“Oh fine, I forgot you were a stickler for rules, Prefect Lupin—far be it from me to infringe upon
the sacred regulations of this Most Hallowed Game! What would the referee think? The audience?
My adoring fans??”

The game in question was about two hours old, and had been a stroke of genius that involved
cutting holes in James and Peter’s bed sheets so that they could string them up across the common
room and fire various objects through the makeshift goals—quills, gobstones, old jars of broom
polish. It was particularly ingenious because, due to the nature of the game, they never had to tidy
up. Once they had finished shooting everything through from one side, they simply had to switch
to the other and start over.

Remus listened to him grumble with a smug smile as they moved over to the other side of the
sheets, utterly unmoved by any of Sirius’s excellent points about the fact that they had made up the
rules, and they had the power to change them. They positioned themselves in front of the fireplace.

“I wonder if this is what camping is like,” Remus mused, glancing at the crackling fire.

“Never been.” Sirius shrugged, “James thought it was funny our family never did it.” Camping,
according to his mother, was uncivilised.

“I always wanted to.” Remus murmured, levitating a crystal ball out from under the couch, “But I
liked the idea of anywhere that wasn’t St. Edmund’s.”

Sirius blinked. He didn’t think Remus had ever voluntarily brought up St. Edmund’s, before—he
always seemed to want to avoid talking about anything that had to do with his life outside of
Hogwarts.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you.” He said, remembering the dreary grey building. Then, looking
pointedly at the crystal ball, “You’re going to smash that.”

“No I’m not, I’m aiming at the big settee.”

Sure enough, Remus flicked his wand, and the crystal ball went zooming straight through the very
smallest hole, where it landed with a quiet thump on the soft cushions. Remus smirked and raised a
brow, and Sirius had to stifle a groan.

“It’s scary how good at this you are. Get you on a broom and you’d make a bloody good chaser.”

“No, thanks. Your go.”

Sirius levitated a gobstone, aiming for one of the larger holes.

“Did you play that muggle game, at St. Edmund’s?” He asked, offhanded, frowning as he fired
with a bit too much force and sent the gobstone sailing over the top of the sheet.

“Foul.” Remus said, “What muggle game?”

Blast. Sirius had definitely learned the name in Muggle Studies, but for the moment, his mind had
gone completely blank. “With all the running about and kicking. We saw them playing it when
we…er, over the summer.”

“Oh. Football. No, I never liked it. Had too many bruises already.”

Sirius flushed, wondering if he’d put his foot in it. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t think. Of course.” He
snuck a glance at Moony, trying to gauge his reaction—would he tense up? Get angry? Would he
snap at Sirius, if he tried to keep talking about it?

But Remus seemed calm, levitating quills and shooting them systematically through each hole
they’d cut in the sheets. Sirius watched for a moment, curiosity and caution battling in his mind—
but Moony was so rarely willing to talk about himself, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

“Is it really awful, living there?”

He held his breath, waiting for Remus to answer. The tall boy stared ahead at the cut-up sheets, a
series of inscrutable, fleeting expressions flickering over his features before they settled into
something cautious and thoughtful.

“It’s…not awful, but it is…noisy. You always have to watch your back, and no one really cares
about you, much. They have to make sure you don’t die, or get arrested, or starve or whatever, but
they don’t actually care.”

He looked down at his hands, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and sticking one
between his teeth. Sirius watched, silently, as he lit it with his wand, catching the box when Remus
tossed it his way, fiddling with it as he swallowed.

“I know how that feels.”

He wished he could get rid of the ache in his chest, which only grew as he watched Remus breathe
out smoke. When Moony turned to look at him, he grinned.

“Look what I can do!”

Sirius placed a cigarette in his mouth, frowning in concentration—he’d been practicing the spell
for weeks, and it still wasn’t effortless just yet. After a moment, though, he felt the buzz of magic
in his fingertips, and when he snapped his fingers, the cigarette burned orange. He almost let it
drop from his mouth, which split into a wide smile as he turned back to Remus.

“Blimey,” the other boy smiled dryly, raising an eyebrow, “Clever you.”

* * *

Wednesday 22nd December 1976

“What if we used a rope?”

“A rope?”

“Or a harness or something.”

“Where on earth would we find a harness??”

“I dunno,” James scratched his chin, his face in the reflection pressed up close to the mirror,
“Reckon there’s got to be something lying around in a broom closet somewhere that we could use.”

Sirius snorted, thinking to himself that he had become very familiar with quite a few of Hogwarts’
broom closets, and not once had he stumbled across a rope. Of course, he wasn’t usually looking
very hard—he was typically preoccupied with other activities.

“Well—whatever,” James continued, “We’d just need something to tie each pair together. So long
as it was sturdy enough I don’t imagine it’d matter what we actually used.”

Sirius made an assenting noise, nodding. He had told James all about his ice skating on the frozen
lake, and his friend was now trying to figure out a way they could combine skating with
broomsticks, by having one person fly and drag the other along behind.
“Alright, alright, try to contain your enthusiasm.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, calm down, Potter. We can try it when you get back—Moony’s already
begged off any more ice skating for the duration of the holiday.”

“Deal.” James grinned, then paused, hesitating before asking, “Er…how are things with Moony?”

“What? Good. Fine. Why? What makes you ask?”

“Oh, no reason, just…I mean, with everything last summer, y’know…”

Of course, Sirius thought, kicking himself mentally.

“Oh. No, yeah, things are…they’re good. Back to, um, normal.” He cleared his throat.

“Good.” James smiled, “Where is he? Can I say hello?”

“He’s upstairs. Sleeping.”

“It’s eight o’clock!”

Sirius shrugged, trying not to blush as he remembered how he had been curled in Remus’s bed, just
a few hours before, while Moony kissed his neck, long fingers skimming gently down over his
chest, lower and lower…

He cleared his throat, again. “How was your family thing?”

“Good,” James said, smile fading a bit, “Yeah. Nice. I don’t get to see my cousins much, and it’s
been ages since my mum saw her sister, so…yeah, it was good.” A small furrow had appeared
between his brows as he talked; Sirius raised a brow.

“And…?” He prompted, recognising the stifled dismay in his friend’s features. James sighed.

“And…I think they’re leaving the country.”

Sirius blinked. “Oh.”

“I mean—I don’t think, I know. They told us that they’re leaving—moving away.”

“Where?”

James shrugged, weakly. “America, maybe. Canada. Maybe France. They—I don’t know if they
weren’t properly certain, or if they just…didn’t want to tell mum. I think she knew, too, and it’s not
like she doesn’t get it. It’s just…well, it was rough. After they left.”

Sirius nodded, solemnly. “Is it…?”

“The war,” James said, “Yeah. They’ve had a few fights about it, y’know—my uncle thinks mum
and dad are being selfish.” His expression was stormy as he said it, and Sirius frowned along with
him.

“Selfish?!”

“Yeah. I overheard him, once, laying into dad—saying that his…involvement, or whatever, could
put the whole family at risk. As if the whole wizarding world won’t be at risk if we don’t bloody
win this stupid—” He broke off, agitated, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway. I think
tonight was supposed to be like. Reconciliation. It just felt really…final. Like they were saying
goodbye.”

“I’m sorry, mate.” Sirius said, quietly. In the mirror, his friend gave him a shaky smile.

“Yeah,” he said, “Me too.”

* * *

Thursday 23rd December 1976

“Show me how to throw a punch, then?”

Remus glanced up from the book he was reading. “Seriously?”

“Deadly Sirius.” He grinned impishly, wiggling his eyebrows, and Remus made a disgusted noise
at the overused pun. “Oh, go on,” Sirius nudged his leg with an outstretched foot, “Show me!
Teach me something, Professor Lupin.”

The sheets were still up in the common room, though the house elves had tidied away all the
scattered items that the boys had been using as projectiles. The stretched cloth muted the winter
sunlight, which streamed through the cut-out holes and cast five bright circles on the carpet. The
two boys had both been reclining—Remus, reading on the couch, and Sirius, sprawled on his belly
in front of the fireplace, flicking little bits of paper into the flame.

“Ok, but you need something to hit that you won’t hurt yourself on.”

They tested a few sofa cushions before Remus had the idea to cast a softening charm on an empty
patch of wall. Sirius waited, buzzing with anticipation, for Moony to tell him what to do.

“Make a fist.”

He made a fist.

“No, ok, not like that...yeah, put your thumb there, unless you want it broken.”

He moved his thumb.

“Ok, now you want it at shoulder level...yeah, then...er....”

Sirius waited, holding his fist at his shoulder. After a moment, Remus sighed.

“Here, let me just...”

He nudged Sirius out of the way and began to demonstrate, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper and
reeling back his arm, the muscles in his shoulders tensing and releasing under his shirt. Sirius
watched very, very carefully—so that he could copy the movements, of course.

After a short demonstration, Remus guided him back in front of the wall, grabbing his arm and
moving it into position. Sirius watched, mouth dry, as Moony’s fingers wrapped around his wrist,
dragging his hand up.

“Legs apart, don’t lean forward so much...ok, try it now...”

It took twenty minutes before Remus was satisfied, finally declaring that Sirius might be able to
give someone a black eye. It was grudging praise, but Sirius grinned nonetheless, panting with
exertion.

“Where’d you learn this?”

“St. Edmund’s.”

“Oh, yeah...” Sirius remembered Remus when he’d first arrived at Hogwarts, scrawny and
belligerent and ready for a fight. He'd never really considered, before, the reasons why Remus
might’ve been so truculent—he thought again of the split-knuckled anger he had smelled on that
scrubby lawn...

“No, not like that,” Remus said hurriedly, “Some of the older boys taught me, a few summers ago.
They were all a bit rough, liked a fight, but they were nice to me.”

“Ah,” Sirius relaxed a bit, smiling—a thought occurred to him. “Was this the year you began your
foray into organised crime?”

“My what?! Oh, yeah, the fags. Yep, that summer.”

“I’ll never forget you stomping onto the train in those boots.”

“Ugh, don’t,” Remus buried his face in his hands, groaning, “I was so obnoxious.”

Sirius thought about the way Moony had barrelled into the train car like a summer storm, all
thunder and static, electric. He thought about the way his throat had gone dry, his palms sweaty,
how his heart had pounded in his chest. Huh.

“I didn’t think so.” Sirius rubbed his sore knuckles absentmindedly, “Anyway, you had good
reason.” He pulled his mind away from the memory of watching Remus smoke for the first time,
asking, “Did you, er...ever learn any more about Greyback?”

Remus blinked, and a familiar curtain fell behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he moved away, sitting down
and picking up a newspaper, “Bits and pieces.”

“Moony, I know you hate talking about him. It.” You can tell me to stop.

“No, it’s fine.” Remus was staring down, at the paper in his lap.

“You don’t think...the attacks over the last few months...”

Now Remus looked up, searching his face. Sirius didn’t know what it was he found there, but it
seemed to be enough to continue.

“Yeah.” He nodded, once, “It was him. Moody told me.”

Sirius felt cold. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

“You don’t think he’d come after you?” Sirius thought of the disappearance over the summer, the
panicked frenzy of it, the way Mrs. Potter had nearly cried in relief when she’d wrapped Remus up
in her arms.

“Don’t see why he would.” The other boy shrugged, looking back down at the newspaper, fingers
tracing absentmindedly over the old wound on his side. Sirius had memorised that scar with his
fingertips, had traced the jagged line of every tooth. “It’s not like he can do anything else to me
now. The worst’s already happened.”

“Moony.”

He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what else to do with the swell of emotion that
filled his lungs, that caught his breath. I wish no one had ever hurt you, Sirius thought, without
meaning to, I wish I could hide you, or take you away.

He swallowed, looking back down at his knuckles. What the hell am I thinking??

* * *

Friday 24th December 1976

“Do we have any weed?” Sirius asked, as they made their way up the stairs to Gryffindor tower.
They’d just come from breakfast, where he’d had to politely manoeuvre out of another chess
tournament with the Ravenclaws—after spending the previous morning with them, Sirius had had
quite enough.

“When you say ‘we,’” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow, “Do you mean me?”

“Fine, do you have any weed?”

“No.”

“But you know where some is.”

“Maybe.”

“That’s my little delinquent. C’mon then, show me.”

Remus eyed him, reluctantly.

“We’d have to go outside, to the greenhouses – and probably smoke it there too, I don’t want the
house elves getting a whiff. It’s too cold, I’d rather not.”

“Come on, Moony. You haven’t been outside in ages!”

“I know, that was deliberate.”

“Come on,” Sirius laughed, tugging on his sleeve, and Remus acquiesced with a long-suffering
sigh. There was a crunchy, day-old sheet of snow on the ground, turned half to ice, and they
slipped and slid on their way down to the greenhouses. Sirius watched as Remus kicked away a
patch of snow, sniffing for a moment before unearthing a tin box full of lovely, pungent little buds
wrapped neatly in brown paper. They snagged a few, then looked around for a place to smoke—
Remus was right, it was far too cold outside.

“We could go in there?” Sirius suggested, nodding to the steamy greenhouses.

“Are you mental? Sprout comes down here twice a day to check on the mandrakes. It has to be
somewhere else.”

“The shack?”

“Fuck that.” Remus snarled, acerbic. Sirius stared in shock, and Moony’s features softened, guilty
and embarrassed as he muttered, “I hate it there. Please, somewhere else?”

“Ok, sorry...er...ooh, I know!” He reached out for Remus’s wrist, pulling him along back towards
the castle. Sirius didn’t have to say where they were going for Remus to catch on—Moony knew
Hogwarts better than any of them, the Marauder’s map had been his brainchild—and they had
almost reached the statue of the one-eyed, hump-backed witch when the seventh-year Slytherin
rounded the corner. They froze abruptly; Sirius dropped Moony’s hand.

“What are you two doing?” The older boy asked, eyeing their guilty expressions.

“Just going for a stroll,” Sirius tilted his chin up, “It’s a free castle.”

“Whatever.” The Slytherin rolled his eyes, apathetic, and swept past them, robes swishing as he
disappeared down the hallway. Once he was gone, Remus pulled the map out of his pocket and
unfolded it, squinting down at the little moving dot. Sirius peered over his shoulder. Perseus Flint.

“Bleugh,” He grimaced, “I think he’s a relative...”

Inside the tunnel, they used their cloaks as cushions, settling down on the packed dirt floor and
casting a quick illumination spell.

“Should have brought the record player,” Sirius leaned back on his hands, “We could get quite
comfy here, dunno why I never thought of it before.”

“You and your cave-dwelling fantasies,” Remus shook his head fondly, careful and precise as he
rolled a joint. “We’re not spending the rest of Christmas in here.”

Sirius grinned, but didn’t argue—he figured he could always try to change Moony’s mind later. As
it was, they still ended up whiling away the rest of the morning in the tunnel, passing Remus’s
immaculately rolled joints back and forth, sharing small smiles as their fingers brushed. Sirius felt
giggly and stupid and somewhat floaty as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, where
they scoffed the food the house elves had prepared like they were starving.

After lunch, the Ravenclaws pressed them once more to play chess, and Sirius—still feeling the
effects of the last joint and quite sure that his mind had expanded to twice its usual size, allowing
him to discover the universe’s hidden secrets when it came to chess strategies—found himself
agreeing, determined to beat Tina and utterly confident in his ability to succeed.

He did not succeed.

It was through no fault of his own that he’d lost; Moony had rudely fallen asleep at the table, and
his soft, murmuring snores were quite distracting, as was the way his lips twitched while he slept.
It was impossible for Sirius to focus on the implementation of his ground-breaking new chess
strategy (which he kept forgetting—it definitely had something to do with the rooks, or maybe the
knights…); eventually, he was forced to admit defeat. Tina smiled bashfully, but did not look all
too surprised that she had won.

Sirius turned to his sleeping friend, nudging the other boy’s shoulder.

“You’re snoring, Moony.”

Remus blinked himself awake, head still pillowed by his hands on the table.

“Are you alright?” Tina frowned, peering at him through her large, cat-eye glasses.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah…” He sat up, rolling his shoulders a bit, “Sorry, must not have slept enough last
night.”

“You do look quite pale,” the Ravenclaw girl murmured, scanning him clinically, “Perhaps you
ought to go to bed for a bit? Sirius said you were busy all morning on Herbology, so I’m not
surprised if you’re tired.”

Sirius couldn’t help himself—he began to giggle, covering his mouth with his hand to try and stifle
it. Remus elbowed him in the ribs, which only caused more laughter to bubble up in his throat.

“Yeah, I will go for a lie down, cheers.”

The tall boy stood up, stretching his gangly limbs, and Sirius tried not to stare when the planes of
his back moved under his jumper. As Remus walked away, Sirius swallowed. He had suddenly lost
all interest in chess.

Still, he played another round with Tina—buggering it up completely, so that she had his king in
check after fifteen minutes—before bidding her farewell and hurrying off to Gryffindor tower.

“Moony?”

“I’m in the bath.” Sirius cracked the door open, and Remus huffed as he entered. “Didn’t say you
could come in…”

“Nothing I haven’t seen.” He smirked, leaning against the sink. Remus had brought his
Arithmancy textbook into the bath with him—Sirius felt an absurd surge of fondness.

“James gave me the password to the prefect’s baths, if you’d rather go there?”

“I’m fine here, thanks.”

“Ok. I’ve had an idea.”

“Does it involve smoking weed in a tunnel?”

“Yes.”

“Brilliant.”

“Not just that, though – I fancy an outing.”

“Do you?” Remus closed his eyes, sarcastic smile playing on his lips as he leaned back.

“How does the Hog’s Head sound?”

Remus opened his eyes, still smiling.

“It sounds completely mad.”

“Excellent!” Sirius grinned back, “We’ll go after dinner, then.”

Remus protested, of course, but Sirius could tell that he wasn’t really trying to change his mind.

“I’m not allowed into Hogsmeade…”

“Moony, it’s Christmas Eve.”

That seemed to do the trick. A few hours later, they stood under the Honeyduke’s trapdoor,
smoking another one of Remus’s expertly rolled joints (he could give Avni a run for her money,
Sirius thought). They giggled and shushed each other and snuck chocolate frogs into their pockets
as they crept through the shop, and then they were outside, in the bracing winter wind and the
twinkling Christmas lights.

The Three Broomsticks wasn’t an option—Rosmerta had a soft spot for the marauders, but Sirius
was still pretty sure she’d turn them in to McGonagall if she saw them. So they made their way to
the Hog’s Head, where the gruff barman didn’t seem at all fussed what they got up to, as long as
they paid.

And pay they did—before they knew it, they had polished off an entire bottle of firewhisky,
leaving them wonderfully drunk and grinning like idiots at each other from across their small
corner table.

“I haven’t had a drink since Halloween,” Remus said, after setting down his glass.

“Ugh, I was so sick that night,” Sirius shook his head, smiling, “I don’t even remember half of it.”

“I do.” Remus said, curtly—shoulders tense, voice clipped. Sirius felt a sick twist of guilt as he
realised what Moony must be thinking.

“Of course I remember that part, Remus.”

He stared down at his goblet, feeling self-conscious and slightly unsteady on his stool. After a
moment, Remus said,

“First time I got pissed was that summer I got the boots and all that gear – I got so off my head I
thought I was going to die.”

“I got tipsy at a family banquet when I was thirteen,” Sirius said, gesturing to the bartender for
more drinks, “But not as drunk as I got for your birthday that year…still, it was all the same to
Mother, and out came the wand…”

He waved his hand, recreating the familiar slashing motion that he had watched her make so many
times, imitating her ice-chip voice: “A Black heir shows proper comportment at all times!” Slash,
slash.

Across the table, Remus winced, and Sirius suddenly realised what he was doing. He stopped
abruptly, mumbling, “Sorry,” and folding his arms as their drinks were delivered. “It’s not funny, I
dunno why I act like it is.”

“You’re out, now,” Remus said, earnestly, “You don’t ever have to go back.”
Just go away, Sirius. Don’t ever come back.

“Yeah,” he slurred, wishing he could shake his brother’s echoing voice from his ears, “It’s all
Reg’s mess now. Nasty little so and so – d’you know how many times I took the blame for him?
How many times I stood between…”

Sirius thought of Reg, curled up next to him in bed; Reg, who was terrified of ghouls; Reg, who
crouched in puddles after it rained and moved worms back into the grass. “He used to be a proper
little crybaby, but Mother hates crying, she says it makes men sissies, it makes them—” Nasty,
filthy queers— “Well, whatever, some bollocks, but anyway, Reg would cry, and I would do
something worse to distract her, and then she’d do her thing.” Slash, slash.

He didn’t know why he was thinking about it. He didn’t know why the words were spilling out of
him, now, here—he hadn’t even told James about what had happened last spring with his brother.

“Y’know, if either of us had just learnt not to get upset, then maybe…but I s’pose Reg learnt, in the
end, cold hearted fucker.”

He gulped his drink, just to stop himself talking. “Sorry, I shouldn’t moan. ‘Specially not to you.
You know all about my bloody lack of self-control.”

Remus watched him, from across the table, eyes dark. After a moment, he mumbled,

“S’fine. Probably a good thing, anyway. I hardly ever cry, I think I lost the ability at some point.
Maybe I’m like Reg.”

“You are not like Reg,” Sirius said, fervently, reaching out under the table without thinking to
squeeze Moony’s knee. The other boy smiled at him in a way that made his heart twist, and he
quickly withdrew, glancing around, feeling acutely visible.

“Can you smell that?” Remus asked, stretching languidly in a way that made Sirius dizzy—or
maybe that was the firewhisky.

“Stale beer? BO?” He laughed, lightly, looking down at his cup.

“No, it’s an animal or something…”

“Sorry, mate,” he finished the last of his drink, “I could turn into a dog and have a sniff, but I think
I’m too drunk to remember how to turn back…”

They left for Hogwarts soon after, swaying slightly as they meandered back through the dark
cobbled streets. Remus was drunk, perhaps even more so than Sirius, because for once he initiated
—tugging them back into an alleyway, crowding Sirius against the wall and kissing him hard
enough to bruise, pressing their hips together, sliding a thigh between his legs, and—

“Hey,” Sirius pushed him away, whispering breathlessly, “Not here, someone’ll see…”

It was a dizzy rush back to Honeyduke’s, stumbling over their own feet, tugging at each other’s
sleeves, and Remus’s hands were on him as soon as they were through the door to the cellar—
Sirius had to drag him down, away from the stacked boxes of sweets, into the tunnel. It was so
dark, nothing but body heat, mouths fever-hot as they found each other. The drinking had blurred
their edges, left both of them loose-limbed and eager, until Sirius felt like he was melting under
Remus’s touch, boneless and panting against the rough tunnel wall – and then Moony was pulling
away, hands sliding down his sides, firm on his hips, holding him in place as if he would ever,
ever try to run away.
“What are you…? – oh!”

His head fell back against the wall, fingers twisting automatically into the downy curls of Moony’s
hair, legs trembling. If it weren’t for the alcohol, the sounds he was making might have
embarrassed him—but they were alone, in the dark, and he couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d
tried. It’s good, he was thinking, so good, and don’t stop, and I wish he wanted me like this all the
time. And then he wasn’t thinking anything at all, lost completely to the obliterating heat.

* * *

Christmas Day 1976

Sirius woke up the next morning feeling like something a troll had chewed up, swallowed, and shat
out.

“Tell me there’s a cure, Moony,” he moaned, shoving his head into his pillow, “You’re the one
taking healing lessons…”

“You’re the one taking Potions,” Remus shot back, grumpily, “Pain is a potion thing, I do cuts and
abrasions.”

“Useless.”

“Shut up.”

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to dull the pounding of his head, listening to the
unmistakable sound of Remus stumbling to his feet and shuffling towards the bathroom, muttering,

“Cold shower. Then breakfast. Fried eggs, trust me.”

Sirius’s stomach twisted at the mention of food, but he followed Remus down to the Great Hall
anyway, hair a tangled snarl around his face. Dumbledore smiled cheerfully as they took their seats
at the table, booming,

“Happy Christmas, one and all!” Both Sirius and Remus winced, the volume a physical assault
against their sensitive ears.

Surprisingly, Moony was right about the fried eggs, and Sirius felt significantly better once his
stomach had been settled with some food. They opened their presents upon their return to the
common room, chucking all the wrapping paper into a pile in the corner as they sifted through
sweets, clothes, books, and music (two new albums from Andromeda, much to Sirius’s delight).

They had just finished sorting through their gifts when James’s familiar voice wavered from the
compact mirror, and Remus crowded in next to Sirius’s shoulder so that they could both wish their
friend a merry Christmas.

“Are you two ok?” James peered up at them, frowning, “You look a bit peaky.”

“Hungover,” Sirius explained.

“Jealous,” James grinned.

“Weirdo,” said Remus.

Afterwards, they moved up to the bedroom, where Sirius put on one of the new records from
Andromeda—Hotel California, by the Eagles.

‘There she stood in the doorway

I heard the mission bell

And I was thinking to myself

This could be heaven or this could be hell…’

They lay on their beds, record player spinning in the middle of the room, listening to the slow swell
of the mournful guitar. A few minutes in, Sirius turned to look at Remus, and noticed that he’d
dozed off. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching the slow rise and fall of Moony’s chest,
the shadow that fell under the line of his jaw, the speckled sunlight over his throat.

The next song on the album had started, slower and softer, but still with that reedy, doleful voice,

‘There’s so many things you should have told her

But night after night, you’re willing to hold her

Just hold her…’

Sirius rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. I can’t do this, he thought, miserably, I really don’t
think I can do this.

* * *

Boxing Day 1976

“Why’s it called boxing day, anyway?”

“Nobody knows,” Remus said, yawning as he spooned sugar onto his porridge, “It’s one of the
great mysteries of life.”

“Must be a muggle thing. I’ll ask my muggle studies professor.”

“You do muggle studies?” Said Perseus Flint, shooting him an incredulous look from down the
table.

Sirius gave him a two-fingered salute, then pointedly turned his back. His knee bumped into
Moony’s under the table, and he smiled as he reached for the honey.

Suddenly, the owls came bursting into the hall with the morning post, screeching urgently. Sirius
watched as they landed on the table, feathers ruffled—there were more than usual. Tina, sitting
across from them, received her post first, and they watched as she ripped open a letter.

“It’s from mum…” her eyes went wide behind the thick lenses of her glasses, and she stood
abruptly, rushing out of the hall. Sirius watched, baffled, as Flint followed suit, and then Arnold.

“What’s going on?” Remus murmured, brow furrowed as he watched the other students leave.
Professor Flitwick shook his head, sighing as he passed over a copy of The Daily Prophet. They
leaned forward, eyes skimming rapidly across the paper.

‘MUGGLES ATTACKED IN CHRISTMAS CRISIS’ announced the headline, in bold letters.

Last night, while thousands slept safely in their beds on Christmas night, over one hundred
muggles all over Britain were attacked in their homes. The Auror’s office confirmed this morning
that the attacks were magical in nature, and intended to cause harm.

The attacks took place in a number of locations, apparently targeting families with ties to the
wizarding world – those with magical relatives or a history of muggle-magical relations. Offences
range from minor jinxes to – in some cases – the use of unforgivable curses. There are no suspects
at present. The minister for Magic is expected to make a statement later today.

They had just finished reading when Professor McGonagall swept into the hall, with Flint, Tina,
and Arnold following closely behind her. Tina’s eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying,
and even Flint’s apathetic boredom had been marred by a miserable scowl.

“You’ve all heard the news.” McGonagall said, face drawn, eyes tired, “If your parents have
requested that you return home, then we will make arrangements at once to ensure you arrive
safely.”

“Is there anything we can do, Professor?” Sirius asked, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he
stood.

“No, Mr. Black, thank you. Simply stay calm and carry on as normal.”

“Please, Professor Flitwick,” Tina began to cry again, “I need to go home now, it’s my auntie…”
Arnold murmured soothingly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“C’mon, Moony,” Sirius muttered, “Let’s see if James knows anything…”

“I don’t know anything!” James cried, running an agitated hand through his hair in the reflection of
the mirror, “Dad’s gone to the ministry with Moody, they let me read the paper, but there’s nothing
else. Everyone knows who did it, though – death eaters.”

Sirius nodded, thinking sickly of the dark tattoo on his cousin’s forearm, the twisting snake—he
wondered, vaguely, if she had been one of the minor jinx incidents.
Somehow, he doubted it.

“Voldemort?” Remus frowned, “Does he have that many followers? Over a hundred, the paper
said, all over the country, in one night…”

“Must be more than anyone thought,” James said, grimly.

“Well,” Sirius’s lips twisted, “My family alone would account for at least twenty.”

“They’re not your family,” James said, eyes flashing as he stared fervently out from the mirror.
Sirius felt the familiar twist of anger in his chest—of course it was easy for James to dismiss them;
he had no clue what it was like to be caged by your blood, by your own last name…

“If Reg was one of them, I’ll…”

“Black!” James said, sharply, “No one knows who any of them were. Calm down, ok? Moony, you
there?”

“Yeah,” Remus mumbled, shuffling back over so that James could see him.

“Don’t let him be a twat about this, right?”

Remus stared back at him, perplexed—it might have been amusing, if it wasn’t so bloody irritating
to hear his friends talking about him like he wasn’t right there.

“What do you want me to do?!”

“Just distract him!”

Sirius thought about throwing the mirror across the room, smashing it, just to feel something
break.

* * *

Monday 27th December 1976

He couldn’t stop thinking about Reg. About Regulus—the bruised look of his eyes, the cold,
sneering laugh.

There have been reports of tests…For those wizards seeking to join Voldemort…

Sirius wished, desperately, that he could erase the words from his head. That he could dispel the
squirming, burrowing thoughts, the simple connections that felt impossible to ignore.

Reg wouldn’t do that, he told himself, furiously, He isn’t that kind of person. But then he would
think about the tattoo on Bellatrix’s arm, the frenzied look in his mother’s eyes as she’d hissed
Swear it, Sirius, the desperate way Reg leaned towards their parents when they fussed over him,
like a flower seeking the sun. He’d think about his brother’s face, cold and foreign in the doorway
of that strange room, as he spat, It makes me sick to look at you. He’d think about scars, and
bandages, and porcelain pawns.
“Want to play that game?” Remus asked, after they spent the morning sitting in silence, staring at
the fire and watching it turn logs to ash.

“Nah, I’m rubbish at it.”

“Yeah, but I’m not.”

“You play it, then.” He could see what Remus was trying to do, and he wasn’t in the mood.

“Want to go out on your broom? I’ll go with you and everything.”

“Don’t have my broom here.”

“We can borrow them from the shed. Hooch won’t mind.”

“Nah, don’t like using other people’s brooms.”

“Snob.”

Would he have gone willingly? Would he have volunteered—would he have been eager, desperate
to impress their family? Their vile, loathsome, poisonous family—

“Chess?”

“Boring.”

“Homework?”

Sirius glared, slumping down further in his chair.

“Want a blow job?”

“Bloody hell, Moony!”

“What?! I’m running out of options, jesus. Just trying to cheer you up.”

“I don’t want to cheer up.”

“Yes, that much is clear.” Remus huffed, playing with a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper.
After a moment, he asked, “Do you want to go to the Potters?”

Sirius blinked.

“What?”

“I don’t mind,” Remus said, quietly. “If you need to see them. If you…need James.”

Sirius swallowed, thinking about it. Part of him did want to go—to feel the safety, the warmth, of
being surrounded by the Potters. To pretend, for a bit, that they were his only family—to forget his
last name. But then his eyes caught on Remus’s fingers, still fiddling with that thread, and he
couldn’t leave. He just… couldn’t.

“Nah. What sort of mate would I be if I let you here by yourself?”

Moony’s mouth twisted into a frown, and he snapped the thread, fingers twitching with some
repressed emotion.
“Well, you’re not being much of a mate right now, to be honest. I know you’re in a mood, but—"

The anger hissed in Sirius’s chest, baring its teeth. “I’m not in a mood,” he retorted, hotly, “I’m
pissed off. Look, you don’t know what it’s like, having family out there doing Merlin knows what
– people I’m actually related to, Moony.”

“Oh god, change the bloody record, will you?” Remus stood, abruptly, pacing towards the fire and
prodding at it with a bit more force than necessary. “Poor Sirius Black, the spoilt rich boy with the
wicked family.”

Sirius felt an ugly twist of rage at the vitriol in his friend’s voice—where was this coming from??
“Oi, watch it.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but we’ve had six years of this, now. No, I don’t know what it’s like, because I
don’t have a family, let alone an evil one. You know what I’ve got? A pack of bloody werewolves,
waiting for me to come of age so I can finally go and join all the other monsters.”

Sirius stared, taken aback. “Moony…”

“I’ve got some brutal fucking mass murdering child killer out there waiting for me. And not much
else, to be honest. I don’t have the Potters, or an uncle – I don’t even have a flipping future. So, if
you don’t mind, I’d rather not sit around here listening to you whinge about how hard you’ve got
it.”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Remus was already storming off—slamming through the
portrait hole with such force that the Fat Lady huffed indignantly,

“Well, I never!”

Sirius watched, mute, as the portrait slowly swung back into place. He hadn’t—he’d never realised
that Moony was keeping all that bottled up. It was like one of the infuriating walls that he always
retreated behind had come down, crumbling without warning, heavy stone crashing around them.

I’ve got some brutal fucking mass murdering child killer out there waiting for me…

Sirius released a breath, staring blankly into the fire. Was…was Remus talking about Greyback?
But he’d said—he’d made it seem like he was safe. Like there was nothing to worry about. It’s not
like he can do anything else to me now…

Except, clearly, that had been a lie. Clearly, there was quite a lot to worry about and, clearly,
Moony had been worrying about it all in secret, as usual. Sirius tugged his fingers through his hair,
frustrated and ashamed and so, so angry with how desperately unfair it all was.

He knew where Remus would be. It wasn’t hard to figure out—it was the only place in the castle,
really, where Sirius knew he would go. But it was hard to walk down the hall, hard to approach the
wide doors, hard to stand at the threshold and look in at the tall, dark shelves. They towered,
closing in, and Sirius had to force himself to take a ragged breath.

Just go in, he told his legs, furiously, Just keep walking. Just—go to him.

But he couldn’t.

“Remus.”

It took some effort to keep his voice steady. Remus was sitting at one of the tables near the
entrance, just a few feet away. Just a few steps, and Sirius would be at his side. It should have been
easy—it should have been the easiest thing in the world.

“Sorry I shouted, Padfoot.”

Sirius shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. His fingers were trembling. “Sorry I was
whinging.”

“Well, it’s ok to be angry sometimes. It’s normal.” Remus set his book down, and Sirius felt a
crushing wave of relief when he stood and walked over to the entrance, closing the distance
between them. “I was a dickhead, though, I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“Ah, they were true. I’m a spoilt rich brat.”

“Yeah,” Remus reached out, ruffling his hair, and Sirius wanted to lean into the touch. “I don’t
mind, though.”

“We can do one of those things you wanted to do, now. If you still want…?” Come back to the
common room, he thought, heart pounding, Come back with me.

“Which one? Chess?”

And despite himself—despite the lingering nausea in his gut, despite the cold chill of anxiety
running down his spine—Sirius felt something unwinding in his chest as he looked up at the
mischievous glint in Moony’s eye.

“Oh yeah,” he said, a bit breathier than was strictly necessary, “Definitely chess.”

* * *

Tuesday 28th December 1976

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asked, the next afternoon. He’d been thinking about it all
day, trying to work up the courage to say the words. It was so hard to know what was okay,
sometimes, with Moony, and what wasn’t—what crossed those invisible boundaries that Sirius
always seemed to find himself running into.

“Hm?” Remus glanced up from the Herbology textbook that he had open on his lap, which he’d
been squinting at for the past thirty minutes as Sirius resigned himself to a game of solitaire.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He repeated, staring down at his cards, “The Greyback stuff?”

“Oh, that.” Remus hesitated for a moment, then said, “No, I don’t. Thanks, though.”

“If you’re sure…” Sirius spoke slowly, unsure whether this was something he should push—but he
couldn’t resist nudging, just a little. “Just because you said that you didn’t think he was after you,
but then yesterday you said…”

“Yeah, I know,” Remus said quickly, “It just…I don’t want to think about it right now. Ok?”
Take what you can get, Sirius reminded himself, Don’t push it. He glanced up from his game,
smiling.

“Ok, then.”

* * *

Wednesday 29th December 1976

“Foul!” Remus shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Sirius didn’t think he had ever seen his friend
so enthusiastic about anything even closely resembling a sport—it was quite a change from the
resigned disinterest with which he treated quidditch.

“Balls,” he sighed, eyeing Peter’s trainers—which had just sailed clear over the goal line. “Knew
that was a bit ambitious.”

“We should leave this up,” Remus stretched up to adjust the bedsheets where they hung from the
ceiling, “Imagine playing this with more people.”

“Evans would make us take it down.”

“Only after she’d had a go, I bet.” He smiled to himself as he said it, eyes bright. Sirius watched
him.

“You like her, don’t you?” It would explain why Moony was always so iffy about dating—ever the
martyr, he probably wouldn’t even look at Lily if she threw herself naked at his feet so long as he
knew James fancied her. And they spent so much time together…

Remus frowned at him. “Not this again…”

“What?!” Sirius plastered on a smirk, looking away from Moony to focus on levitating an apple
from the fruit bowl the house elves had left them.

“You’re obsessed with finding me a girlfriend.”

“I’m not. I just don’t want you to miss out on any of that stuff.” I don’t want to make you miss out
on any of that stuff. He managed to send the apple sailing through the largest hole, and let out a
victory cry. “Yes!”

“Five points,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow, “You’re still twenty down.” He glanced away,
clearing his throat, “And I’m not missing out on anything.”

“I know you don’t think you are, Moony, but I’m just saying—"

“Well, don’t.”

“Don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not.” The inkwell that Remus fired at the sheets flew with such force that it spattered bright
blue stains across the white cloth.
“You seem pretty angry.” Sirius said quietly, lowering his wand. He turned to Remus, stomach
sinking when the other boy wouldn’t look at him. I knew this would happen.

“I don’t want a girlfriend, how many times?”

“I know you say that, but…I can’t help but think there must be a reason behind it…I think I know
why.” Sirius didn’t want to say it, but he knew he had to—if he didn’t try, if he kept Remus tangled
up in whatever this…thing between them was, and the other boy ended up resenting him…

“It’s because of the werewolf thing, isn’t it?”

Remus snapped his head around to stare at him, shocked. He blinked, then sat down abruptly,
burying his face in his hands. Sirius felt as though there were a stone in his stomach. I knew it.

It made so much sense. Remus and his infuriating martyr complex—calling himself a monster,
acting like he was dangerous, like he was some sort of dark creature. Sirius hadn’t understood it
before, but after Moony’s outburst it was so clear: the reason he hated talking about all the girl
stuff, the reason he never dated, the reason he insisted that he didn’t want a girlfriend. The reason
he settled for this—the reason he gave in so easily, every time Sirius threw himself at him.

“You’re worried about a girl finding out, right?” Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat, “But, I
mean, Evans knows, and she’s fine about it, so I don’t see why you wouldn’t find someone else…
and your scars aren’t as bad as you think they are.”

“Oh really?” Remus’s voice was sarcastic, disbelieving.

“Yeah,” Sirius said earnestly, “They’re—” Beautiful. No, “—cool. And you…I mean, y’know,
you’re quite good looking. You’re tall, and you’re um…”

Fuck—what was he saying?? This wasn’t the plan—this wasn’t the plan at all. Remus looked up at
him, brow furrowed in confusion, and Sirius could do nothing but stare back, helplessly.

* * *

Thursday 30th December 1976

“How far do you reckon Pete and Desdemona have gone?” Sirius lay on his side, staring at
Remus’s bed in the dark.

“Ugh, why are you thinking about that?”

“I dunno,” he rolled back over, “Can’t sleep.”

He stared up at the canopy, arms behind his head, and listened to the soft sounds of Remus shifting
in his sheets.

“Not tired?”

Sirius sighed. “S’pose not. Keep thinking about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Last day of the year.”

“Yep.” Remus’s voice was tired, warm and unbearably soft. “Making resolutions?” He yawned.

“Not really. Just the usual stuff—stuff I should stop doing.” It was a long list. At the top, currently:
stop imagining how it would feel to crawl into Moony’s bed, to kiss his neck while he yawned, to
curl up into his side and fall asleep.

“Well,” Remus yawned again—torture. (He was so unguarded when he was sleepy, languid and
mellow and deliciously pliant.) “Why don’t you think about the stuff you want to do?”

Bugger—Moony wasn’t a legilimens, was he?!

“Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he paused to stifle another yawn, “Like how you’re always talking about going to
London? Muggle London. Properly, I mean, not just a dodgy squat in Mile End.”

“Oh, yeah!” Sirius said enthusiastically, relieved, “We should do that, in the summer. Can we go to
Carnaby Street?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“I want to learn to play guitar.”

“Of course you do…”

“And go camping.”

“Mmm.”

“And see Bowie in concert.”

He kept talking, saying anything and everything that popped into his mind. Soon, Remus’s
breathing evened out into slow, deep breaths, and Sirius knew he’d dropped off to asleep. He rolled
back onto his side, staring at the shadowy outline under the covers. After a few minutes—when he
was sure that Remus was truly, deeply unconscious—he whispered, so quietly that he could barely
hear his own voice,

“I want to you to kiss me.”

* * *

Friday 31st December 1976

“Do you know any sewing spells?” Remus asked, from an armchair somewhere above Sirius’s
head.
“Why would I know sewing spells?” Sirius frowned down at his book, curled on the floor with his
cauldron next to him, attempting to make his own fireworks for New Year’s Eve.

“I was just thinking about the sheets…”

“Pfft,” Sirius snorted dismissively, “They won’t even notice.”

“Ought to fix that crystal ball we broke, too.”

“Nah.”

“And probably should look for those chess pieces that went – er – missing…”

Sirius rolled his eyes. They’d already summoned most of the pieces back from the bushes. “Look,
everyone knew it was just going to be the two of us here for Christmas. It was their responsibility
to lock up anything they didn’t want to get shot out of the window.”

“And Peter’s bed?”

“It’s stopped making that weird noise, now.”

“Yeah, but it still giggles when you sit on it.”

“He’ll work out how to fix it, or get Desdemona to help him. You worry too much.”

BANG!

The cauldron in front of him rudely exploded, sending Sirius flying backwards as dusty green
smoke filled the room. Sirius blinked in shock as Remus ran for the window, coughing. Well—at
least he’d gotten the colour right.

“I told you we should just ask Flitwick.”

The dust drifted down, coating the entire common room in bright green silt. Remus gave him a
pointed look, raising an eyebrow at the mess. Sirius grinned, cheekily.

“Leave it to the house elves? I’m having a shower.”

By the time he’d washed all soot out of his hair, Sirius found that Remus had fallen asleep, curled
up on top of his blankets. With nothing better to do, he decided he might as well pay a visit to
Flitwick—which went surprisingly well. He’d half-expected the professor to sternly turn him
away, possibly throwing in a lecture about how irresponsible it would be to set off magical
fireworks from his bedroom window. But instead, the small teacher was incredibly helpful,
apparently delighted that Sirius had thought to ask him for help.

“He made me promise not to tell McGonagall that he taught me, though,” Sirius explained to
Remus, later that night. “He’s really gone up in my estimation, ol’ Flitters.”

“Can’t believe you went without me. I’m best at Charms.” Remus grumbled, clambering out of the
window to sit next to Sirius on the ledge.

“You were sleeping!”

“Still.” He pouted, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders. Sirius just shook his head fondly,
chuckling, and double-checked to make sure his newly-made fireworks were ready to go—there
were only a few minutes left ‘til midnight.
 Everything was ready. He kicked his heels against the stone wall of Gryffindor tower, legs
dangling out into the dark. Tomorrow, things would go back to normal—James and Peter and all
the girls would return, and classes would resume, and the halls would be filled with chattering
students. It would be wonderful, marvellous, fantastic.

But for now, they were alone. For now, Remus was breathing quietly next to him, breath steaming
in the frigid winter air. For now, Sirius was allowed to reach out a hand, to squeeze his knee, to
smile gently and try to ignore the way Moony’s answering smile made his heart ache in his chest.

“Ready?” He lifted his wand.

Remus nodded, eyes bright.

“Ready.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "you make me feel like dancing" by leo sayer!

songs mentioned throughout:

"touch me" by the doors
"hotel california" by the eagles
"new kid in town" by the eagles
 Sixth Year: Bad Moon Rising
Chapter Summary

sirius comes to a conclusion

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It ain’t no big thing

To wait for the bell to ring

It ain’t no big thing

The toll of the bell

Aggravated, spare for days

I troll downtown, the red light place

Jump up, bubble up, what’s in store?

Love is the drug and I need to score

Showing out, showing out, hit and run

Boy meets girl where the beat goes on

Stitched up tight, can’t shake free

Love is the drug, got a hook on me

Tuesday 4th January 1977

Sirius had come to a Conclusion. It was an Important Conclusion, a Revelatory Conclusion, even.
It had come to him two days after everyone arrived back at the castle, when he found himself
absentmindedly studying the way Remus’s tongue poked out of his mouth, slightly, as he took
notes in Charms, unaware that he was staring until he heard James whisper,

“Siiiriuss...psst, oi, Sirius!”

He’d snapped his head around, startled, and found his friend peering over his shoulder, studying
the left side of the classroom.

“What are you looking at?”

Sirius had swallowed audibly, whispering back quickly,

“Nothing! No one!”

He had come to the Conclusion soon after that. It was a simple conclusion, but quite necessary if
he wanted to ensure that he did not completely obliterate every friendship he had left. The
Conclusion that Sirius came to was this:

It was all in his head.

Christmas had been lovely, wonderful and thrilling and golden—but it had done something funny
to him, and now every time Sirius looked at Remus he felt a strange ache in his chest. They’d be
sitting in the common room, and he’d find himself wanting to reach out and run a hand through
those tousled curls, or lean over and kiss the side of his neck, or twine their fingers together and run
his thumb over the small scars on the back of Moony's hand. And that had been fine, when it was
just the two of them—but it wasn’t fine now, with their friends always watching, with the halls
filled once more by black-robed students.

The problem, Sirius thought, was that he was blowing everything out of proportion—letting his
feelings get the better of him, making mountains out of molehills, the way he always did. It wasn’t
like he absolutely needed to snog Remus in the middle of the common room, not like it was that
hard to cast silencing charm if they needed to, not like it was impossible to wait for James and
Peter to fall asleep before he snuck into Moony’s bed.

He had just gotten spoiled, over Christmas. The private intimacy had been so easy, so simple, so...

Well, it didn’t matter. It had been a one-time thing, and it was over now. They could go right back
to normal—back to broom cupboards and empty classrooms and moans stifled under silencing
charms. It was just a bit of fun, after all. Just—getting off. Not like there was anything more to it.

So of course, it was all in Sirius’s head, this strange, insistent longing he would feel sometimes
when they kissed, or when he traced the scars on Moony’s ribs, or when he looked across the
common room and saw Remus laughing with Mary, or Lily, or Marlene. And if it was all in his
head then that meant he could control it, could stifle it, could wrangle it and squash it down and
trample it into what it was supposed to be, which was...

Well. Not this. Not feeling like his heart had grown teeth.

So when Emmeline Vance invited him to Hogsmeade, Sirius said yes. Why not? She was clever,
and pretty, and she’d been flirting with him for ages. Perhaps, he reasoned, he’d only begun to feel
so strange around Remus because there hadn’t been any girls about over Christmas, nothing to
temper or...balance, or...ground him. Nobody to even things out.

So he would go to Hogsmeade with Emmeline, and things would go back to normal again. Maybe
he’d even make her his girlfriend—maybe his problem with the other girls had been keeping things
casual. Maybe that’s all there was to it.

Of course, Sirius had no way to predict how Remus would respond to this decision. It took him
completely by surprise one day when Moony pulled back, just after Sirius had cast a locking charm
on the cupboard door, and whispered,

“Don’t you think we ought to stop? Isn’t it a bit confusing for you?”

Sirius felt a spike of panic—stop?? After they’d just made it to the broom cupboard? Was this
some sort of test?
“Why would it be confusing?” He asked, quickly, “It’s not the same thing.”

“Oh.” Remus’s voice was quiet, soft, breath warm in the cramped space, and Sirius just wanted to
—

“Oh, isn’t it?”

Why were they talking about this??

“Well, no. She’s a girl. You’re Moony.”

“What does that mean?”

“It just means...you know. You and me...we’re not...and she... erm...oh, for goodness sake,” he
huffed, having no idea what he was supposed to say, “I just can’t see any reason to stop, ok? It’s
fun isn’t it?”

Remus sighed, like he had been expecting something else. “Yeah.”

Sirius wondered, nervously, if this was about the girls thing again. “Look,” he said, reassuringly,
“If someone asked you out, that would be fine, obviously.”

“Right.” Remus said, stiffly, “That’s nice of you.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that...” Sirius pressed forward, kissing his neck. They didn’t talk much,
after that.

Realistically, Sirius knew that the day would come where Remus would call things off. He’d get
bored, or decide it was too weird, or get over his long-suffering martyr complex and go snog a girl.
If Sirius was a good friend, he might even encourage it—might try, again, to talk to Remus, to
assure him that he wasn’t the monster he’d made himself in his head, that if he wanted a girlfriend,
there would be plenty of interested takers.

But Sirius was selfish. He didn’t want to stop what they were doing, even if Remus was only going
along with it because he didn’t think he deserved anything better. Even if it was still only ever
Sirius, pulling them into broom closets, sneaking into his bed, pawing at Moony like an animal,
like a begging dog. Even if it made him pathetic, and disgusting, and a bad friend—he didn’t want
to stop. Not ever.

Besides, it didn’t really matter. It was all just a bit of fun. Anything else was only in his head.

* * *

Thursday 6th January 1977

When the wolf began to break, they were still in the forest. Padfoot watched him writhing,
whining, blood gone rancid with fear. It never got any easier.

The sun had just begun to show her face when Remus opened his eyes, gasping, and the cold
winter light broke unevenly through the grasping branches of trees. Sirius took off his cloak and
passed it over; Remus looked awfully pale against the dark, mulchy earth.

“Here, it’s chilly...”

“What happened? Why aren’t we back in the shack?” He sat up, wrapping the cloak around his
shoulders, and glanced sharply at James, who was cradling his arm and still panting with exertion.
“Did I hurt you, Prongs?”

“Not on purpose,” James assured him, “You were...you kept trying to get away from us, that’s all.
We couldn’t get you to follow us like normal, not even Padfoot.”

“I remember...” Remus murmured, wincing as he stood, “Were we hunting?”

“You were.” Sirius replied, studying his face, “There was something you really wanted to get at. In
Hogsmeade.”

“In Hogsmeade...?” Remus frowned, eyes far away. Sirius watched him, remembering the
desperate whining of the wolf—the way he’d howled, sniffing the air, eyes glowing like bright
golden lanterns in the dark.

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Remus repeated, eyes on James's arm.

James nodded, earnestly, and Sirius thought of how the wolf had slammed into his side, too rough
to be play fighting, snarling low in his throat...

“Come on,” James nodded towards Hogsmeade, “We’ve got to get you back to the shack before
Madam Pomfrey gets there...”

Remus picked his way carefully through the underbrush on bare feet, and Sirius walked beside
him.

“We’re not too far,” he said, quietly, “We managed to sort of...shepherd you in the right
direction...but you kept trying to give us the slip.”

“You all have to go back to the castle,” Remus told them, staring down at his feet, “I think...I think
something might have happened last night.”

“Nothing happened, Moony,” Peter said, “We didn’t lose sight of you once, honestly.”

“That’s good,” Remus nodded, as the shack appeared through the trees, “But you still ought to go.
Trust me.”

He was right. They heard the news almost as soon as they got back, stumbling bleary-eyed down
into the common room only to find everyone huddled over copies of The Daily Prophet, whose
headline read:

FULL MOON SLAUGHTER: WEREWOLVES STRIKE AGAIN

Following was a picture of a young wizard couple on their wedding day, starry-eyed and smiling
like they could both burst with joy. He was in St. Mungo's, bitten. She was muggle-born, and dead.

Sirius was surprised to see Remus at breakfast, instead of in the hospital wing—but then, as he
listened to their peers' hushed voices, and caught sight of Snape's scowl across the room, he
supposed that he understood why. Remus’s face was ashen as he sat, and Lily plopped down
beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. He gave her a small, soft smile. Sirius
looked away.

“It’s horrible,” Marlene sniffled, staring down at the newspaper that Mary had open on top of her
toast. “That poor woman, murdered in her bed...”

“Is it still on the loose?” Remus asked, voice strained.

“Looks like,” Mary muttered, eyes scanning the page rapidly, “No one could catch it. Tonight’s not
a full moon, so we’re all safe for at least another month, I suppose...that’s the trouble with
werewolves, if you don’t catch them on the moon, then how are you supposed to catch them at
all?”

“There must be a test, or something,” Marlene said, gripping Mary’s shoulder as if to steady
herself, “A revealing charm.”

“Yeah,” Mary frowned, “Maybe...but then you might end up finding the wrong one...”

“Well, it sounds like they’re all on you-know-who’s side anyway, so I don’t think it matters—"

“Let’s talk about something else.” Lily interrupted.

“Yeah,” James agreed, quickly, “Defence Against the Dark Arts next – anyone had any luck with
their patronus, yet?”

None of them had—except James, of course, which quickly became apparent in their next lesson.
He was the only student who was able to procure a fully formed patronus, and the class watched in
awe as a massive silver stag galloped circles around them. Sirius did a decent job himself,
managing to cast a ghostly form that was distinctly canine when he concentrated on the memory of
Euphemia Potter, smiling delightedly as she handed him a Bowie poster to hang in his (his!!) room.

Of the rest of their friends, the only one who had any success was Lily, whose wand emitted
something cloudy and silvery but with no clear shape. Peter had no luck at all—nor did Remus,
who looked thoroughly exhausted by the end of class.

Sirius hung back to talk to him as the rest of their group left, James gushing enthusiastically over
Lily's half-formed patronus while she stared at him as if trying to figure out whether he was joking.

“You’ll get it, Moony,” Sirius smiled, reaching out to pat him on the back as they left, “You
always do.”

Remus nodded half-heartedly, dark circles bruise-like under his eyes.

“My mind’s elsewhere, to be honest,” he murmured, softly.

“Of course,” Sirius lowered his own voice, “That’s to be expected.”

“I knew about it.” Remus whispered, suddenly, as the last of their classmates trickled out. Sirius
froze, staring at him. What was that supposed to mean?!

Remus caught sight of the expression on his face, and spoke hurriedly, “I mean, not exactly, I
didn’t know that would happen, but...”
 Sirius shut the door and whispered a silencing spell, heart pounding as he turned around.

“But what?”

“Remember when we went to the Hog's Head?” Remus was still whispering, words rushed and
furtive. Sirius nodded, and he took a breath.

“I smelled something.”

“I thought you were just pissed...”

“Yeah, I think maybe I did too—or I thought it was...um...” Remus flushed, “Well, you, because I
wanted...”

Sirius tried to ignore the sick, uncomfortable flips that his stomach was turning as he watched
Remus struggle for words. He can’t even say it, said that small, cold voice at the back of his head,
He thinks you’re disgusting; tainted...

“Anyway, it was definitely another one. A werewolf. I think it was female.”

The nausea was overridden with a wave of relief. “Not Greyback, then.”

“No.”

Sirius sighed, reaching out without thinking to grasp Moony’s shoulder. “Well, thank Godric for
that.” But the relief was short-lived as he processed the rest of what Remus had said, frowning as
he asked, “But Moony, if you could smell them, do you think that they could...”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

Sirius felt a shiver of unease as he imagined another werewolf, snarling and hungry, prowling the
forest in search of Moony.

“Ok. Ok, well they didn’t come after you, so... Everything will be fine.”

His hand was still on Remus’s shoulder. Sirius realised he was staring, tangled in Moony's eyes,
which were flecked with gold and so, so unbearably human. He wanted to—

There was a sudden, sharp knock on the door as the DADA professor returned, attempting to enter
his own classroom. Sirius swallowed and moved away, giving Moony’s shoulder one last squeeze.

“Don’t tell James!” Remus whispered, a note of panic in his voice as they unlocked the door,
“Please, don’t tell anyone.”

Sirius stared at him, for a moment.

“Ok, Moony,” he whispered back, “Anything you want.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "love is the drug" by roxy music!

 Sixth Year: Spilling Secrets
Chapter Summary

sirius gets worried

Friday 14th January 1977

Remus was awake, again. Sirius listened to the quiet, shifting sounds of his blankets as he moved,
the frustrated sighs, the creaking bedframe. It had been three nights of this, of seeing the dim
wandlight from behind Moony’s curtains that meant he was reading, of waking in the night to the
sounds of his tossing and turning, of walking down to breakfast the next morning and watching as
the circles under his eyes got darker, day by day.

It took no stretch of the imagination to figure out what was keeping him up; ever since the
werewolf attack had been announced in the newspapers, Remus had gone quiet, sullen, robotic in
classes and strained in their conversations with friends. Sirius hated it, hated how familiar it was—
like the transformations on the full moon, he could do nothing but watch Remus rip himself apart
from the inside out, helpless to stop it.

The bedsheets shifted again. The wood frame creaked. There was a sigh; more shifting; a muffled
groan.

Sirius had had enough. James thought Remus needed space, but they had been giving him space,
and it didn’t seem to have done him any good. It was time to try a different tack.

“Oi, Moony,” he whispered, creeping over to Remus’s bed. He parted the curtains, carefully,
squinting in the dark. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” Remus squinted back as Sirius cast a quick lumos, settling onto the
end of the bed and letting the curtains fall shut behind him. He cast a silencing charm, as well—
more reflex than anything, at this point.

“Yeah, but it’s ok.” He crawled further up the bed, so that he could sit next to Moony.

“Oh,” the other boy ducked his head, “Look, I’m not really in the mood for...”

“Oh, no, me neither!” Sirius flushed—Merlin, how desperate must he seem?? “I mean...well,
actually, now you mention it...” (There was something to be said about the way Remus’s thin
pyjama shirt hung from his shoulders, silhouetted in the dim light...) “But no, not why I came
over.”

“Right.”

“So, what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep.”
“I can tell. Want a fag?”

“Run out.”

“It’s ok, I’ve got some off Emmeline. C’mon, shall we go downstairs? It’s late, no one’ll be there,
and Prongs’ll give us shit if we smoke here.”

“Ok,” Remus said slowly, sliding out from under the bedcovers. Sirius tried not to look too thrilled
that he’d actually managed to coax Moony out of his solitary pity party—maybe Emmeline was
good for something.

(That was rude—he liked Emmeline, she was very pretty, and he enjoyed spending time with her,
and there were lots of good things to be said for her, not least of which was her generosity with
cigarettes. Still—it was satisfying to be the one providing Moony with fags, for once.)

Down in the common room, Remus drifted towards the window, and they sat down together on the
loveseat there. Moony curled up, drawing his knees to his chest, and Sirius mirrored his position,
so that they were facing each other.

“So,” he stuck a cigarette between his lips and sucked, lighting it wordlessly before passing it over
to Remus. He continued to speak as he lit another for himself, “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” Moony’s brow furrowed.

“You’ve been up all night for the past three nights and you haven’t got a plan?! Are you sure
you’re Moony??”

That seemed to snap him out of it. Remus said, decisively, “I want to go back to The Hog’s Head.”

A cold shiver of unease ran its finger down Sirius’s spine. He took a moment before speaking,
looking out the window, letting the smoke settle in his lungs before he breathed it back out.

“Right. Ok, I think I can understand why.” Sirius knew how dreadful it could be—the not
knowing. The wondering. “Invisible?”

“No.” Remus had one arm folded over his knees, fingers tapping anxiously on his shin, “No, if
they’re there – if she’s there, then I want to meet her.”

“Remus. No.” Was he out of his mind?!

“Why not!?” Remus frowned, voice sharp and heated—that anger that seemed to surge, sometimes,
from nowhere, hidden so often behind a thick wall of implacable stoicism.

“Because it’s dangerous?! Because you’ve never met them before and you don’t know what they’re
like except that they murdered a woman the other night?! Because you’re not even seventeen yet
and if you have to defend yourself with magic you could get kicked out of school??”

Sirius stared in disbelief as he spoke, shocked by the utter disregard that Remus seemed to pay his
own safety. You’ll get hurt, he thought, helplessly, They could hurt you.

Remus scowled at him, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette and standing so that he towered over
Sirius, forcing the other boy to crane his neck and look up.

“You can’t tell me what to do. Just don’t get in my way.”

“Don’t be like that! Look, I understand how you feel—”

“Ha.”

Sirius huffed, impatiently, “Ok, I don’t understand, but I want you to be safe!”

“I will be – it’s ages until the next full moon, she won’t have any advantage over me—”

“Don’t you think this is exactly what Greyback wants?!”

Remus’s eyes flashed, dangerously. “What are you saying?” He snarled, “That I’m being stupid?”

“No, not stupid, just...reckless.”

“Sirius Black, lecturing me on recklessness? Very bloody funny, that.”

“Oi.” Sirius felt his own anger rising, a boiling tide. Remus seemed to sense it, features sharpening,
a wolf going in for the kill.

“Well, it’s pretty rich of you to tell me not to put myself in danger,” he growled, caustic, “You
weren’t so concerned about my safety this time last year!”

It hurt. It hurt because it was true, and they both knew it, and beneath the fragile barrier of
forgiveness, Sirius could tell that they both still hated him for it.

“That’s...that’s not fair, Moony,” he mumbled, deflating. This wasn’t a fight he could win.

Remus stared at him, and Sirius could feel his anger in the air—a palpable weight, thick and dense
as fog. He could feel it when Remus tried to bite it back, to reel it in, jaw clenching as he stifled
whatever else it was that he wanted to say.

“I have to meet them.” Remus said, finally, “I think I’ll go mad otherwise.” He released a breath, “I
think I’m already going mad.”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. “Ok,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “Ok, what about
Ferox, have you tried talking to him?”

“Thought about it. He’ll try to stop me. Moody too. It’s their idea not to let me go to Hogsmeade in
the first place.”

“All right...all right, we’ll go, ok? Together. We’ll tell James, and—”

“I don’t want anyone else to know,” Remus hissed, “It’s private.”

“Merlin, Moony, you’re not making this easy—”

“It’s not easy! It’s fucking difficult, ok, but I have to do it!”

“Ok!” Sirius raised his hands, surrendering. They would make it work—they would find a way to
make it work. As long as he was there, as long as Moony didn’t go alone—he would keep him safe.

Remus sat suddenly, heavily, on the nearest sofa, pitching forward and burying his face in his
hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, “I know I’m being...it’s just all so...”

“I do understand, Moony.” Sirius sat next to him, heart crawling into his throat, “I’m trying to
help.”
“You can’t help,” Remus’s voice hitched as he spoke, “I have to do this on my own, I can’t risk
anyone else, it has to be me, I have to...” the words spilled like shattered glass from his lips, sharp
and jagged, all edges, “If I can meet her, then maybe...I have to meet Greyback, one day. I just
know I have to. And I want to – not to join him, or anything like that, just to – to know him. And to
understand. Why he did what he did and why...why he made me who I am.”

He was crying, tears glittering like stars in his eyes. Sirius stared as Remus buried his face, once
more, in his hands, trying to get control of his own strangled heartbeat. He recognised it—that
desperate need to understand. To ask, Why did you do this to me? Why do you always do this to
me?

“Moony...” Sirius stretched out a hand, tentatively, placing it gently on his friend’s shaking
shoulder. “He didn’t make you who you are.”

“He made me what I am.”

Sirius had never seen him cry like this—great, shuddering sobs that shook his entire body. He
wasn’t sure he had ever seen Moony cry at all, before.

He didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know what was allowed—did he wrap his arms
around him? Did he pull him to his chest, did he cling to his shoulders, did he try to absorb the
weight of this... this grief, with his own body? I’d take it from you, he thought, pathetically, if I
could.

But Sirius knew, better than anyone, that he couldn’t. There was no uprooting that kind of hurt, the
kind that had been planted so young, grown twisted like a vine around the soul. He thought of his
own family, their cold eyes, the same eyes that stared out at him every morning from the mirror.
Who was he to tell Remus that it wasn’t true, to make claims about making or unmaking? You’re
more than that, he wanted to say—but it was what James always said to him, and Sirius knew,
really, that it didn’t make things better. You could grow, and change, and prune away the rotted
bits of yourself. But there would always be some parts that stuck, some things that you couldn’t
undo.

So he didn’t speak. He didn’t try to take it away—whatever Remus was feeling was his to feel, and
Sirius knew that there were parts of it he would never understand. But he stayed. He sat beside
him, on the worn common-room couch, and slid his hand into Moony’s, and squeezed his fingers.
I’m here, he thought, desperately, I’m not going anywhere.

* * *

Saturday 15th January 1977

Sirius woke the next morning with a horrible ache in his neck, and something nudging the side of
his leg. He shifted, coughing at the taste of ash on the back of his tongue, opening his eyes—and
remembered, abruptly, that they were still in the common room.

He’d fallen asleep sitting up, head leaned at a forty-five-degree angle back against the sofa—which
explained the awful crick in his neck. He winced, straightening, and turned to look at Remus.
“Morning.”

The other boy had fallen asleep curled up on the other end of the sofa, and he still had the blanket
that Sirius had thrown over him pulled up to his chest. He yawned, stretching, long limbs
unfurling.

“What time is it?” Sirius asked, looking away.

“Nearly seven.”

“James’ll be up for quidditch in a minute.”

“Yeah.”

“You ok?”

Remus turned away from him, sitting up and rubbing at his legs.

“I slept, at least.” He said, quietly, “Sorry for last night.”

“Pfff,” Sirius waved a hand, dismissively, “It was nothing. I’ve had much worse meltdowns.”

“What are you two tossers doing down here at this hour?” James boomed, broom in hand as he
bounced down the stairs. He paused for a moment, eyeing their pyjamas and the now-crumpled
blanket. “Did you sleep here?”

“Had to,” Sirius smirked, “Anything to get away from your snoring.”

James laughed, seeming to accept this.

“Weirdos. Don’t fancy joining me for a quick go around the pitch before practice, Padfoot?”

“Nah,” Sirius yawned, hugely, “I’m going back to bed. It’s Saturday, Potter, you lunatic.” One
thing he did not miss from being on the quidditch team: Potter’s deranged workout schedule.

“It’s Hogsmeade later, don’t oversleep.” James reminded him, glancing apologetically at Remus.
“Sorry, Moony.”

“S’ok.” Remus smiled, “You lot go and have fun. I’ve got homework. Obviously. The common
room will be nice and quiet.”

“See you both for breakfast, then?” James called over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a
response as he hurried off to his second-favourite place at Hogwarts: the quidditch pitch. (His
favourite, of course, was wherever Lily Evans happened to be).

The quiet peace of the empty common room had been effectively shattered; James was only the
first of a steady stream of students that would soon begin filing down, heading to breakfast or
quidditch practice, or looking to get a head start on their homework before Hogsmeade. Remus
turned, catching Sirius’s eye.

“Are you really going back to bed?”

He cocked a brow.

“Yeah. Want to come?”

It was entirely normal, he assured himself, the flood of warmth that spread through him when
Remus laughed.

* * *

“Where’s Emmeline?” James asked, as he stood from the bench where he had been waiting.

“Oh,” Sirius shrugged, “She, er...she didn’t fancy it.”

James frowned. “Thought the whole reason we were going to the see the Shack was because she
was too scared to go alone.”

“Erm...not exactly.” Sirius rubbed the back of his head, sheepish, “I actually just sort of...needed to
talk to you. Privately.”

He had left Emmeline in the Three Broomsticks with a group of her giggling Ravenclaw friends,
and she hadn’t seemed too upset. He’d met her early to walk down together, after all, and had
bought her a box of candied roses at Honeyduke’s (which Mary had explained was romantic), and
they’d spent quite a bit of time in the alley behind Scrivenshaft’s, getting to know each other a bit
better...

All in all, Sirius thought he’d gone above and beyond to fulfil his boyfriendly duties, and was
entitled to a bit of time without a bunch of girls breathing down his neck.

James studied his face for a moment, brow furrowed. “Alright...” he said, slowly, “What’s up?”

They began to walk, side by side, towards the Shack. The road was mostly empty—it was bitterly
cold out, and the majority of Hogwarts students had elected to remain in the cosy heat of The Three
Broomsticks or Madam Puddifoot’s. Once they were well out of earshot of any lingering
promenaders, Sirius began to speak.

“I’m worried about Remus,” he said, bluntly.

“Remus.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I figured as much.” James sighed, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his cloak. “Did something
happen, last night?”

“Sort of,” Sirius hesitated, wondering how much he could say. “It’s just...all this werewolf stuff. I
think it’s—getting to him.”

James nodded, thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. Can’t pretend I haven’t noticed
anything, myself.”

“Exactly. It’s—he’s acting like every attack is...his fault, or something. Like he’s personally
responsible. Just because...well, you know.”

“Are you saying that Remus is acting like it’s his responsibility to prevent the attacks just because
he happens to share one thing in common with the people committing them, and so he beats
himself up and starts lashing out at all his mates whenever he reads about them in the paper?”
When Sirius looked over, James had a single eyebrow raised, wry smile on his face.

“That’s...it’s not the same, and you know it.” He muttered, kicking at a patch of ice with his shoe.

“If you say so...”

“I do say so. Look, it’s really not the same, I’m worried that Remus is going to—”

“Do something reckless that’ll get him in trouble?”

Sirius glared, and James shook his head, chuckling.

“Merlin, what am I going to do with the two of you...” He sighed, and grew serious again. “Look,
Black, I get it. I mean, trust me—I get it. But you can’t pre-emptively stop him from doing
something stupid; believe me, I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.”

Sirius swallowed, looking back down at the ground. After a moment, he said, quietly,

“We have to do something, James. It’s different this time, I can’t explain how, it just....is.”

James frowned at him, searching his face. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” He asked, kindly,
and for a moment, Sirius almost found himself telling James everything.

“Yes.”

The other boy sighed, running a hand through his hair. They had reached the Shack now, and stood
staring at its dingy, soulless windows.

“Look, Sirius, I really wish that I could tell you what to do, but...I’m just as lost as you are.
Sometimes, the only thing we really can do is be there, you know? Just—listen to him, if he talks
to you. And if he doesn’t, then you talk to him—don't let him shut himself up and sulk.”

Sirius frowned. “Thought you said we should give him space,” he muttered, petulantly. James
rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, only because I know how much of an annoying prick you can be when you’re trying to
force someone to get over themselves. But if you’ve given him space, and it isn’t working...well.
Just be there for him, alright? That’s all we can really do.”

Sirius sighed, knowing that James was right—but it did nothing to calm the ugly tangle of nerves,
squirming in the pit of his stomach. As they turned and walked back towards the village, bracing
themselves against the frigid cold, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was going to
happen...
 Sixth Year: The Long Night
Chapter Summary

remus disappears

Sirius was still on edge through dinner, sneaking glances at Moony from across the table as James
tried to get Lily’s attention by balancing a spoon on his nose. Remus was chatting quietly with
Marlene about their Care of Magical Creatures homework, looking completely at ease, a far cry
from the frantic desperation of the previous night. Sirius studied him, searching for any sign of
cracks, and only glanced away when Moony looked up and shot him up bemused smile.

Things seemed normal as they trudged up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, normal as they got ready
for bed, normal as Remus bid them goodnight and shut his curtains. Sirius wondered if James had
been right, if simply being there was enough. Perhaps he really had blown things out of proportion,
worrying himself silly over nothing. After all, Moony had at least agreed not to run off alone,
hadn’t he?

So he lay in bed, listening for the familiar sounds of Remus tossing and turning. But there was
nothing—only silence, and eventually Sirius drifted off to sleep.

He slept poorly, dreams fragmented with nightmarish nonsense—feelings and images pulled from
the depths of his subconscious mind, overlaid by the unrelenting feeling of being followed. Sirius
was running, glancing frantically back over his shoulder, when a loud bang suddenly yanked him
back into consciousness.

“REMUS LUPIN!”

Professor McGonagall’s shrill voice shocked him from sleep; Sirius sat bolt upright, ripping his
curtains back. McGonagall, clad in her nightgown and dressing robe, was marching straight for
Moony’s bed, lit wand brandished like a torch.

“Professor??” James’s stunned voice came from across the room; both he and Peter had poked
their heads out from behind their curtains, as well. The three boys watched in thunderstruck silence
as their teacher stormed across the stone floor.

She ripped the curtains of Remus’s bed back, and Sirius felt his heart turn to stone in his chest.

Remus was gone.

His bed lay empty, pillows rumpled, sheets snarled from where he’d kicked them off.

No, Sirius thought, frozen, He wouldn’t…

McGonagall stared down, lips pressed together in a thin line. She looked furious—and terrified.
After a moment, she spun on her heel, and began to march back out of the room.

“Wh—professor?!” James scrambled out of bed, calling after her, “Professor, wait—what’s going
on? Where’s Remus??”
Sirius continued to stare, blankly, at the abandoned mattress. He wouldn’t do that. He said we’d go
together—he’s supposed to let me help him.

McGonagall paused in the doorway, harried and tense.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but I’m afraid there isn’t time to explain.”

“Did something happen?”

“Is Remus okay?”

Now Peter was crawling out of bed, as well, staring anxiously up at the Transfiguration teacher as
he asked his question.

He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that…

“I’m sorry, boys, but there simply isn’t—”

“He’s gone to Hogsmeade, hasn’t he?”

Sirius’s voice sounded strange to his own ears—flat, monotone, dull. He was still staring at
Remus’s bed.

McGonagall’s eyes flashed as she turned to him. “How do you know that, Mr. Black?” She asked,
sharply.

Sirius swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the twisted sheets. “He talked to me about it. He said
he—he needed to see them. Her. It.”

The stern professor narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me that you knew your friend had plans to
confront a violent, wanted criminal on his own, and you neglected to inform…anyone?”

“No—I mean, yes, but—I didn’t—” Oh, Merlin, there were tears in his eyes—he was going to cry,
he could feel it. Sirius sucked in a breath, trying desperately to swallow the lump in his throat, “I
didn’t know he was going to go alone. I swear, professor, I had no idea he’d—” His voice broke,
and he stopped speaking to scrub roughly at his face.

McGonagall continued to watch him, features lit severely from the cold glow of her wandlight.
After a moment, she tutted impatiently, muttering,

“There isn’t time for this.” She swept out the door, aggravated, snapping at James when he began
to speak, “No, Potter, for the last time—you’ll have to ask Mr. Black, I need to find Albus
immediately.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving an awful, frigid silence in its wake. James and Peter
continued to stare, incredulously, at where McGonagall had stood just seconds before. But
eventually, they turned to Sirius.

He was still in bed, rubbing salty tears off his cheeks. As the other boys approached, Sirius threw
back his sheets, standing.

“Black…?” James said, slowly, in the voice one might use for a cornered animal, “Sirius? What’s
going on?”

He was pacing, tugging fingers through his hair, wiping his nose roughly with the back of his hand.
Bloody fucking liar, bloody—Remus and his bloody, stupid fucking martyr complex, never fucking
listening—

“Black!”

James’s voice snapped him out of the whirlpool spiral of his thoughts, and Sirius looked up,
sharply. Their eyes met. James’s face softened.

“What’s going on?”

“He—” Sirius shook his head, hands clenching into fists, “He’s gone to Hogsmeade.”

“Why?”

“The werewolf.”

Cold understanding broke over James’s features. Peter glanced back and forth between them,
anxiously.

“What?”

“The werewolf,” Sirius repeated, frustrated, “To—talk to her or, I dunno, confront her—”

“Her?”

“He said it’s a girl.”

“What??”

Sirius paused, looking up at his friends’ confused faces, realising what he’d let slip.

He hesitated, caught in their anxious, searching gazes. And he’d promised—he’d promised Remus,
he knew he had, but fuck Remus—fuck Remus for leaving, again, for disappearing, for always
pulling away—

“We went to Hogsmeade,” Sirius said, words spilling out of him, “On Christmas Eve, and Remus
—he didn’t realise what it was, but he smelled—”

“The other werewolf,” James whispered, watching him, “The one who attacked that couple.”

Sirius nodded, frantically.

Peter frowned, baffled. “But why would he want to go to it? Doesn’t he know it’s dangerous?”

“Yes,” Sirius growled, wishing he could just—punch something, or—

“Black.”

James was looking at him, brow furrowed in concern. Sirius swallowed, saying helplessly,

“He wasn’t supposed to go alone.”

After a moment, James nodded. Peter continued to look back and forth between them, trying
desperately to keep up.

“What—you weren’t going to go with him, were you??”

“Come on,” James said, quietly, “Let’s go downstairs, alright? We can wait in the common room.”

Sirius didn’t want to wait. He wanted to do something—to sprint down the tower stairs, to turn into
Padfoot and run as fast as he could into Hogsmeade, to find Remus and punch him, and scream at
him, and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.

“Fine.”

They walked, together, down the stairs, with James in the lead. The common room was empty,
silent and dark. James moved over to the fireplace and mumbled a quick, “Incendio,” lighting a fire
in the grate. Peter settled down on the sofa, leg bouncing nervously, and Sirius threw himself into
an adjacent armchair, glaring at the snapping flames.

Remus bloody Lupin, he thought, furiously, I could kill you.

They waited. There was nothing else to do—they sat, and stood, and shifted. They paced and
yawned and stared at the clock on the mantle. Sirius tried not to think too much about what might
be happening—tried not to imagine Moony, torn away from Hogwarts by a pack of hungry wolves;
Moony, alone and facing down a crazed murderer; Moony, ripped open and left to bleed out, like
that woman in the newspaper…

Sirius thought of the scar, just above Remus’s hip—dimpled skin, each tooth its own snarl. The
worst’s already happened. His fingers twitched where he was tapping them on his knee.

It was just past three in the morning when the portrait hole finally, finally swung open. Sirius sat
up as if electrocuted the moment Remus appeared, dragging his feet through the door.

He’s fine, Sirius thought, dizzily, He’s alright, he’s okay. Bandaged arm, haggard face, like
something wrung out and left to dry—but that was nothing, that was a hundred times better than
bloodied or broken or gone for good. The relief nearly crushed him, nearly knocked him off his
feet.

It lasted for a moment; then, the anger returned.

“What do you think you’re playing at?!” He forgot to be quiet; didn’t care if he woke the whole
bloody tower, “Running off on your own!”

“Please don’t, Padfoot, I’m knackered…” Remus brushed him off, sighing deeply and rubbing a
hand across his forehead. Sirius wanted to strangle him.

“Do you have any idea what it was like finding out you’d sneaked off?!”

Remus raised an eyebrow, pointedly, and Sirius suddenly realised that he was the only one
shouting—the only one who’d run forward, the only one who seemed to be angry at all. James and
Peter were still hovering by the fireplace, relief and confusion mixed across their faces as they
stared at the scene unfolding in front of them.

Sirius’s stomach twisted. “For all of us, I mean,” he said quickly, lowering his voice.

“I can imagine.” Remus frowned, “And I’m sorry, but please can I just go to bed? You can have a
go at me in the morning.”

“Yeah, back off, Black.” James murmured, moving forward to rest his hand on Sirius’s shoulder.
Sirius shrugged him off, biting his tongue to keep from shouting again—why were they all so
calm?! Remus could have—he could have—
James took his glasses off to rub at his eyes. “It’s late, we’re all tired. You sure you’re ok,
Moony?”

“Fine,” Remus insisted, shooting James a grateful look.

And that was that. They filed back up to their room, climbing into their beds and shutting their
curtains without another word. Sirius knew he should have been tired—physically, he was utterly
exhausted, muscles turned to lead the moment he lay down. But he couldn’t seem to shut off his
mind. As he listened to the other marauders’ deep breathing, and James’s familiar snoring, the
anger in his chest only coiled more tightly.

Fuck you, Remus, he thought, viciously, Fuck you for acting like everything’s alright. Fuck you for
leaving without saying anything. Fuck you, he fumed, miserably, in the darkness, For making me
feel this way.
 Sixth Year: The Big, Bad Wolf
Chapter Summary

james performs unpaid emotional labour

Sunday 15th January 1977

Sleep did nothing to cool his anger. If anything, it made it worse—Sirius woke the next morning
with rage calcified, like bone, in his chest. He slammed the bathroom door, brushed his teeth until
his gums bled, spat blood down the drain of the shower. His magic crackled just beneath the
surface of his skin, and he nearly singed his eyebrows off when he used a heating charm to dry his
hair. When he stormed back into their room, scowling, James shot him a reproachful look.

“Come on, mate, Moony’s sleeping.”

“I don’t care,” Sirius growled, yanking his school robes out of his wardrobe and slamming the door
shut. James tutted.

“Right. Let’s go down to the common room, then, come on.”

“I don’t want to go down to the—”

“Black.”

James was frowning at him, arms crossed and brows raised in an expression that was painfully
reminiscent of Euphemia. Sirius deflated, slightly.

“Fine,” he grumbled, grabbing his school bag off the floor and casting one last furious glare back
at the drawn curtains around Remus’s bed before stomping down the stairs after James.

The common room was mostly empty—just a few fifth years in the corner, talking quietly about a
Transfiguration essay. Peter was already sitting near the fireplace, setting up a chess board, and he
glanced up when they walked through the door.

“Oh, you got him to come down.”

James smiled, tightly, and Sirius’s scowl deepened—Peter gulped and turned quickly back to his
chess game.

Sirius began to pace in front of the fireplace, magic still buzzing in his blood—he wanted to smash
something. James, settling down in the armchair across from Peter, frowned, as if he could sense
Sirius’s thoughts.

“You alright there, mate?”

“No,” Sirius spat, whirling. He didn’t understand how his friends could be so calm. “I can’t believe
he bloody left like that!”
James nodded sympathetically, moving a pawn absentmindedly on the board. Peter’s eyes lit up,
like he knew he had already won.

“I mean, it was a right shitty thing to do, going off on his own…what the hell did he think he was
playing at??”

“I know, mate,” James said, watching Peter move a bishop, “We were all worried.”

“And then just—going to sleep, not even fucking talking to us—”

“Check!” Peter shouted, gleefully. Sirius spun on him, glaring,

“Shut up Peter, nobody cares about your stupid obsession with chess!”

“Oi!” James said sharply, as Peter shrank back.

“Well, it’s true! He’s acting like nothing even happened!”

“I was worried, too,” Peter protested, defensively.

“Well, you aren’t fucking acting like it!”

“Just because I’m not ready to bite his head off—”

“He could’ve been hurt, he could’ve—”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t!” Peter was glaring down at the chessboard, lip trembling slightly, “He’s fine,
so I don’t see why you’re still in such a state over it! There’s no need to be so bloody angry; you do
stupid shit all the time, and none of us ever blow up at you for it!”

Sirius scoffed, spluttering, “That’s—it’s not—”

“Look, both of you, just—stop,” James interrupted, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He
replaced them, and gave them both a stern look. In the corner, the fifth years had stopped
whispering, and were now staring over curiously.

“Black, you need to calm down,” James said, catching his eye, “We were all upset, but Pete’s right
—Remus is fine. We can talk to him once he’s woken up, but for now, shouting at each other isn’t
going to make anything better.”

Sirius huffed, turning back to the fireplace. He knew he was being a prick, but what else was he
supposed to do with the choking, angry words that crowded onto the back of his tongue? Peter’s
voice echoed in the back of his head: There’s no need to be so bloody angry.

It wasn’t—it was normal to be angry, wasn’t it? Remus had betrayed them, had risked his life over
some stupid, reckless urge, had made Sirius feel like he was losing his mind, crawling out of his
skin with anxiety…

Did the others not feel like this? Was he really the only one?

You know why, said a small voice in the back of his head, It’s because you’re—

Remus burst through the door to the common room, hair still damp from a shower. He hesitated in
the doorway, blanching as he looked at them—then turned and began to walk briskly towards the
portrait hole.
“Moony, wait…” James called out, and they all stood, tailing him into the corridor. Remus
continued to walk quickly, taking advantage of his long stride to stay ahead of them.

“I’m going to the owlery.” He said, flatly.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” Peter chewed his lip, trotting slightly to keep up.

“After.”

“Moony, can we talk about what happened last night?” James asked, a pleading note in his voice.

“Not here.”

Of course not, Sirius scowled at the taller boy’s back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Of
course Remus would try to avoid them, to shut them out—just like he always did. Well, tough
bloody luck, Sirius thought, as they followed him to the owlery, You’re not getting away from me—
from us. Fortunately, the owlery was empty.

“Who are you writing to?” Sirius demanded, crossing his arms and frowning severely as Remus
selected an owl. The other boy sighed, staring down at the bird’s leg as he tried to attach the note
to it.

“Ferox. My old professor.”

“Why?!”

The string slipped out of Remus’s fingers; he clucked his tongue as he bent to pick it up.

“He’s in Hogsmeade. I saw him last night, but I want to see him again.”

“What was he doing in—”

Remus dropped the string again, making a small, frustrated noise as he tried for a third time to tie
his note to the owl’s leg. The bird ruffled its feathers impatiently, hooting.

“He’s working with Moody, and he got summoned there to bring me back—”

“Summoned by who?”

“Fucking hell, give me a minute, will you?!” Remus whirled around, glaring at him.

Sirius stepped back, feeling as though he’d just been slapped, and had to bite his tongue to keep
himself from screaming. Fuck you, Remus Lupin, he thought, furiously—James reached out,
placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, but Sirius still felt like he could crawl out of his skin.

Finally, Remus managed to get his note attached, and the bird took off towards the village. He
sighed, turning back to the other boys, and said, casually,

“Ok. Breakfast?”

“Are you going to tell—”

“Yes, Padfoot, fine. Let’s um…get some toast and go for a walk or something, ok?”

Nobody protested, and they walked in tense silence to the Great Hall. Sirius’s stomach was too
knotted to eat; he watched as Remus took his time buttering five slices of toast and wrapping them
in napkins to stuff down the pockets of his robes, trying not to wince as he thought about the way
the butter would almost certainly leak through the thin paper and get all over his pockets. He
remained silent as they left the hall, following Remus once more—this time, he led them outside.

“Right,” he turned to face them, finally, “You all need to shut up and let me tell it to you, ok? No
interruptions.” Sirius’s mouth twisted, but he remained silent.

Remus walked as he spoke, and they listened.

“I took the cloak,” he said, “Down the tunnel to Honeyduke’s. I—I knew there was a werewolf in
Hogsmeade; I smelled her on Christmas Eve. I didn’t know if she’d still be there—not for sure, but
I had a feeling…anyway, she was, and I followed her…um, her scent, and I found her. Outside The
Hog’s Head. Or—she found me, I suppose. I dunno.

“Anyway, we just—talked. She could use magic, wandless magic, but she didn’t hurt me. Well—”
he paused, glancing down at the bandage on his arm, “I mean, not really. She was part of
Greyback’s pack. The, um. The one who…” He trailed off, taking a breath. “She said he wanted
me to join them—their…family. She kept calling him ‘our father’, but I—” he swallowed, again,
and Sirius clenched his hands into fists to stop his fingers trembling. “I told her I wasn’t going to.
And then…Ferox showed up, and he conjured these chains—silver. And she left, disapparated.
Just like that.”

Remus hesitated for a moment, then continued, voice low as he said, “Moody talked to me last
summer. He said something to me, and it made me…it just made me think about how useful I can
be, that’s all. I have to stop looking at my furry little problem as…well, as a problem. If we’re
going to war with dark creatures, then as a dark creature I ought to be—"

“You’re not a dark creature,” James interrupted, abruptly, “You’re our Moony.”

Remus ducked his head, shrugging. He rifled around in his pockets for a moment, and withdrew a
pack of cigarettes.

Look at me, Sirius thought, staring at him. He tried to picture Moony sat across one of the rickety,
beer-stained tables at The Hog’s Head, listening to another werewolf tell him Greyback was their
father. Sirius could tell from the pauses, the small hesitations, that there were things Remus wasn’t
telling them—details he was leaving out. Fucking look at me.

“So,” James said, when it became apparent that Remus was done speaking, “She’s gone now, has
she? The werewolf?”

“Livia,” the other boy muttered, sticking a fag between his teeth, “Yeah, I think Ferox scared her
off.”

“Too bloody right,” James nodded, relaxing slightly, “And I bet with Moody on the case she won’t
be back any time soon, eh? So, are you in a lot of trouble? With Dumbledore?”

“I don’t think so,” Remus rubbed at his hip, frowning, “I think Dumbledore was more worried
about me mucking up his spy ring, rather than breaking any rules.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you hurt. Any of us.” James spoke earnestly, as if he really, truly
believed it. Sirius thought of the scars on his legs; Moony’s bandaged wounds after full moons;
Regulus, laughing that cold, bitter laugh.

“C’mon,” James nodded towards the lake, “There’s a bench down here, you can finish your toast.”
They walked slowly to the edge of the water, pausing when they reached the stone benches. The
grounds were empty; nobody wanted to come outside in the freezing weather, and besides, it was
Sunday morning—half the castle was probably still in bed. Nobody spoke as they sat, James
munching on an apple he’d snagged from the hall, Moony chewing his toast. Sirius kicked at the
frozen ground beneath his feet, nudging splinters of ice around with the toe of his shoe. Peter and
James both seemed completely at ease, now that they knew what had happened—satisfied with the
knowledge that nothing too dreadful had occurred, and Remus was safe.

Sirius was, decidedly, not satisfied. The anger continued to prowl in his chest, snarling and lashing
its tail.

“Can’t believe we all slept through the most exciting night of the year, eh.” James smiled, nudging
Remus in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“It wasn’t that exciting,” Remus smiled, crookedly, “I was crap. If Ferox hadn’t come…I dunno.”

“D’you think she could have disapparated with you?” Peter asked, blinking nervously and
shivering in the cold.

“I dunno.” Remus shrugged, “I think…I got the impression, anyway, that she needed me to agree.
Like it had to be me who made the decision – otherwise I s’pose they could all just gang up and
snatch me.”

“Well, then!” James perked up, looking properly relieved, “There’s no problem, is there? Well I
mean, there’s no question.”

“No, of course not,” Remus agreed, quickly, “I’d never join Greyback.”

“Well then.” James patted the other boy’s leg, as if that settled the matter.

Remus swallowed, looking down at his hands, and Sirius stared at him—at the small, grim twist of
his mouth. His brow was furrowed, lip poking out, that familiar expression that meant he was
thinking…

“Moony?” James asked, quietly.

“I’d never join him,” Remus said slowly, “And Livia was…she was awful, but.” He paused, taking
a breath, “Not everything she said was wrong.”

Sirius couldn’t stop himself from raising his voice, slightly, as he snapped, “What’s that supposed
to mean?” Remus continued to stare stubbornly at the ground, refusing to meet his eye.

Look at me, you bloody coward, come on—just look at me.

“Just that – well, wizards treat us unfairly, and…and…Ugh, you lot wouldn’t understand.”

Well of course—of course they couldn’t bloody understand! Not if Remus wouldn’t fucking talk to
them, wouldn’t even try to—

Sirius realised that he had stood up, without meaning to. He glared down at Remus, wanting to
scream at him, to grab his robes and shake him, to pull him to his feet and—and—

Sirius spun around, storming off across the grounds before he could do something that he would
regret. His blood was boiling, magic hissing like steam in his fingertips.
“Black!” He heard James shouting, behind him, “Oi!” Sirius ignored him, and kept walking—he
didn’t know where he was going; he just had to get away.

James caught up to him at the edge of the quidditch pitch, chasing after him as he marched onto the
field, icy snow crunching under their feet.

“Padfoot!” He huffed, breath steaming in the wintry air, “Hang on!”

Sirius slumped down in the lower seats of the quidditch stands, crossing his arms and shivering.

“What,” he grunted, kicking at the back of the seat in front of him. James sat next to him, sighing.

“You should at least start jogging with me again, if you’re going to try and outrun me.”

“I’m not in the mood, Prongs.”

“No, I can see that.”

They were quiet, for a minute. Then,

“Well?” James sighed, “Go on, then. Let’s have it out. What are you so upset about, now?”

That was all it took.

“He lied to me, James!” Sirius burst out, “He said we’d go together, and then he—he just went off
by himself, he didn’t even tell me—” He broke off, appalled to find that a familiar lump was
developing in his throat, tears prickling at the back of his eyes. James tilted his head back, staring
up at the goalposts.

“Have you considered that he was doing it to protect you?”

“What?”

“Going without you? Have you considered that maybe he didn’t want to put you at risk?”

“Fuck that,” Sirius growled, “He could’ve been hurt, James, and we wouldn’t’ve even realised—”

“But he wasn’t.”

“Yeah, but he could’ve—”

“But he wasn’t.”

James was watching him, infuriatingly calm, and Sirius scowled, kicking the seat in front of him
again. When he didn’t speak, James released another sigh, running a hand through his wind-tousled
hair.

“Look, mate, what’s this really about?”

Sirius glanced up at him, sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re pissed off that he left you out—I get it, I’d be angry, too. But everything turned out alright,
so…what’s going on? Why hold it against him?”

Sirius frowned. Typical Potter—James didn’t seem able to fathom why anyone would hold a
grudge against their friends if they could just forgive and forget.
He stayed quiet, for a bit, glaring sullenly at his feet. James waited patiently, leaning back in his
seat, eyes unwavering. There was something about that placid, unhurried gaze—eventually, Sirius
caved.

“I just…” he hesitated, fiddling with his fingers, before looking up. “I thought he trusted me,
Prongs.”

James nodded, slowly, sympathy washing over his features. Sirius swallowed, looking back down.

“Over Christmas, we…we got closer, y’know? And I thought he was…I dunno, opening up to me.
A bit. Confiding in me.” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “It sounds silly, when I say it out
loud.”

“Nah,” James smiled, “Doesn’t sound silly at all.”

Sirius nodded, still fidgeting with his fingers, trying to swallow that awful lump in his throat.

“He’s just…it’s like he’s always pulling away, d’you know what I mean? Like, something’ll
happen, and I’ll think, This is it, he trusts me now, we’re finally on the same page, and then
something else’ll happen, and suddenly it’s like I’m…trying to talk to a brick wall. I dunno.” Now
that he was talking, the words kept spilling out of him, a great rush of feeling that Sirius hadn’t
even realised he’d bottled up.

“And I hate it, because I know I don’t even—deserve his trust, you know? Not after what I…not
after last spring. But I still want it, and it’s just…it’s selfish, I know it, but I can’t—” Sirius broke
off again, shaking his head helplessly. He didn’t know how to put it into words without telling
James everything, without breaking down, without sobbing until the tears froze on his face, saying,
He doesn’t care about me. Not the way I care about him. Even thinking it made him feel pathetic;
dirty; tainted…

James reached out and place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“I know, mate,” he said, quietly, “I get it.”

You don’t, Sirius thought, miserably, You really, really don’t. If you did, you would never look at
me the same.

Next to him, James blew out a breath. He turned to Sirius, smiling.

“Real man of mystery, our Moony, eh?”

Sirius stared back at him, helplessly.

“What am I supposed to do, Prongs?” He asked, trying to stave off the desperation that wanted to
creep into his voice, “Have I mucked it all up again?”

James’s smile faltered, slightly, as he took in the expression on his friend’s face. But he said,
firmly,

“No, Padfoot, you haven’t mucked it all up. We’re all used to your outbursts by now, you silly sod
—Moony more than anyone, probably. You just…” He paused, for a moment, thinking. “You can’t
force him to…confide in you, all the time. If there are things he needs to work through on his
own…well, you can’t be there for everything. Sometimes, you just have to give him space.”

Sirius stared out at the iced-over quidditch pitch, bleak and grey in the cold.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, slowly, “I s’pose you’re right.”

James grinned, clapping him on the back as he climbed to his feet.

“I always am, aren’t I? Now, c’mon—I know you didn’t grab anything at breakfast, let’s go raid
the kitchens.”
 Sixth Year: Space
Chapter Summary

sirius keeps his hands to himself

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

So messed up, I want you here

In my room, I want you here

Now we’re gonna be face-to-face

And I’ll lay right down in my favourite place

And now I wanna be your dog

And now I wanna be your dog

And now I wanna be your dog

Well, come on!

Friday 5th February 1977

Sirius Black could do space. Space was fine—if that was what Remus needed. If that was what he
wanted. Who cared about a little bit of distance? Not Sirius—not one bit.

As the last few weeks of January slipped away, he didn’t touch Remus once. No more broom
cupboards, no more empty classrooms, no more late-night rendezvous; Sirius kept his hands to
himself. It was difficult—more difficult than it should have been. But he knew it was necessary.

James had been right; he couldn’t force Remus to confide in him. He couldn’t force Remus to care
about him, to feel the same things he was feeling. It was all good fun, their arrangement—but only
if Sirius could keep his emotions in check. Only if he could keep the messy, tangled snarl of
feelings from cracking like an eggshell, spilling out between them, covering Remus in their…muck.
It wasn’t fair, to demand something more when Sirius knew that wasn’t what Moony wanted—
some level of closeness that Remus couldn’t possibly give. It would be wrong of him. It would ruin
everything.

So he gave Moony space. It became apparent very quickly that this was the right decision; Remus
relaxed into his normal routine, spending all his time studying in the library or reading quietly by
the fireplace. He seemed calmer than he had in weeks, and Sirius felt sick with the thought that he
must have been crowding him, overwhelming him, throwing himself at Remus when all the other
boy wanted was to be left alone.

He’ll come back, a small, selfish part of him whispered, When he’s ready, he’ll come back to you.
Sirius clung to the pathetic hope that it stirred, lying awake at night, wishing desperately that he
would hear the soft shuffle of footsteps, the rustle of bedcurtains—that just once, Remus would
come to him.

But he didn’t. And as the days wore on, Sirius was forced to confront the possibility that he hadn’t
wanted to consider: that Remus wouldn’t come to him. That he never would. That it was over.

It shouldn’t have mattered. Sirius knew that. It shouldn’t have hurt, not the way it did—like a
wound that wouldn’t heal, a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. He had always known that this would
happen, eventually; that Moony would get sick of him, would call it quits. Would sense that it
wasn’t quite so casual for Sirius, not anymore, and pull back, appalled or frightened or…angry.
Would want things to return to normal.

That was fine. That was for the best. Sirius remembered Mary’s words, on the afternoon they broke
up: sometimes, it’s like your feelings are so big that there isn’t room for anyone else’s…

He’d let his feelings get too big, again, without stopping to think about what Remus wanted, what
Remus needed—of course things had fallen apart. All he ever seemed to do was repeat the same
mistakes.

So: space. Clearly, that was what Remus wanted from him, and that was what Sirius would give.

He began watching James’s quidditch practices, again, and threw himself into brainstorming new
pranks. He raided the kitchens with Peter and smoked at the greenhouses with Mary, when she was
in the mood. And he returned to his relationship with Emmeline with a renewed focus, determined
to get at least one thing right. He walked her to classes and carried her bookbag and snuck up to the
Astronomy tower with her, and when he kissed her he thought only of her quiet sighs and her soft
hands and her floral perfume, and definitely, definitely not anything else.

By the time the February full moon rolled around, things almost felt normal. Remus insisted that
they stay inside the shack, so there were no night-time runs through the forest—but that was
perfectly fine. None of the marauders were going to push him to go outside if he didn’t want to, not
after what had happened the previous month…

On the way back to Gryffindor tower, James had the rather brilliant idea to conjure bright red wigs
onto all the portraits—he was nattering on about Evans again, saying something or other about
“the vermillion magnificence of her hair,” but Sirius couldn’t be bothered to pay much attention to
that part. He just thought it might be a laugh.

Instead of bothering to try and snatch a few minutes of sleep before classes (they’d be tired either
way), the two boys pored over a book on magical portraiture in the common room, while Peter
passed out on the couch beside them. They decide to proceed with their plan after lunch; Sirius
took the invisibility cloak, since, they reasoned, James always had his shiny prefect’s badge to fall
back on.

He was on the third-floor mezzanine, sweet talking one of the shyer paintings of a sea nymph, and
was just about to try and cast the spell when a voice rang out behind him.

“Padfoot!”

When he turned, Remus was there, grinning as he tramped up the stairs. The sea nymph gave a
little shriek, diving immediately into the gentle waves beneath her rock.

“Aw, Moony, what’d you scare her for?” Sirius shook his head, “I was just about to cast the spell.”

“This is brilliant!” Remus gushed, eyes bright as he waved a hand back towards the portraits that
Sirius had already finished. “How come you never told me you were doing it? Is James in on it?”

“Yeah, he’s taking the east wing,” Sirius willed his traitorous heart to stop pounding, keeping his
voice casual as he turned to the next painting, “We just had the idea walking back to bed this
morning. Sorry, thought you’d be sleeping still.”

“Madam Pomfrey let me go…”

“Oh, right. You’ll probably want to go to the library, or something? I’m nearly finished here, no
need for you to stick around.”

“No, I—”

“Oh shit!”

Of course—of course the hallway’s grandfather clock began to chime, just at that moment. In a few
seconds, every single door would burst open, spilling students into the corridor as they hurried off
to their next lessons.

“They’ll know it’s us!” Sirius hissed, “Quick!” He yanked the invisibility cloak from under his
robes and raised it up, without thinking.

Remus rushed over and ducked his head, crouching to make sure they both fit. The two boys
backed against the wall, where they could do nothing but wait as the doors to every classroom
slammed open, expelling a flood of black-robed students. Sirius tried to breathe evenly, all too
aware of the boy squashed in next to him. This, most definitely, was not space.

“Oi,” Remus whispered, breath hot against Sirius’s ear. Merlin, he was weak—he was so, so weak.
This was going to ruin everything—

“Are you still angry with me?”

Sirius blinked. “What do you—"

“You’re avoiding me.”

What?? “No I’m not.” A third-year girl walked past, a bit too close for comfort. Sirius was forced
to push even further back, so that Remus’s chest was pressed flush against him, and—fuck, he’d
forgotten just how bloody tall Moony was. “James said to give you space,” he said, quietly, “And
you left me out of the Hog’s Head mission, even after we said we’d go together.”

“It wasn’t a mission!” Remus whispered, voice rising slightly, taut with frustration. The students
around them were beginning to notice the portraits, with their enormous, curly red wigs, and a low
buzz of laughter started up through the hall. Remus spoke directly into his ear, “And I never agreed
to go together!”

“Well, it sent the message that you wanted space!” Sirius shuffled around, turning so that he could
hiss into Remus’s ear, too. Merlin, they were close—and he was so warm…Sirius wasn’t sure if he
wanted to shove him away or wrap his arms around his neck and snog him.
“I’m sorry, ok?” Remus murmured, “I didn’t think you’d take it so hard!”

“I’m not taking it hard!” Sirius scoffed, offended, “You make me sound like—"

“Like what?”

Fuck this, Sirius thought, Fuck getting caught. He didn’t care—he just needed to get away, to step
out from under the stifling cloak, to run from the insidious heat of the beautiful, infuriating boy in
front of him—

And then Remus kissed him.

Finally, thought Sirius, and then he was kissing back, hands fisting in Moony’s jumper, tongue
swiping along his bottom lip, bones turning to jelly as he leaned forward. Fuck, I’ve missed you.

The students surrounding them slowly filtered out, until the corridor was empty once more. Sirius
pulled back, head spinning.

“So now you like me again,” he muttered, trying to stifle the elated thrills of pleasure running up
and down his spine, “Can’t bloody keep up with you.”

“What are you talking about? You were avoiding me!”

“I thought you wanted me to!”

“Well…yeah, ok, I did, but not until we’d at least talked.”

“I really don’t see what there is to talk about,” Sirius shoved away, ripping the cloak off. “We’re
either doing…y’know, or we’re not.” You either want me, or you don’t.

Remus was staring at him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. If Sirius wasn’t careful, he thought he might
melt into a puddle, right there on the stone floor.

“So?!” He took a step back—space. Space was good. “Which is it?”

Remus licked his lips. “Well, it’s a bit unfair to ask me that right now…”

Sirius’s heart stuttered, painfully, in his chest. Remus Lupin, he thought, helplessly, You’re going
to be the death of me. But in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“C’mon, then.” He nodded towards the staircase, turning, “I’m bunking off Divination, dorm’s
empty…”

* * *

Sunday 13th February 1977

And just like that, Remus wanted him, again. Sirius tried not to feel too pathetic about how quickly
he sank back into their old routine—crawling into Moony’s bed at night, hands gravitating towards
him of their own accord, bunking off class just so that he could catch the other boy in the common
room, alone. All those weeks of space had apparently done nothing to quell the turbulent desire
that he felt whenever Remus so much as glanced his way—if anything, it had only made things
worse.

But that was fine. Sirius knew exactly where he had gone wrong, the first time around—what it
came down to was the feelings. He just had to be more careful, work harder to keep himself at
arm’s length (metaphorically speaking, of course). As long as he didn’t allow himself to become
too…intense, too demanding, too overwhelming, then everything would be fine. Remus wouldn’t
have any reason to pull away again.

So Sirius locked away the quiet longing, the emotion that crept down his throat and into his lungs.
He stamped out the spark of desire to be closer, the nebulous insistence on more—after six years,
he had learned that it was best to take what you could get, from Remus. And if what he could get
was…willingness, well, then that was enough. There was no use in wishing that Moony would kiss
him again, or reach out to him, or come to his bed, just once. That line had already been drawn in
the sand, and Sirius knew better than to hope that Remus would cross it.

Besides, as long as he was allowed to kiss Remus…well, that was nothing to complain about.

In the following weeks, things returned, mostly, to the way they had been before. Of course, Sirius
wasn’t silly enough to hope that it would last, this time around—eventually, Remus would move
on; eventually, he would get a girlfriend; eventually, he would find someone that he actually
wanted to be close with, and they’d call things off, and it would all have been good fun, nothing
more. Sirius tried not to think about it too much, to just enjoy what they had while they had it, even
as he braced himself for the inevitable return to…space. It would be fine; he had Emmeline, after
all. It wasn’t like he’d be alone.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Valentine’s Day that year fell on a Monday, and, as Hogsmeade fell on the Saturday before, most
couples celebrated on the 12th. Sirius was no exception; he took Emmeline to the Three
Broomsticks, and lavished her with gifts, and spent a properly romantic evening in the Astronomy
tower. Emmeline was lovely, sweet and eager as always, beautiful and coy and alluring.

It didn’t matter. She did absolutely nothing to quell the burst of heat that unfurled in his stomach
when Sirius returned to the dorm room afterwards, and saw Remus smoking on the windowsill.

There wasn’t time that night—Remus went straight to bed, falling asleep before Sirius had even
finished brushing his teeth. And they spent the next morning with James and Peter in the common
room, playing exploding snap and listening to James recount the story of Lily Evans’s Valentine’s
Day Hogsmeade Rejection. So it wasn’t until mid-afternoon, when the other boys adjourned to the
library to revise for their upcoming Muggle Studies exam, that Sirius was finally able to get
Moony alone.

“Fancy a fag?” He asked, casually, clearing away the cards. Remus looked up from the book he
was reading, distracted.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure…”

Sirius didn’t have a single cigarette to his name—but it didn’t matter. They both knew that wasn’t
why he’d asked.

The moment the door shut behind them, Sirius was tugging off Moony’s jumper, pulling him onto
the bed, kissing him hard enough to bruise. He began to fumble with the buttons of Remus’s shirt,
breathing into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent—the smoky-sweet smell of burnt sugar, the
shallow earthiness of parchment, the tang of citrus—
Citrus??

Sirius paused. He sniffed again—yes, definitely citrus. And something else, something crisp and
sweet and familiar…

“Is that…? That smells like…” he shoved his nose into the pillow, inhaling. “Mary’s perfume?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, slowly. He had just taken his shirt off, and was still holding it in his hands as
he studied Sirius’s face. “She was here. Yesterday.”

Here. Yesterday. In Moony’s bed. His head had gone fuzzy, like it was stuffed full of cotton.

“Oh. Right. You and her?”

“Well…it was just a one-off sort of thing. Is that…ok?”

“Yeah,” Sirius responded, immediately. He thought of Mary, with her sunny smile, and her sultry
curves, and her soft, sweet moans. It was doing something funny to him, imagining her here, on top
of Remus, straddling his hips… “Yeah, of course. Good for you, mate!”

He wasn’t sure what to do with the spill of heat that spread through him—nor the kick of panic
that accompanied it, as he thought of Mary’s easy confidence, compared to his desperate, needy
fumbling. Remus must have seen the expression on his face, because he said carefully,

“I know you two were…but it was ages ago now, and you’re with Emmeline, so…”

“Of course!” Sirius nodded, earnestly, “I’m pleased for you, honestly, Mary’s great!”

“Yeah, she is.”

His thoughts tangled together, impossible to unpick. But that meant Remus was—he’d found—he’d
had—he wouldn’t need—wouldn’t want—and Mary was so much—she was—

In front of him, Remus shifted awkwardly, shirt still clutched in his fingers. He began to pull back,
and Sirius’s eyes snapped to his face as the rushing torrent of thoughts all narrowed into one
burning point.

No, he thought, deliriously, You’re not going away.

Sirius leaned forward, shoving down the horrible tangle of anxiety in his gut, focusing instead on
the heat. Remus was still here, now. You’re not getting away.

He placed a finger, gently, on a scar that started just beneath the other boy’s collarbone, tracing its
jagged path down to his stomach. Remus shivered, eyes glazing over. I’ve got you, Moony, Sirius
thought, a vindictive, triumphant thrill.

“So, how was it?”

“Wh-what?” Remus’s voice was muddled, foggy. Sirius’s fingers skimmed lower.

“Sex,” he murmured, leaning close, so that his lips brushed the soft skin at Moony’s shoulder. Out
of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus’s surprised expression. The taller boy squirmed, hips
bucking up into Sirius’s leg.

“It was…good. She’s, um…so soft, y’know. I mean, you know…”

 “Yeah,” Sirius breathed, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. He knew—he knew very well,
what Mary was like. She was soft, and gentle, and so many things that Sirius would never be.

But did she do this? He thought, as his fingers worked at Remus’s belt, Did she know how to touch
you like this? Did she do this—this, did she make you feel like this?

Beneath him, Remus made a broken noise in the back of his throat. Sirius pulled back, slightly,
staring down at him—at his eyes, half-lidded and dark with pupil; at his cheeks, flushed with heat.
Remus stared back through his lashes, pliant and debauched and heartbreakingly lovely. Sirius
didn’t look away as he licked the palm of his hand.

Like me better, he thought, feverishly, as he slid his hand back beneath the waistband of Remus’s
jeans, Like me better, as Moony’s head fell back into the pillows, eyes shut, gasping, Like me
better, like me better, like me better.

When it was over, they sat side by side, smoking. Remus inhaled, exhaled.

Sirius swallowed, and looked away.

Chapter End Notes

song is (of course) "i wanna be your dog" by the stooges!

 Sixth Year: The Library
Chapter Summary

sirius goes to the library

Friday 4th March 1977

Sirius was beginning to think that he had a problem.

Well—alright, he knew he had a problem. But before it had at least been a manageable problem, a
problem with an end in sight: Remus would get over his odd hang-up with girls, and find a
girlfriend, and their…thing, whatever it was, would fade out, naturally.

But now things had changed. Now, apparently, Remus had overcome his infuriating martyr
complex, and decided that he didn’t have to hold himself at arm’s length from the entire female
population of Hogwarts simply because he had convinced himself that he was somehow dangerous.
Now, he’d shagged Mary, and the two of them had begun to spend quite a bit of time alone,
together, in the library…

They weren’t dating. Not officially. In fact, Remus continued to act as though he and Mary were
still just friends. But Sirius knew, better than anyone, that friendship with Remus did not
necessarily preclude…other activities. Every time he saw Remus smile at her, or noticed Mary
reaching out to touch his arm, or spotted the two of them laughing together, Sirius’s heart gave an
awful lurch in his chest.

He knew it wasn’t fair. Remus deserved someone like Mary, someone sunny and joyful and bright.
He deserved someone kind, someone sweet, someone who had never hurt him. If Sirius was a
better person, he might have accepted that; might have backed away quietly, letting things come to
their natural end.

But he was not a better person. Sirius was selfish, and no matter how he told himself he should
leave Remus alone, he couldn’t seem to stop.

The problem, as it were, was that Remus didn’t seem particularly inclined to stop, either. He never
initiated anything, of course—that was Sirius’s job. But Remus didn’t push him away; he didn’t
draw back, or tell him to stop. In fact, he seemed quite content to allow Sirius to continue—eager,
even, smiling when Sirius pulled him onto the bed (or into the broom cupboard, or behind the
tapestry, or to any one of their usual haunts). Sometimes, with Remus’s mouth at his neck, his
hands at his waist, his breath in his ear, Sirius could close his eyes and pretend, secretly, that he
was really something Remus wanted.

But afterwards, the guilt would always return—the sick feeling that he was using Remus, dragging
him like quicksand into the dark pit of his own tainted desires. He never would have wanted this,
Sirius told himself, if you hadn’t pushed him into it.

Sometimes—when he was very tired, or high; when he had let his guard down—a small, answering
voice would whisper: But he’s been with Mary, and he still wants you…

Sirius strangled it. It was no good, having thoughts like that—insidious, hopeful little things,
thoughts that dragged with them a whole host of tangled emotions that Sirius couldn’t bear to face.
Remus isn’t queer, he would remind himself, forcefully, And I’m not…not—I’m definitely not—

On those sorts of days, he would always find himself returning to Emmeline, throwing an arm
around her shoulders and flirting shamelessly and tugging her into the fourth-floor girls’ loos,
where she would giggle when he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her. Make me feel
something, he would beg, silently, as she slipped her fingers under his shirt, You’re supposed to
make me feel something.

He hated her, a little, every time she didn’t.

He had just spent one such afternoon in Emmeline’s arms, trying to forget about the way Remus
had groaned when he stood from the breakfast table that morning, stretching. It hadn’t worked, and
Sirius was in a sour mood, slouched in front of the fireplace in the common room, when the
portrait hole swung open and the source of all his current problems walked in.

“Evans!” James shouted, perking up from his spot on the sofa—because of course Remus had
waltzed in with his entire entourage of girls. Sirius frowned.

“Yeah, yeah, good evening, Potter,” Lily huffed, rolling her eyes.

“And Moony!” James grinned, “Where have you been?”

“Making furious love to us all, obviously,” Mary smirked, sarcastically, nudging Sirius over and
squeezing next to him in front of the fireplace. He stifled a burst of irritation.

“It’s true,” Lily plopped down on the hearth rug, smiling, “He’s a stallion.”

“It took all three of us to satisfy him!” Marlene added, grinning.

“Oh my god, please shut up…” Remus begged, but he was smiling as he settled down into his
usual armchair. “We were in the library, as if you didn’t know.”

“Ah, of course,” James waggled his eyebrows, “Say no more, Casanova.”

“Brr.” Mary shoved her palms in front of the fire, elbowing Sirius in the process, “This castle is
freezing.”

“Scotland is freezing.” Sirius muttered, slouching down even further and levitating a paper plane
over their heads, just to keep his hands busy.

“It’s only March,” Lily said cheerfully, “It’ll start warming up soon enough. I can’t wait for the
summer.”

“Nah, then I’ll be too hot,” Mary groaned, “Our flat is ridiculous, even if you open all the
windows. S’pose I can do magic this year, though – am I allowed to if my family are muggles?”

“Oh, I do,” Lily said, nervously, “Are we not supposed to?”

“Why don’t you come and stay with me, Mary?” Marlene suggested, “More room at our house, it’s
cooler.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a holiday,” Mary said thoughtfully, rubbing her hands together, “Haven’t
had one since dad lost his job. We used to go to the seaside every year. Margate or Skegness.”

“Ooh, I went to Cornwall last year,” Lily smiled, “It was lovely, we camped right near the beach.”

“Camping again,” Sirius flicked his wand, sending the plane into a nosedive, “Don’t get Potter
started…”

But it was too late. “Evans, have I ever told you how much I love camping?” James tossed his
golden snitch from hand to hand, grinning like a lunatic, “It is one of my greatest pleasures in life.”

“I’m talking about muggle camping, Potter,” Lily sniffed, glancing away from him, “In muggle
tents – no fancy extension charms…”

“Can’t be that different,” James chirped, still grinning, “These two haven’t even been camping,” he
jerked his head towards Remus and Sirius.

“We sort of did, over Christmas,” Remus said, looking pointedly at Sirius with a mischievous
smile. Despite his simmering irritation, Sirius couldn’t stop an answering smile from creeping over
his face.

“Hey!” James exclaimed, in his familiar, I’ve-just-had-the-most-brilliant-idea-EVER voice, “We

should all go camping!”

“What?” Sirius sat up.

“This summer!” James continued, eagerly, “It’s our last summer before we all have to be grownups
– and we’ll all be of age, we should do it!”

“All of us?” Marlene asked, glancing at Mary.

“All of us,” James nodded, “What’d you think, Evans?”

“Well…” Lily eyed his manic smile, “Separate tents for boys and girls, right?”

“Pfft, you’re no fun.” Mary teased. From her spot on the floor, Lily kicked her in retaliation.

“Ok, Potter,” her green eyes danced with mischief, a slow smile creeping across her face, “On one
condition…”

“Anything!”

“Muggle tents.”

“Oh.”

* * *

Saturday 5th March 1977

If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st of August 1977, you
 are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition
instructor, beginning on Monday 4th April 1977.

Please sign below if you would like to participate.

Cost: 12 Galleons

Remus sighed as he read the notice on the Gryffindor common room’s board, frowning.

“I’ll lend you the money,” Sirius offered.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Remus, I’m ridiculously rich.”

“I’m quite aware of that,” the other boy snapped, frowning even more deeply at the board. Sirius
waited for a moment, watching Remus scan the words again.

“Ok,” he sighed, finally, “But I’ll pay you back. I really will.”

“I know,” Sirius grinned and nudged him, “You’re going to be making more money than any of us,
one day, you big swot.”

“Ha.” Remus shook his head, “Not likely, unless Dumbledore gets his act together.”

“Dumbledore? What’s he got to do with anything?”

Remus paused, glancing around the common room. It wasn’t all that busy, but there were a few
scattered students working on homework or playing games of gobstones near the fire.

“I can’t tell you here,” he murmured, “Upstairs?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows pointedly, with an angelic smile, and Remus began to laugh. He shook
his head,

“Not for that. Get your mind out of the gutter, Black.”

Sirius followed him upstairs, shutting the door behind them as they entered the empty room. James
was out patrolling, and Peter was serving a detention with Filch for getting caught out of bounds
after curfew.

“So?” Sirius settled onto Remus’s bed, asking, “What’s going on with Dumbledore?”

Remus sat down, as well, leaving a careful distance between them.

“I…remember I had that dinner with Ferox? After I met Livia.”

“…yeah, of course.” Sirius swallowed. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened with the
werewolf—not since his outburst the day after.

“Ok, well don’t get angry with me, but…I sort of made some demands. On Dumbledore.”

Sirius blinked, waiting for him to continue. Demands?? He had no idea what that was supposed to
mean.
Remus swallowed, saying, “I told him that if they want me to help them, if they want me to be like
an emissary to the werewolves, or whatever, then I wanted something in return. Protection, for the
others in Greyback’s pack, first of all.”

What?! Sirius opened his mouth to speak—but then hesitated, remembering James’s words. Just—
listen to him, if he talks to you. After a moment, he shut his mouth. Just listen.

Remus eyed him, warily, but continued speaking. “And I’ve asked not to be forced to sign the
register, on my birthday.”

“Well, that’s reasonable, at least,” Sirius released a breath, “But, Moony…the other thing…”

“I know,” Remus said quickly, “They’re murderers, some of them. I know that. But they’re…I
don’t think they know any other way. I think that if we want to show them that there are other
choices, better ways to live, then…that has to start with kindness.”

“Kindness.” Sirius said, slowly.

“Not forgiveness,” Remus explained, “I’m not saying they should go completely unpunished, but…
I mean, you have to admit, the ministry has handled lycanthropy pretty poorly, so far. When we
win this war, there’s a chance to make things better. For all wizards. Even half-breeds.”

Sirius studied him—the light flickering in his eyes, the determined line of his mouth. He had
never…seen Remus like this before, passionate and purposeful and adamant, voice fervent as he
spoke about a cause that was bigger than any one person.

“This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Remus responded immediately, without hesitation.

“You’ll have to convince a lot of people.”

“I know.”

Sirius took a breath.

“We’ll help you, though,” he said, eyes still tangled in Moony’s burning gaze, “Me and Peter and
James – Evans too, probably, that girl worships you.”

“I couldn’t ask—"

“You don’t need to,” Sirius interrupted him, leaning forward. His heart felt swollen in his chest; he
didn’t think before kissing him, once, gently. “Anything for our Moony.”

Later that day, Sirius stood outside the library. He hadn’t brought the invisibility cloak with him,
this time; it was a Saturday afternoon, so he knew it wouldn’t be very crowded. Plus, all of his
friends were busy—Remus was hosting his study club in the Charms classroom, Potter was at
some prefects’ meeting with Evans, and Peter had gone off with his new girlfriend (Dorcas
Meadowes—Sirius hadn’t a clue how he’d managed that, but he was just relieved that it had put an
end to Peter’s moping about over Desdemona, who had broken up with him shortly after
Christmas)—so he didn’t have to worry about anyone he knew coming along.

At least, he didn’t think he did. But as Sirius stood, stiffly, just outside the wide doorway, he was
horrified to hear a familiar voice calling his name.
“Sirius!”

He spun around, stomach sinking—sure enough, Mary was trotting down the hall, a thick stack of
books in her arms.

“Macdonald…” He said, weakly, forcing a smile.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Mary. Sirius liked Mary; she was one of his best friends, aside
from the marauders. It was just that lately, anytime he looked at her, he thought of Remus, and her
perfume on his pillow… And he especially didn’t want to see her now, when he was frozen outside
the library, sweating and trying to remember how to force his legs to move.

“You alright?” Mary asked, squinting up at him, “You look a bit pale.”

“Fine,” Sirius responded, stiffly. Mary hummed, glancing through the doorway at the bookshelves,
then back to him. After a moment of rather tense silence, she said slowly,

“Are you…going in?”

“…yes.”

More silence. Mary studied his face, and Sirius sucked in a shallow breath, wishing she would just
sod off.

“Come on,” she shuffled her books over to one arm, reaching out and winding their fingers
together, “Let’s go together.”

Sirius didn’t protest as she tugged him over the threshold, forcing himself to keep breathing. His
heart pounded against his ribcage like it was trying to crack through bone and escape.

“I’ve just got to return these, it’ll only take a minute…” Mary smiled up at him, pulling Sirius with
her towards the checkout desk.

And he was fine—it was all perfectly fine. Except that the shelves were so, so tall, towering,
inescapable walls, closing him in, and it was so dark—

“Mary.”

“Hmm?”

The shelves were everywhere, everywhere he looked—he couldn’t get away, he had to leave, he
could feel his mother’s breath on his neck—

“Mary.”

She stopped, pausing to look up at him again.

“Sirius…?”

“I need to leave.”

“What?”

“I need to go, right now, please—”

“Okay—okay, come on, I’ll just—” She dumped her books unceremoniously onto an empty table,
spinning around. “Let’s go, then.”

It took every ounce of self-control that Sirius had not to run for the doors, and by the time they
burst back out into the corridor he was panting, sucking in jagged breaths of air.

“Sirius?” Mary still had her fingers wrapped in his, and she squeezed his hand anxiously, “Black?
You alright?”

He ripped his hand away, shoving his palms against his eyes.

“Fuck—” he gasped, trying desperately to hold himself together, “Fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t need to apologise,” now Mary was rubbing his back, small, soothing
circles, “I shouldn’t have just dragged you in like that, I’m sorry.”

Sirius shook his head, releasing a breathy, humourless laugh.

“Not your fault,” he muttered, leaning back against the wall. “Fuck…”

They were quiet, for a bit. Mary leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed. When he was
no longer breathing quite so heavily, she said carefully,

“I’m…assuming you don’t want to talk about it?”

Sirius shook his head, and they fell silent again. Then,

“Greenhouses?”

He looked down, and she was smiling up at him, impishly. Despite himself, he laughed.

“Merlin, Macdonald, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

 Sixth Year: Seventeen
Chapter Summary

remus has a birthday party

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Thursday 10th March 1977

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, REMU!”

Sirius led the charge, leaping onto Moony’s bed with the other marauders at his side the moment
the sun began to peek over the horizon. They hardly fit; one gangly tangle of scrambling limbs, all
knees and elbows.

“Gerroff, you wankers,” Remus shoved at them. “What time is it?”

“Time is immaterial,” James crowed, nudging his pointed party hat further up his head, “It’s your
birthday.”

“Your seventeenth birthday!” Sirius grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. He had donned a party hat,
too—polka-dotted, which clashed horribly with his striped school tie.

“You’re of age!” Peter laughed, diving towards the flustered birthday boy with yet another party
hat, which he snapped securely around his head.

Remus frowned at them, exasperated.

“You’re going to make me wear this all day, aren’t you?”

All three boys nodded, perfectly in sync, sending the colourful streamers attached to their hats
fluttering in the early morning sunlight.

“It’s impervious to water,” Sirius told him, “So you can even shower with it on.” In a moment of
giddy recklessness, he shot him a wink—and was rewarded by the very satisfying blush that crept
over Remus’s cheeks. Neither James nor Peter seemed to notice, too busy clambering to their feet.

The boys carefully removed Mrs. Potter’s chocolate cake from its hiding place (delivered by owl
just an hour before, and kept warm with one of Sirius’s patented heating charms) while Remus
showered. By the time he emerged, hair dripping onto his shoulders, they had a large slice already
cut for him, along with a stack of birthday cards that they had been collecting throughout the week.
Remus smiled bashfully as he opened them, and told James to thank his mother effusively for the
cake.

“And you’ll get your proper present later,” James told him, grinning, “At the party.”
“You lot are mad,” Remus shook his head, following them down to the common room, “You
shouldn’t go to all this trouble.”

“Shut up, Moony.” Peter responded, cheerfully.

“Happy birthday Remus!” chorused Lily, Mary, and Marlene once the group had arrived in the
dining hall. Sirius was quite pleased to see that Lily had talked the other girls into wearing their
party hats (the accessories had been his idea).

“Nice one, Evans,” James nudged her as he sat, smirking, “Knew you wouldn’t let the side down.”

“Oh, bugger off, Potter,” she rolled her eyes and elbowed him back, stifling a smile.

Of course, they had to perform their traditional rendition of ‘Happy Birthday,’ leading the Great
Hall in three rounds of the chorus before they dissolved into cheers and clapping. Remus, looking
very flushed, stood and bowed bashfully. Next to him, Sirius wolf-whistled, and James cackled
with laughter.

When the morning post arrived, two different owls swooped down in front of Remus, each with a
letter. Sirius peered over his shoulder, curiously—one was from Ferox. The other was from
Dumbledore.

Remus snatched the sealed envelope and opened it, quickly, under the table. Sirius scooted a bit
closer, chin almost resting atop the other boy’s shoulder as they read.

Mr. Lupin,

Many happy returns for the day.

I understand we have a few things to discuss. Please present yourself at the headmaster’s office at
4pm this afternoon.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

“Here we go.” Remus muttered, under his breath. Sirius leaned in, asking quietly,

“Do you want someone to go with you?”

Remus shook his head, tucking the letter away, and smiled tightly,

“Nah. Thanks for offering, but I think it’s better if I do it alone.”

Sirius frowned, but didn’t push him.

Despite the effusive birthday cheer of his friends, Remus was subdued for the rest of the day,
staring out the window absentmindedly in classes and only smiling distractedly when classmates
wished him a happy birthday. Sirius watched, anxiously, as he hurried off promptly at 3:45,
shoulders locked with tension, party hat bobbing incongruently on his head.

“Siiiii-ri-uuussss!” Emmeline sing-songed, popping up in front of him. Sirius startled, looking

away from the corner that Remus had just disappeared around. He hadn’t heard her approach.

“Hey, Em.”

She wrinkled her nose, looking up at him.

“Why’re you still wearing that silly hat?”

He blinked. “It’s Moony’s birthday.”

“Well, I know that.” She giggled, linking her arm through his. “Come on, help me pick an outfit
for the party tonight?”

“Er…” Sirius untangled himself, carefully, “I can’t right now, sorry. Busy.”

Emmeline frowned, pouting. “But you said you’d—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, it’s just…” He trailed off, glancing once more down the corridor
where Remus had disappeared. “Look, how about I walk you back to the Ravenclaw common
room after the party tonight, ok?”

“Hmph!” Emmeline huffed, crossing her arms stubbornly.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that…” Sirius smiled, the mischievous, wolfish grin that he had found
worked to great effect with just about every girl he tried it on (except Evans, who threw a shoe at
him the one time he gave it a go, grumbling, I get enough of that from Potter!). “We can stop by
the Astronomy tower on the way, if you like…”

Sure enough, Emmeline blushed.

“Well, I suppose that would be alright…”

They parted ways soon after, Emmeline hurrying off towards Ravenclaw Tower and Sirius waiting
until she had disappeared down the hall to turn and make his way to Dumbledore’s office. He
milled about next to the large stone gargoyle, trying to find a charm that would change its eye
colour to pass the time (he was envisioning a bright pink, or perhaps a sunny yellow).

He was just about to try a fourth spell when the gargoyle suddenly moved, sliding out of the way
and revealing what appeared to be one very furious Remus Lupin, who nearly ran straight into
Sirius. For some reason, he was clutching a shoebox under his arm.

“Woah!” Sirius staggered back, pressing his hands to the other boy’s chest to keep them from
colliding, “What’s up, Moony?”

“What are you doing here?” He spat, glaring viciously.

“Just waiting for you – I know you didn’t want company, I just thought—”

“You never bloody listen!” Remus snarled, shoving past him and barging off down the hall. Sirius
had to move quickly to grab his arm, jogging slightly to keep up,

“I know, I’m terrible,” he kept his voice cheerful, studying the stormy expression on his friend’s
face, “Never do as I’m told, do I? Keep shouting at me, I deserve it – hey, want to hit me?”

Remus stopped short, glaring down at him suspiciously. Sirius smiled back, heart pounding.

“No. I don’t want to hit you.”

“Oh, good. Want to punch a wall?”

“No.” Remus began walking again, although this time it was at least a pace that Sirius could match.

“Want to get stoned?”

“No.”

“Drunk?”

“…Maybe.”

“Perfect!” Sirius grinned, guiding them towards the dining hall, “Because I think that’s what half
the school has in mind after dinner. What’s in the box?”

“It’s…” Remus swallowed, looking down. After a moment, he said, “Just some stuff, I think my
dad left to me. I’m not opening it until later.” Ah. That explained the mood, then.

Sirius shrugged, blithely,

“Fair enough.”

* * *

Remus remained sullen when they sat down for dinner, shovelling food into his mouth to avoid
talking. All it took was a pointed look from Sirius for James to catch on to the situation, and he
quickly engaged their group in a farcical story about something that had happened on his latest
prefect patrol, until he could hardly be heard over the raucous laughter of their friends. Even
Remus began to perk up, smiling and chuckling as James imitated a particularly cranky portrait that
had started shouting at him for disturbing its sleep.

Sirius was still trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard when Emmeline suddenly
materialised, sliding onto his lap and planting a long, wet kiss on his mouth. Sirius blinked in
surprise—then quickly kissed her back, uncomfortably aware of Remus’s eyes on them, watching.

“Happy birthday, Remus,” Emmeline said, tossing her hair and smiling when she pulled away. He
only nodded in response, frowning as he set down his spoon. “I’m so excited about the party,” she
added, giving Sirius’s shoulder a little squeeze.

“Should be good,” James grinned, “Moony’s birthdays always are.”

“Why does everyone call you Moony, anyway?” Emmeline asked, turning back to Remus. He shot
her an irritated look,

“Not everyone. Just my friends.”

She blinked, obviously at a loss for how to respond, and Sirius frowned. Had something happened
between the two of them? He didn’t think he had ever actually heard Emmeline speak to Remus,
before—but then, she didn’t spend much time with the marauders. When Sirius hung out with her,
they were usually alone.

He squeezed her waist, gently. “Hey, Em, why don’t I meet you later? We’ve got some stuff to do
to get ready.”

“Ok,” She smiled brightly, “Remember your promise…” She leaned in, kissing him again, curling
her fingers in his hair.

Sirius smiled at her as she jumped off his lap, giving her a quick wave before turning back to his
friends. He didn’t pay much mind to what she had said until fifteen minutes later, when he and
Remus were alone in their bedroom. James and Peter were busy decorating the common room, but
Sirius had begged off, insisting that he needed time to get ready (“My dashing good looks are the
most important decoration for this party and you know it, Potter!”).

“Promise?” Remus asked, once the door had shut behind them, “What did you promise her?”

“Oh, just that I’d walk her back to her common room after the party.”

Remus gave him a look.

“Via the Astronomy Tower?”

Sirius smirked playfully as he began to unbutton his shirt,

“Maybe. Why?”

“Nothing.” Remus flopped down on his bed, a sour expression on his face. Sirius frowned, turning
to dig through his chest of drawers. Was Remus upset that he wasn’t going to spend the entire night
with him? But it wasn’t as if they’d spend the whole party together, anyway—not when Remus had
so many other people to hang out with…

“What about you and Mary?” Sirius kept his voice casual, “That thing finished now, or what?”

“Yeah.” Remus said, slowly, “It was just an experiment, sort of….Do you know what I mean?”

Sirius focused on buttoning the black shirt he’d pulled on. “Hm?” His mouth had gone dry, “What,
wasn’t good?”

“It was ok. Not as good as…” a pause; then, quickly, “Not as good as when it’s just you and me.”

Sirius froze, eyes snapping up to meet Remus’s. The words echoed, dizzily, in his head: Not as
good as when it’s just you and me.

The flood of warmth that poured through him was overwhelming, terrifying, something he could
drown in. He likes me better. But that wasn’t—it couldn’t be—

“Is it like that for you?”

Remus was staring at him, eyes turned to burning embers in his head. Sirius looked away, trying to
remember how to breathe, rifling through his drawers once again. The word worked its way slowly
up his throat; an admission; a confession; bile, creeping up the back of his tongue.

“Yeah.”
“Pardon?”

Sirius took a deep breath, swallowing as he shut the drawer.

“I said yeah. It’s better with you.”

It was like gutting himself; like reaching down his throat and clawing into his chest until he caught
hold of his heart, tugging it outside his body and throwing it, bloody and raw, onto the hardwood
floor between them.

“Right,” Remus said, quietly, and Sirius wanted to disappear. It was too much—too sudden—all at
once—

It took all his effort to keep his voice steady as he turned, brushing his hair behind his ear and
saying quickly,

“I s’pose because we know each other so well, eh? Right, I’d better get down there and help before
Prongs comes after me with a jelly-legs jinx! We’ll send Peter to get you when it’s all ready.”

He didn’t wait for Remus to respond, rushing out the door before he could fall apart completely.

* * *

The nice thing about drinking, Sirius thought, as he poured more firewhisky into his cup with a
shaky hand, was that when you were drunk, you didn’t have to think about anything. Just now, for
example: Moony was standing across the room, laughing at one of Marlene’s impressions, and
Sirius didn’t have to think about why the sight made his heart kick, or his stomach flip, or his blood
stir with heat. He could just feel it, just smile and sink into the blissful haze of firewhisky,
remembering Remus’s earlier words.

Not as good as when it’s just you and me…

Just you and me…

You and me…

“Hiya, gorgeous!” Chirped a voice at his ear. Sirius turned, and came face to face with Mary,
whose eyes were outlined strikingly with black kohl.

“Hi yourself, beautiful,” He grinned, easily, and she laughed, raising her eyebrows in a pointed
look. He blinked.

“Oh!” Sirius spun, glancing over his shoulder—Remus was still talking to Marlene. He turned back
to Mary, leaning in conspiratorially. “Did you bring it?”

She wiggled her eyebrows, pulling her arms out from behind her back to reveal a familiar album.
“Ta-da!”

“Yes!” Sirius cheered, nudging her towards the record player, “Go on, put it on! While Marlene’s
distracting him.”

Mary nudged him back. “Why can’t you put it on? You’re closer!”
“I can’t—I’m Moony’s faaaavourite,” He dragged the word out, slurring slightly, “What’d he think
if he caught me?”

Mary laughed, rolling her eyes. “You utter wimp.” But she obliged, trotting over to the record
player and giggling as she replaced the current track.

‘My, my!

At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender…’

She twirled back to him, still giggling, and Sirius smiled delightedly as he grabbed her hand,
spinning her around.

‘Waterloo

I was defeated, you won the war

Waterloo

Promise to love you forever more’

“Mary!” Sirius said, leaning down to speak directly into her ear, “I think you were right!”

“What?” She had to shout to be heard over the music; half the students in the room were dancing,
now, and many were singing along.

“I think you were right!” He repeated, “About feelings!”

“What about feelings?”

“I think I’ve fucked up!” He stumbled, dizzy, and she giggled, clutching his arm to steady him,
“Like—they just got too big. Is that crazy?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

‘So how could I ever refuse?

I feel like I win when I lose

Waterloo

Couldn’t escape if I wanted to

Waterloo

Knowing my fate is to be with you’

Sirius shook his head. Stop thinking, you silly sod. He lifted his arm to twirl her. “I know! I just
needed to tell someone!”

Mary gave him a funny look, but didn’t question him any further. They danced for a bit longer,
then stumbled over to the punch. After a few rather nasty looks from Emmeline, Mary bid him
adieu, slightly unsteady as she pushed through the crowd of students to go find Roman Rotherhide.
Sirius spent a few minutes dancing with Emmeline, to even things out a bit—once her ego was
sufficiently soothed, he took a break to lean by the turntable, chattering with James and Marlene
about their upcoming quidditch match.

He felt very aware of Remus, slouched in an armchair, watching him. His eyes were dangerous,
heavy-lidded and magnetic, bottle dangling from those long fingers…Every time Sirius felt the
urge to look at him, he took another drink, stifling it. He wasn’t entirely sure what would happen, if
their eyes met—but he felt pretty certain that it would end with him combusting in the middle of
the common room.

You and me, said Moony’s voice, in the back of his head, You and me…

By the time he noticed Remus leaving, shoving off the armchair and stumbling over to the
stairway, Sirius was almost too drunk to follow him; he tripped, pushing himself away from the
turntable, and had to wave James away.

“Check’n Moony…” He mumbled, slurring—luckily, James was distracted by Lily, who had just
spilled her cup of Witches Brew all over his shirt.

It was calmer, in the dorm room, far away from the crush of bodies and the pulsing music. Cooler,
too—Sirius sighed, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. From inside the bathroom,
there was the unmistakeable sound of retching. His stomach twisted, and he wondered, suddenly, if
this had been a good idea.

He heard the toilet flushing, water running, soft shuffling—Sirius was seized by panic, realising
that he was about to be alone, again, with Moony. But before he could decide whether to run away,
the door swung open. He leaned against the bed post for support, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Their eyes met. His heart crawled into his throat.

“Came up to check you’re all right.”

Remus stepped towards him, carefully, shutting the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” he said, shoulders tense, “Just a bit too pissed, that’s all. Going to bed.”

“Look, about the stuff I said,” Sirius blurted, words spilling off his tongue, “I’m really sorry. I
don’t even know why I am but…I’m just sorry, ok?” Maybe if he hadn’t had so much to drink—
maybe if his head was less fuzzy, he’d be able to figure it out. What to do with the knot of guilt that
had tied itself, firmly, in his stomach. But then again, the horrible, snarled feeling that he’d done
something wrong was half the reason he’d drunk so much in the first place.

He reached out, gripping Moony’s shoulder. He was so warm, and so…there, and Sirius wanted
him, and—and maybe…maybe he wanted Sirius, too.

So Sirius kissed him.

He kissed him hungrily, desperately. He kissed him like it was a new language, like it would be
enough to communicate, like if he did it just right, Remus could taste the words on his tongue. He
kissed his heart into his mouth, thinking, you and me, you and me, you and me…

And Remus kissed him back. Sirius stumbled, slightly, as he pushed forward, hands twisting into
the fabric of Moony’s shirt, wanting more, always wanting more, and—

Remus pulled away.

“You’re drunk.” He said, staring down, all pupil.

“Yeah,” Sirius smiled, dopily, “So’re you.”

“Yeah,” Remus untwisted himself, stepping away, and Sirius had to lean against the bed post
again. Come back, he thought, Don’t leave.

“I don’t think we should…I think you’ll regret it.”

The words barely registered; Sirius couldn’t think about anything except Moony, Moony’s mouth,
his hands, how it would feel to touch him. “Since when do you care?” He murmured, starting
forward—but Remus pulled back, again, placing a hand on his chest, pushing him away.

“No, Sirius. What about Emmeline?”

Emmeline? What did any of this have to do with Emmeline? She was nothing—nobody—

“Fuck Emmeline!”

Remus’s mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile, if it wasn’t so bitter. “But
you already do, don’t you, Black? That’s the problem.”

What? “So…” Sirius struggled to process the words, trying to understand. What was Remus on
about? That was different—everything was different. Nothing compared to them, just the two of
them, together.

“We have to stop our…thing, just because of her?”

“Our ‘thing’!? God, Sirius, you’re unbelievable.”

“What?!”

“Siiiiiiiriuuuuuuuus…” As if on cue, Emmeline’s sing-song voice echoed from the stairwell,

“Where are youuuuu?”

They turned, simultaneously, looking back towards the open door.

“You’d better go to her,” Remus grunted, moving away, towards his bed. Sirius followed him,
reaching out, tugging at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He didn’t want Emmeline, he didn’t
care about Emmeline—why couldn’t Remus see that?

“C’mon, just…”

“No!”

“Siiiiriuuuuus…I’m coming to get you!”

 Remus shoved him away, glaring.

“Go on, I don’t want her up here!”

Sirius stared at him, dizzy, heat spilling sickly through his gut. It was like trying to cage a wild
dog, wrangling the sharp-toothed want that had its teeth around his neck.

“Ok, but I’ll come back…we can talk…”

“No.” Remus snapped, retreating behind his bed curtains, “We’ve talked. It’s over. Goodnight,
Sirius.”

Chapter End Notes

song during the party - "waterloo" by abba <3

 Sixth Year: Separation
Chapter Summary

no, but seriously...who the fuck is this blond kid??

Sirius woke the next morning with a splitting headache and a sour taste on the back of his tongue.
He scrubbed a hand across his face as he sat up, blinking the morning sunlight out of his eyes.

It’s over.

Ah. There it was. That cold pit at the base of his stomach, stretching like a cat, sending ice water
through his veins. He remembered, vaguely, returning to the party with Emmeline, where he had
grabbed a bottle of firewhisky out of James’s hands and poured it down his throat like he was
trying to drown himself. After that, everything went a bit blurry—he was pretty sure he had kept
his promise to walk Emmeline back to the common room, recalled flashes of something that might
have been starlight, and the touch of her small, soft hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting
nausea.

Remus’s words echoed in his head. It’s over, it’s over, it’s over. Sirius groaned.

What had he done wrong? He tried to recall their conversation—he’d apologised, and then he’d
kissed him, and then Remus had said something about Emmeline, and regret…

But he said it was better, Sirius thought, miserably, He said it was better when it was just me. He
wouldn’t say that and not mean it—he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t…

Sirius thought, again, of the way he’d kissed Remus, greedy and fervent, doing nothing to hide the
horrible want that rose like a tide whenever they were alone together. He thought of Remus’s hand
on his chest, pushing him away.

Stupid, whispered a small, vicious voice in the back of his head, Did you really think he wanted
you? Did you really think you could poison him, corrupt him, twist him until he felt the same way?
He swallowed, remembering the way he’d thrown himself at Remus, thinking of the secret, guilty
desire that he’d chanted silently when they were together, like wordless magic: Like me better, like
me better, like me better…

This is all your fault, Sirius told himself, miserably, You stupid, bloody idiot. Because of course—
of course Remus would pull away, once he knew the full scope of that hidden, insidious need. It
had always been wrong, what he was doing—from the very start. Sirius had known that, and he had
still, selfishly, clung to Remus, like a weed choking a vine. He couldn’t blame his friend for
wanting to leave before it was too late.

But he said it was good, said a tiny, hopeful piece of his heart, He said that he wanted you, too.

Sirius squashed it. What he had said didn’t matter. Clearly, Remus didn’t want him anymore.

You knew that this was coming, he reminded himself, as he brushed his teeth, You knew that things
would end, eventually. But he still wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and squeeze
his eyes shut, pulling the covers over his head.

Both Remus and James were absent from the room that morning, so it was only Peter who
accompanied him down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The smaller boy was not in a particularly
chatty mood—he was yawning so much that he almost tripped on one of the trick steps and
tumbled headlong down the staircase.

The other marauders weren’t at the breakfast table, either—which wasn’t particularly surprising.
Sirius assumed that James was probably out on the quidditch pitch, and Remus had most likely
scurried off to the library to avoid him after their conversation last night. Sirius mumbled a half-
hearted greeting to Mary and the girls, who responded with bleary-eyed groans. He had just begun
to force some fried eggs into his fragile stomach when the missing boys appeared, pink-cheeked
and panting, sweat beaded at their temples.

“Christ,” Mary gaped at them, “You’ve not been exercising?! Bloody lunatics.”

“You went, Moony?!” Sirius asked, so gobsmacked that—for a moment—he forgot about the
strange tension from the previous night.

But then Remus’s eyes shuttered, and he shrugged, and Sirius remembered that things weren’t
normal between them—that they might not ever be, again. He went back to his eggs, swallowing
around the lump in his throat.

They had all been sitting at the table, picking at their breakfasts (except Remus, who ate, as usual,
like he was starving) for roughly fifteen minutes when Evans suddenly sat bolt upright, mouth
popping open as if someone had just hit her with a stinging jinx.

“Oh shit!” she exclaimed, kicking James under the table, “Potter! We never gave Remus his
present!”

James shot her an amused smile, and Remus looked back and forth between the two of them,
sceptically.

“You and James got me a present? Together?”

“We all did,” James corrected, as Lily’s face went very pink, “And there’s no need to beat me up,
Evans, I’ve got it right here.” He reached into the pocket of his robes, withdrawing a smooth,
brown leather box, with a lovely gold border embossed on the top.

“You all…?” Remus trailed off, frowning as James placed the box in his hands. “I hope you didn’t
spend too much, you know I can’t—"

“Oh, shut yer face, Moony,” Peter grumbled, yawning over his porridge, “We had a whip-round for
you – almost everyone in Gryffindor wanted to put in.”

“Not just Gryffindor, either,” Marlene perked up from where she’d been wilting over a mug of
black coffee, “Nearly everyone we asked, even some teachers!”

Remus was staring down at the box with a dazed expression, now, as if he couldn’t quite believe
what they were saying. It made Sirius want to reach out; to squeeze his knee under the table, or
place a hand on his arm. But he couldn’t do that—not anymore.

“Open it, Remus!” Lily urged, smiling. Remus obliged, prying open the box and staring down at
the gift that lay within.
There had been some debate, over what to get him. James had had his eye on a set of occamy-
feather quills, and Peter had suggested a year’s supply of chocolate frogs from Honeyduke’s. But
when Sirius saw the golden pocket watch in Dervish and Banges, nestled on midnight-blue velvet
in a glass display case, he had known immediately that they simply had to buy it. Fortunately, Lily
had agreed with him—and if Lily agreed then James agreed, and if James agreed then Peter
agreed. And that was that.

Remus lifted the watch, carefully, out of its case, cradling it as if it were the most precious piece of
treasure in the universe. He ran a finger over the engraved initials: R. J. L. Sirius watched him,
heart twisting painfully in his chest.

When Remus snapped open the pocket watch to look inside, he frowned, studying the little
compass nestled opposite the whirring clock.

“I didn’t think they worked at Hogwarts?” He squinted, studying the unusual contraption.

“It’s special!” Mary beamed, rocking forward in her seat, “It doesn’t point north, or wherever
normal ones do. If you say the name of somebody you love, it points you in their direction!”

“Try it out, Moony!” James said, eagerly.

Remus glanced up at them, shyly, before raising the device to his lips and murmuring,

“Lily Evans.”

The needle began to spin immediately, whizzing around to point straight across the table. Lily
blushed, looking very pleased, and James kicked Remus under the table.

“Bloody ladies’ man.”

“You’re all amazing,” Remus said, reverently, “Bloody amazing.” Yesterday, the words might
have made Sirius glow with joy.

But today, he just felt sick.

* * *

For the rest of March, Sirius Black was busy—extremely busy, incredibly busy, astoundingly busy.
He was busy pranking Slytherins, busy cheering on James at quidditch matches, busy snogging
Emmeline and aggravating McGonagall and sneaking down to the kitchens with Peter. He was so
busy, in fact, that he hardly said two words to Remus—he didn’t have time to.

And that was fine. It was perfectly fine, for Sirius—and, clearly, it was fine for Remus, too. Moony
was suddenly everyone’s best friend, assisting every needy fifth-year that came crying for help
with OWLs, going on patrols with Lily when there was a gap in the prefect rotations, calling
endless extra sessions of his silly swot study club.

Not that Sirius noticed—he was too busy to notice. He had his own stuff going on. (Lots of stuff,
very important stuff, stuff that left no time for thinking about the little furrow between Moony’s
brows as he read over Peter’s essays, or the easy laugh Marlene pulled out of him with her
impression of James’s quidditch-captain voice, or the soft smile he’d give to Lily when she linked
their arms together, setting off down the corridor for one of her patrols…)

It was purely coincidental, that Sirius ended up outside the Charms classroom one Friday
afternoon. Purely coincidental that Remus happened to be hosting some sort of duelling workshop
inside, and definitely, purely, entirely coincidental that Sirius needed a place to hide (sure, he had
the invisibility cloak—but better to be safe than sorry).

None of the younger students seemed to think anything of it when the door opened, ostensibly on
its own. Peeves was always flying about the castle, slamming doors open or shut—it wasn’t
exactly unusual. Sirius crept around the edges of the room, making sure to avoid bumping into
anyone (it was quite crowded, he noted with slight surprise). He snuck through the open door to
Flitwick’s office, where he could wait in peace until dinnertime. Maybe he and Moony could even
go down to the dining hall, together—they wouldn’t have to talk, just…walk. Just be together, for a
bit. That wasn’t so much to ask.

But of course, there was no fooling Remus Lupin. From outside the office, Sirius heard him clear
his throat,

“That’s good! Keep practicing, remember to enunciate nice and loudly, for me…I’ll be right back.”

The next moment, Remus appeared in the doorway, glaring furiously at the space just two feet over
from where Sirius was standing as he hissed,

“Sirius, get out, this isn’t—”

“I’m just hiding from Filch! Have a heart, Moony!” He shoved the invisibility cloak off for a
moment, grinning, and felt a small, familiar thrill when Remus’s eyes locked on his—even though
those eyes were currently flashing dangerously, irritation written plainly across the other boy’s
face.

“You’ve got the cloak, hide somewhere else! I’m nearly finished in here, anyway, they’ll be
leaving in a minute.”

“Well, then it’s no big deal, is it? I’ll just stay ‘til they’re all gone. Might even learn something!”

“Remus? Are you ok in there?” Ugh. It was the blond prat.

“Yeah, sorry!” Remus shot him one final, murderous glare before turning and stepping smoothly
back into the classroom. Sirius continued to grin, heart pounding, as he pulled the cloak back on.

Now that Moony knew he was there, Sirius figured there was no point in hiding. He slipped out of
the office, leaning up against the wall to watch the class. He had never actually been to one of
Moony’s little study groups, before, and it was deliciously indulgent watching him murmur
explanations to younger students and briskly call for the attention of the group. Remus was clearly
in his element; it reminded Sirius, a bit, of when he would take charge of pranks, commanding the
room with a firm and careful hand.

Blimey, Sirius thought, watching him, He’d make a cracking professor.

After a few minutes, Remus called the class to an end, ushering out all the students with some
excuse about the room being used by another club. Sirius yawned, quietly, waiting for everyone to
leave—and everyone did.

Everyone except for that wretched little blond bugger, who stood in the centre of the room,
smiling.
“I’ll help you clear up!” He chirped, looking far too keen. Sirius rolled his eyes, but Remus didn’t
seem to mind—the two of them worked together, rearranging the desks and making sure
everything was back in its place. Sirius watched, impatiently. The blond kid kept stealing glances
at Remus—what was his name, again?

“Did you read that book?” Something with a C—Charlie…Chester… “The Charioteer?”

Remus, who had his back turned to the other boy, grimaced. But then he nodded, turning as he
said,

“Yeah, it was good.”

Chadwick…Christian…Christopher! That was it—Chris.

“Oh, I’m so glad you liked it!” Christopher gushed, effusively. Sirius rolled his eyes. Who cared
that much about a sodding book? “What about the ending?”

“Oh, yeah, it was good. I liked it.”

“Really?” the smaller boy frowned, sceptically, “I didn’t. I wish Laurie had picked Andrew, don’t
you?”

Ugh, what was he on about? They weren’t even tidying up anymore, just standing in the middle of
the room, chatting. Get a move on, Chris, Sirius thought, impatiently.

“I liked Ralph.” Remus said, shrugging, “Even if he wasn’t perfect, he was more…I dunno.
Exciting?”

Now Sirius was paying attention. What was this—Remus talking about some character named
Ralph, being exciting? Ralph was definitely a boy’s name, right? What exactly did he mean by
exciting—exciting how? And why was he talking about it with bloody Christopher??

“I thought you’d like him best,” the other boy sighed, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. He
was still hovering, standing very close to Remus. “He reminded me a bit of your friend, Sirius
Black.”

“Oh?!” Remus asked, brows shooting up. Sirius straightened, finding that he was suddenly
incredibly interested in the conversation.

“Yeah,” Christopher said, with a sheepish sort of smile, “Sorry, but it’s pretty obvious you have a
bit of a thing for him.”

A thing? A thing?? What in the name of Merlin’s saggy bollocks was that supposed to mean?

Christopher shook his head, releasing a small, sad laugh. “It’s a waste of time, Remus, can’t you
see that? Yeah, he’s…beautiful, and everything, but he’s clearly girl-mad. You ought to…I mean,
you deserve someone who cares about you as much as you care about them.”

And what the fuck was that supposed to mean?! Who was this Christopher bloke, acting like he
knew everything there was to know—Sirius had never even spoken to him!

“Christopher, I don—”

And then, before Remus could even finish his sentence, Christopher was kissing him. Stretching up
on his tiptoes, and pressing his mouth onto Moony’s lips. Sirius clenched his hands into fists—it
took every ounce of self-control not to throw off the invisibility cloak and storm across the
classroom, so that he could beat the living daylights out of Christopher.

But it was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Remus stared down at the shorter boy tenderly,
breathing,

“Oh, Chris…”

Shut up, thought Sirius, furiously, Don’t do that—don’t say his name.

“I…you’re such a good mate, and…”

For a moment, Christopher deflated, and Remus stared down at him, helplessly, and Sirius glared,
wishing that looks could kill. But then the younger boy straightened, stepping back and giving a
quick shake of his head.

“It’s fine. Honestly. I’d rather be friends than not, if that’s all we can be.”

What the fuck is going on? Sirius thought. His blood was on fire with rage, magic hissing under his
skin.

“C’mon,” Christopher said, smiling, “It’s steak and kidney pie tonight, your favourite.”

Remus said nothing, only followed him out of the classroom. He didn’t even glance back as he
pulled the door shut behind him.
 Sixth Year: Confrontation
Chapter Summary

sirius gets mad

Bastard, Sirius thought, as he stormed through the corridors, Bloody fucking bastard! He shoved
into the boy’s loos—which were thankfully empty—and ripped off the invisibility cloak, stuffing
it under his robes.

What the utter fuck was Remus playing at?? Fucking—snogging other blokes, when he knew Sirius
was watching—what kind of bloody mind game was he playing? Sirius clenched his fists, wishing
he could punch something. Or, more specifically, someone.

It was dinnertime, but Sirius didn’t go to the Great Hall. He wasn’t hungry in the slightest; his
stomach was all twisted into knots. And besides, he doubted that he could sit across a table from
Remus without biting his head off. If he had to watch Moony sip pumpkin juice and act like
everything was fine, he would probably scream.

So he went back to the dorm. He still had an emergency stash of fags that he’d nicked from
Emmeline somewhere in the bottom of his trunk, and after a few moments of digging Sirius
managed to unearth them. He went down to the common room to smoke, where he could flick the
cigarette butts into the fire.

Christopher—really? Fucking Christopher? What did Remus see in him? He was such a gormless
little tosser, always turning up his nose whenever anyone tried to have a bit of fun in his presence.
And he was so bloody boring. Even his name was forgettable! Sirius lit another cigarette, bouncing
his leg as he inhaled.

And that conversation—what the bloody hell had that been? It certainly sounded as though the two
of them had some sort of history, even though it had ended with Remus…rejecting Chris?
Reminding him that they were just mates? Sirius snorted. Right—he had been mates with Remus,
too, and look at how that had turned out.

We’ll always be friends, Padfoot…

He was on his third cigarette when the portrait door swung open, and a crowd of students began to
push in. Sirius stiffened, sucking hard on his fag and staring straight ahead at the fire.

“Alright, Black?” Came Mary’s cheerful voice, from over his shoulder.

“Yeah, fine.” He didn’t turn around, still watching the embers glow in the grate. She came to stand
beside him.

“Weren’t hungry?”

“Nope.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke, tasting ash on the back of his tongue.

“Ah,” Mary gave him a wry look, half-turning to exchange a glance with their friends, “In one of
your moods, I see.”
Fuck off, Sirius wanted to spit—but didn’t. It wasn’t Mary he was angry at; she didn’t deserve his
wrath. But he couldn’t very well stand up and throttle Remus in the middle of the common room—
at least, not without people asking a few questions.

Still, he entertained the thought. Particularly when Christopher returned, and Remus hurried over to
him immediately, asking how some prefect’s meeting had gone.

Oh, Sirius thought, watching from the corner of his eye as the two boys cosied up in the window
seat at the back of the room, Must’ve been the opera. He’d been so wrapped up in his anger that
he’d nearly forgotten the reason he’d been hiding in the Charms classroom in the first place—he
and James had enchanted all the suits of armour on the fifth floor to sing a few select numbers from
L’Orfeo (a proper classic).

Sure enough, James and Lily returned from the same prefects meeting moments later, Lily with an
exasperated smile and James with a shit-eating grin. They plopped down in front of the fireplace,
where Mary and Marlene were playing a tag-team game of chess against Peter and Sirius was still
chain-smoking.

“Foiled once again by Hogwarts’ mysterious prankster,” James said, shaking his head in an
exaggerated mimicry of defeat. Lily rolled her eyes.

“I take it they couldn’t catch the culprit, then?” Marlene smiled, wryly, from where she was
straddled on the floor. Mary sat between her legs, leaning back against Marlene’s chest like she
was a makeshift armchair.

“Right you are, McKinnon,” James heaved a mournful sigh, “Whoever he—or she—may be, they
continue to elude us.” He glanced over at Sirius, trying to catch his eye—but Sirius wasn’t in the
mood. He had just about finished his third cigarette, and was wondering if he should go for number
four.

“Goodness, Lily,” Mary said, smirking up from the floor, “You really have no idea who could be
responsible for such vile schemes? I mean, opera in the hallways—only a truly twisted mind could
cook up that.”

Lily flushed, frowning. “There wasn’t any proof,” she said, defensively, and James echoed her,

“Yeah, Macdonald, there wasn’t any proof!”

Mary snorted, shaking her head. “Whatever you say…”

They continued to poke fun, but Sirius was only half-listening. Christopher had just stomped past in
a huff, on his way up to the dorms—a few minutes later, Remus followed.

Sirius stood, abruptly, interrupting James’s impression of Flitwick trying to silence the singing suits
of armour. His friends turned to goggle at him, startled by the sudden motion.

“Erm—bathroom,” he muttered, before hurrying over to the staircase and making his way up to the
dorms himself.

Of course, when he arrived at their room, the bathroom was already occupied. Sirius could hear the
sound of water running in the sink—Moony must’ve been getting ready for bed. He shoved his
pack of cigarettes, still clutched in his fist, into his pocket, then folded his arms to wait.

It didn’t take very long. After only a minute or two, the bathroom door swung open, and Remus
stepped out in his pyjamas. He hesitated, blanching when he saw Sirius—but then squared his
shoulders and stepped forward, deliberately.

“Hello, Sirius,” he said stiffly, nodding, “I’m just going to bed.” He moved as if to walk past the
other boy, but Sirius stepped in front of him, fuming.

“You really pissed me off, you know that?” He glared, trying to keep from shouting.

“Excuse me?” Remus stared at him in shock, as if he had no idea what Sirius was on about—which
only made the anger in his chest start gnashing its teeth.

“If you were trying to make me jealous, then I think it’s really bloody low of you, Remus.”

The taller boy rolled his eyes, as if to say, here we go again. Sirius could have kicked him.

“Oh, of course," Remus scoffed, derisively, “Everything’s about you, isn’t it? For god’s sake, you
weren’t even supposed to be there! Why didn’t you just leave with the rest of the group?!”

“I thought you’d want to go down to dinner together! How was I supposed to know you’ve been
having secret trysts with that…that…”

“I haven’t been having ‘secret trysts’ with anyone but you, you idiot!” Remus glared, “And you’ve
already made me regret that. Christopher is my friend, and either way it’s none of your bloody
business, so keep your nose out!”

“Fine!” Now he really was shouting, unable to stop his voice climbing in his throat, “If that’s what
you want!”

“I said so, didn’t I?!”

Sirius wanted to punch him. He wanted to ball up his fist the way Remus had taught him and use it
to smash in his nose, to hear him crack, to make him bleed. He wanted to curse him, and scream at
him, and kick him. More than anything, he wanted so, so badly to kiss him.

But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything, because Remus shoved past him, stomping over to his bed
and ripping the curtains closed, and there was nothing Sirius could do except turn and leave the
way he’d come in.

He nearly tripped in his haste to get down the stairs, bursting back into the common room with
such force that he startled a group of first-years playing gobstones on the carpet nearby. By the
fireplace, James glanced up, frowning.

“Sirius?”

He didn’t stop—didn’t even pause, heading straight for the portrait hole.

“Sirius? Oi—where are you going, it’s almost curfew!”

“Fuck curfew!” Sirius growled, throwing open the portrait door. From behind him, he could
vaguely hear James reassuring the rest of their friends,

“No, don’t worry, I’ve got this…”

But he didn’t slow down, charging through the corridor like an angry erumpent even when he
heard the unmistakable sound of James Potter’s hurried footsteps, following behind as he called
out,
“Black! Sirius! Oi!”

“I don’t want to talk, Potter.”

“Well, that’s just too bloody bad, isn’t it?”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

James caught up to him, matching his furious stride without even breaking a sweat. Stupid sodding
workout schedule.

“Right then, where are we off to?”

“I told you to go away.”

“You wound me, Black!”

“Fuck off.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Sirius made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, something between whine and growl,
distinctly canine. “I can’t talk right now, Prongs.”

“Then don’t talk,” James said, simply. Sirius slowed, glancing at him. “Don’t talk,” he repeated,
“Come on, let’s go to Honeyduke’s. We can nick a couple chocolate frogs, and I can bore you silly
with all the evidence that Lily Evans is definitely falling in love with me.”

Sirius snorted, and James smiled. “Alright?”

“…alright.”

By some miracle, they weren’t caught as they made their way to the statue of the hump-backed
witch. As promised, James spent the entire walk into Hogsmeade nattering on about several pivotal
instances in which Lily had smiled at him, and one crucial moment when he had even gotten her to
laugh. Sirius listened, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, and by the time they began the return
trip (with pockets stuffed full of sweets), his anger had cooled somewhat.

James fell silent for a bit, crunching on a sugar quill. Once he finished the sweet, he began to speak
again, cautiously.

“So…” he dragged the word out, glancing at Sirius from the corner of his eye. It was dark in the
tunnel, the only light the ghostly blue glow from their wands. “Has something happened between
you and Remus?”

Sirius stiffened. After a moment he muttered,

“No.”

James sighed. “Come on, mate,” he said, quietly, “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

I can’t, Sirius thought, miserably, I really, really can’t. What was he supposed to say?

‘Well, James, now that you mention it, something actually HAS happened with Moony. You see, I
sort of accidentally got us started tossing each other off, just as mates, except then I started
wanting to touch him all the bloody time, and that sort of buggered up the whole girls thing for
him, and so I may have let slip that girls had never been as good, for me, and so he called the
whole thing off, which was fine, except now I’ve caught him kissing another bloke, and it fucking
hurts to breathe when I think about it.’

Lovely. He certainly couldn’t say any of that.

“Nothing happened, Potter. He was just—being a prick, or…I was being a prick. I dunno. It’s not
important.”

He could feel James studying him, in the dark. There was a long stretch of silence, during which
the other boy seemed to be waiting for him to say something else. But Sirius remained quiet.

Eventually, James sighed.

“Alright then,” he said, voice a bit bruised, “If you say so.”

* * *

Friday 15th April 1977

Merlin, Sirius thought to himself, staring at the bright spring sunshine that filtered through the
windows as he scrubbed out rabbit cages for McGonagall, Is there anything more of a bloody pain
than exams?

The dreaded revision period was in full swing at Hogwarts, and over the course of the past three
weeks Sirius had watched each and every one of his friends fall prey to the monster that was Exam
Prep. Remus had gone first, of course—he was already running himself into the ground with that
study club, exam season was hardly a change—and James followed soon after, cutting back his
pranking to spend long hours poring over textbooks in the library. Even Peter could only be goaded
away from his notes by games of chess—and playing chess against Peter was almost as dull as
studying.

Even worse, the library was now full at all hours of the day, which meant that Sirius couldn’t be
caught dead there. Mary had offered to go back with him, and he had taken her up on it, a few
times. His second trek amongst the shelves had not gone much better than the first, but on the third
he’d managed to stick by Mary’s side for the entire walk down to Pince’s desk and back. But they
had always gone when the large room was practically empty; Sirius nearly choked with shame
when he imagined how a table full of fifth-years cramming for their OWLs would react if they saw
him flinching away from the bookshelves, shaking. Pathetic.

As the only one not wasting away over textbooks or camping out in the library all day, it was up to
Sirius to maintain the marauders’ most important responsibility: mischief-making. He was quite
happy to pick up the others’ slack (he needed something to keep busy, and Emmeline could only do
so much), but it did, unfortunately, necessitate taking a few more risks (it was hard to post a
lookout, for example, when there was only one of you). And it was due to this increased risk-factor
that came with pranking during exam season that Sirius was stuck, on a Friday afternoon, in
detention with McGonagall, cleaning rabbit shit.

By the time he had finished, Sirius was aching to stretch his legs, and fancied a chat with James.
He checked the map, quickly, and saw that Prongs was sitting outside—along with Wormtail and
Moony. Hm. Well, he supposed it didn’t matter—Remus would have his nose stuck in a book the
entire time, anyway.

Sirius exited the classroom, and was startled to see Emmeline waiting outside in the corridor.

“Em?” He frowned, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder, “What are you doing here?”

She smiled, brightly. “Figured I’d meet you when your detention ended! Here, I brought you some
food—you missed lunch.”

“Thanks,” he grunted, shoving the paper-wrapped sandwich that she offered into his bag, “Not
hungry, though.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well, anyway…what are you up to, now?”

“Going to meet the lads out on the grounds. It’ll probably be really boring, I think they’re just
revising.”

“I’ll come with you!”

He sighed as she trotted after him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He liked Emmeline well
enough, but did they have to do bloody everything together??

“All right, lads?” Sirius called, once he caught sight of his friends on the lawn. They were sitting in
their usual spot, near the beech tree, and Emmeline followed as he strolled across the grass. Peter
scooted over to make room for them.

“Where’ve you been?” James grinned up at him, “Never see you these days.”

“Not my fault you’ve become one of them, prefect Potter.” Sirius tossed his hair out of his eyes, “I
had detention.”

“You’re in detention more often than I’m doing anything prefect-ish,” James shot back, smirking.
He nodded to Emmeline as she sat. “All right, Em?”

“Hi James,” she replied, cheerfully, “Peter, Remus. Are you all revising?”

“Unfortunately,” Peter sighed, “Moony’s not helping me, though.”

“Oh, help yourself, for once,” Remus grumbled, frowning down at his notes.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Emmeline smiled, “Get it out of the way before Hogsmeade this
weekend. I think it’s responsible, don’t you, Sirius?”

Ugh, she always did this—talking pointedly about something that would be so great to do,
something that Sirius very obviously was not doing, instead of just outright voicing her disapproval
with his behaviour.

“S’pose.”

“Speaking of,” she smoothed her skirt, primly, “What do you fancy doing in Hogsmeade? Will I
meet you there, or will you pick me up outside my common room?”
“Ugh, I dunno. Why’s it have to be a big deal?”

Emmeline frowned, face growing pinched. “Other boys don’t mind making plans to take their
girlfriends out,” she said, snippily. Sirius tried to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

His friends had all suddenly become very interested in their work, eyes glued to the pages of their
books. Sirius could tell he was making them uncomfortable—but he couldn’t bring himself to stifle
the irritation that he felt when he looked at Emmeline’s pouting face.

“I’m not other boys,” he snapped, roughly, “I thought you liked that.”

“So did I.” She huffed.

“So, what? I’m a terrible boyfriend because I don’t want to trail around after you like some soppy
git?”

“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it!”

“Stop complaining then.”

“I’m not compl—"

“Sounds like it. Moan moan moan.”

Emmeline opened and closed her mouth like a dying fish, looking as if she very badly wanted to
say something—but knowing, simultaneously, that any response would only prove Sirius’s point.
He waited, wound up and ready for a fight.

But instead of speaking, she only shut her mouth and stared down at the ground, eyes suspiciously
shiny. Sirius felt a kick of guilt—which only fuelled his irritation. He hadn’t even wanted her to
come with him in the first place, and now she was getting upset with him for not treating her like
the centre of the universe!

“Oh Merlin, don’t sulk,” he groaned, frowning, “If you’re angry then let’s have a fight, if you’re
ok then give us a snog – but please don’t sulk.”

“Ugh, and those are the only two options with you, aren’t they, Sirius?!” Emmeline huffed,
scrambling to her feet and glaring down furiously.

“Yep.” He smirked up at her, leaning back on his hands.

“Oh!” She scowled, throwing up her hands and spinning around to stomp off to the castle. Good
riddance.

Sirius glanced back at his friends. They were all still (ostensibly) absorbed in their notes, very
pointedly looking away. After a moment, James cleared his throat.

“Not very nice, Pads.” He still didn’t look up from his book, “She’s upset now.”

“She’s always upset,” Sirius complained, “What about my feelings?”

“I’m not convinced you have any,” James teased, turning to Remus. “What do you think, Moony?”

The other boy glanced up from his book, looking as if he had only been half-listening.

“Hm?”
“Does Padfoot have feelings?”

Their eyes met. Sirius’s throat had gone dry.

Remus blinked, straightening up and turning back to his book. “Definitely not.”

Bastard, Sirius thought, furiously, Bastard, bastard, bastard. He stood and left, before he could
say something he’d regret.
 Sixth Year: Letting Go
Chapter Summary

a visit to the library, the quidditch pitch, and the hospital wing

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I don’t mind when you say

That you’re going away

I just don’t wanna be lonely

And I don’t care if we

Share only moments a day

I just don’t wanna be lonely

Mid-May 1977

Mary squeezed his hand. “Ready?”

Sirius took a breath. “Yeah.”

It was the second to last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, and the library was, for once, almost
entirely empty as all the older students took advantage of the sunny spring day to tramp down to
the village. Even Remus, who couldn’t leave the grounds, had been drawn outside by the sunshine
—when Sirius checked the map, he was sitting out near the lake.

It was getting easier, walking through those wide double doors. A few months ago, Sirius hadn’t
even been able to imagine simply standing between the bookshelves without a cold shiver of fear
running down his spine—but every time he set foot inside, and nothing horrible happened
(although his spiking adrenaline screamed that it would, that he needed to run), a tiny bit of the
terror slid away, like chipping at a block of ice.

“Quiz me on Potions,” Mary said, as they stepped through the door.

“Er…three primary ingredients in a pepperup potion?” His heartbeat sped up, as usual.

“Hmmm…bicorn horn, jewelweed…something with an m…murtlap?”

You’re safe, Sirius told himself, concentrating on the warmth of Mary’s palm in his, You’re at
Hogwarts, and you’re safe. There’s nothing to run from. Still, his body responded as if to a threat
—pulse kicking, adrenaline surging.
“Oh! Mandrake root.”

Sirius gave her a tight smile. “Correct.”

“Give me another, go on.”

“Um…” They were walking between two shelves, now, walled in on either side by soaring stacks.
“What colour is the dye produced by goosegrass?”

“Easy! Red.”

“Oh, clever you.” Sirius meant for the words to sound light, teasing—but his voice was stretched
thin, taut like wire.

“Your turn. Which part of the occamy is used in Felix Felicis?”

They had stopped, now, standing between the shelves, and Mary let go of his hand to search for a
book. Sirius stared down the aisle, to the window at the opposite end, where he could see the
sunshine streaming through. But it was so far away—

“Sirius!” Mary snapped her fingers in front of his face, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?”

“Felix Felicis. Which part of the occamy is an ingredient?”

He blinked. “Oh…er…eggs.”

“Wrong.”

“What?!”

“I said you got it wrong.” Mary found what she was looking for, picking a thick book off the shelf
and reaching down for his hand again as they started back down the aisle. “Try again.”

Sirius frowned, thinking hard. How could he have been wrong?! He was never wrong—not when it
came to rote stuff. Memorisation was a breeze.

If it wasn’t the eggs, what was it? Occamy feathers were used in potions, too, and sometimes the
beaks (although there was debate amongst magical creature conservationists over whether that was
ethical), but neither of those were in Felix Felicis…

Mary let go of his hand, again, as they approached Madam Pince’s desk. The shrivelled librarian
sniffed disapprovingly while she checked the book out, as if Mary were committing a mortal sin by
actually using the library for its intended purpose. Sirius tapped his fingers against his leg, trying
to focus on Felix Felicis, instead of how he could time travel, if he just closed his eyes…

Swear it, Sirius!

“Oi!”

He flinched, slightly, eyes snapping down to Mary. She was frowning up at him, sternly.

“Well?” She slipped the book into her bag, “Got there yet?”

Felix Felicis, Felix Felicis… “I’m trying,” he said, through gritted teeth. She sighed, winding her
hand back through his and starting towards the doors.

“I know,” she replied, quietly, “You’re doing a good job.”

Sirius released a breath that he didn’t realise he had been holding the moment they were out, letting
go of Mary’s hand to sag back against the wall. He felt drained, as though he had just joined James
for one of his early morning jogs around the pitch (which always seemed to turn into sprints, at the
end). But—he had done it. He had gone to the library, and checked out a book (well, stood with
Mary as she checked out a book, but that was pretty much the same), and the world hadn’t ended.

Mary grinned up at him, looking incredibly pleased. “Greenhouses?” She asked, coyly.

Sirius nodded. “Greenhouses.”

An hour later, they were lying side by side under the quidditch stands, lazy and subdued. Mary
lifted her fingers, twisting them above her head into the sunshine that streamed through the cracks
between rows.

“I lied,” she said, after a long stretch of silence.

Sirius, who had been mesmerised by the sinuous motion of her hand, blinked drowsily. “What?”

“I lied,” Mary repeated, “About the occamy eggs.”

“…what about them?”

She rolled over, onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. “You were right. They’re
used in Felix Felicis.”

He frowned. “They’re used in…oh!” He shot her a look, and she giggled. “So I was right, then.”

Mary nodded, still giggling. Sirius narrowed his eyes.

“Very sneaky, Macdonald.”

“It helped, though, didn’t it? I could practically hear the cogs turning in your head when I told you
you’d got it wrong.”

“Yeah,” Sirius sighed, smile slipping a bit, “It helped.”

Mary sighed, too, and twisted in the grass, resting her head against his shoulder. They were quiet,
for a bit. Then,

“Are you ever going to talk to me about it?”

Sirius tensed, heart kicking in his chest. But the sensation was dulled by the drowsy relaxation that
had spread through his muscles, the gentle sunshine warming his face, the way the grass caressed
the back of his neck. Mary was solid, next to him, a warm, citrus weight, and her curls tickled his
chin in a familiar way that made him wish, for a moment, that he was a different person. A better
one.

“I…” he swallowed; his tongue felt cottony, in his mouth. “I don’t know. If it’s something I can
talk about.”

Mary waited, silently, next to him. He took a breath.

“It’s—you know how I live with James?” She nodded, and he continued, “Because of my family?”
Another nod. “Do you know why?”

“I know…they kicked you out, supposedly?”

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Supposedly,” he murmured, tapping his fingers in the grass next to his
thigh. “It’s…it’s really fucked. What happened. And I—I try not to think about it, usually. Because
it’s not,” he swallowed, again, wishing that he had a glass of water, “Just…it’s not something that
can get better, y’know? Like—you know how people say time heals all? I thought maybe with time
it would…I dunno. Be less. Get smaller. Whatever. I dunno how to explain it.”

“That’s okay,” Mary said, quietly, “I think I understand.”

Sirius nodded. “Okay. Yeah, so—okay. So I thought time would make it better, but it doesn’t. It
makes it—easier, sort of, to not think about it. What happened. But then when something happens,
and I do think about it, it’s like I’m back there all over again, with my mum—” he broke off,
inhaling sharply. “Sorry,” he shook his head, “I don’t—I can’t talk about it. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Mary said, and her voice was so soft that a lump rose in his throat.

They were quiet, for a bit, listening to the shouts of a group of younger students taking advantage
of the empty quidditch pitch to race on their brooms.

“Mary?”

“Mm-hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

She sat up slightly, propping her chin on her hands and shooting him a bemused smile. He flushed.

“Just—for everything last year. I didn’t treat you very well, and I don’t think I ever properly
apologised.”

She smiled, dryly. “You didn’t.”

“Right. Well…I just feel like I should say, you didn’t deserve it. So, I’m sorry.”

“Do my ears deceive me? Is the great and magnificent Sirius Black actually admitting that he was
wrong?”

“Oh, shut up, or I’ll take it back.”

She laughed, the way she always did—with her whole body, shoulders shaking. Sirius smiled,
despite himself, feeling lighter than he had in months.

* * *

‘I could have given you all of my heart,

But there’s someone who’s torn it apart.

And he’s taken nearly all that I have got,

But if you want I’ll try to love again…’

“Black, next time you decide to break someone’s heart, can you do it outside of the exam period?”
Lily scowled as Sirius walked into the common room, rubbing her temples. Every radio, turntable,
and gramophone had just begun blasting P.P. Arnold’s mournful voice.

‘Baby I’ll try to love again, but I know…

The first cut is the deepest…’

“What d’you want me to do about it?!” Sirius growled, stomping over to the nearest radio and
trying desperately to shut it off.

Bloody Emmeline—apparently, she wasn’t capable of just breaking up like a normal person. No,
first she’d had to make everything a fight—going on for ages about how he didn’t spend enough
time with her, how he wasn’t thoughtful enough, how he needed to act like he cared about her.
Finding out that he had skipped a Hogsmeade weekend to hang out with Mary had been the final
straw; Emmeline had ranted on and on about it, not even trying to be subtle with her implications—
no matter that Sirius insisted nothing had happened, that he and Mary were just friends. Finally,
he’d rolled his eyes in disgust, and she’d screeched,

“Do you even want to be with me?!”

It was a rhetorical question. Sirius knew that. But the answer came to him, anyway, a sudden
realisation:

“No.”

Sure, it wasn’t the nicest way to end a relationship. But did Emmeline really have to hex him so
that breakup songs played every time he entered a room??

“Just apologise to her and get the bloody spell lifted!” Lily snapped.

‘Cuz when it comes to being lucky, he’s cursed,

When it comes to lovin’ me, he’s worst…’

“I’ve got nothing to apologise for!” He shouted, turning back to the radio. “Silencio! Silencio,
silencio, SILENCIO!”

Finally, the music stopped—Sirius blew out a frustrated breath, tugging his fingers through his
hair.

“Got to give it to the girl,” Mary said, thoughtfully, “She’s creative.” She was sitting on the carpet,
braiding Marlene’s hair—or, more accurately, she was sitting on Marlene, straddling the other
girl’s back. Every time she finished the braid, she undid it, brushing her fingers through Marlene’s
hair to start over.

“Oh yeah, go on, take her side, you lot. Bloody women.” Sirius frowned viciously as he flopped
into the armchair across from Lily, seething. “Anyone got a fag?”

Nobody answered—not even Remus, who definitely had some. Bastard.

“Not surprised she dumped you,” Mary said, with a cheeky grin, “You’re a miserable git these
days. I’m well shot of you.” She winked at him, playfully, and some of the anger faded a bit.

“You love me really,” he crossed his arms, still pouting.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Marlene sighed, eyes closed as Mary’s fingers danced over her
scalp, “Not exams or bloody relationships. Potter, what’s going on with this camping trip?”

“All sorted – you lot just need to show up,” James smiled, brightly, “With your tents, obviously.”

“Dad says I can borrow the family ones, as long as I take care of them,” Lily chimed in, “Two two-
sleepers.”

“Cosy,” Sirius said, sourly, “With seven of us going.”

“Eight,” Peter corrected, “James said I could bring Dorcas.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and Pete frowned.

“Well, I was rather hoping that you boys would bring your own tent, actually.” Lily said coolly,
underlining something in one of her textbooks.

“Mum said in her last letter that there’s a muggle camping supply shop in our village,” James spoke
hurriedly, before Sirius could respond to Lily’s jibe, “So we’ll all go and get ours as soon as we’re
home. You’re definitely coming to stay, this summer, right Moony?”

“If it’s still ok?” Remus asked, glancing up from the book on his lap.

“Of course!” James rubbed his hands together eagerly, face split by a wide smile, “This summer is
going to be great.”

“How are we getting to Cornwall?” Marlene asked, “Apparating?”

“If we’ve all passed, yeah.”

Everyone turned, awkwardly, to look at Peter. Though apparition lessons had begun in April, he
was the only one of them who still hadn’t been able to manage it without splinching himself
(Remus had been the first to master it—apparating successfully on his very first try, which drove
Sirius mad).

“I’m really trying,” Peter said, cheeks pink, “I could get the Knight Bus?”

“It’ll be fine,” James nudged his shoulder, cheerfully, “I promise. Best summer ever.”

* * *
Friday 1st July 1977

“Ready for tonight?” James asked, slowing down to hover next to Sirius on his broom.

“Hmm?”

“The moon?”

“Oh. Yeah, ‘course.”

The truth was, Sirius was looking forward to it more than he could admit. Full moons were the
only time things ever felt halfway normal, anymore, between him and Remus—Padfoot and the
wolf had none of the same issues that their human counterparts seemed to be constantly running
into.

James nodded, thoughtfully, staring out at the empty quidditch pitch. The train for King’s Cross
had departed the previous morning, leaving the castle emptier than it had been since Christmas.
The only reason that James, Sirius, and Peter were still at Hogwarts was because Remus had got
special permission to stay on campus for the July full moon. Since he was going home with James
and Sirius, it made sense for them to hang back, too, and it made sense for Peter to stay because…
well, no one had made him go home.

In the stands below, Remus sat, reading another one of his muggle books. Pete was back in the
dorm, tearing apart the room to try and find something or other he’d lost—Sirius hadn’t really been
paying attention when he told them what it was he was looking for. Outside, it was a bright, sunny
day, the sort of lazy sunshine that soaked, slowly, into the skin, making everyone feel a bit
sluggish. Rather than their usual frantic racing, he and James were flying leisurely around the
pitch.

“Reckon he’s alright?” James asked, broom bobbing gently up and down in the air. Sirius blinked
—he hadn’t realised that he was staring at Remus, and he looked away quickly.

“Yeah. I dunno. Why?”

James shrugged. “Oh, you know. The whole werewolf thing this term. Still seems a bit on edge,
sometimes. And, of course, there’s your thing.”

Sirius’s heart dropped. “What?? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Moony told me, Sirius.”

“He…told you?”

James nodded, and Sirius thought he might be sick. He struggled to keep his voice casual as he
asked,

“Told you what, exactly?”

“About Mary.”

“…what about Mary?”

James rolled his eyes at Sirius’s perplexed expression, sighing. “That he...y’know. Did it. With
her.”

What did that have to do with anything?? Sirius stared at him, utterly confused as to what he was
supposed to say, and James sighed again, exasperated.

“Look, mate, it’s okay. I get it—you still have feelings for her.”

Sirius released a startled laugh. “What?!”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been subtle about it! You were all moody after the breakup, and you’ve
been spending so much time with her, recently…and, I’m sorry, but I think it was pretty obvious to
everyone that you were never all that interested in Emmeline. Sort of felt like you were only dating
her to try and get over Mary, if I’m being completely honest.”

Sirius had to fight to keep himself from giggling, hysterically. He shook his head, snorting. “What
does any of that have to do with Remus?”

“Oh, come off it, Padfoot,” James groaned, “All the tension these past few months? That weird
sort-of fighting thing you two do, where you snap at each other for no bloody reason and then one
of you storms off in a huff? You’re thick as thieves after Christmas, and then Remus sleeps with
Mary, and then suddenly you’re not talking?”

“Are you saying I’m jealous?”

“I dunno, are you?! Because quite frankly, it’s getting old. If you were trying to keep it this big
secret that you still fancied Mary, then you can’t have expected him to know.”

Sirius blinked, a bit surprised by the frustration in James’s tone. “I don’t fancy Mary.”

James rolled his eyes, again, and gave him a disbelieving look. “Fine. You don’t fancy Mary. But
whatever this mysterious grudge is that you’re holding, I don’t want it ruining my camping trip,
understand?”

Sirius smirked. “Oh, it’s your camping trip, is it?”

James leaned over to shove his shoulder, and Sirius laughed.

“Alright, alright!” He wobbled for a moment before regaining his balance, “I’ll talk to him.”

* * *

Saturday 2nd July 1977

Sirius sat beside Remus’s hospital bed, waiting for the sleeping draught that Madam Pomfrey had
given him to wear off. It was very quiet in the hospital wing; peaceful. Except for his heart, which
was pounding like a drum.

Sirius knew, when he thought about it, that James was right. Well—not really, he was actually very
wrong about most of it—but about the stuff that mattered. He knew that he had been holding a
grudge against Remus, and he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t fair.

It had been one thing, when it was just distance. When it was just Moony ending things, as Sirius
had always known he would, because he finally came to the conclusion that Sirius had been trying
to ignore all along: that what was happening between them wasn’t…right. Wasn’t normal. Wasn’t
something that Remus wanted, not really. It had been painful—more painful than Sirius liked to
think about. But he hadn’t been angry, not really. Not with anyone except himself.

But Christopher changed things. Because—because Sirius had thought that Remus wanted to stop
since they were both blokes, only Christopher was a bloke, and that meant…maybe it hadn’t been
the reason Moony wanted to stop. Maybe Moony had just wanted to stop because it was him.
Because it was Sirius. And that…that hurt so, so much more.

“Hiya, Moony,” Sirius murmured, when Remus began to stir.

“Hiya,” the other boy sat up, stretching, “You ought to be in bed, you look knackered.”

“Shut up, I look gorgeous,” he yawned, loudly. “Anyway, James is tearing the bedroom apart
trying to pack, I wouldn’t get any sleep. Hungry?”

“Always.”

“Good, I’m supposed to make sure you eat.” Sirius gestured to a plate of food that Madam Pomfrey
had left on the bedside table, and Remus’s face lit up. He started in immediately on an apple,
crunching the skin between his teeth.

They were quiet, for a bit, as Sirius let him eat. He picked at a few grapes himself, mostly just to
have something to do with his hands. But after a few minutes of silence, Sirius took a breath,
steeling himself for what he knew he had to do.

“I feel a bit bad.”

“Hm?”

“I feel a bit bad,” Sirius stared down at the floor, “About the way I spoke to you, a while ago.
About your friend er…Christopher?”

“Yeah.” Remus replied calmly, finishing his apple and moving on to a sandwich, “You were a bit
rude, but it’s ok. I haven’t thought about it much.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Sirius risked glancing up—Remus was staring at him, brow slightly furrowed,
thinking. He swallowed, and looked away.

Just say it.

“I thought maybe…I thought he might be the reason you decided to stop.”

Sirius was hardly breathing, waiting for the other boy to respond. After a moment, Remus said
carefully,

“No…it wasn’t to do with him. I told you, he’s my friend, that’s all.”

Sirius nodded, quickly. “Yeah, I believe you. I do.” He stared out the window behind Moony’s
head, watching a bird bend and dip in the sky.

“Look, Sirius,” Remus continued to speak, slowly, “I just…I’ve had a bit of a shit year, to be
 honest. Maybe I’m having a shit life, I dunno. There’s a lot of stuff going on at the moment that I
can’t really control. So the way I see it…if something’s making me miserable that I can control,
then…”

It was suddenly very difficult to breathe.

“Oh, right. I get it.”

“Yeah?”

Sirius thought of all the hungry touches, of all the soft, private smiles. He thought of Christmas, of
the empty common room with its cut-up sheets, of lying in front of the fireplace and mapping the
scars on Moony’s skin with his fingertips. He thought of listening to records and smoking in the
tunnel and the way he’d made Remus giggle with some stupid joke, how he’d leaned over and
kissed the laughter out of his mouth. He thought of holding hands and watching homemade
fireworks explode—all the bright, happy moments that he had tucked greedily away in his heart,
like hidden treasure.

“I would never want to make you miserable, Moony.”

In the end, he really had just been selfish, hadn’t he?

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "just don't want to be lonely" by the main ingredient!

also--hello! thanks for sticking with me through the end of sixth year. i've been feeling
a little emotional about all the support i've been getting on this fic, and just wanted to
say thank you so much (again) for all your kind comments :) i wish i could respond to
every single one, but i feel like it would just be a lot of heart emojis and "thank you"s
which would probably get annoying pretty quickly.

i've been anxious about sharing any of my personal social media for privacy reasons,
but i did finally make a tumblr (as that seems to be the thing people do on here?), so if
you'd like to say hi you can now find me there :) @rollercoasterwords, same as on
here (if i could go back in time and speak to the middle-school self that made this
account, i would beg to change it. but alas, here we are).
 Summer 1977 (Part 1)
Chapter Summary

remus is WHAT

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Television man is crazy, saying we’re juvenile delinquent wrecks,

Oh man! I need TV, when I got T. Rex!

My favourite cousin,

So nice to hear from you, finally! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me—when are you
going to come round for a visit? I heard that you passed your apparition test, so you’ve really got
no excuse now.

Ted and I are doing just fine; please don’t worry about us. Moody sent a few friends over from the
auror’s office to make sure the wards on our house were up to scratch, and they declared us
Perfectly Safe. The only danger around here is Dora—she’s a proper menace, now she’s started
showing signs of magic. I swear, all she does is terrorise the poor old cat; the other day, I caught
her trying to turn his fur purple by pouring her grape juice all over him—somehow, she was
actually making it work. He’s still got a purple patch near his tail, now, because I can’t figure out
how to change it back. All the parenting books told me how little we understand about juvenile
magic, but alas, I did not heed their warnings…

Anyway, do stop by for a visit this summer, if you have time! I’ll want to hear all about your
camping trip, and I know Dora would love to see you.

Much Love,

Andromeda

PS – I don’t know any more about the situation than you do, I’m afraid. Moody recommended that
I stop writing to Narcissa, as the letters could be used to trace our location, and we already had to
move once after everything that happened over Christmas (not that it makes much difference—it
wasn’t like she ever responded, anyway). Seems that our dear parents are all closing ranks, these
days. I’ll let you know if I find anything out, and you let me know if you find anything out. Deal?
Sirius stared down at the letter, heart sinking in his chest. It was the response he’d expected, but
still, he’d hoped his cousin might know something more than he did about what was going on with
their family. Yet it seemed that all either of them could do was read the newspaper, like everyone
else, and hold their breath as they searched for familiar names. Sirius wasn’t sure what would be
worse—knowing for certain that it was his relatives committing the atrocities he heard about, or
wondering about it for the rest of his life.

“How’s Andromeda doing?” James asked, from across the breakfast table. Sirius hurriedly shoved
the letter into his pocket.

“Oh—yeah, good. Wants me to come visit this summer, if I can.” He smiled tightly, trying to
shake off the anxiety that had wormed its way into his chest.

Things were worse, all around, with the war. While there had been no attacks of the same scale as
the one over Christmas, the violence continued—sporadic and secretive, carried out almost always
under cover of night, with nothing but the dark mark left behind. Security measures had been
increased on the Potters’ house, as well as most of the homes of those members of the Order. The
Ministry continued to twiddle its thumbs, tangled in internal debates over policies and procedures.
The minister for magic refused to recognise the death eaters as anything more than scattered
terrorists, as if acknowledging that Voldemort was quickly building an organised militia would
somehow lend his project credibility.

“We can’t make any sort of unified effort to fight the threat if we can’t even agree on what the
threat is!” Fleamont sighed one night after dinner, exhausted from a meeting at work that had run
over. James’s mum made a small noise in the back of her throat, glancing pointedly at the boys,
and Mr. Potter took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Sorry—sorry, boys. Don’t mind me. Just tired, that’s all…”

Despite the very obvious toll that it was taking on them, James’s parents seemed insistent, once
again, that the boys have as normal a summer as possible. They did their best to comply, if only
because none of them wanted to make things more difficult for Mr. and Mrs. Potter—though Sirius
could tell that it was taking its toll on James, too, watching his parents grow more and more
haggard while being told that there was nothing he could do to help.

All in all, it was probably for the best that they’d be getting out of the house for a little while. They
began preparations for the camping trip the same day they arrived home, seeing as they only had a
week to prepare. It was lucky that Remus had got permission to stay with them; it became quite
obvious on their first day back, when they all tramped down to the muggle camping store, that they
would need Moony’s expertise. He was the only one who seemed to have any idea what he was
doing, and spent a good fifteen minutes chatting with the shopkeeper to figure out what supplies
they would need to buy as Sirius, James, and Peter tried not to look too gobsmacked while they
walked up and down the aisles—they would need to properly blend in with the muggles when they
were camping, after all.

Aside from taking charge of their supply purchases, Remus also took it upon himself to double-
check their bags and ensure they were bringing only “appropriate” muggle clothes (“No, Sirius,
you cannot wear leather pants to go camping—where did you even find these?!”), and Euphemia
made sure that they all got cooking lessons from Gully the house elf.

The plan was for all of them to apparate to Cornwall, except Peter, who’d failed his test. Even
though Mrs. Potter offered to take him via side-along, he decided to take the Knight bus instead,
insisting that it made more sense because he could collect Dorcas along the way (even though she
hadn’t failed her apparition test—but James gave Sirius a very stern look when he went to point
that out, effectively shutting him up). The evening before they left, Sirius and James squeezed into
the red phone box at the end of the street with Remus to coordinate with the female contingent of
the trip.

“Can I press the buttons, Moony?” James pleaded, running his fingers over the little silvery
squares.

“Which bit do you talk into?” Sirius squinted at the oddly-shaped receiver—both ends look the
same, to him.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, you two, calm down…” Remus snatched the phone out of his hands,
elbowing James out of the way to dial the number. The other boys watched, rapt, as he held the
receiver to his ear. After a moment, they heard the tinny buzz of a voice coming through the line—
but they could only make out Remus’s end of the conversation.

“Lily?”

There was a pause, as whoever was speaking said something.

“Er…Remus Lupin.”

Another pause, during which Remus shifted from foot to foot, frowning at the watching boys’
eager faces.

“Hi Lily, it’s Remus.”

He smiled, turning away slightly and pressing the phone closer to his ear.

“Yep, I think so. Pete’s left already, I think. You lot?”

Another pause. Sirius wished he could make out what Lily was saying. He leaned a little closer,
straining to hear, and Remus shuffled away.

“Yeah, one o’clock, just outside the campsite. I made James get a map….Cool.”

Now James was getting impatient, too—he tugged on Remus’s sleeve, and the taller boy sighed.

“Er, Lily? James and Sirius have never used a phone before, can you talk to them for a minute so
they leave me alone?”

He waited for her reply—then leaned back against the glass wall, smiling and holding the phone
out lazily. Sirius leapt forward, and James tried to elbow him out of the way, which led to a
subdued scuffle before they each ended up with one hand wrapped around the receiver, faces
squashed together as they both tried to press it to their ears.

“Lily!”

“Evans!”

“Hello!”

“Can you hear me?”

“Can you hear me?”

“Oh my god, you two,” her voice came, like magic, through the receiver, a bit muffled and
scratchy, but unmistakable nonetheless. “Yes, I can hear you.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Oi, Evans, how’s the weather over there?”

“Lily, your voice sounds just as marvellous through the telly-phone as it does in person!”

Remus rolled his eyes, and through the receiver they heard Lily’s exasperated groan—though it
was followed by a laugh.

“Shut up Potter, or I’ll hang up on you!”

* * *

Saturday 9th July 1977

James Potter was in a tree. A tree. And not just any tree—an incredibly old tree, and therefore an
incredibly tall tree. He stood at least ten feet off the ground, clinging to one of its gnarled branches.

“Quit laughing, will you?!” He shouted down, huffily, “Black—oi! Help me out, here!”

Sirius was gasping for breath, clutching his sides as he cackled.

“You…you…” he shook his head, bursting into another fit of laughter as he caught sight of
James’s helpless expression.

“Sirius? What are you laughing at?”

“McKinnon!”

Marlene yelped, startled, and swung around to look up.

“Potter? What in god’s name are you doing up there?”

“He’s…he’s…” Sirius pointed, wiping tears from his eyes with his other hand, “He’s in a tree!”
This sent him into another fit of laughter, and Marlene chuckled, shaking her head.

“Well, obviously, I can see that.”

“Oi! Hellooooo! Can you two please stop laughing and help me??”

It took a bit of manoeuvring and a full-body levitation spell, but they were eventually able to free
Potter from his ligneous prison. The three of them picked their way slowly out of the woods (bless
Remus for making James buy a map) and down to the little campsite office, where they found
Mary and Lily waiting near a couple of picnic benches.

There was a bit of discussion as to whether they should wait for Remus before checking in, which
ended when Lily shook her head at James and Sirius, huffing,
“He’s got more sense than the two of you combined; I’m sure he’ll find his way just fine.”

With that, she marched into the office, leaving the rest of them to wait outside on the benches.

As it turned out, Evans was right—only a few minutes later, the group caught sight of a familiar
wiry frame picking its way towards them. Mary and Marlene both jumped up, grinning,

“We thought we’d lost you!”

“Overshot,” Remus shrugged, “Landed on the beach – not in the water, luckily.”

“We all ballsed it up, a bit,” Mary said, chuckling, and Sirius chimed in,

“Yeah, you’ll never believe where Prongs ended up…”

As soon as Lily had finished checking them in, the entire group made their way through the
campsite, searching for the best spot to pitch their tents. James and Sirius steered them as close to
the beach as possible, where they would have easy access to the water.

With their spot secured, it was then time to actually set up the tents, which was far more
complicated than Sirius had anticipated. Fortunately, Lily took charge of the instructions, squinting
at the manual and yelling at everyone in her stern, exasperated prefect’s voice.

“No, not that hook, I said the one in the corner…bloody hell, Black, use the flipping mallet, not
your boot! Come on, chop chop, we haven’t got all day…”

“Blimey, Evans,” James gave her a dopey smile, holding up one of the poles as Mary and Marlene
struggled to drape the canvas over it, “Have you ever considered quidditch coaching? You’d be
incredible.”

“Please, no,” Marlene groaned, head obscured beneath the thick canvas, “I’ll leave the team if I
have to put up with both of you blowing whistles at me.”

In the end, it took them nearly two hours to erect the tents, but they were all having such a blast
that it hardly felt like a chore. Sirius grinned down at the fruits of their labour, a neat row of tents,
all lined up and pointed towards the sea.

“Well done, lads,” Lily said, smiling impishly as she put the kettle on to boil, “And no magic at all.
You’ll make muggles yet.”

It wasn’t much longer before Peter and Dorcas arrived, both looking a bit haggard and dishevelled
after their long trip aboard the Knight bus.

“It stopped at Guernsey twice before we even started south…” Dorcas muttered, frowning. Peter
gratefully took the cup of tea that Lily offered, yawning as he plopped down in the grass.

After their tea break, Mary roused everyone to go down to the beach. The girls giggled and
disappeared into their tents to change, while James and Sirius only had to strip off their shirts and
jeans—they’d already put their muggle swim trunks on underneath their clothes before they left.

Remus was the only one who didn’t change, still wearing jeans and long-sleeved shirt as the rest of
them tramped down to the beach in their swimsuits. Sirius thought he understood why. He’d been
nervous about his own scars, which were usually covered by trousers—the girls had never seen
them before, and even James hardly ever caught a glimpse, except for when they were getting
dressed in the mornings. He had considered keeping his jeans on, like Remus—but it was the sea,
he couldn’t just not go swimming. Sirius told himself, firmly, that his mother had ruined enough
for him—he wasn’t going to let her ruin this, too.

Besides, once he was in the water, no one could even see his legs. Sirius strode in up to his waist
immediately, diving as soon as he was deep enough. The water closed around his head, cool and
smooth as silk, sending tendrils of his hair floating around his face. He luxuriated in the feel of it,
swimming out further than the others, where he could dive and twist under the gentle waves. He
floated on his back, for a bit, water climbing over his ears and muffling the sounds of the outside
world, so that all he could hear was the muted rush of his own pumping blood. Above him, the sky
was clear and blue, like something out of a postcard.

By the time they returned to the tents, everyone was starving—luckily, Marlene and Dorcas
volunteered to oversee dinner, using some little muggle stove contraption that Lily’s father had lent
her to fry bacon. Lily decided that they needed milk, and James volunteered immediately to
accompany her to the shop—they returned fifteen minutes later with a case of cider.

“Muggle drinks, too?!” Sirius clapped his hands together, excited.

“We’re getting a fully rounded experience, apparently,” James said, nudging Lily. She giggled and
looked away, cheeks almost as red as her hair.

Mary had had the foresight to light a fire before Lily could come back and force them to do it the
muggle way, and Marlene had brought along her wireless radio; with the cans of cider passed
around, the evening had just become perfect.

“How long have you two been going out?” Dorcas asked, smiling at James and Lily. The pair
glanced at each other, eyes wide, and then quickly looked away.

“We’re not!” Lily said hurriedly, jumping up to move over by Remus. Sirius shot James a confused
look, but he just shrugged and sipped his cider, stifling a smile.

“Oh, sorry!” Dorcas giggled, “I just thought…but Sirius and Mary, you used to go out, right?”

For a moment, Sirius tensed—but then Mary threw her head back, laughing. “For my sins!” Sirius
smirked at her, poking his tongue out.

Marlene, who had a guidebook from the visitor’s information centre open on her lap, cleared her
throat loudly,

“There’s a castle ruin not far from here, we could go tomorrow?” And just like that, the subject had
been changed, as everyone began to discuss what they would do for the remainder of the week.

Sirius sipped his cider, feeling relieved. He supposed he should have expected some talk of
relationships, what with Peter and Dorcas, and James continuing his long-standing tradition of
pining over Lily. But he’d hoped that they’d be able to avoid it, for the most part—after his
breakup with Emmeline, Sirius simply hadn’t had the energy to think about girls. Getting her curse
lifted had taken ages.

And then, of course, there was Remus.

Their conversation in the hospital wing had drawn a very clear line, a line which Sirius knew he
was not to cross. Their…thing, whatever it was, had been making Remus miserable; it had to stop.
Sirius couldn’t spend all his time agonising about it, holding petty grudges when Moony hadn’t
even done anything wrong—not if he wanted to salvage what he could of their bruised friendship.
So he had buried it. Or at least—he’d tried to. When Remus came to stay with them at the Potters’
house, Sirius had done his absolute best to act as though everything were normal. He’d teased and
joked and played impromptu games of quidditch (apparently James had been giving Remus flying
lessons, and he was now actually able to move back and forth across the field, instead of hovering
uselessly in mid-air); he’d played Bowie records in the living room and planned out which films to
see at the muggle cinema; he’d eaten meals across the table from Moony, making eye contact and
smiling and listening when he talked.

It was easier with James there, like a buffer between them. If Sirius found himself wanting to stare
at the way Remus chewed his lip while he was curled up reading in an armchair, or if watching
Moony blink sleep out of his eyes as they ate breakfast in the mornings made his chest ache, or if
seeing Remus’s elated smile the first time he’d actually managed to score a goal on Peter set his
heart racing…well. Sirius would retreat into his familiar banter with James, waiting until he felt a
little less hollow to speak to Remus again.

This method worked, well enough. It was working now, sitting around the fire with their friends.
Even after the cider had made him feel sort of warm and fuzzy, Sirius was very pointedly not
staring at the way the flames lit Moony’s face from below, dancing across his skin and
illuminating his scars in a way that was new and sort of mesmerising. Instead, he was competing
with James to see who could create the biggest shower of sparks by throwing stones onto the fire.
He had just selected a new pebble to throw when the song on the radio changed.

‘Billy rapped all night about his suicide,

How he’d kick it in the head when he was twenty-five,

Speed jive, don’t wanna stay alive, when you’re twenty-five…’

“Turn it up!” Mary urged, bumping Marlene’s shoulder with hers. The other girl smiled and flicked
her wand as she reached for another can of cider. It seemed that everyone was feeling a bit silly
and drowsy from the drink; they quieted down to listen, heads bobbing, feet tapping. The song had
been a favourite at many a Gryffindor party, and when it got to the chorus all the girls sang along
under their breath,

‘All the young dudes, carry the news…’

By the time the song ended they were all smiling, laughing and raising their cans of cider as they
cheered.

“I bloody love you lot,” Marlene slurred, “You’re all my best friends.”

“Same to you, McKinnon,” Sirius saluted her with his cider, grinning from across their little circle.

“Shhh!” She waggled a finger at him, drunkenly, “I know your game, Black. I’ll have you know,
you’re not my type.”

That had everybody in stitches, including Sirius.

 “When are we going to find you a nice girl, hm Remus?” Lily murmured, cuddling into the taller
boy’s side. Remus smiled tenderly, wrapping an arm around her, and the laughter died in Sirius’s
throat.

“Yeah, you deserve a bit of fun, Moony,” James teased, winking.

Sirius was pretty sure that he was frowning, now, but he couldn’t be blamed for that; the cider had
made it difficult to control his expression.

“I have plenty of fun with you lot,” Remus said, taking a swig from his own drink.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Remus?” Dorcas asked, curiously. Sirius had to stifle a burst of
irritation—he knew it wasn’t her fault that she was outside the marauders’ loop. But it was still
bloody annoying.

Remus exchanged a sly look with Mary. “Nah.”

“Aww,” Dorcas murmured, slurring a bit, “How come?”

For a moment, Sirius thought he might not answer. Moony was looking around the circle, brow
furrowed slightly, as though he were considering something. Then he turned back to the fire,
staring directly into the flames as he took a breath.

“I’m gay.”

Chapter End Notes

song is (of course) "all the young dudes" by mott the hoople!

finally some happy times ahead yay <3

 Summer 1977 (Part 2)
Chapter Summary

but we literally said no homo??

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

- e.e. cummings

It was like being punched in the face. Sirius nearly dropped his can of cider, reeling, mind gone
utterly blank as he stared across the fire. Remus had said it like it was simple, like it was easy, like
it was nothing to be ashamed of.

I’m gay.

But that—that wasn’t possible. That wasn’t possible, because Moony had said—he’d said he
wasn’t queer, they’d both said that they weren’t queer, and if he was then that…

Well, that changed everything.

Sirius was vaguely aware of Peter choking on his drink, of James straightening up beside him, of
the shocked expressions on Mary and Marlene’s faces. Oh, Merlin—no one was talking, everyone
was just staring, the way he was staring—was he—should he say something? Was he meant to say
something? Panic crept up Sirius’s throat, making it difficult to breathe.

But then Lily turned, lifting her head off Remus’s shoulder and giving him a quick peck on the
cheek. She snuggled back into his arm, leaning against him, and said firmly,
“You still deserve some fun.”

And just like that, everyone was suddenly moving on, conversation resuming when Marlene asked
James some stupid question about quidditch. Lily remained cuddled next to Remus, and Peter went
back to trying to sneak his hand up Dorcas’s shirt, and Mary laughed loudly at something James
had said.

But Sirius remained quiet, thoughts tangling in his head. He had to bite his tongue to force back the
questions that spilled into his mouth, crowding behind his teeth,

Since when? For how long? How long have you known? Before or after we—and you don’t care?
You’re okay with it? You don’t feel—you don’t think it’s—But why wouldn’t you tell me? Why
wouldn’t you say something? Why would you let me believe…

He thought back on the past year, scrambling to understand. Everything was suddenly different,
reframed; the “experiment” with Mary, the weird comments about girls, every touch, every kiss,
every conversation veiled in half-truths. Sirius tried, desperately, to parse through it, to piece it all
together—the cider wasn’t helping; it clouded his head and made his brain feel foggy, sluggish.
But he couldn’t stop drinking it, clinging pathetically to its hazy warmth.

After two hours Sirius felt thoroughly drunk and no closer to understanding what, exactly, he was
meant to make of Remus’s declaration. He wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the cider;
everyone seemed a bit dopey, although Peter and Dorcas were certainly the worst. They were
snogging furiously, falling back into the grass.

“Go back to your tent, if you’re going to do that!” James chucked an empty cider can at Pete’s
head.

“D’you mind, Moony?” Peter asked, slurring as he pulled away from Dorcas, “If we go back to
ours? You can bunk in with Prongs and Padfoot, can’t you?”

No, Sirius thought, panicked, staring down at his own can of cider. He had no idea what would
happen if he had to share a tent with Remus—not after what he’d just found out.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere,” Remus assured Peter, gamely. Fuck.

Without further ado, Peter and Dorcas darted into the tent, zipping it up and giggling. Their voices
soon disappeared under a silencing charm, leaving an empty, flat sort of quiet hanging behind.

“Share with us if you want, Remus?” Mary offered, stretching and yawning loudly. Lily nodded,

“Yeah, our tent’s much bigger – come in with us.”

“Thanks girls,” He smiled at them, “You go on – I’m not tired yet. Think I’ll just go for a walk.”
He stood slowly, ambling off towards the beach, away from the fire. Pretty soon, he had
disappeared into the dark.

Sirius finished off the last of his cider, mind still buzzing with questions. He was staring into the
fire, watching it eat through the middle of a burning log, when James suddenly clapped him on the
back.

“Alright there, Padfoot?”

“Hm?” He straightened, quickly, “Yeah, fine.”

James nodded, then jerked his head towards the beach. “C’mon, let’s go check on Moony.”

Sirius’s heart stuttered in his chest. “What? Why?”

But James didn’t respond, only gave him a stern, pointed look, and Sirius could do nothing but
swallow and stand and follow after him.

Remus was smoking, cigarette a bright point of orange light against the dark. He stood on the edge
of the beach, at the line where trees gave way to sand, staring out at the sea. A lazy night-time
breeze played with the smoke, curling it away from his face.

“Alright, Moony?” James said, walking up to stand beside him. Sirius shoved his hands in his
pockets, shoulders tense with anxiety.

“Alright,” Remus replied. He offered a fag to James, who shook his head. He ignored Sirius.

“Just…wanted to see you were ok.”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Good.”

“Sorry if I made things awkward.”

“You didn’t!” James said quickly, a bit too enthusiastic, making Sirius cringe. “Honestly, mate,
we’re glad you told us, really.”

Remus nodded and turned back to the sea, lifting his cigarette to his lips. James caught Sirius’s eye,
nudging him and raising his eyebrows to indicate that he should say something, too. But Sirius
couldn’t speak; his voice had shrivelled and died in the back of his throat.

James frowned, then looked back to Remus. “Don’t run off, ok, Moony?”

Remus glanced at him, eyebrow raised, and James gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, we know what
you’re like. Stay, ok? Everything’s fine. Even Pete wasn’t that bothered.”

“Pete,” Remus shook his head, “He’s too busy trying to get his end away.”

“Can’t blame him.” James chuckled, then reached out to touch Remus’s shoulder, gently. “D’you
want to talk about it?”

Remus looked away, shaking his head. He stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another. Sirius
wished Moony would offer him one; he could have used it, to calm his nerves. But he didn’t.

“Thanks, James,” he exhaled smoke, and Sirius had to remind himself to breathe, “You’re a real
mate.”

“Still marauders.” James said easily, yawning. “I think I’m gonna turn in. Coming?”

“I’m going to have another one after this.” Remus waved his cigarette.

“I’ll have one too,” Sirius said quickly. James stifled another yawn as he nodded, turning back to
the campsite.

“Don’t come back stinking of fag ash, you two.” He called, already walking back towards the trees.
Remus didn’t look at Sirius as he handed him the box of cigarettes, turning back to the sea. Sirius
remained silent as he lit up and inhaled, sucking in smoke and letting it sit, for a moment, in his
lungs. He exhaled, slowly.

There were so many things he wanted to say—so many questions he needed to ask. He didn’t know
where to begin, so he started with the simplest one.

“…Why’d you say that?”

He stared out at the water as he asked it, not sure he could trust himself to talk if he had to look at
Moony’s face.

“Wanted to,” Remus said, simply, “I just had to know what they’d think, one way or another.”

Sirius tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “It’s like you’ve just gone and changed everything
around on me.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Were you expecting me to say something too?”

Remus tensed. “No, I wasn’t expecting anything,” his words were sharp, clipped, “It wasn’t
anything to do with you, actually.”

“Ok, ok.” Sirius raised his hands, surrendering, still unable to look the other boy in the face.
“Just…I just thought you might have told me first, that’s all. Given the…situation.”

Now Remus turned to look at him, brow furrowed, and before Sirius knew it he was all tangled up
in those frustrated eyes.

“You mean you didn’t already know?! How could you not know?!”

“You said you weren’t,” Sirius replied, defensive, “Like I said I wasn’t. Thought we were both on
the same page, that’s all.”

Remus was angry—Sirius could see it, familiar and simmering, in his eyes. But he still couldn’t
look away.

“Obviously we weren’t,” he said, coolly, “Anyway, I don’t see how it matters now. If that’s all
you’re worried about, then don’t. You’re safe.” Remus glared, the heat in his gaze incongruous
with his icy voice, “I’m not going to tell anyone about you and me, and I doubt anyone suspects
you, what with your considerable history with girls. I don’t see why you care so much what I tell
people.”

I’ve had it all wrong, Sirius thought, numbly, Merlin, I’ve been such a fool.

“I do care.” He spoke earnestly, heart pounding, hope ruffling her fragile feathers in his chest.
Remus closed his eyes, as if the words were painful, and Sirius felt a frantic pulse of adrenaline.
Look at me.

“Remus?!” Just look at me, “I can care about you and not…y’know, not scream it from the
rooftops.”

“Wanting to get off with me isn’t the same as caring.”

His voice was flat, resigned—Sirius could have screamed. Was that—was that really what Remus
had been thinking, all this time? How could he think that? How could he not see?

“Remus! Fucking hell, just because I’m not…I haven’t got wherever you have, yet. It doesn’t mean
I don’t have the same…ugh, fuck’s sake.” He didn’t know how to put it into words, how to explain
—didn’t know what was allowed, what was still too much.

“And all the girls?” Remus asked, cigarette burning between his fingers.

“That’s…that’s different.”

“Ok.” His voice was so…hollow. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“You don’t understand.”

Remus didn’t respond, looking back at the sea like the conversation was already over. He lifted his
cigarette to his lips, inhaling.

Fuck that, Sirius thought, reaching out to grab his arm, This isn’t over. You’re not leaving again.

“When I think about myself with them,” he said, searching for the words to explain, “I can just…
see it, y’know? I know how it’s going to play out. I know what I’m s’posed to do. When I think
about me and you…you know, the real me and you. It’s just…I can’t see how it ends. I just tried
not to think about it. So, I know I was a bit of a dick, I could have handled it better, but I swear, I
didn’t want it to end like that.” He felt far, far too fragile, like something with the shell removed.
But he couldn’t turn back—not now. Sirius took a breath, then said,

“I didn’t want it to end at all, to be honest.”

He stared, desperately, at Remus’s face, willing him to understand. But the other boy only nodded,
pushing his hand away gently without turning to look at him.

“Look, Sirius, I don’t mean to be cruel, I do understand all that.” He sighed, softly, “I know it’s not
easy for you.”

A small, relieved noise slipped from the back of Sirius’s throat—but Remus was still talking.

“But…it is easy for me. I’m queer, ok? I know when we started I said I wasn’t and…well I
shouldn’t have said that, because I am. And I’m not saying you’re queer too, or you have to be, or
anything, but I couldn’t carry on the way we were without you…just, I dunno, acknowledging it.”

Sirius studied his face as he spoke, mind spinning. Remus didn’t look angry anymore, just…sad.
Tired. Like he was repeating a conclusion he had already come to, already accepted, a long time
ago.

But…if he was actually saying what Sirius thought he was saying…could it really be that easy?
Not just mates, Sirius thought, stomach turning flips, Not just getting off, but…more. Is that what
he wants?

He nodded, once, quickly. “Ok then.”

“What?!” Remus asked sharply, finally turning to look at him.

“Fucking acknowledged. Message received.” Sirius dropped his cigarette into the wet sand,
stubbing it out with his toe.

“So…what?” Remus stared at him in shock, “We just leave things as they are?”
Sirius swallowed, looking down, hoping that it was dark enough to hide his blush.

“I’d rather not.”

“You’d rather not.” Remus echoed, blinking.

“No. I mean, if you want me to go ‘round telling everyone I know then sorry, but we’re not all as
ballsy as you. I need more time. But…I could try.”

“You could try,” Remus repeated, again, still staring in bewilderment, “What do you m—"

Sirius didn’t wait for him to finish, reaching out to touch his cheek. He turned Moony’s face to
him, heart thundering in his chest as he leaned in and brushed a soft kiss across his lips.

“I mean I will try,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together, “I miss you, Moony.”

Please, he thought, please want this too. Please don’t let me be wrong about this.

And then Remus was pulling him back, fingers tangling in his hair, kissing him like it was air, like
they had both been drowning. Sirius was sure that his ribs would crack with the force of his
heartbeat, but he couldn’t bring himself to care—the entire world could have imploded around him,
and he wasn’t sure he’d even notice. He didn’t want to be anywhere except here, in Remus’s arms,
incandescent with joy and relief.

“No more girls?” Remus asked, when they broke apart, gasping.

“No more girls,” Sirius breathed, smiling so hard his cheeks ached, “Let’s see how this pans out
first.”

“Oh, charming.” Remus let go of him, snorting.

“Shuddup,” Sirius knocked their shoulders together, shoving his hands back into his pockets.
“C’mon, let’s go back to the tent, eh? Freezing.”

They turned and picked their way back towards the campfire, which was beginning to sputter
pitifully in the wind, more embers than anything.

“I think I’m drunk,” Remus said, voice far away, “I make bad decisions when I’m drunk.”

Sirius laughed, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

“I know. I promise this isn’t one of them.”

Remus reached up, grabbing the hand on his shoulder and stroking his thumb over Sirius’s
knuckles, once.

“Ok.”

Of course, it was just their luck that all the tents were mysteriously occupied upon their return.
Remus and Peter’s tent was obviously in use, judging by the sounds coming from inside. Sirius
made a face, waving his wand quickly to cast a fresh silencing spell.

“Amateurs.”

Even more intriguing was the silencing spell cast over James and Sirius’s tent—which Mary
explained when she poked her head out of her own tent, whispering delightedly,
“It’s James and Lily!”

“Are you serious?!” Sirius whispered back, floored. “Bloody hell. I mean…wow, I sort of want to
go in and shake his hand.”

“I’ve a feeling his hands are busy,” Remus said, wryly.

“Want to get in with me, Remus?” Mary offered, wobbling a bit from where she was propped on
her arms.

“What about Sirius?”

“Oh, right…ugh fine, I’ll get in with Marls. Night, lads.” She scooted out, crawling over to
Marlene’s tent.

Sirius blinked, not quite sure if he could believe their luck. They turned to stare at each other, for
moment—then Sirius climbed in, before Mary could change her mind.

“Knew we should have got the muggleborns to sort us out,” he muttered, clambering over the
plush pile of blankets and pillows strewn across a blown-up mattress—it was much more
comfortable than their own tent.

Remus crawled in after him, and they spent a few moments shifting around and trying to get
comfortable. The mattress was a bit worn, and sank in the middle, forcing them to roll together and
curl up like spoons—not that Sirius was complaining.

“This ok?” Remus whispered, breath tickling Sirius’s ear as he slipped an arm around his waist.

“Of course,” Sirius murmured, suppressing a shiver as heat crawled up his spine.

“We could just sleep…”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Sonoro Quiescis.”

“Ah, ok…”

There was very little talking, after that.

When they had finished, Sirius curled back into Remus’s arms, feeling sleepy and sated and warm.
He could feel Remus’s chin, pressed against the back of his head, Remus’s legs, tangled with his.
He was already half asleep when the other boy whispered,

“Sirius?”

“Mmhm?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you.”

That woke him up, a bit. Sirius rolled onto his back, groaning, “Oh, Merlin. What now?”

“I’m um…well, I’m homeless.”

“What?!” Now he was fully awake, eyes snapping open to stare up at Remus, “What??”

“Since I turned seventeen. Y’know, I’m of age now, so…”

 “So they just chucked you out?”

Remus nodded, chewing on his lip.

“Yeah, so once Hogwarts finishes next summer I’ve got nowhere to go…”

“Bastards,” Sirius scowled, thinking back to Moony’s birthday—how upset he’d been, before the
party, storming out of Dumbledore’s office…

“You can stay with me and James, at the Potters’. They won’t mind, I know they won’t. Then
when school’s finished, we’ll find our own place.”

“We will?!” Remus asked.

“Yeah!” Sirius grinned, folding his arms behind his head, “It’ll be just like school – you, me,
James and Pete, all together.”

“Oh,” Remus blinked, “Yeah, sounds great. I’ve a bit of money Lyall left me.”

“Pfft.” Sirius snorted, “I’ve got enough money for all of us, don’t worry about that.”

“Ok,” Remus said softly, “I won’t worry.”

“Go to sleep,” Sirius yawned, “Or you’ll be knackered tomorrow.”

“Ok,” Remus sighed, and closed his eyes.

Chapter End Notes

poem at the beginning is the first two stanzas from "somewhere i have never
travelled,gladly beyond" by e.e. cummings!

also i would apologize for the cliffhanger on the last chapter but unfortunately i am
both evil and mean at heart <3 also y'all already know what happens lmao
 Summer 1977 (Part 3)
Chapter Summary

something lgbt just happened to me :o

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sirius woke the next morning with Remus Lupin beside him, warm and solid, arm still wrapped
around his waist. He opened his eyes and the other boy was already awake, smiling the sort of soft,
unguarded smile that made Sirius’s heart clench like a fist.

I could stay here forever, he thought.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

“Fuck me, my mouth is dry.”

“Yeah, mine too.” Remus ran his tongue over his teeth, which did very interesting things to Sirius’s
heartbeat. “I could go and get some water from the pump?”

“Yeah, we’ll both go. Reckon anyone else is up?”

Remus cocked his head, listening—then shook his head no. Sirius yawned, taking a moment to
stretch before he began to dig through the bottom of their bed to try and find their various discarded
articles of clothing. Outside, the sun shone cheerfully, forcing them to squint as they clambered out
of the tent. Sirius yawned again, blinking as he waited for his eyes to adjust.

It was an idyllic day; bright blue sky, soft green grass, gentle breeze that smelled of the sea.
Overhead, sparrows flitted between the branches of trees, their chirping and the quiet rustling of
the underbrush the only sounds filtering through the peaceful silence of the morning. The two boys
walked side by side in the direction of the water pump, and Sirius found that he couldn’t stop
smiling.

They ducked into the shower block to wash their faces before filling their canteens, along with the
others that they’d brought. Sirius studied the nearby shop, a little wooden hut overhung with a
faded, blue and white striped awning.

“Shop sells pasties,” he said, nodding to the chalkboard sign out front, “Shall we get some for
breakfast, return to the camp as heroes?”

“Good idea,” Remus said, smiling.

They purchased perhaps a few more pasties than was necessary, but Sirius had seen Remus eat—
and there was no telling how hungry the others would be. Better safe than sorry, he figured.

Their friends were still dead to the world when they returned, so the two boys left most of the
pasties behind and took their own breakfast out to the beach. They sat side by side, toes digging
into the sun-warmed sand, eating quietly. Sirius tried not to stare as Remus licked the grease from
his fingers, afterwards.

“I could get used to this,” He sighed, happily, rubbing the crumbs from his hands on his jeans. The
sand was a smooth, blank slate, washed clean overnight by the tide. “Never been on a proper
holiday before.”

“Me neither.”

Remus was restless beside him, picking at the sparse grass that poked stubbornly out from the
sand.

“Oi,” Sirius nudged him, “What’s up, Moony? We said no worrying.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s up?”

“I was just wondering something. It’s stupid, don’t worry.”

Sirius turned back to the sea, waiting. The breeze played with his hair, sending a few strands
dancing across his face. After a moment, Remus sighed.

“Why me?” he murmured, almost a whisper.

“Hm?”

“…why me, in the first place? Why not James, or…literally anyone else? Is it just because…is it
because I let you? Path of least resistance?”

Sirius blinked, taken aback. Silly, beautiful, infuriating boy. Did he really not get it?

“Obviously not,” Sirius frowned, “What do you mean why not James? I don’t fancy James.”
Snogging James would be like snogging his brother—he suppressed a shudder at the image.
(Though, Sirius thought snidely, knowing his family, they would probably be less upset about the
sibling aspect of things and more upset that he was snogging a bloke.)

“You…oh.”

“I think we can at least admit we fancy each other.” Sirius said wryly, reaching over to run his
thumb over Remus’s hip. The other boy nodded, swallowing.

“Yeah. I just thought. I dunno.”

Sirius studied his face, for a moment. He was still fidgeting with his hands, not quite making eye
contact.

“We never touched, much.”

“What?”

“Before all the shagging,” Sirius explained. “I used to wrestle with James all the time, and we used
to share a bed sometimes and everything. Not you. You kept yourself separate. No touching.”

“I was…shy.”
“It got me curious, I s’pose. One Christmas, remember when Andromeda came to the Potters? I
was really nervy, convinced my mother was coming to get my every five minutes, I jumped
whenever the door went.”

“I remember,” Remus murmured, “Third year.”

“Well, the door went, and I was bricking it, we were on the landing, I think. You sort of squeezed
my shoulder and…well it just felt really nice. It meant more, because it was you. I felt like you’d…
I dunno, chosen me, or something. Couldn’t get you out of my head for weeks.”

“We were fourteen!”

“So?”

“You and Mary started going out not long after that.”

“Yeah, look how that turned out.” Sirius shook his head, laughing. Remus chuckled, too, and they
both fell quiet, smiling.

Sirius took a breath. “Then on your birthday,” he said, thinking of that night in the stairwell,
“You…you kissed me.” It still felt so fresh—the heat, the panic, the shame.

“I did,” Remus said, quietly, “Sorry.”

“I didn’t expect it, it was so out of the blue. I’d been thinking about you, before that, but I didn’t
really know… I didn’t know that I was thinking about that. Then I thought…maybe it was my
fault, like I’d given off some message, like I’d tricked you into it or something.”

“What?! No! Trust me, I very much wanted to kiss you.”

“Oh. Good. Because I just felt so awful about it, y’know – it was your first kiss, and I went and
mucked it all up.”

“Er…” Remus looked down, sheepish, “Look, while we’re being honest, you might as well know –
it wasn’t my first kiss.”

“What?!”

“Yeah…the summer before, I sort of met someone. I never told any of you. I didn’t… I didn’t want
you to know I was queer.”

And just like that, the pieces fell into place.

“That boy,” Sirius said, frowning, “At the muggle squat, in Mile End.” He tried to remember—it
was strange, sifting through Padfoot’s memories as a human. Everything was different, fuzzier; he
couldn’t quite recall what the boy had looked like. But he remembered his smell—remembered
how it had been all over Remus.

“His name’s Grant.” Remus said.

“Well, I hate him.”

Remus shook his head, laughing.

“That’s ok, he’s so nice he won’t even mind.”

“I hate him even more.”

“I ought to try and see him this summer. He’s been so good to me, you don’t even know the half of
it.”

“I’ll go with you, if you want,” Sirius offered, stifling the ugly twist of jealousy at the way Remus
smiled when he talked about him. Grant.

“…thanks, that’s kind.”

Sirius swallowed, looking away. “Moony.”

“Mm?”

“I’m really sorry about everything.”

“It’s ok.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s n—”

“Sirius! For god’s sake, you can’t even apologise without starting a fight. I’m telling you – it’s ok.
I was being unfair. I think… I think I was asking you for something I don’t even understand
properly myself. Loyalty or love or whatever.”

“I do love you, Moony.” Too much. “I love all of you; you, James, Peter.”

“Yeah,” Remus sighed and shut his eyes; Sirius let him breathe, for moment. When he opened his
eyes and turned back, it was with a reassuring smile. “Looking forward to seventh year?”

Sirius shrugged. “Dunno. Bit scary, isn’t it?”

“You mean the war?”

“The war,” he nodded, “Other stuff too. Last year before we have to grow up.”

Remus huffed a laugh,

“I don’t think you’ll ever grow up, Padfoot.”

It was meant to be joking, but the words burrowed into him, all the same. “I’ve been so selfish,”
Sirius said, thinking back on everything he’d said—everything he’d done over the past year. Past
two years. His whole life, really.

“I said it’s fine.”

“It’s not, though,” he frowned, frustrated, trying to find the words to explain. “You have so many
secrets, and it must be so shit, keeping things back,” the words were coming faster now, spilling off
his tongue, “And I made it all worse, I just gave you more things to hide…”

And I’m still doing it, he thought, miserably, You told them the truth, and I’m giving you another
reason to hide it. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, reaching out to grasp Remus’s hand.
“It’s not that I’m ashamed of you, or this,” he stared into Remus’s eyes, hoping the other boy could
feel the truth of it. It was so difficult to explain—the shame was still there, a crawling thing, when
he thought about himself, his family, other people—but not Remus. When Remus touched him, it
was like it…faded. For the moment, at least. Like shadows, chased away by the sunshine. Even if
they always crept back.

“It’s…a million other things. I wish I could tell everyone, I wish I was ready. I will be, Moony, I
promise.”

Remus smiled at him, softly, absolution. One day, Sirius thought, One day I’ll be as brave as you.

“James seemed… pretty ok with me being queer.” Remus said, after a moment.

Sirius snorted, looking away. “Of course he was, the beautiful bastard.” He shook his head,
“Fucking prince among men, isn’t he? I know. I know he’d probably be fine with this, even,” he
squeezed Remus’s hand, “But…he’s my best friend, and I just don’t want that to change yet. I
wouldn’t want to be alone with him and have him wondering… Even if he wasn’t thinking about it,
I would be.”

“Ok,” Remus nodded, and Sirius felt an overwhelming swell of gratitude.

“Morning, lads!” Mary shouted from the campsite. Sirius yanked his hand away, quickly—then
gave Remus an apologetic smile. “Cheers for the pasties!”

They both turned around, waving. Sirius stood and reached down to help Remus to his feet.

“C’mon,” he grinned, “I can’t wait to rip the shit out of Prongs for finally getting his leg over.”

“Not in front of Lily!” Remus warned, “She’ll curse your knob off.”

“Well, can’t have that, I’m very attached to my knob.”

“Sirius?”

“Remus?”

“This isn’t just for the summer, is it?”

Sirius paused, turning to smile up at him.

“I bloody hope not.”

Back at the campsite, everyone had finally crawled out of their tents and was sitting around the
remains of the fire from the previous night. Peter was focused on a pasty, Mary was grinning
wickedly at Lily, and Marlene was ashen faced, with a blanket around her shoulders.

“Alright, Marls?” Remus asked kindly, sitting down next to her.

“Mmmmph.”

“Poor love,” Mary said sympathetically, giving Marlene a little pat on the head, “Went a bit hard
on the Old Rosie, didn’t you? Still, could be worse. Dorcas hasn’t come back from the loos, yet.”

James and Lily were seated side by side, with a careful six inches of distance between them. James
looked as if he was trying to stifle a grin; Lily, as if she was trying to stifle a groan. Sirius shot his
friend a wink as he sat down, waggling his eyebrows.
“So…” Mary raised a brow, glancing around the circle, “We’ll stick with the new sleeping
arrangements for the rest of the week, then, shall we?”

“Suits me,” Sirius said, grinning.

“And me,” Peter agreed, around a bite of his pasty.

Marlene gave a shaky thumbs up, pressing her other hand to her mouth. Both Lily and James
glanced at each other, then looked pointedly away.

Once the pasties had been thoroughly demolished, the girls decided that a trip to the showers was
in order. They walked ahead in a huddled group, murmuring and giggling. The boys followed a few
feet behind, and Sirius took the opportunity to begin teasing James, immediately.

“No, go away, I’m not telling you anything.” The other boy shoved him, laughing.

“This is purely for academic purposes!” Sirius gasped, affronted, “It’s going to be a matter of
historical interest, future generations will need to know what miraculous feats you had to perform
in order to finally convince Evans to—"

“We just talked!”

“Oh, so the silencing spell was for…?”

James blushed furiously, darting into a shower cubicle to hide. Sirius chuckled, shaking his head—
he’d get it out of him, eventually.

“Doesn’t anyone want to know about me and Dorcas?” Peter asked.

Sirius was the last one out of the showers—at least, among the boys. He exited his cubicle,
whistling cheerfully, to find that Remus and Peter had already returned to the campsite. James was
still waiting for him, though, leaned against the wall with his wet towel slung over his shoulder.

“Merlin, you certainly took your time.”

Sirius laughed, “You didn’t have to wait for me. Unless—have you come to your senses and
decided to tell me all the juicy details about what went on with Evans? Hang on—let me find a
pen, I’ll have to take notes…”

James rolled his eyes. “I already told you—we just talked.”

“Sure,” Sirius smirked as they fell into step, heading back towards the campsite, “And I’m madly
in love with Severus Snape. Come on, James, you know you’re going to tell me eventually…”

But the other boy just chuckled and shook his head, smiling enigmatically. After a moment, he
grew serious, saying,

“Actually…I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Remus.”

Sirius’s mouth went dry. Fuck—were they that obvious? Had James somehow figured it out? He
struggled to keep his voice casual as he asked, “What about Remus?”
James shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Just…look, mate, I know what your family thinks
about…that stuff, ok? And I get it if you…feel a certain way, or whatever. But,” now he grew
stern, using his quidditch-captain voice, “If you…say anything to him, or do anything to make him
feel like—like he’s done something wrong, then I just want you to know that I will truly, seriously,
beat the piss out of you.”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“I mean it,” James said, frowning, “I saw how you were acting last night—you were being
properly weird about it. And I don’t care what kind of rubbish you heard from your family, there’s
nothing wrong with him…being who he is. It took a lot of guts for him to tell us, so if I so much as
catch you looking at him funny, we’ll—we’ll be taking things outside to the quidditch pitch,
understand?”

Sirius struggled, desperately, not to laugh. “What if I look at him funny while we’re here?” He
asked, innocently, “Will you have to thump me on the beach?”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I!”

“Oh, shut it, Black.” James gave him a shove, smiling reluctantly. Sirius grinned.

“I mean it, Prongs,” he said, “You don’t have to worry about me. I feel the same way that you do
about it, trust me.” Well—that last bit wasn’t entirely true. Sirius was pretty sure that he was a bit
more enthusiastic about Remus being queer than James was, but their friend didn’t have to know
that.

James studied him for a moment, narrowing his eyes, and Sirius felt an absurd surge of fondness
for his friend. There’s nothing wrong with him being who he is. Sirius wished, desperately, that he
had had someone to tell him that years ago—he had to swallow the lump in his throat. Eventually,
Prongs clapped him on the back, satisfied.

“Well—alright, then. Glad we’re on the same page.”

You have no idea, Sirius thought, shaking his head fondly as they continued back towards the rest
of their friends.

* * *

Showered and fed, everyone seemed to have perked up a little—and weren’t quite so green around
the gills, in the cases of Dorcas and Marlene. Once everyone had shoved their valuables into
rucksacks and zipped up their tents, grabbing the leftover pasties and a few water bottles for good
measure, they started off on the five-mile hike to the castle.

The path they followed ran along the shore, twisting up to a steep cliff. Sirius raced to the top with
Mary and Marlene, laughing—Marlene won, which he attributed to all of Potter’s insane quidditch
drills. The view at the top was breath-taking; the sea looked less grey and more blue today,
sparkling brilliantly in the sunlight.

Sirius slung an arm around Mary’s shoulders. “One day,” he declared, staring out at the water, “I’m
going to live by the sea.”

Mary snorted. “Don’t see too many mansions on the beach, Black.”

He scoffed, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know that living in mansions is extremely overrated,
Macdonald. I’ll do just fine in a cosy little fisherman’s cottage.”

“Oh, right,” She laughed, shrugging him off, “I can see it now: Sirius Black, the humble
fisherman…”

“You never know! Fishing could be one of my hidden talents!”

He was so distracted bickering with Mary that he didn’t notice until a good half hour into the hike
that James and Remus had fallen behind—so far behind, in fact, that they were no longer in sight.

“They’ll catch up to us at the ruins,” Lily assured him, but Sirius still felt a twist of guilt as he
thought of Remus’s bad leg, the limp he tried to hide, which got worse after the moon. He dragged
Lily over to the little information kiosk as soon as they reached the castle, trying to figure out if
there were any other ways to get back to the campsite.

James and Remus arrived half an hour behind the rest of the group, and Remus sat down almost
immediately, wincing and rubbing his hip.

“Sorry,” Sirius said, once James had hurried over to Lily, “I didn’t think.”

“I’m fine,” Remus assured him, with a tired smile, “I had Prongs.”

“There’s a local bus that goes back past the campsite,” Sirius offered, “I checked. We can get that
back, if you want?”

“I’m fine.”

The ruins themselves were lovely, remnants of what had once been a grand structure—crumbling
staircases, thick stone walls, sturdy parapets. The sea lay far below, glittering like a jewel. Sirius
tried to imagine what the castle would have looked like when it was occupied, torches flickering
along the walls, hall full of lords and ladies, princes and princesses, kings and queens.

James discovered a stray pile of sticks that someone had thrown into a corner, which quickly led to
an improvised swordfight between him, Sirius, and Peter. Remus sat a little way away, rolling
cigarettes and talking to Marlene. Eventually, Peter clambered on top of one of the crumbling walls
and declared himself a dragon, which naturally meant that Sirius had to play the knight and do his
very best to knock the other boy off his perch. James was supposed to be helping him, but he’d run
off, shouting,

“I have to save the princess!” Before sweeping Lily into his arms. She laughed, delighted, and tried
to squirm away as he threw her over his shoulder.

After they’d spent a while mucking about, some of the muggle tourists began to grumble. They
decided it was time to head back to their own campsite, where they could cool off in the sea.

James and Lily walked ahead, hand in hand, and Sirius smiled as he watched them, still half-
wondering if he’d somehow stumbled into one of James’s fantasies—it seemed almost impossible
that after five years, he had finally gotten what he’d always wanted. (But then again, Sirius thought
as he glanced over at Remus, maybe getting the things one wanted wasn’t always as impossible as
it seemed.)
“You lot go ahead,” he called out, “Me and Moony are having a fag break.”

Marlene, who had been hanging back by Remus, tutted and hurried to catch up with the rest of the
group.

Sirius settled down on the stone wall next to Moony, lighting up one of the cigarettes he’d just
rolled.

“There’s a pub down there,” Sirius jerked his chin towards the lane, “Saw it on the way up, it’s got
a garden. Want to go and waste some time?”

“Yeah,” Remus blinked, looking a bit surprised, “But don’t you want to catch up with James?”

“James doesn’t love me anymore,” Sirius swooned theatrically, sighing, “His heart has been
claimed by another.”

Remus laughed, then smiled shyly,

“Oh well. You’ve got me.”

“I’ve got you,” Sirius agreed, as a fuzzy sort of warmth spread from the top of his head all the way
down to his toes. He hopped off the wall, “C’mon, then. Could murder a pint.”

The pub was a quaint little building, whitewashed walls and a red tile roof, mustard yellow shutters
and potted geraniums perched next to the door. It wasn’t quite so sunny inside—the lighting was
very dim, and the ceiling was so low that Remus had to duck, slightly, as they entered. A few
muggles turned to look at them, mostly older men sat along the bar. Sirius paid them no mind,
delighted to be inside his first muggle pub.

He ordered two pints of lager and carried them outside to the little garden, where he settled down
at a table that was shaded by a beech tree. Remus followed him, glancing back once, nervously, at
the surly barman—he reminded Sirius of the one at The Hog’s Head.

“It’s great here,” Sirius said, taking a swig of his beer, “D’you think we could live here, when it’s
all over?” He thought again of his fisherman’s cottage—waking in the morning to the smell of the
sea, walking along the beach with Remus, buying buttery pasties from the little shop and drinking
pints in the pub garden…

“I like London,” Remus said, “It’s what I’m used to.”

“Remember you promised we could go to Carnaby Street,” Sirius reminded him, “This summer.
I’m holding you to it.”

“When did I say that?”

“Christmas.”

“Oh, right. Ok, we’ll go.”

“I can’t believe you forgot.”

“Well,” Remus raised a brow, “You also spent half of Christmas trying to convince me to get a
girlfriend, so…”

“Uggh,” Sirius groaned, thinking back on all his comments—they’d made so much sense to him, at
the time, but seemed utterly ridiculous now. “Sorry. I thought it might help me er…feel less
attached to you. Sounds a bit bonkers now I think about it…”

“Now it sounds bonkers,” Remus rolled his eyes, smiling.

“Logical thought processes are not my forte, Mr. Moony,” Sirius tossed his hair out of his face,
laughing, “You ought to make your peace with it if we’re going to… um… if we’re going to…”

“Start going out…” Remus filled in, sipping his beer. Sirius smiled sheepishly,

“Going out, yeah.” He repeated. “Sorry.”

“You’ll get there,” Remus said lightly, taking another swig of his drink.

And just like that, they were talking—really talking, no longer dancing around all the things they’d
been wanting to say. They worked their way through months of miscommunications, baffling each
other with their own ineptitude to work out what the other had been thinking. Sirius would listen in
shock as Remus recounted his assumptions, his interpretations of their interactions, the meanings
he had taken from things Sirius had said. He’d shake his head, frowning, insisting earnestly,

“But Moony, it wasn’t like that at all.”

Sirius felt daft, looking back on it, for his own assumptions about what Remus was thinking, and
more than a little guilty for the grief he’d caused as he’d struggled to hide his feelings. At the same
time, he was a bit baffled by how oblivious Remus had been—he’d been so sure that the other boy
had caught on, had figured out how desperately Sirius wanted him. They went over everything,
going back to fifth year; they even talked about Mary.

“I really did like her,” Sirius tried to explain, “I think that’s what threw me off, in the beginning.
Y’know, it wasn’t like girls weren’t doing it for me, in that department…and she was so
confident.”

“I thought you were just with her because you didn’t want to be with me.”

“No,” Sirius assured him, “That’s a horrible thought. It was for her, not for you.” He caught his
eye, adding, “Sorry.”

“Ha, don’t be. That makes me feel better, actually.”

“Anyway,” Sirius nudged him, “What about you and Mary?”

“Oh god,” Remus covered his face with his hands, “Don’t. I’m so embarrassed.”

“It’s fine. I liked it.” It was true; it was much easier to forget the spike of anxiety, the undercurrent
of jealousy, now that Sirius knew how little it had meant—much easier to focus, instead, on the
heat it had sent curling through him…

“I noticed,” Remus flushed, looking away. “Didn’t help you feel less attached, then?”

“Apparently not.”

“I couldn’t believe you didn’t mind that. And yet, when you found out about Chris…”

Sirius frowned, thinking about the mousy little prefect.

“Him.”
 “There’s nothing between us,” Remus said, with an amused smile, “We’re just friends.”

“And…this other bloke…Grant? Was he…” Sirius swallowed, fighting off the discomfort that
came with the question, “Your boyfriend?”

“Not really,” Remus shrugged, “It’s hard to explain. He’s…a friend. I care about him as much as I
do you, and James, and Peter, and the girls.”

“More secrets, Remus.” Sirius sighed in exasperation, tugging his fingers through his hair, “I can’t
keep track, I dunno how you do it. Can you stop hiding stuff? From me, at least?”

“I don’t know,” Remus swallowed, “It’ll be hard.”

“But you can try,” Sirius prompted, gently. Remus gave him a small smile, nodding.

Once they’d finished their drinks, they started back down the trail to the campsite.

“I’ll teach you to swim,” Sirius said, smirking.

“Fuck off, will you.” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Is there anything else you’ve been keeping secret, eh, Remu?” He grinned, leaning over to nudge
his shoulder.

“Nope,” Remus smiled up at the sky, laughing. “Queer, illiterate, homeless, werewolf…” he held
up a finger for each one, like he was checking them off a list, “I think that’s it. Oh, and my
mother.”

“Your mother?!”

“I got a letter, in that box of depressing stuff from Dumbledore. Photos, and a letter – an apology.”

“Oh, blimey, ok. What did it—"

“No, I don’t want to talk about it yet. Sorry.”

“Fine,” Sirius agreed, easily, “Let’s say we can talk about anything at all, except our mothers.”

“Perfect.” Remus grinned.

Chapter End Notes

i know everyone loves the summer chapters but personally i live for the angst lmao.
enjoy the fluff while it lasts bc i literally cannot wait to get back to the suffering <3
 Summer 1977 (Part 4)
Chapter Summary

bye Cornwall

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

In the years that followed, Sirius would look back on that week in Cornwall often. He would think
about it when he was lonely, or scared, or so tired that he could hardly lift his wand. When he
wondered whether it was all worth it, what they were even fighting for—those were the moments
he would close his eyes, remembering days in green grass and warm sand, wandering through the
whitewashed village, ice cream melting on their tongues and fingers. He would think about nights
in a tent with Remus, young and joyful and mad for each other, and remind himself that at the end
of everything, they would have those days again.

At the time, of course, he had no idea how rare it would be, that sort of raw, unfiltered happiness.
At the time, he thought it would last forever, could not imagine ever looking at Remus—knee deep
in the ocean, jeans rolled up, smelling of saltwater—and feeling anything but a love so sweet it
made his jaw ache. In those moments, he would transform into Padfoot, who was much better
equipped to handle the blinding joy; who could bark and run and chase the sticks that Remus
threw, thinking nothing but mine mine mine mine mine.

Of course, he couldn’t transform around the others. But that was alright, as the two boys found
themselves spending quite a bit more time alone than they had expected to, due largely to the fact
that they were not the only couple on the trip.

Peter and Dorcas were at least discreet about it (which was mostly thanks to Dorcas, who seemed
to find public snogging distasteful unless she was drunk). But James and Lily were a different story
altogether; it seemed that now the floodgates had opened, there was no holding either of them
back.

“You’re supposed to be prefects!” Mary shouted on the third night of the trip, when she nearly
tripped over the two of them as they lay horizontal in front of the campfire.

“Oh, as if I haven’t caught you a hundred times on my rounds!” Lily laughed, extricating herself
from James’s arms and straightening her shirt. “And you, Black, so you can stop leering.”

“What?” Sirius asked, innocently.

He had just returned from the shower block with the large bowl they used for washing dishes, a
chore that he had so far taken charge of every night. The others seemed a bit surprised by this, but
he had always found the work relaxing, ever since he was young and his mother had forced him to
do it in place of Kreacher as punishment (of course, he had never let her catch on that he actually
liked the chore).

“Don’t draw me into your sordid escapades,” he said primly, as he set the tub down, “I’ve been a
perfect gentleman all holiday.”
“I’m not convinced you haven’t been sneaking off with some muggle girl in the village,” Marlene
teased. She was stretched out on the ground, sunbathing atop one of the beach towels in her
underwear. Sirius took the opportunity to flick her with a damp tea towel, making her yelp and curl
up.

“How dare you!” He sniffed, “I’ve been tucked up in bed early every night, haven’t I, Moony?”

Remus, who had been chewing a handful of crackers, began immediately to choke, spewing crumbs
as he coughed. James had to lean over and slap him on the back, and Sirius pressed a fist to his
mouth to keep from laughing.

No one seemed to find the comment strange, though Remus glared at Sirius after he had finished
coughing—in fact, none of their friends seemed to suspect anything at all. James was suspicious
about the fact that they were sharing a tent, though for vastly different reasons.

“You’re not going to start fighting again, you two?” He’d asked, once he’d calmed down enough
about the Lily Evans Event to actually pay attention to his surroundings again, “You know you
only wind each other up in close proximity…”

“Right you are, Prongs,” Sirius responded, cheerfully, “You bunk in with Moony and I’ll share
with Evans.”

That was the end of that conversation—though not of James’s newfound protectiveness over
Remus. Sirius mostly found it amusing, particularly when he was on the receiving end of Potter’s
warning glances or pointed looks. Even funnier was how much it perplexed Remus, who, near the
end of the week, confessed to Sirius,

“Honestly, I’m a bit surprised that no one’s mentioned it.”

They had just finished walking along the beach, pausing every few feet for Remus to examine a
seashell or small stone—he would pick them up, turn them over in his fingers, and then either drop
them back onto the sand or slip them into his pocket. Sirius had been trying to figure out if there
was a pattern to the ones he was keeping, but so far he had been unable to find one.

Now, they lounged on a private stretch of sand that no one else seemed to know about, and Sirius
laughed at the mildly put-out expression on Moony’s face. “Well, if Prongs gave everyone else
that bloody speech I’m not surprised.”

“Speech?”

“Yeah, he pulled me aside and told me if I started treating you any differently he’d thump me.
Probably didn’t say that to the girls – maybe Lily did them.” He stretched out on his stomach,
resting his head atop his hands.

Next to him, Remus was staring—a warm, possessive look that made Sirius’s stomach flip. Every
so often the other boy would pour a silky handful of sand across his back, and the grains would
tickle as they slid lightly over his skin.

“You’re having me on,” Remus said, disbelieving, as he dumped more sand over Sirius.

“Wish I was. I swear, it was so hard not to laugh in his face and just tell him everything.” He
brushed the sand from his back as he rolled over, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going to have to go and
wash off in a minute, if you keep doing that.”

“That’s the idea,” Remus smirked, devilishly, and Sirius’s heart stuttered. Oh, Merlin.
The subject didn’t come up again until the last day of their trip, when they were all struggling to
dismantle and pack up the tents. Remus took charge of the boys, picking up the instructions and
barking orders (the girls had finished thirty minutes before, and had gone down to the beach for
one last dip in the water before they left).

“Right, that peg needs to come out first, and there’s a sort of top sheet we need to remove,
otherwise everything gets tangled up…” He squinted down at the paper as James and Sirius found
the top sheet, successfully removing it so that they could fold up the canvas tent.

“What would we do without you, Moony,” James grinned, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Peter piped up, picking pegs off the ground, “Who’d have thought you’d be good at all
this stuff.”

Sirius paused, blinking. Had Pete just—did he really…

“Well, I have always been the sensible one,” Remus said absentmindedly, not seeming to think
anything of the comment as he continued to flip through the instruction packet. But James dropped
his end of the canvas, marching over to Peter.

“What do you mean, ‘this stuff’?” He demanded, arms crossed over his chest.

The smaller boy gulped, nervously. “Y’know, outdoorsy stuff – blokey stuff. I didn’t mean—”

But it was very clear what he’d meant. Sirius swallowed, the echo of so many other comments
swimming in his head.

“Pete. A word.” It was a command more than a question, said in James’s best quidditch-captain
voice as he marched off towards the beach. Peter trailed behind him, looking very pale.

“Blokey stuff,” Sirius muttered, flapping the canvas sharply as he went back to folding it.

“What was that all about?!” Remus demanded, looking utterly confused as he began to collect the
pegs that Pete had dropped. But Sirius just shook his head, anger and embarrassment tangled sickly
in his stomach.

He’d calmed down a bit by the time they were saying their goodbyes, though he still avoided
looking at Peter—not that the other boy would have had any idea why he was upset. Everyone
seemed to be a little emotional as they prepared to leave the campsite that had been their home over
the past week—James and Lily more than anyone, kissing passionately as if they weren’t going to
be seeing each other again in a few short weeks.

“You going back to Essex, Remus?” Mary asked, smiling.

“Staying with the Potters for a bit,” he replied, answering smile a bit strained.

“Lucky! I’ve got to go back to Croydon – Marlene invited me to stay, but Mum says she doesn’t
see enough of me as it is.”

“That’s nice,” Remus said, voice a bit wistful, “It’s nice to be missed.”

Peter and Dorcas set off first, waving as they headed up the main road to search for a good spot to
hail the Knight Bus. Sirius frowned at Peter’s retreating form, but Remus waved as though nothing
were wrong. Mary, Marlene, and Lily apparated once they had managed to extract Lily from
James’s arms. She embraced him one last time, then turned to hug Remus, and then—to the utter
surprise of the entire group—even threw her arms around Sirius. He patted her back, awkwardly.

Once the others had left, the three boys apparated back to James’s house. Sirius landed in the
village and had to make the trek back, meaning that he was the last to arrive. Mrs. Potter fussed
over the three of them and sat them down at once for some proper food.

“Should we get in touch with the home for you, Remus?” She asked, as they sat around the dinner
table, “You’re not pulling another vanishing act, are you? Can’t have the muggle police called
again.”

“Oh – er, no, I…um…”

Sirius could see his mind spinning, searching for some excuse. He gave Remus a sharp kick under
the table, and a meaningful look. Go on, Moony. Tell the truth. The other boy met his eye,
swallowing, and then turned to Mrs. Potter. “Actually, now I’m seventeen, there isn’t a place for
me at St. Edmund’s.”

“Oh good,” James’s mum smiled brightly, “We’ve got you all summer then, wonderful!”

Later that night, as he slipped into Remus’s bed, Sirius couldn’t resist whispering,

“I told you so. The Potters love taking in strays.”

“Should you be here?” Remus whispered back, nervously, “What about James?”

“Snoring his head off, I could hear him through the wall.”

That seemed to satisfy him; Remus sighed as he wrapped an arm around Sirius, drawing him closer.

“Well done for telling them,” Sirius murmured, twisting their fingers together under the covers,
running his thumb along a scar on the back of Moony’s hand.

“Yeah, I’m just telling everyone everything, this week,” Remus huffed a laugh.

“Nothing wrong with asking for help, Moony. People like helping their friends.”

“I know,” Remus kissed the top of his head, and Sirius smiled against his chest, curling their
fingers tighter together. He had never felt as…safe, as peaceful, as he did when he was lying next
to Remus. It scared him, sometimes, how much more difficult it had become to sleep alone.

“Sirius?”

“Mm?”

“That thing Wormtail said, did it really upset you?”

Sirius tensed, instinctively, thinking of the little twist in Pete’s voice: Who’d have thought you’d be
good at all this stuff.

Remus seemed to sense his discomfort, backtracking, “Just…you know Pete, he’s a bit of an idiot
sometimes, but he’s just thick, not spiteful. He’ll get used to it. Get used to me. Next time he needs
his homework done, it won’t matter.”

“I’ve heard stuff like that before, that’s all,” Sirius mumbled, into Remus’s pyjama shirt, “About
being a man. You know the sort of thing.”
“From your mother?”

Sirius nodded, very slightly, against his chest. Remus squeezed his hand.

“Well then, you know it was all bollocks.”

* * *

Saturday 30th July 1977

By the end of their first fortnight back at the Potters, Sirius had spent precisely fourteen hours
sitting outside the phone box at the end of the road. Every day, he and Remus would walk down
with James, who would bounce on his heels and fiddle with his glasses and forget how to operate a
phone immediately upon their arrival, leaving Remus to sigh and roll his eyes and crowd into the
little booth to dial Lily’s number for the poor smitten sod. He would then huff and exit the box,
sitting on the wall next to Sirius, smoking.

On the fourteenth iteration of this routine, Remus shook his head as he shut the glass-panelled door
behind him. “Bloody idiot,” he muttered, “How hard is it to remember a few simple steps? He did
muggle studies; don’t they explain this stuff?”

“Aww, he gets too excited to remember anything.” Sirius nudged Moony’s shoulder, grinning,
“Have some sympathy for the lovesick fool.”

“No. I will be joyless and miserable forever.” Remus scowled, searching his pockets for his muggle
lighter.

“Oh good, I love it when you’re all dark and moody.”

“Fuck off.”

“Mm, oooh yeah, now call me a stupid prat, that really gets me going…” Sirius laughed, only half-
teasing (there was something to be said for broody Remus, with those dark eyes…)

The other boy shoved him off the wall, sending him stumbling a few steps.

“You are being a stupid prat.”

“Only for you,” Sirius winked, stubbing out his cigarette. A rumbling growl began in the distance,
and Sirius’s heart leapt—he reached out to grab Remus’s hand, shouting, “Look! Here it comes,
right on time!”

As if by magic, it appeared—the most beautiful, spectacular, breath-taking contraption that Sirius

had ever had the good fortune to lay eyes on:

A motorbike.

More specifically, a Triumph Bonneville T120. It roared through the village at the same time
every evening as they waited for James to finish his call, in a scream of steel and chrome and
silver, cherry red tank winking at the setting sun. Sirius was sure that if he could ride it just once,
he would die a happy man.

Presently, though, he settled for watching it drive by, sighing in satisfaction as he clambered back
up on the wall once it was gone. With the motorbike out of sight, he turned back to Remus,
studying his face. The taller boy was still frowning, puffing on his cigarette, that familiar little
furrow between his brows that Sirius wanted to lean over and smooth away with his thumb.

“Is it the moon?” He asked, “Making you grumpy?”

“Probably.” Remus exhaled. “Usually makes me restless.”

“Yeah, I noticed, last night.” Sirius licked his lips, remembering the way Remus had nipped at his
neck, pinning his wrists to the mattress…

“Oh my god, shut up, obnoxious prick.”

Sirius smirked and stuck his tongue out, playfully.

Remus wasn’t the only one nervous about the moon—Sirius was feeling anxious, as well. The
Potters had decided that the safest thing would be to lock Remus in the attic, which they had
already reinforced with various defensive spells. That wasn’t the part that worried Sirius, though—
the part that worried Sirius was Moody, who would be standing guard outside, making it quite
impossible for either himself or James to sneak in.

Sirius still had half a mind to try, suggesting that they use the invisibility cloak—but James had
talked him out of it, insisting that even if they managed to somehow get in, they still wouldn’t be
able to explain how a dog and a stag had mysteriously materialised overnight.

So on the night of the moon, Remus bid them goodnight, and Sirius watched him disappear into the
attic. He tried to sleep, but found it impossible—he could hear the wolf, two floors above, howling
and whining and scrabbling about. Eventually, Sirius snuck into Moony’s room, transforming into
Padfoot and curling up at the foot of his bed, breathing in his scent.

He woke early enough to change back and creep back into his own room before anyone might have
suspected anything, yawning as he tramped downstairs for breakfast. When Remus came down an
hour later, his hands were covered completely by bandages; Sirius’s heart twisted in his chest. He
watched Moony eat, struggling to hold his fork and wincing every time he had to bend his fingers.
Sirius clutched his own fork in his fist, gripping it until his knuckles turned white.

At night, Sirius would crawl into Remus’s bed, curling into him and whispering in his ear. “Tell
me a secret,” he’d breathe, “Tell me something no one knows.”

And Remus would tell him – offering tiny, hidden pieces of himself, like treasure. Sirius tucked
them away in his heart, glittering and golden and precious.

“I’m the one who told Philomena Pettigrew to go to America.”

“You never!”

“Yep, in the bathroom on Christmas eve.”

“Sly bastard. How’d you get girls falling all over each other to talk to you, eh? What’s your
secret?”

“Maybe they trust me because they know I’m not trying to get off with them.”
 “An intriguing thought. Tell me another secret.”

“Um…I don’t know, I’ve told you everything.”

“You haven’t,” Sirius smiled, pressing their lips together, crawling on top of him, hands sliding
under Remus’s shirt. He traced patterns around the scars on his ribs, his stomach, his chest. “I’m
going to know everything about you, one day, I promise.”

Remus kissed him, another secret, the most precious of all.

Chapter End Notes

i know that atyd was written before dorlene was a big ship but in my heart of hearts
dorcas is simply a lesbian experiencing comphet in this fic <3
 Summer 1977 (Part 5)
Chapter Summary

grant <3

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

There’s a starman waiting in the sky

He’s told us not to blow it

‘Cause he knows it’s all worthwhile

He told me

Let the children lose it

Let the children use it

Let all the children boogie

Monday 29th August 1977

For the second full moon, Moody bound Remus to the bed in the attic. Sirius thought it was
barbaric, but Remus insisted that he didn’t mind—the wolf did, though; he howled all night, long,
mournful sounds that tugged at Sirius’s heart.

Despite the noise, however, Remus appeared to be in better shape; there were no open wounds, no
bandages when he came downstairs. He was dressed in a new set of robes that Mrs. Potter had left
in his room, and when he asked James about it, the other boy grinned.

“They’re for going out in,” he said, taking a bite of toast, “Diagon Alley today!”

There were only a handful of days left before they’d be boarding the Hogwarts Express, and it had
been decided that the boys would spend the remainder of their summer in Diagon Alley. Mr. and
Mrs. Potter were leaving for a few weeks, and though they refused to share any details about their
trip, James was certain that it was something to do with Dumbledore. According to Moody, Diagon
alley was crawling with undercover aurors, and everyone seemed satisfied that it should be safe
enough for the three boys.

Their Hogwarts letters had arrived just a week before, and when James opened his envelope a
shiny gold pin fell out. He’d gaped, for a moment; then,

“Bloody hell!”
Sirius had squinted at the engraved letters—HEAD BOY. “What the fuck?!”

“Language!” Mrs. Potter tutted, but she’d been smiling, clearly delighted.

Of course, James hadn’t been keen to wait around for his parents to fuss over him—he’d rushed
immediately to write a letter to Lily, sending it off by owl and waiting eagerly next to the window
until, twenty minutes later, they discovered that Evans had been named Head Girl.

“It’s fate!” James crowed, “Destiny!”

They travelled by floo to the Leaky Cauldron, a cosy (if a little tatty around the edges) pub that
doubled as a B&B and sort of all-purpose meeting place for any wizards coming in or out of
Diagon Alley. James had set them up with two twin rooms, and after checking in they lugged their
trunks upstairs. Neither Sirius nor Remus had been able to come up with an excuse as to why they
should share, so Sirius was in with James, Remus with Peter. The rooms were adjoining—not that
it made much difference. Sirius doubted that there would be any sneaking into each other’s beds
unnoticed, not with the creaky floorboards and absence of bed curtains.

Diagon Alley was jam packed, as it usually was near the end of summer, with students and their
parents stocking up on school supplies. The marauders stopped by Gringotts first, where the
goblins were extremely accommodating. They found Lyall Lupin’s vault, and Sirius was shocked
to see how little Remus’s father had left him—he had always known that the Lupins didn’t have
much, but…still. It hardly looked like enough to last Remus a year out of school.

But that doesn’t matter, Sirius reminded himself, firmly, I’ve more than enough for the both of us.

Remus, who was still recovering from the full moon, was dead on his feet by the time they finished
at the bank, and looked more than a little embarrassed about it. The others assured him that it was
fine, urging him to go back to the Leaky Cauldron and lie down.

“James wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon in Quality Quidditch Supplies, anyway,” Sirius
told him, “We can leave the rest of the shopping for tomorrow.”

That seemed to be enough for Remus; he bid them farewell, yawning. As promised, the remaining
three marauders spent the afternoon looking at the newest broom models on display, purchasing
the fancy broom polish that James liked, and rifling through Quidditch Weekly magazines. When
they returned to the Leaky Cauldron, Remus was still sound asleep. They ate dinner without him,
staying at their corner table in the pub late into the night as James ordered round after round of
firewhisky.

“We’re celebrating, lads!” He declared, raising his glass, “Our final year at Hogwarts! It’ll be the
best one yet.” Now that he had won over Lily Evans, James seemed convinced of his invincibility.
Peter and Sirius raised their own glasses, cheering.

Two hours later, James was slumped against Sirius’s shoulder, slurring drunkenly, “Think’m in
love with ‘er.” Peter had his head down on the table, snoring. Sirius shoved James upright.

“Bloody hell, mate,” he laughed, “You’ve only been going out with her for a few weeks!”

“Does that matter?” James mumbled, smiling dopily, “S’like…everything she does, I jus’ lookit ‘er
and think…that’s my person, d’you know what I mean?”

“Mm,” Sirius hummed, noncommittal. “C’mon, don’t pass out—I need you to help me get Pete up
the stairs!”
It was past midnight by the time they stumbled up to bed, managing, by some miracle, to avoid
waking Remus. The next morning, James was just as chipper and energetic as always, though Peter
looked a bit green around the gills. Lily arrived, and she and Remus immediately set about
organising a schedule to ensure that they got all their shopping done. Under their careful direction,
the marauders found and purchased everything on their lists by lunchtime, stopping back at the
Leaky Cauldron to drop their things and eat before heading to Florean Fortescue’s. Sirius insisted
on buying Remus, who had never been to Diagon Alley before, a scoop of every flavour,
demanding that he choose his favourite.

It was two o’clock in the afternoon by the time they were finishing up their ice cream, and Sirius
didn’t think anything of it when Remus popped off to the gent’s, too busy watching Peter attempt
to levitate a glob of milkshake into his mouth on a dare from James. He almost succeeded, but
overshot, letting the runny ice cream drop all over his nose. Peter spluttered comically, sending all
three of the others into stitches—Sirius was still laughing when Remus returned.

“Alright, Moony,” he grinned, once he’d caught his breath, “This lot want to go and do some
sightseeing stuff, but it sounds boring, want to bunk off down Carnaby street, finally?”

“Yeah, great!” Remus said, smiling tightly, voice strained. He widened his eyes meaningfully, as if
to say, We need to talk. Sirius frowned and hurried over to where he was hovering a few feet away
from their table, leaving James and Lily to help Peter clean up the ice cream that he’d spilled.

“What’s up?” He asked, quietly, “You look a right state.”

“I have to go and find Grant.” Remus whispered, frantic, “Look!” He shoved his pocket watch
towards Sirius’s face—the needle on the enchanted compass was spinning, wildly.

“Right now?” Sirius asked, “But we were going to—"

“Now.” Remus interrupted, “I can’t explain it, I just have to, I know I have to. Could you tell James
and Peter something? I don’t know what – just if they ask.”

“What? No, I’m coming with you!”

“Sirius…”

“Remus.” Sirius gave him a look, raising a brow. After a moment, Remus sighed.

“Ok, fine.”

“Shall we just tell the others where we’re going?”

“No. Don’t argue with me on this.” Remus was frowning, eyes darting periodically down to the
whirring arrow on the compass. Sirius studied his face for a moment. The last time he had seen
Moony so upset had been…that night in the common room, when they’d talked about the
werewolf. The night before he disappeared.

“Alright,” he said quietly, “I won’t argue.”

* * *
New love, a boy and girl are talking

New words, that only they can share in

New words, a love so strong it tears their hearts

To sleep through the fleeting hours of morning

Love is careless in its choosing

Sweeping over cross and baby

Love descends on those defenceless

Idiot love will spark the fusion…

Everything happened very quickly, after that. They told the others that they were heading to
Carnaby street before paying for their ice cream and hurrying back to the Leaky Cauldron to
change into muggle clothes. Sirius let Remus take the lead once they left Diagon Alley, following
him to a station where they caught two different tubes and ended up in Mile End. It took Sirius a
moment to recognise where they were—he’d only ever seen it as a dog.

The squat was just as run-down as he remembered, mildewing and graffitied. One of the windows
had been smashed and hastily repaired with duct tape. Sirius followed Moony as he stomped down
the cracked tile hallway, hovering behind him when he knocked on the door.

It took a few minutes for someone to answer, and a few more minutes to locate someone that
Remus actually seemed to recognise. The boy who came to the door was far too skinny, with a
faraway look in his eyes and sallow skin.

When Remus asked after Grant, the boy scratched his head. “Grant? Yeah, I fink ‘e went out west,
when it got too rough round ‘ere. ‘ammersmiff, maybe. Knocking this place down next week, I’m
goin’ Brixton.”

“Hammersmith?!” Remus yelped, “That’s the other side of town!”

“Yeah, ‘e made some friends out there I reckon. Grant’s always good at making friends, when it
suits him.”

His voice grew sour on the last part, and Remus bristled, straightening and squaring his shoulders.
The skinny boy gave him an irritated look, snapping, “Look, if ‘e don’t wanna be found, ‘e won’t
be.”

But of course, Remus wasn’t giving up. They caught another tube across the city, and Sirius tried
not to get too distracted by the funny moving muggle staircases and ticket barriers, focusing on the
mission at hand. Still, it was hard not to stop and stare as they exited the tube, walking past houses
and muggle shops, passing by crowds of muggles all dressed in their crazy clothes.

“It’s amazing,” Sirius said, watching a huge double decker bus zoom past, “I’ve lived in London
most of my life, and I’ve never seen it like this.”

“Glad you’re having fun,” Remus replied, sounding a bit harried. He had started to wince every
time he put weight on one leg, and kept taking out the compass to glance at the wavering needle.
“Let’s sit down a minute, shall we?” Sirius suggested, gently, “Look, there’s a park over there.”

“Not sure I’ll be able to stand back up if I sit down,” Remus muttered, eyeing the benches warily.

“Then I’ll carry you,” Sirius told him.

“Piss off, will you.” Remus rolled his eyes. But he relented, leaning forward and pulling the
compass back out of his pocket. “Ugh, it’s going mental again!” He tugged his fingers through his
hair, anxiously, “I thought I was getting somewhere…”

“It might be because you’re agitated,” Sirius suggested, sitting beside him, “Er…you know,
because it feeds off your emotion towards the person you’re looking for. So maybe if you…”

“Are you telling me to calm down?” Remus scowled.

“It might help.” Sirius shrugged. “How about you tell me something about Grant? Something
nice?” He was desperately curious, anyway—but that wasn’t what this was about. This was about
helping Remus.

The other boy eyed him, sceptically. “If you think it will help…” He sighed, “Er…his name’s
Grant Chapman. I met him at St. Edmund’s in 1975. He liked the same music as me, he’s friendly,
er…”

“What does he look like?”

“You’ve seen him.”

“Not properly, I was a dog. Anyway, the point is to get you to think about him.”

“I’m doing nothing but thinking about him.” Remus responded, roughly. Before Sirius could reply,
he shut his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Fair hair. Curls. Er…I think blue eyes? Yeah, blue.
He has a crooked front tooth. Last time I saw him he was thinner…” He frowned, eyes still closed,
“Er…”

“Go on,” Sirius prompted, “You like the same music? So Bowie? T. Rex.”

“Yeah, and he likes, um…Deep Purple.”

“Cool, ok, so that’s how you became friends?”

“Yeah,” Remus seemed to be relaxing, a bit, “He was the only one at St. Eddy’s that wasn’t a
complete maniac, or a criminal – I mean, he had a few charges, but not like…not serious. Then one
day he er…well he just kissed me, and that’s how I knew…” He glanced sheepishly at Sirius, who
plastered a smile on his face, nodding at him to keep going. “He’s been a good friend, apart from
that,” Remus said, fiddling with his hands, “He never makes me feel bad about myself. He never
makes me feel odd, or different.”

“He sounds like a really great mate,” Sirius managed to say.

“Yeah. And he’d do anything for me. That’s why I need to…” Remus trailed off, staring down at
the compass—when Sirius glanced over his shoulder, the arrow was clearly pointing west. Still
shaking a little, but clear enough.

Remus stood, abruptly, and Sirius followed him. The sun was beginning to set; it was past seven,
now, and neither of them had eaten since lunch. Sirius reminded himself, vaguely, to contact James
with the mirror soon so that he wouldn’t worry. But for the moment, he concentrated on following
Remus, who was staring at the little golden compass with intense concentration, mumbling to
himself and sniffing every so often.

They left the park behind for a more crowded row of pubs and restaurants, where the sidewalks
were packed with people. Sirius tried not to stare at the colourful outfits; the muggles were wearing
everything from sequins to leather to studded jackets, and some of them had strange, shaggy hair or
piercings on their faces. His mother would have had a fit.

They had just turned onto another street when Remus stopped dead, staring. “There,” he said
firmly, pointing across the road to building with loud music thumping from within, blacked out
windows and people stumbling up and down the stairs to a basement. “He’s in there.”

It was incredibly loud; in addition to the music, voices could be heard, screaming and shouting and
wild with laughter. Teenagers stood in packs outside, with bright hair gelled into spikes. Sirius
studied them, fascinated.

“Should we go in?” He asked.

“Um…” Remus hesitated, staring at the entryway—and then the bouncer began to yell.

“Sling yer ‘ook ya fucking nancy boy,” he shouted, as a young man staggered up the stairs to the
street, hands shoved into his pockets. It was hard to make out any defining features, other than the
messy blond hair. But that seemed to be enough for Remus.

“Grant!” Remus didn’t even stop to look before dashing across the street, and something twisted in
Sirius’s chest. He followed after, more cautiously.

Grant had apparently not heard Remus shouting—that or he was ignoring him, because he
continued to stumble down the street. He was hunched, walking funny, and as Sirius drew closer
he could smell that the boy reeked of alcohol. The muggles in front of the pub began shouting,
flinging words that made Sirius cringe—familiar words, familiar insults. Suppose that’s the same
everywhere, then, he thought, bitterly.

But Grant didn’t cringe. He spun around, scowling, and held up two wobbling fingers as he
stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Grant!” Remus shouted again, and this time the boy seemed to hear him, turning and squinting
under a yellow streetlight.

“Jesus Christ. What are you doin’ here?” He stumbled again, clearly drunk, and slumped against a
wall, clutching his side as if he were in pain. Sirius hovered a few feet behind Remus, who hurried
over.

“Looking for you!” He ducked his head, trying to see the other boy’s face.

“Right, obviously…bloody hell, how do you manage it every time?!”

He doesn’t seem very friendly, Sirius thought, a bit spitefully—and immediately felt guilty, kicking
himself. Grant had clearly had a rough time of it; he was almost as skinny as the boy from the
squat, with dirty hair and a startling line of purple bruises across one side of his face, which
disappeared under the collar of his shirt.

“What happened to you?” Remus asked reaching out helplessly, as if to touch him.
“Fucking punk happened, didn’t it?” Grant released a noise that was either a laugh or a cough,
staggering and sitting down heavily on the filthy pavement. “Sorry mate, bit dizzy.” He leaned
over and retched a few times. When nothing came up, he spat.

Remus squatted down next to him, studying him with a tender expression that Sirius had never seen
before on his face.

“Who did this?” He stretched out a hand towards the bruises, “Did it happen in there?!”

“Gerroff,” Grant swung his arm, and Sirius felt a hot flash of anger, leaping forward to pull Remus
back.

“Oi, back off, mate.”

Grant squinted up at him, raising a hand to block the light from the streetlamps. He blinked, then
sneered, sourly,

“And ‘oo the fuck are you?! Piss off will ya, I’m talkin’ to my mate.” Sirius stifled the urge to
shove him as he turned back to Remus, “Fancy a pint?”

He began to wobble to his feet, and Remus stood quickly, gripping his elbow to help him up.

“I don’t think you need any more to drink…how about some dinner?”

Grant’s eyes flashed with clarity for a moment, as he asked,

“Got cash?”

“Yes, of course,” Remus began to steer him away from the busy street, “Come on, I’ll buy you
dinner, what would you like?”

“Oh, y’know me, I’m easy,” Grant slurred, laughing maniacally as he leaned against Remus.

Sirius followed behind them, watching Grant warily in case he swung out again—but he seemed to
have calmed down a bit by the time they reached a café.

“In here?” Remus asked, turning to look over his shoulder at Sirius. He glanced inside at the
grubby linoleum, plastic chairs, and sticky-looking tables.

“Probably the best we’ll find around here.”

“You again!” Grant frowned, clearly just noticing him, “Thought I told ya to naff off.”

“Grant,” Remus said, softly, “This is Sirius, my friend from school.”

The other boy turned to look at him again, squinting.

“Well fuck me,” He swayed a bit, muttering, “Proper stunner.”

Sirius didn’t know how to respond to that—luckily, he didn’t have to, as Remus herded the
drunken boy gently over to a table. He manoeuvred Grant into a chair, ordering three cups of tea
and some food.

“I don’t want no trouble from you.” The surly, white-aproned muggle said as he set down their
mugs of tea, “I know your types.”
“Piss off ya dirty old man,” Grant grumbled, “Bet you’d pay for it if you could.”

“What did I say?!”

“Look,” Remus scrambled to his feet, hands out in a placating gesture, “He’s sobering up, I’ll keep
him quiet, I swear. I’ll paid up front, he’ll be ok once he’s eating…”

The gruff man looked him up and down, evaluating, and then glanced over at Sirius, then Grant,
then Remus again,

“What are you, Christian Outreach?”

“Sort of.” Remus nodded, earnestly. The man gave him another once-over, then shook his head and
plodded back over behind the counter.

“Cor,” Grant giggled, drunkenly, into his mug of tea, “You get posher by the bloody year, Remus
me old mucker.”

“Just please stop trying to fight everyone for five minutes, will you?” Remus pleaded, running an
exasperated hand over his face as he sat.

The drunken boy blew a raspberry, still giggling.

The food was gone within minutes of its arrival—Grant ate like he was starving (which maybe,
Sirius thought, he was). Remus ordered a bakewell tart and more tea, concern evident on his face
as he studied his friend.

“Where are you living?” He asked, gently, “What were you doing in that club?”

“Getting bladdered,” Grant mumbled. He seemed to have calmed down a bit more, now that he’d
eaten.

“Well, you’ve achieved that. The bruises…”

Grant straightened, abruptly, staring Remus dead in the eye. His own eyes flashed with that strange
clarity, once more, as he reached up to touch his cheek.

“Got into an altercation few days ago,” He frowned, “But fuck it, I’m off tomorrow, going down
Brighton. Sick of bloody London. Sick of bloody miserable fucking London. Everyone wants to get
at ya, do you over, any way they can. D’you know what I mean?”

Remus stared back at him, helplessly. “Yeah.”

Sirius glanced between the two of them, then looked down at the table, feeling like he was
intruding on something private—something he wasn’t meant to see.

“‘ow’s school, poshnob?” Grant slurped his tea, making Sirius cringe.

“Oh…ok, you know. Fine. What’s in Brighton? Somewhere to live? A job? How are you getting
there?”

“Got friends,” Grant grunted, shrugging. The movement made him wince, and Remus looked at
him, sharply.

“Do you need to go to a hospital? How long have you been like this?”
“No hospitals,” Grant muttered, curling in on himself defensively, “They fink I’m a skag head.
Probably look like one, do I?”

“I went to Mile End, I saw Adz.”

“That cunt. He can fuck right off ‘n all. Look, lend me a tenner, will ya? I’m good for it, gimme
your address an’ I’ll pay ya back.”

“Not if you’re just going to get drunk on it.”

“Oi, Mr. high an’ mighty! I’ll ‘ave you know I deserve a good drink. I’ve ‘ad me heart broken.
You remember what that’s like.”

He glared, pointedly, at Sirius, who continued to stare at the sugar bowl.

Is he talking about me? He wondered. Had Remus talked to Grant about him? He was suddenly
desperately curious, but it was neither the time nor place to question them about it.

“I’m really sorry, Grant.” Remus said, soothingly, “Look…where are you sleeping at the
moment?”

“Up the road.”

“Is it safe there?”

“Lost my key.”

Sirius was struck by just how foreign this conversation was to him—and how normal it seemed for
Remus, who knew exactly what to ask. Sirius had never had to wonder if he’d have a place to
sleep, not with James. He felt oddly guilty, as he studied the bruised boy across the table, thinking
of how Remus had confessed that he was homeless that night in their tent.

Was this what would have happened to him? Sirius found himself wondering, If it weren’t for the
Potters?

They ordered more tea, and Remus pushed the tart in front of Grant. By the time he was done
eating, all the belligerence was gone; he was drowsy and pliant, allowing the other boys to guide
him back to the room where he was staying. It was a nicer building than the squat in Mile End—
but not by much.

As they tramped up the stairs, a young woman poked her head out of the neighbouring room. Her
hair was a startling shade of green, and shaved down the sides.

“Grant? Gawd, you pissed again? I told you vodka’s not a fucking painkiller, go to a bloody
doctor!” She peered curiously at Remus, “Who’re you?”

“A friend, I’m just trying to make sure he’s ok…”

“He’ll be fine, he gets like this.”

Sirius used a silent unlocking charm to get into the room, and Remus practically had to carry Grant
inside, lowering him gently onto a ratty mattress on the floor. The space was very small, with no
furniture other than the mattress, though there was a lamp perched atop a stack of magazines.
Aside from that, the room consisted of a rusting mirror, an empty bowl, a toothbrush, a bar of soap,
and a rucksack overflowing with wrinkled clothes—it was impossible to tell whether they were
clean or dirty.

Grant began to snore almost immediately, curling up on the mattress. Remus knelt beside him,
scanning the bruises on his face. In the doorway, the green-haired girl watched them, eyes flicking
over Sirius.

“He said he was going to Brighton tomorrow,” Remus turned to her, “Is that true?”

“If he got the money together for his train fare,” she said, shrugging, “Said it got nicked, last week.
He was seeing this really rough type. Treated him like shit, poor love.”

“He’ll have the money,” Remus promised, “Will you make sure he goes? It will be safe?”

“I’m not his keeper,” she said defensively, retreating into the hall, “Got enough problems.”

She scurried back into her room, and Sirius exchanged a glance with Remus, raising a brow.

“Charming.”

“Shut the door,” Remus commanded, withdrawing his wand and turning back to Grant.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Sirius hissed, hurrying over as Remus pointed his wand at Grant’s
chest. “What about the Statute of Secrecy?!”

“Bugger that,” the other boy growled, “I can’t just leave him like this.”

Sirius knew better than to argue, but he was still frowning as he stepped back and watched Remus
attempt to heal Grant’s injuries. When he was done, he leaned back and scrubbed a hand over his
face.

“Right, I think I need to stay here tonight.” He looked up at Sirius, “I could leave him some
money, but…I think it’s better if I make sure he gets to Brighton tomorrow, if that’s still what he
wants to do, when he’s sober.”

“Right,” Sirius said slowly, “We’ve got to get to King’s Cross, though…”

“Yeah, I’ll be on time. I can just apparate from Victoria.”

“Ok,” Sirius agreed, nodding. He sat down and leaned against the wall, shrugging out of his jacket
to use it as a cushion.

“What are you doing?” Remus hissed, “You need to go back to Diagon Alley.”

Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “No I don’t,” he said, simply, “I can stay.”

“But James…”

“Oh right, yeah, hang on…” He dug in his pocket for the mirror, holding it close to his face as he
whispered.

“Oi, Potter, you there? Prongs?”

There was a moment of fumbling, then—

“Padfoot, you lunatic, where are you?!”

“Hiya…look, me and Moony are going to a gig here, we’ll be in late.”

“A gig?!”

Sirius nodded, trying to feign excitement, “Don’t tell anyone, ok? See you tomorrow.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re both being safe?”

“Yeah.”

“You lot aren’t in trouble, are you?”

“No, I promise.”

James sighed. “Alright. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Ok. Cheers.”

Sirius snapped the compact shut and shoved it back in his pocket, turning to Remus. “There, done.”

“You didn’t have to do that. If you’re worried about leaving me here with him, I’m really just
making sure he’s ok.”

Sirius stiffened at the implication, but reminded himself that Moony was probably exhausted, and
stressed, and didn’t really mean for the comment to sting as much as it did. Still, his voice was
cool as he said,

“And I’m making sure you’re ok, Remus. I’m not leaving you to spend all night alone in this place.
C’mon, let’s get comfortable. Plenty of floor to go around…”

He shot him a grin, shaking off his irritation and extending an arm. Remus’s eyes looked a bit
misty as sat beside him, curling under his arm and resting his head against Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius
felt a surge of affection as he leaned down to kiss the top of his head, squeezing Moony a bit more
tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, stifling a yawn, “He’s not…I don’t want you to think he usually acts this
way. He’s obviously had a bad time.”

“What happened to him?” Sirius asked, looking over at the sleeping boy, “What happened to make
him end up here, like this?”

“He got kicked out of St. Edmund’s, two years ago,” Remus explained, closing his eyes, “Didn’t
have anywhere else to go…can’t get a job because he didn’t do his exams at school. And I’m
guessing he hasn’t got a proper address.”

Remus said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were something that happened all the time—and, Sirius
supposed, it probably was. But he had never…seen it before, never really thought about. Remus’s
outburst from the previous Christmas suddenly made sense: Poor Sirius Black, the spoilt rich
boy…

“Remus?”
 “Mm?”

“This wouldn’t happen to you, would it? Because you’ve got us.”

“Yeah,” Remus mumbled, already half asleep, “I’ve got you, Padfoot. Don’t worry about me.”

Chapter End Notes

two bowie songs in this chapter! "starman" at the beginning and "soul love" in the
middle
 Seventh Year: Back to School
Chapter Summary

this isn't awkward at all

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sirius woke with his back aching, muscles stiff and sore from sleeping propped against a wall. His
neck cracked when he stretched, and he smacked his lips a few times—his mouth was incredibly
dry, and tasted disgusting. He thought longingly of his toothbrush, sitting on the little bedside table
at the Leaky Cauldron.

The door cracked open just as he was standing, and Grant walked in. He stopped when he saw
Sirius, blinking.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Remus said, following behind him. He shut the door and slipped past Grant,
placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he did so—a small, familiar gesture.

“Just got up,” Sirius replied, “How long’ve you lot been awake?”

“Not long,” Remus shrugged. He’d walked over to Sirius, hand slightly outstretched, but now stood
awkwardly in front of him, as if he’d just remembered that Grant was there, too. He glanced back
at the other boy, who was very pointedly looking at the floor.

Remus cleared his throat. “Just went to the loo. It’s outside, if you need to…?”

“Nah,” Sirius shook his head. An awkward silence followed; Remus glanced anxiously between
him and Grant.

“Er…I know you sort of met last night, but Grant, this is Sirius…”

The skinny boy looked up, finally, starting forward with an embarrassed smile and his hands
shoved into his pockets.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he hovered a few feet away, “Sorry ‘bout how I acted. Caught me on a bad
night.” He let out a strained, sheepish sort of laugh.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it,” Sirius said, politely. After a moment, he added, “Nice to meet you.”

Grant smiled and nodded, looking away. Sirius got the distinct feeling that the other boy would
have preferred it if he weren’t there at all; he seemed just as uncomfortable with Sirius as Sirius felt
around him.

“I was just going to take Grant down to the station, see him off to Brighton.” Remus said, clearly
sensing the tension. Sirius nodded.

“Alright. I’ll come with you.”

Remus studied him for a moment, but didn’t argue. They waited while Grant packed his few
belongings into the rucksack, and within ten minutes they were ready to set off.

Muggle London was just as fascinating in the morning as it was at night, though the people were
considerably different – no more crazily dressed teenagers. Instead, they passed by men in suits
and ties that walked briskly, glancing at their watches; mothers strolling hand in hand with young
children; schoolkids in uniform, chattering and swinging their bookbags. Sirius tried not to stare too
obviously, walking a few steps behind Remus and Grant.

It was…disconcerting, watching the two of them together. Sirius had always thought of Remus as
someone closed-off, distant, private. Even with his friends, there were always layers, secrets to
unpick, walls to sneak past. The mystery was something that had always drawn him to Moony;
Remus was like a never-ending puzzle, and it gave Sirius a thrill of joy to be one of the only people
allowed to solve it.

But with Grant, he felt different. It was like there were no barriers between them when they talked
—like there had never been any barriers, at all. Sirius only had to listen to their easy banter to see
how well they understood each other. It made his heart twist, looking at the skinny blond muggle
and knowing that he understood Remus—that he knew him—in a way that Sirius never would.

He didn’t like it.

They ate breakfast at a small café in Victoria station. Grant and Remus sat next to each other;
Sirius sat across from them, sipping his tea.

“You’re going to make me fat,” Grant said, licking his fingers and reaching for a second bacon
butty.

“No chance,” Remus smiled fondly, poking him in the ribs, and the other boy laughed, spewing
crumbs across the table.

When they had finished eating and stood, Grant glanced over at Sirius, saying,

“You two got ya own train to catch, eh?”

“Yeah, but we’ve got time.” Remus reached into his pocket, “Here, I want to give you this…” he
passed over a small scrap of paper, “It’s where I’m living when I’m not at school. Will you send
me a letter when you’re settled? A postcard? Promise.”

“Yeah, ok,” Grant smiled, folding the paper and sticking it into his rucksack, “Warning you, my
handwriting’s shit an’ I can’t spell for toffee.”

“I don’t care about that.” Remus insisted, “I just want to know where you are, next time. Do you
need stamps? I should have bought stamps…”

“I can get stamps,” Grant said, softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ve done enough.
Honest.”

On the platform, Grant shook Sirius’s hand, which was awkward for everyone involved. Sirius
then stood a few feet away as he said goodbye to Remus, tugging the tall boy into a hug.

“I’ll come and visit, at Christmas maybe, or next summer,” Remus promised, as they pulled away.

“I bloody well believe you, too – can’t get rid of ya, can I?” Grant smiled up at him, a sunny thing
that made his whole face seem brighter. “Like magnets, you and me, eh? Always snap right back
together.”

Remus pulled him into another hug, squeezing tightly and burying his face in the shorter boy’s
hair. Sirius looked away, trying to feel less like someone had punched a hole in his chest.

“All right, all right – I’ve got a train to catch, y’know…”

By the time they’d finally finished their goodbyes, Remus and Sirius were in danger of missing
their own train. They hurried to the Gentlemen’s toilets, shoving into a stall so that they could
apparate to King’s Cross. As Remus shut the door, Sirius reached out to touch his arm.

“You look exhausted. Let me do it, you can side-along.”

“Really?” Remus asked, gratefully—which only went to show how tired he was; Sirius knew that if
he’d had any more energy, he would have argued.

“Really.”

Remus swallowed. “Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for helping him.”

“Don’t be silly,” Sirius said, trying to smile. “He obviously…he loves you."

“He—” Remus opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius didn’t wait; he pictured King’s Cross station,
and the world blurred into a twisted streak of colour as he apparated them both.

They had to run to make it in time—when they arrived on Platform 9 and ¾, James was hanging
out of the train door, waving like a madman.

“Fucking hell! Where have you two been?!”

“Language!” Lily scolded, poking her face out of the next window over, “You’re Head Boy now,
you should be setting an example!”

“I am setting an example, telling these wankers off!” James replied, frowning at them as they
clambered aboard. No sooner had their feet left the platform than the guard’s whistle blew,
signalling the train’s departure.

“Language!” Lily tutted, “Honestly, James, you really need to start growing up this year, you’re of
age, you need to start acting…”

“Isn’t she brilliant?!” James grinned like a loon, looking down at Remus, who had collapsed on the
floor of the carriage to catch his breath. Sirius was gasping for air, too, hands on his knees as he
struggled to pull himself together. The apparating paired with the restless night’s sleep had taken
quite a bit out of him; his head felt fuzzy with exhaustion.

“So where were you?” James asked, folding his arms as he watched them struggle to catch their
breath.

“Told you,” Sirius replied, panting, “Gig.”

“Which band?”

“You don’t know them. Muggle band.”

“Why didn’t you come back last night? Where did you sleep?!”
 Sirius glanced at Remus, panicking—he didn’t have the brainpower to come up with any more
excuses; he felt ready to pass out right there on the carriage floor. Remus stood, quickly, drawing
James’s attention,

“We didn’t sleep. It went on all night. We had breakfast, then came straight here.”

His face didn’t even flicker as he spoke; his voice stayed completely steady. Sirius stared at him,
then nodded, quickly, in agreement. James tutted.

“Mental. And dangerous. Seriously, lads, don’t do that again.”

“Won’t.” Sirius muttered, looking away.

Lily came back out into the corridor, frowning sternly, hands on her hips.

“Potter.” She raised her eyebrows, pointedly, “We’ve got to lead the meeting.”

“Right you are!” James spun around, all his attention suddenly focused on Lily. He trotted after her
towards the prefect’s carriage, calling over his shoulder, “See you later, boys!”

“You’re a really good liar,” Sirius remarked, once James was out of earshot. Remus frowned, face
going dark as he snapped,

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Nothing,” Sirius said quickly, looking back at the floor. “C’mon, let’s find Pete.”

It wasn’t very difficult; he was in their usual carriage, along with Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas. The
poor boy looked quite out of his depth, sitting in the corner as the girls nattered on about fingernail
strengthening charms.

“We thought you’d miss the train!” Marlene exclaimed, glancing up as they walked in.

“You know me, McKinnon,” Sirius shot her a grin, “Like to make an entrance.”

“And now you’re dragging poor Remus down with you,” Mary teased, “Come and sit here, Lupin,
I’ll protect you from that delinquent.” She scooted over, patting the seat next to her by the window.
Remus sat down heavily, with a grateful smile.

“Where were you?” Peter asked, accusingly, “You left me alone with Lily and James. I might as
well have been a ghost.”

“Gig. Stayed out late. Didn’t sleep.” Sirius yawned, waving a hand dismissively. He sat down
across from Remus, slouching into the seat and leaning his head against the window. Before they’d
even made it out of London, he was asleep.

Chapter End Notes

yay seventh year <3 making fried rice, hope ur all doing well :)
 Seventh Year: Thunder
Chapter Summary

regulus makes an entrance

Peter shook him awake as the train pulled into Hogsmeade, and Sirius groaned, curling up tighter
for a moment before unfurling his limbs and stretching. The carriage was unusually quiet;
everyone seemed a bit subdued when he opened his eyes. But then, Sirius supposed they were all
probably just tired from the long journey.

They didn’t see James until they’d stepped off onto the platform, where he was waiting to greet
them. His eye was red and swollen, as if someone had hit him with a stinging jinx, and his robes
were rumpled.

“What happened to you?” Sirius asked, around a yawn.

“Tell you later,” James muttered, looking away. Once he’d finished making sure that everyone was
off the train, he jogged over to help Lily herd all the first years towards the lake, where Hagrid was
waiting near the rowboats. Peter abandoned them as well, hurrying off to find Dorcas and ride with
her group of friends, so it was just Sirius, Remus, Mary, and Marlene in their own horseless
carriage. Sirius felt a wave of nostalgia, looking up at the familiar stone walls where he had spent
the past six years. He wished James was there, beside him, for their final ride up to Hogwarts.

The nostalgia continued to grow as they filtered into the Great Hall, sitting with their stomachs
growling as they watched the first years’ sorting ceremony. Sirius found himself smiling as he
remembered his own Sorting, how terrified he had been, how ashamed—but in the end, that dusty
old hat had been the best thing to ever happen to him. If not for its decision that day, he would
never have become friends with James, would never have met Mary, would never have found
himself sharing a room with the secretive, stubborn, impossible boy sitting next to him. He had the
silly urge to reach out and take Remus’s hand as they watched the new batch of Gryffindors take
their seats at the opposite end of the table.

With the ceremony finally finished, Dumbledore stood to announce that dinner was served. He had
just finished speaking when the doors to the Great Hall suddenly burst open, drawing the attention
of everyone in the room.

Sirius turned, and the giddy nostalgia turned to ash on the back of his tongue.

Regulus walked in slowly, shoulders back and head held high, the way their mother had taught
them. A Black always shows proper comportment! His face was cold, sharp, like something carved
from ice. Any lingering baby fat had disappeared; he was all chin and cheekbones, shadows and
angles. He looked as if he hadn’t seen the sun in months, paler than Sirius had ever seen him,
which only made the bruise-like circles under his eyes more prominent. It made something twist in
Sirius’s chest, that blanched skin—Reggie had always loved the sunshine. He was like a cat,
curling up in the patches that shone through the windows. Summer had always been his favourite
season.

At the Slytherin table, the other sixth-years fell all over themselves to clear a spot for him, as if he
were an honoured guest instead of one of their peers. Snape even went so far as to stand, leaning
across the table to shake Regulus’s hand. Sirius scowled.

When he turned back to his own table, he caught the wary looks that a few of his fellow
Gryffindors were now shooting him. It seemed that house loyalty made less and less of a
difference, as the war went on—he was still a Black. Reggie’s dramatic entrance had just reminded
everyone of that.

“Mate,” James murmured, leaning in, “I need to tell you something, later. In private.” He gave
Remus and Peter a pointed look as he said it, and Sirius had the distinct feeling that he’d missed
something. After a moment, he nodded.

He kept his eyes on his food for the rest of the meal, barely speaking. He wasn’t sure that he
trusted himself to open his mouth without demanding that James tell him whatever it was he had to
say now, right now. The swollen eye had suddenly taken on an entirely new meaning; Sirius’s
mind spun in circles as he wondered, desperately, what had happened. Had James and Reggie
gotten into a fight? Had Regulus hexed him? Had he hexed Regulus?

But there was no time to talk after dinner—James and Lily hurried off to see to their new
obligations as Head Boy and Head Girl. Sirius walked back to the common room in silence, all too
aware of the nervous looks that his friends were exchanging behind his back. Mary and Marlene
settled down in front of the fireplace, and Remus sat across from them in an armchair. Sirius sat,
too, fidgeting and tapping his leg, trying to suppress the nervous adrenaline that coursed through
his veins.

Peter began setting up a chessboard on the rug, and Marlene moved to the floor to play against
him. Mary sat behind her, braiding her hair and humming under her breath. Remus took out his
Care of Magical Creatures textbook and attempted to study, though soon enough he had just dozed
off in his chair. Sirius watched them, smiling and chattering quietly and very pointedly avoiding his
gaze. Eventually, he could no longer take it.

Peter startled when Sirius stood, abruptly, glancing up nervously from his game. Marlene and
Mary looked up, too; Remus was the only one who didn’t move, fast asleep with his book still
open on his lap.

“Going for a fag,” Sirius muttered. He didn’t bother to wait for a response, stomping up the stairs
and letting the door slam shut behind him.

He found Moony’s box of cigarettes in his trunk—he’d pay him back later—and smoked one, then
two, then three. It was raining outside, but he cracked a window anyway, blowing smoke out into
the dark, damp air. The cigarettes weren’t particularly helpful; he still felt on edge, jittery and
anxious, pacing the floor like a caged animal. He took a shower, but that didn’t help either—the
steam was stifling, in his eyes, down his throat. He scrubbed the condensation off the mirror with
the palm of his hand, and Reggie’s eyes stared back at him from the glass.

He had gone right back to pacing by the time James finally came up, with Remus following behind
him. Their eyes met as he walked through the door.

“You didn’t wake me up.”

Sirius sat, heavily, on his bed. “You looked comfortable. Thought you could probably do with the
rest.” He turned to James, fighting down the snarl of anxiety in his chest. “Well?”

“It’s about Regulus.” James said. Of course.

“He give you that?” The eye was now clearly blackened, an angry purpling bruise, more swollen
than before.

“Yeah.” James’s fingers curled into fists, “Yeah, we had a few words in the prefect’s carriage…”

“Words.”

“Yeah,” James was frowning, face stormy and flushed. In their seven years as friends, Sirius had
only seen him properly angry a handful of times—truly, deeply angry. When Snape called Lily that
slur, in fifth year. When Euphemia came back from a dinner with her sister’s family, crying. When
they stood across from each other in this very room, and Sirius told him what he had said to Snape
about the willow…

“Seems like Regulus and some of his mates have a problem with Evans being Head Girl.”

“Oh no,” Peter murmured, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, “James, he didn’t…”

“He was all talk.” James shook his head.

“But you weren’t.” Sirius swallowed, feeling something cave in his chest as he thought of Reg
speaking in that awful, sneering voice—the one that he used when he wanted to hurt someone. The
one that Sirius had never heard, ever, before that spring in fifth year…

“Prongs!” Remus tutted, “You didn’t attack him first?! You know that’s exactly what that lot want
from our side. You should just have ignored him.”

“He didn’t make it very easy,” James huffed, voice pitching up a bit, “Anyway, don’t bother, I’ve
had all this from Lily.”

That lot, Sirius thought, numbly, Our side. The lines really had been drawn, hadn’t they?

“I didn’t hurt him, anyway,” James began to pace, an echo of Sirius’s earlier frantic energy, “Just
wanted to shut him up – I was going to use silencio, or maybe scourgify his mouth, you know – but
the little weasel dodged it and tried to get me back, so I used jelly-legs.”

Sirius felt cold. Silencio…he thought of Regulus, standing in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place,
holding out a notepad. She’s done it to me, before, too… That trembling, helpless laugh; I think she
forgot she’d cast it, because she didn’t undo it for three days.

James was still speaking. “That’s when Mulciber swung for me, and Evans petrified all three of us.
Just for a few minutes. Still, I got Regulus, so he had to go to the hospital wing and it all got
written up.”

“Are you in trouble?” Peter asked, fidgeting with his hands.

“Nah,” James scowled, “Loads of witnesses said Reg was asking for it, and in the end it was
Gryffindor vs. Slytherin so McGonagall and Slughorn agreed to give us another chance to ‘be
civil.’” He grimaced.

Sirius took a breath.

“But Reg is ok?” The words scraped like sandpaper out of his throat. He couldn’t look James in the
eye, while he asked it.

“Yeah, fine.” The other boy paused his pacing, hovering awkwardly in front of Sirius’s bed.
“There’s something else, though…”

He looked up, and the anger in James’s eyes had faded—replaced with a resigned sort of pity. It
was so, so much worse.

“What?”

Don’t say it.

“Regulus, when Lily petrified him he fell, and we had to lift him up onto a seat.”

Don’t say it.

“He’d rolled his sleeves up to duel, and when I was moving him, I saw…”

Please don’t say it.

“I saw…on his arm…”

“Prongs?” Sirius couldn’t look away; he stared into James’s eyes, begging, silently.

Please don’t say it. Please, please don’t say it.

“He’s got the mark.”

The mark. That horrid, awful mark. That twisting black snake, that skull that laughed in his
nightmares—ink pressed permanently, magically, into skin. Just one more scar that Sirius had
failed to protect him from.

His friends were watching him, waiting for him to speak. Sirius had his arms wrapped around
himself, and he dug his nails into the skin of his biceps. He chose this, he reminded himself,
forcefully, He chose it. He didn’t want your help.

“Well then,” he looked back up, shrugging, wrestling with his voice to keep it steady, “S’pose we
know how my family spent their summer, then.” He wanted this. “Fine.” He wanted to stay.
“That’s fine.” He wanted them, more than he wanted me. “He’s picked his side. I’ve picked mine.”
Sirius nodded, firmly. “Fine.”

“Padfoot,” James said, carefully, beginning to reach out, “I’m angry with Reg, ok? I’m not…it’s
nothing to do with you, everybody knows you’re not one of them.”

“I know!” Sirius snapped, a bit too quickly, “It’s fine.” His nails bit into his arms, ten small, sharp
points of pain. His friends were still staring, still watching, still waiting for him to—what? To
crumble? To fall to pieces on the bedspread? To scream, to cry, to throw something?

He changed the subject. “Is Evans ok?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.” James withdrew his hand, which had been hovering awkwardly in the space
between them, “I mean, I think she was hurt, but…well, she’s tougher than me. Cooler under
pressure.”

“Want me to have a word? With Reg, I mean?” Sirius realised as he said it that he wanted to speak
with him—to see, for himself, to ask him—

“I’d leave it, mate,” James frowned, “McGonagall and Slughorn know everything now, you’ll only
make it worse.”
He felt cold. “Everything?”

It shouldn’t have mattered—it didn’t matter. Reg had made his decision; what did Sirius care if
people found out?

Still, he felt a wave of relief as James said, “Not everything. Not about the mark, I wanted to leave
that up to you…”

Oh. Up to him. The responsibility settled across his shoulders, a heavy weight. Would it make a
difference, telling them? But what could McGonagall do, with the ink already branded onto
Reggie’s skin?

“…Ok.”

A heavy silence fell. Sirius felt all too aware of his friends’ eyes on him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” James asked, after a moment.

“No.” Sirius mumbled, “I just want to go to bed.”

“Yeah, good idea,” James nodded, tugging his fingers through his hair. He hovered for another
moment before moving away and beginning to quietly unpack his trunk.

Peter ducked back into the bathroom to put his toothbrush away, and Remus went in when he was
done, towel slung over his shoulder. Sirius curled up in his own bed, pyjamas already on, and drew
the curtains. He listened to the quiet sounds of his friends getting ready for bed, muffled by the
thick velvet.

He didn’t sleep. He didn’t even try to. He couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop remembering—the
tattoo on Bellatrix’s arm, his parents’ screaming voices, Reggie’s face, cracked open like an
eggshell where he stood behind them, watching. Reggie, walking to the Slytherin table after his
Sorting. Reggie, voice full of resentment: Don’t pretend you don’t jump at any excuse to run off
and leave the rest of the family behind. Reggie, cold and sneering, walking away. Reggie, terrified
of ghouls, asking, Can you still stay? Just for tonight?

The bathroom door opened, and Sirius listened to the quiet sound of Remus’s footsteps across the
floor.

“Remus.” He stuck his head out from the curtains, whispering.

“Sirius.”

He pulled the curtains back, hearting pounding, and Remus climbed in.

“Sonoro Quiescis.”

The other boy knelt in front of him, brow furrowed. “James isn’t asleep yet,” he whispered, “Are
you sure you want me—”

“Yes,” Sirius interrupted him, desperately, “Please stay, just for a little bit.” He reached out,
fumbling to grasp Moony’s hand, twisting their fingers together. He needed—this. He needed
someone to hold him, to keep him from falling apart.

As if he’d read Sirius’s mind, Remus reached out, pulling him close. Sirius curled into his arms,
skin still warm from the shower, smelling of soap.
“I’m so sorry about Reg.”

“He’s not even of age!”

“I know.”

Sirius untangled himself, sitting so that they faced each other, cross-legged on top of the covers.
He tilted his chin down, letting his hair fall over his face. He still held one of Moony’s hands in
his, and he fidgeted with the other boy’s fingers as he spoke.

“I can’t believe…I know it’s stupid, I should have known all along that he would, but…I dunno, I
suppose I just hoped he’d…”

Change his mind. Leave. Come back to me.

“It’s not stupid.” Remus said, firmly, “And we don’t know he joined willingly. Remember what
they did to you, when they wanted you to join him.”

Sirius flinched, involuntarily. He remembered—he remembered far too well.

“Yeah,” he breathed, turning the words over in his head. He didn’t know if it would make things
better or worse, either way. What would hurt more: knowing that Reg had chosen this, had wanted
this? Or knowing that he hadn’t, but had done it anyway, because there had been no one there to
protect him…

“I doubt it got that far with Reg. He was always…he always wanted it more than me. The whole
circus; our parents’ approval, the respect you get from purebloods just for being a Black. We like
to be popular, and powerful. It only makes sense. That’s why we’re all Slytherins.”

“You’re not a Slytherin.”

“No, I’m not.” Sirius released a breath, “I used to think…”

“What?”

“I used to think…maybe I didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor because I’m brave, or chivalrous, like
James is. Maybe I just wasn’t welcome in Slytherin because I haven’t got the ambition.”

“Ambition?!” Remus shook his head, “Sirius, what Reg is doing, it isn’t…it’s not anything to be
proud of. It’s cowardly; he’s doing exactly what he’s been raised to do, without thinking, without
questioning.”

Sirius swallowed. Cowardly. He thought of Regulus, that summer two years ago, running in front
of their mother, grabbing her arm, struggling with her. He thought of the cut blossoming across his
brother’s chest, his pleading voice, the tears in his eyes. Mum—mum, stop!

“Yeah, but…”

“And you’re the bravest person I know.”

“Moony…”

“Really.” Something about the way he said it, firm and final, left no room for argument. Sirius
swallowed, letting Remus’s voice soak like sunshine into his skin—something warm and bright,
something that chased away the cold, swirling memories.
“Thanks.” Sirius tried for a smile, reaching forward to pick at the fabric of Remus’s pyjama
bottoms. He sniffed, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I thought that keeping quiet about you and
me would be the hardest thing about this year. Forgot about the stupid war.”

“Yeah,” Remus breathed. He shifted slightly, uncomfortable, and Sirius glanced up at him.

“It’s still hard,” he whispered, “Keeping this quiet.” He looked back down at the cuff of Moony’s
trouser leg, fiddling with it, “I feel like we’re so far apart, when the others are around.”

“We’re pretty close right now,” Remus murmured, softly. Sirius felt himself smiling, looking back
up to meet Moony’s eye. He leaned forward, hands pressing into the mattress, and kissed him, that
familiar curl of heat running up his spine.

He forgot about the war, as Moony’s hands came up to grip his hips—forgot about his brother, and
his family, about dark marks and purebloods and curses. He let the rest of the world disappear as
Remus tugged him onto his lap, forgetting everything except the boy beneath him, the mouth at his
neck, the hands on his waist.

After, they crawled under the covers, curling together for warmth. Sirius nestled into Remus’s
shoulder, feeling boneless and sleepy.

“I shouldn’t get too comfortable,” Remus said, around a yawn, “I’d better go back to my bed.”

“Not yet,” Sirius murmured, curling up tighter.

“Ok,” Remus sighed. Sirius could hear his heartbeat, through the thin fabric of his pyjamas.

“Remus?”

“Mm.”

‘Tell me a secret.” He found Moony’s hand, twisting their fingers together.

“Um. I dunno.”

“Go on. Something good. Happy.”

“Er…” Remus yawned again, mumbling, “I could tell you about something I did in my second
year, if you won’t get angry…”

That piqued his interest. “What did you do?”

“Promise you won’t get angry. It’s a bit…well, remember I was thirteen, and I only wanted to
help.”

“Merlin, Moony, just tell me!”

“Narcissa,” Remus whispered, “I um…I gave her the idea to use the unbreakable vow. You know,
to get out of the engagement.”

What? Sirius swallowed, thinking back to that summer—the dreadful resignation he’d felt, the
hopelessness which turned so suddenly to relieved joy when his cousin stood, facing down their
parents like a soldier going to war.

Above him, Remus shifted, turning his head on the pillow so that he was looking down at Sirius’s
face. “I’m really sorry for interfering…But you gave me that reading spell, and you were so…I just
thought you were so amazing and clever and brave, I wanted to do something to help you for
once.”

“But you didn’t want to tell me about it?”

“I, er…no, I didn’t. At first I didn’t want to boast about it. Then so much time had passed, it just
didn’t seem worth it.”

“Moony!” Sirius huffed, exasperated, “Honestly, you and your secrets!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sirius laughed, quietly, shifting around to get more comfortable. “I s’pose I did
ask. And…” he paused, yawning, “That’s bloody impressive. I couldn’t have come up with that, at
thirteen.”

“Well, you didn’t.” Remus replied, eyes twinkling.

“So you actually went and talked to my cousin?”

“Yeah. She was terrifying.”

“Still is,” Sirius thought of Narcissa, with her pale blond hair and her defiant eyes and her sharp
frown. “They all bloody are.”

“Don’t think about it now,” Remus tutted, “Or I’ll have to cheer you up again, and I can’t think of
any more secrets tonight.”

“There are other ways…” Sirius replied, smirking. Remus laughed, and the sound vibrated in his
chest, buzzing against Sirius’s ear.

“Harlot.”
 Seventh Year: Undercover
Chapter Summary

this is definitely normal and also fine

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Friday 9th September 1977

“I swear, Potter,” Sirius said, shaking his head, “You’re worse than a girl.”

They were walking back to Gryffindor Tower from the quidditch pitch, where they’d just spent the
afternoon out flying—it was an off day from practice, but James would take any excuse to jump on
his broom, and Sirius couldn’t say no to the opportunity to fly a few laps when the pitch was so
rarely unoccupied. It had been a lovely afternoon, up until James decided that he needed to
expound in great detail upon his plans to take Lily out for their first official date on the upcoming
Hogsmeade weekend. By the time they got back to Gryffindor Tower, Sirius was bored nearly to
tears.

“Oi!” James shoved him, playfully, “It’s not my fault that I’m a romantic at heart. You might want
to give it a try sometime, maybe then your girlfriends would all stop breaking up with you.”

“Low blow, Potter,” Sirius laughed, “And I’ll have you know that I was the one who broke up with
Emmeline. Not the other way around, despite what she’d have you believe.”

“Mmm, and how long did it take you to remove the curse that she put on you afterwards? One
week…two…?”

“Oh, sod off.”

They stepped through the portrait hole, and were greeted by the sight of Remus, muttering over a
table that was completely covered by open textbooks.

“It’s fine. It’ll all be fine once we get the study group up and running again…”

“Talking to yourself, Moony?” James asked, grinning as they approached. Sirius scanned the desk
—there were a few additional textbooks hovering above it, held up with levitation charms.

“Merlin’s wrinkly ballsack,” he gaped, shaking his head, “You can’t have this much homework
after the first week?!”

“I’m reading around my subject.” Remus huffed, snippily.

Suddenly, a mousy blond head poked out from under the desk.

“Here you are, Remus,” said Christopher, holding up a pencil. Sirius frowned.
“Cheers!” Remus smiled absentmindedly, plucking the pencil from the smaller boy’s fingers and
beginning immediately to scribble on his parchment.

“Oh, hello Black,” Christopher said, swallowing and ducking his head when he caught sight of
Sirius. Remus paused his writing to glance between the two of them.

“Hello.” Sirius sniffed, dismissively, before turning back to Remus. “Study group, is it?”

“No, just ordinary studying today,” Remus said, looking back at his parchment, “But I was just
saying we ought to set up a meeting soon – if people still want to do it.”

“Of course they will!” Christopher gushed, “You got half of us through our OWLs last year.”

Sirius felt a prickling twist of irritation at the soppy, adoring way in which Christopher looked at
Remus. Clearly, not all parties involved had received the memo that they were ‘just friends.’

“Yeah,” Sirius said, slowly, “Yeah, I might join this year. What’dyou think, Prongs?”

James had already gotten comfortable on the sofa, where he was lovingly polishing his broom. He
looked up upon hearing his name, protesting,

“Mate, I’m busy enough as it is! –Sorry, Remus.”

Remus didn’t seem all that fussed; he shrugged, casually, turning to Sirius,

“You’d hate being in a study group.”

“Well, I’ll never know unless I try, will I? And you’re always saying it’s such an important year.”

“Mm, I’ve been saying that for the past three years, actually…”

“And it’s finally sunk in!” Sirius shot him a grin, flopping down on the sofa next to James.
“Besides,” he glanced over at Christopher, who was watching the exchange with obvious
discomfort, “I might be able to impart some of my wisdom.”

Remus shook his head, but didn’t try to argue, and Sirius grinned smugly as he went back to
scribbling notes on his parchment. Beside him, James began to whistle as he polished his broom;
on the floor in front of Remus, Christopher ducked his head and went back to writing his own
notes.

For an indulgent moment, Sirius allowed himself to stare. He watched Remus write, long fingers
stretching out to flip through to a new page in one of the levitating books, brow slightly furrowed.
He was chewing on his bottom lip, glancing back and forth between his parchment and the text,
hair a mess from where he had obviously been running his fingers through it. Sirius swallowed,
thinking about how it would feel to run his fingers through Moony’s hair…

It wasn’t as if he wanted to join the study group just to spite Christopher—although, to be perfectly
honest, Sirius wasn’t particularly fond of the way the younger boy followed Remus around like a
lost puppy. But aside from the possessive urge that arose in him whenever he saw the two of them
together, Sirius figured that joining the study group might very well be one of the only ways he’d
actually get to spend some time with Moony.

They were hardly a week into the term, and Remus had already begun to act like the world would
end if he didn’t spend every waking minute with his nose glued to a bloody textbook. When he
wasn’t in class, he was in the library—he spent all his free lessons there, along with half their
lunch periods and his entire evenings. Even when the library closed, Sirius had to march
downstairs to the common room and drag Remus up to bed every night just to get the silly sod to
stop studying.

It wasn’t as though it was out of character; Remus had always been obsessive about marks (aside
from their very first year at Hogwarts), and it was no surprise that this obsession had worsened
with NEWTs coming up. But still, Sirius had thought…had hoped, at least, that they might spend
more time together. That Remus might make time for him, in addition to homework. They were…
going out, after all.

Of course, they still did spend some time together; eating meals, watching Gryffindor quidditch
practices, sitting around the fireplace in the common room. But there were always other people—
their friends, their classmates, their professors—hanging about, and Sirius couldn’t exactly do all
the things he wanted to with Remus in front of them.

It seemed that the only time he could ever really catch Remus alone was when he was in the
library, and that…that was alright. After Mary’s help the previous spring, Sirius no longer felt like
his heart was about to burst out of his chest every time he walked through the doors. But it was
still…uncomfortable; there was still that gut response, the kick of adrenaline that told him to run. It
was easier to manage, now, easier to breathe through it and hold his ground.

Still, Sirius avoided the library when he could. And Remus probably didn’t want to be bothered
when he was working there, anyway.

It might not have been so difficult, the space between them, if all of their other friends weren’t just
as busy as Remus. James had a whole host of new responsibilities as Head Boy, which (thanks to
Lily’s influence) he was taking very seriously, in addition to his already-insane quidditch practice
schedule (which was separate from his own, personal workout schedule. The man was a
masochist). Peter and Mary were busy with their respective romantic pursuits—Peter and Dorcas
were on-again-off-again, and Mary had started seeing some new bloke whose name Sirius kept
forgetting. Even Marlene, who could usually be counted on to chat shit about their professors or
talk quidditch, was throwing herself into her extracurricular healing lessons to prepare for the
healer academy entrance exams. This was all extremely unfortunate for Sirius, as he wasn’t sure
that he had ever been more desperately in need of a distraction.

Ever since James’s revelation on their first day back, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about
Reg. Since their…argument, in that spring of fifth year, Sirius had taken Reggie’s words to heart:
he had fucked off. They’d hardly looked at each other, hardly spoken—Sirius had been doing his
best to avoid even thinking about his younger brother. Anytime their paths crossed—Reggie’s
hurled insults as he left for the train last Christmas, the fleeting moments in which their eyes met
across the Great Hall—Sirius had only felt anger, a crackling flame that ate through all other
emotion.

James was still angry. James was very, very clearly angry, and for good reason. Sirius knew that he
should be angry, too; that he should be furious with Reg—the mark was a betrayal, a final
renouncement of everything they had ever been, everything they ever could have become. It was a
final, unchangeable choice.

And yet, when Sirius reached for it—that familiar, searing rage—all that he found was ashes, as if
he had burnt himself out. And without the heat of anger, there was nothing to stop the cold fingers
of guilt from prying apart his ribs and wrapping, bitter and frozen, around his heart.

Should he have tried harder? Should he have insisted? Should he have gone to Dumbledore
anyway, stood in his office screaming until he finally understood? Should he have gone back to
that house, smashed the windows, dragged Reggie out over the broken glass? Surely, he should
have done something—anything, before it got to this point.

But somehow, foolishly, he had convinced himself that there was still time. That his parents would
wait until Reg was of age, or until he had finished school, at least. He was toeing the line, wasn’t
he? He was already the perfect son—they shouldn’t have needed…this. Hadn’t he already proved
his loyalty, done enough?

Because no matter what evidence there was to the contrary, Sirius couldn’t make himself believe
that this was something that Reg has wanted. No matter how he reminded himself that Reggie had
made the choice, he couldn’t force himself to swallow it as truth. Reg was still his brother, his baby
brother, who whinged about everything and hated carrots and cried over dead birds in the garden.
He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t dark.

But he couldn’t explain that to the others. Sirius was already far too aware of the looks he got, from
some of their peers—the new weight given to his family name. No one would say it, of course, but
it was the undercurrent in the wary glances, the whisper behind closed doors: the Blacks were
death eaters—all of them. There was no room left for questioning, no room for doubt; Sirius was
either with them, or against them. He couldn’t have it both ways—that had never been an option.

So he swallowed it. All the questions, the doubts, the guilt he felt when he saw Reggie in the halls,
trying not to stare at those dark circles under his eyes—who could he tell? James? Everything was
so clear, to James; there were two sides to the war, wrong and right. And Regulus had chosen
wrong. There wasn’t anything more to say about it.

By the time Remus’s study club rolled around, Sirius was actually quite relieved to have something
to do with his afternoon. He’d fallen into the bad habit of obsessively checking the map, when left
alone, just to see where Reggie was. Just to make sure that he wasn’t—up to anything.

The desks in the Charms classroom had been arranged into a sort of horseshoe shape, so that
everyone was facing each other. There were already a handful of students seated when Sirius
walked in, and a Hufflepuff girl waved at him enthusiastically.

“Sit here, Sirius!”

That suited him—the desk she gestured to was directly across from Remus’s spot in the half-circle.
Sirius smiled at her as he sat, trying to remember her name—he was pretty sure it was Martha.

Sirius glanced over at Remus, catching his eye, letting the smile curl into something a bit more
genuine. The other boy cleared his throat, looking away to address the room.

“Hi everyone,” he said, eyes scanning across their faces, “Nice to see you all back. Er. Shall we
start by picking a subject? Anyone struggling with anything?”

Sirius tapped his fingers on his desk as they went around the room, volunteering ideas. The fifth
years needed help with Astronomy, which Christopher offered to help with (figured that he’d be
interested in the most boring subject, Sirius thought to himself). There were three sixth years that
wanted Remus to go over their History essays with them, and some second years that had come for
help with Transfiguration.

“Ok,” Remus nodded to the sixth years, “If you lot can wait a bit, I’ll just get these two going on
the Transfiguration stuff first…”

“I can do that,” Sirius offered.

Remus blinked. “Really?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, sceptical.

“Really.” Sirius told him, resisting the urge to roll his own eyes, “I’m better at Transfiguration than
you, anyway.”

“Oh, ok then…”

The two second years looked at him like he was a proper celebrity when he walked over, and Sirius
grinned at them. Maybe there was something to all this teaching lark, after all…

The two hours passed much more quickly than Sirius had expected; the second years, while shy at
first, soon opened up, and they had quite a lot of fun turning their quills into water goblets. By the
end of the session, both students had successfully managed the spell, and Sirius had even taught
them to perform aguamenti so that they could fill their newly-transfigured goblets. He waved to
them as they scurried off, staying behind to help Remus tidy up.

“Will you be ok here?” Christopher asked, hovering in the doorway, “I’m supposed to be patrolling
with Lily.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sirius said, attempting a friendly grin, though all he wanted to do was scowl.

“Ok, good.” Christopher glanced at him, dismissively (the little prick), before turning back to
Remus, “See you Saturday for stationery shopping?”

What?

“Great, yeah, meet you in the common room after breakfast,” Remus replied, shoving a desk back
into place.

“See you!”

The moment the door had shut, Sirius stopped trying to hide his scowl, placing his hands on his
hips.

“You’re going to Hogsmeade with him?!”

“I said I would.” Remus blinked, looking surprised by the sharpness of his voice, “I need a new
quill. What’s the problem? I can meet you lot after we shop for quills, can’t I?”

“But I thought you and me would…I’ve hardly seen you this week.”

“We wouldn’t be alone, James and Peter would be there. It’s not like I’m taking anything away
from you.”

Sirius tried to ignore how much the words stung. Did Remus not want to spend time with him?

“Lily and James will be off by themselves. And Peter and Dorcas, probably.” He looked down at
the floor, scuffing his shoe along the stone.

“You can join me and Christopher, if you want.” Remus offered. Sirius pulled a face.

“Stationery shopping.”

“You need quills too. The only reason I keep running out is because you pinch all of mine.”

“But Moony…”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Of course not.” Sirius swallowed, turning back to the desks and using magic to move everything
back into place. I just wanted to spend time with you, you prick.

He sighed, relenting. “I’ll come stationery shopping, then.” Better than nothing.

After a moment, Remus relented a bit, too. “I’ll see if I can get rid of Chris after. Or we could find
the others and go for a drink?”

“I’m not going to Madam Puddifoot’s.” Sirius told him, finally looking back up. Remus smiled,
reaching out to clap him on the shoulder.

“Good. Or I’d have to stop fancying you.”

“As if you could.” Sirius caught his wrist, pulling him closer, pressing their lips together hungrily.

At least we’re alone now…

They broke apart, both breathing heavily, and Sirius glanced at the door.

“Do you have to run off to the library or somewhere?”

Remus swallowed, shaking his head, and Sirius leaned back in.

“Good. Colloportus.”

The door locked with a soft snick, and Sirius curled a hand around the back of Moony’s neck,
tugging him back down.

* * *

Saturday 17th September 1977

“Have you charmed your bloody curtains shut, you lunatic?!” James’s voice interrupted the very
pleasant dream that Sirius had been having—a dream which involved quite a bit of skin, and the
boy lying next to him…

Well. Not lying, anymore—upon hearing Potter’s shouting, Remus had sat bolt upright, clutching
the blanket to his chest like an old woman trying to preserve her modesty. Sirius groaned and rolled
over, watching the curtains shake as James tried to pry them open.

“Bugger off, Potter.”

“You’ll miss breakfast!”

“Be down in a bit.”

“Hogsmeade today, remember! Common room at ten o’clock sharp.”

“Piss off, Prongs!”

“Charming,” James tutted, but he finally stopped trying to rip the curtains down. After a moment,
there was the sound of the door swinging open, and a set of footsteps receding down the stairs.

Remus released a breath, letting the blanket drop as he pressed a hand to his chest.

“Christ.”

Sirius stifled a laugh. “Bit jumpy there, Moony?” He rolled over onto his back, yawning as he
stretched his arms over his head.

“I really need to stop falling asleep here.”

“You’re fine. The charm held, didn’t it?”

“You and James have boundary issues.” Remus muttered, shoving back the bedcovers.

“Probably. Hey, don’t go!” Sirius grabbed his arm, trying to tug him back.

“Breakfast!” The other boy shook him off, searching for his underwear.

Sirius knew there would be no distracting Moony from his first love—food. He sighed and pulled
himself out of bed. Once they had both washed and dressed, they hurried down to the Great Hall,
arriving with ten minutes to spare before breakfast would end.

“I expect it of Black, but it’s not like you to miss a meal, Remus,” Lily said, from behind her copy
of that morning’s Daily Prophet.

“I was up late reading,” Remus lied, casually. Sirius smiled around his bite of toast. “I can have a
lie in on a Saturday, if I want…”

“Wasn’t saying you couldn’t.” She replied, lowering her newspaper slightly to look at him. “I was
patrolling with Christopher Barley yesterday evening. He mentioned you were going to Hogsmeade
together today…”

Sirius stiffened at Lily’s suggestive tone, stifling a sharp twist of irritation. But Remus seemed
oblivious, mumbling, “Mmph?” around his mouthful of toast and honey.

The rest of their friends had paused their conversations to look at him, exchanging sly smiles.
Remus swallowed. “Yeah. Just to Scrivenshaft’s, I need a new quill.”

“Get on quite well, don’t you?” Lily asked, with a knowing little smile that made Sirius want to
scowl at her.

“We do the study group together…”

“Did he ask you, Remus?” Mary piped up, leaning forward eagerly.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Oh, c’mon,” she leaned in a bit more, “Chris is definitely…you know; ‘that way.’ He’s so camp.”

“Is he?” Remus asked, stiffly, “I hadn’t noticed. We’re just buying quills, nothing else.”

“But if he fancies you—"

“Merlin, leave him alone, will you?!” Sirius snapped, frowning at them, “Just because Christopher
is…whatever, doesn’t mean Moony automatically has to go out with him. He’s not that desperate.”

“Oi,” Remus protested, “Who says I’m desperate at all?!”

“Exactly.” Sirius said firmly, “See? He’s not interested.”

“Oh, but Chris is really nice,” Lily urged, “I thought you’d make a good couple. Similar interests
and whatnot.”

“Maybe Moony doesn’t want to go out with someone similar.” Sirius replied, setting his coffee
mug down a bit too forcefully.

Under the table, he felt Moony’s hand settle gently on his knee. Sirius glanced at him, realising
that he was probably overreacting a bit, and turned back to his plate. He kept quiet for the rest of
breakfast, and Lily moved on to some other topic, though Mary shot him a funny look.

“You can’t let stuff like that bother you,” Remus whispered to him, as they walked back to the
common room. The others were a few feet ahead, out of earshot.

“It should bother you.” Sirius grumbled, still irritated by the girls’ assumptions.

“Yeah, but you need to learn to be more subtle if we’re going to—"

“Oh, we’re back to this again,” Sirius snapped, “I’m sorry I’m not as good at all this undercover
bullshit as you are.”

“What?!” Remus asked, staring at him. Sirius flushed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Nothing.” He began to walk faster, moving ahead to catch up with James.

Sirius knew it wasn’t fair of him, being annoyed with Remus when it had been his decision to keep
their relationship a secret. But it was just…it seemed so easy for him; the lying, the sneaking
around. Remus never seemed to struggle the way Sirius did with spending so much time apart, not
being able to touch in front of the others…it made him wonder, sometimes, if the other boy truly
wanted him as much as he wanted Moony.

When they got back to the common room, Christopher was waiting for Remus, hovering near the
fireplace. His face split into a grin when the older boy walked in, and Moony smiled back,
hurrying over.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” Christopher nodded, eagerly, “I’ve got a list of books I wanted to look for, too – if that’s
ok with you? I mean, if you have time, before you have to meet your friends…”

“You’re my friend too, Chris.” Remus said, pointedly. Sirius scowled, and didn’t bother trying to
follow as the two boys left—clearly, he was no longer welcome along.

But that didn’t matter. So what? Who cared if all his friends had other people they wanted to spend
time with—Sirius had his own things to do. He stopped by the dorm as the others left for
Hogsmeade, grabbing James’s invisibility cloak and shoving it under his robes.

As he wandered the streets of the village, Sirius assured himself that it was perfectly normal, what
he was doing. There was absolutely nothing wrong with borrowing your best mate’s invisibility
cloak just to spy on your little brother. It was perfectly reasonable to feel a kick of anxiety,
knowing he wouldn’t be able to find Reggie’s name on the map while he was outside of Hogwarts
—knowing that he would have no way to know where his brother was, what he was up to. It was
completely normal to feel a burning desire to see his sibling, to know what Reggie was doing, and
to feel, simultaneously, a cold swell of fear when he thought about actually facing Reg, actually
speaking to him.

At least, that was what Sirius told himself.

He felt a (perfectly normal) swell of relief when he finally found his brother, mucking about
outside Dervish and Banges with the slimy little Crouch kid. Sirius studied him, looking for signs
of—changes. He seemed thinner, again, although it was hard to tell underneath the baggy robes;
but his face was drawn, bones sharp through skin, and the knuckles on his hands stuck out like
marbles. He still looked sallow, pale, but there was a bit more colour in his cheeks, and when he
wasn’t chattering with Crouch he would sometimes tilt his face up towards the sun, just the
slightest bit.

Sirius followed them, as they walked about the village. They didn’t seem—evil. Dark. They just
seemed like two teenagers, chatting shit and complaining about classes. Sirius wasn’t sure what
he’d been expecting; some sort of young-death-eaters’ meeting? But everything was completely
normal—at least, until they walked past the Three Broomsticks, and caught sight of two other
students turning the corner down the road.

“Here they come!” Barty elbowed Reg, who glanced up. A cruel smile spread across his face, and
Sirius’s heart sunk—then turned to stone, as he saw who Crouch was referring to.

Remus and Chris stood in front of the sixth year Slytherins; Remus, frowning sternly, and Chris,
glancing anxiously between Regulus and Crouch.

“Oh, get lost, will you?” Remus groaned, “Go and find someone else to annoy.”

“Watch out, Loony Lupin,” Regulus sneered, “Chrissy boy there is a knob-gobbler!”

Sirius’s stomach twisted, sickly. He couldn’t help feeling a surge of sympathy for Christopher, who
blushed furiously and stared down at his feet. Sirius got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time
the mousy boy had heard things like this, from the other two sixth-years, which only made him feel
more nauseous.

Remus, however, continued to stare the Slytherins down. Anger flashed in his eyes as he reached
into his robes for his wand, and—sensing what was about to happen—Sirius quickly ducked into
an alley, yanking off the invisibility cloak.

“Piss off, Black!” Remus threatened, “Or I’ll tell mummy you still play quidditch!”

Sirius crept back out of the alley in time to see Regulus withdrawing his own wand.

“Yeah,” he said, approaching from behind Remus, “And I’ll tell all your creepy mates how you
wet the bed until you were ten!” Remus glanced at him in surprise, laughing.

“Is that true?”

“Yup.”

“Shut up!” Reg shouted, furiously. He raised his wand without hesitation, pointing it towards the
three Gryffindors. “Flagrante!”
 “Protego!” Sirius shouted back, barely in time to deflect the curse.

“Just you wait!” Regulus seethed, clutching his wand so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“What’re you gonna do, give me detention?” Sirius scoffed, “I’m quaking in my boots. Run along,
little brother.”

Regulus glared at him, hatefully—there was too much fury, in that gaze, for a spat over a couple of
hurled insults. Sirius tried to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine.

“You’re no brother of mine!”

Regulus sneered at him, one last time, before turning on his heel and storming off. Barty followed
behind him, glaring over his shoulder.

“Suits me,” Sirius muttered, watching his brother disappear. Once the Slytherins were out of sight,
he looked over at Remus and Christopher.

“Three Broomsticks?”

Chapter End Notes

bye for now regulus <3 dw he'll be back tho

 Seventh Year: The Mastermind
Chapter Summary

mischief

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Neither Remus nor Christopher questioned where Sirius had appeared from, which was a relief.
The younger boy still seemed a bit shaken up from the confrontation, and Sirius encouraged him to
come and sit with them at the Three Broomsticks, feeling an awful swell of guilt when he thought
about the horrible things Reggie had said to him…

Fortunately, the rest of their friends had already congregated in the cosy pub, and they pulled a few
more chairs up to the packed table. Remus recounted what had happened outside, and by the end of
the story both Lily and James were scowling, fiercely.

“I can’t believe he’s still allowed to be a prefect,” Lily shook her head, gripping her butterbeer a bit
more tightly, “He’s been worse than ever this year – and don’t get me started on the Crouch kid, he
gives me the creeps.” As if to emphasise this point, she shuddered, and James quickly wrapped an
arm around her shoulders.

Next to Remus, Christopher shrugged, looking a bit overwhelmed with the attention he was
receiving.

“It’s fine, I can handle those two idiots.”

They hadn’t actually specified what sorts of insults the Slytherins had hurled, at Christopher’s
request. Sirius frowned as he studied the nervous boy’s face, wondering again if he heard…that
sort of thing often, from Regulus.

“Ought to teach them a lesson,” he muttered darkly, flagging down Rosmerta to order another
round of butterbeers. Remus mumbled something under his breath, which Sirius couldn’t quite
catch.

“What sort of thing were you thinking, Pads?” James asked eagerly, leaning across the table.

“I’d need to think very hard.” Sirius sat up a bit straighter, making a show of stroking his chin as
though he were deep in thought.

“We haven’t done a prank in ages,” Peter chirped, looking just as excited as James, “Not since…
er…”

“The Bubotuber-puffballs.” Remus said dryly, taking a sip of his drink. Sirius blinked,
remembering how that prank had ended—he picked up his own mug of butterbeer quickly, gulping
it in an effort to hide the blush that crept over his cheeks.

“It’s best if you just cover your ears, Christopher,” Lily advised, with a sarcastic smile, “There’s
no stopping them once they’re in planning mode.”
Remus stuck his tongue out at her, that familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye—which was very
decidedly not helping with Sirius’s flushed face.

He turned away from Remus, looking back over to James. The other boy raised his eyebrows
—Full-scale Marauder prank?

Sirius grinned. Full-scale Marauder prank.

James smiled back, eyebrows still meaningfully raised. It’ll have to be something big.

Sirius waggled his own eyebrows. EXTREMELY big. Mind-blowingly big. Enormously—

“You wouldn’t hurt anyone…would you?” Christopher asked, fiddling nervously with the handle
on his mug.

“What are you looking at us for?!” Sirius asked, nodding towards Remus, “Moony’s the dangerous
one.”

“How dare you.” Remus smirked (Oh, Merlin), “Everyone knows that you three lead me astray.
Anyway, it’s seventh year, and we’ve done everything there is to do.”

“Have some imagination!” James chided, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from the boy who once
literally changed time just for a laugh.”

“That was you?!” Christopher gaped, mortified. Remus clucked his tongue,

“I did not ‘literally’ do anything. We mucked about with the clocks.”

“When you were eleven,” Sirius smirked, “You single-handedly organised and implemented a full-
scale itching powder attack on the Slytherin boys.”

“Rosehip seeds.” Remus sniffed.

“And!” Peter chimed in, grinning eagerly, “You were the one who perfected the soap expansion
spell when we blew up all the toilets in second year.”

“Ok, yeah, I helped with that…it was a team effort!”

Across the table, Lily gave him an impish smile. “Remus, wasn’t it you who invented that word-
swapping spell to stop the Slytherins using insults?”

“Oh, I liked that one!” Chris smiled, perking up a bit.

“I didn’t invent it.” Remus corrected, “I just…er…did the research.”

“See,” James leaned, conspiratorially, towards Christopher. “Moony is our criminal mastermind.
Without him, we wouldn’t be the legends we are today.”

Christopher appeared to be utterly shocked by this news. He stared at Remus as if he was seeing
him for the first time; Remus, in turn, eyed them warily, sighing,

“I hate you all.”

“Does that mean you’ll help us with another prank?”

“…Yes.”
“I’ll help too!” Christopher offered, looking slightly giddy.

“Oh for goodness’ sake,” Lily shook her head, “I suppose someone had better monitor you lot, if
only for health and safety…I’m in.”

“Excellent.” James smiled down at Lily, and she rolled her eyes at him, stifling her answering
smile.

* * *

Monday 3rd October 1977

Sirius yawned into his mug of coffee, nearly spilling half of it down the front of his shirt. Mary,
who was sitting beside him, raised an eyebrow; he winked at her, smiling. The morning post had
just come, and Remus was reading something written on what appeared to be a torn-up scrap of
paper. After a moment, he released a relieved sigh and tucked the paper away in his pocket,
smiling unconsciously.

“Who was that from?” James asked, shovelling a bite of eggs into his mouth.

“A friend from St. Edmund’s,” Remus replied, casually. Grant. Sirius caught his eye, and Remus
gave him a very slight nod. Grant was okay, then—Sirius smiled back, feeling just as relieved.
Though Remus hadn’t said anything about it, Sirius knew he’d been worrying—at least now he
could relax a bit, knowing that his friend was safe.

Across the table, Remus cleared his throat. “Marc Bolan died.”

Just like that, Sirius’s smile fell away. “Oh no!” He cried, in tandem with Mary (and, to his
surprise, Lily).

James opened his mouth. “Who’s—”

“The singer from T. Rex.”

“Oh yeah! Wasn’t that the muggle band you two were obsessed with in first year?”

Mary scoffed, rolling her eyes,

“Bloody purebloods.”

“Oi,” Sirius protested, nudging her—he didn’t want to be lumped in with James when it came to
music taste. “That’s really crap news, though. Hey, I know what we should d—”

“No.” Lily interrupted, sternly, “I know that look, Black!”

“What?” He asked, smiling angelically. Lily frowned.

“No parties.”

“Oh, come on, Evans, it’s for—”

“I’ll tell you what I told James.” She said firmly, “Birthdays are fine, but not during exams, and not
this early in the year!”

“Prongs?!” Sirius turned to glare at James, raising his eyebrows. How could Potter agree to any
ground rules about parties, without consulting him?!

“Sorry, mate,” James scratched the back of his head, guiltily, “I did agree to that…y’know, Head
Boy and everything…”

“Betrayal!” Sirius cried, clutching his heart, “Treachery! Treason!”

“All right, calm it down…” Lily tutted, standing, “I’m letting you have your birthday, aren’t I?
Leave James alone.”

“You off?” James asked, forgetting Sirius as he turned to look at her.

“Potions.” She nodded, “I want to get there early to ask Slughorn something.”

“I’ll walk you.” James leapt to his feet, smiling dopily. He didn’t look away from Lily, reaching
out to take her hand as he said, “See you in a bit, Pads? And see you at lunch, Moony…”

“See ya,” Remus replied, too distracted by the plate of fresh toast that had just appeared to look up.

Sirius frowned, watching the couple walk away, looking at each other as if they were the only two
people in the world.

“Can you believe that?” He muttered, taking another swig of his coffee.

“What?” Remus asked absentmindedly, brow furrowed as his eyes darted between the honey and
jam.

“Prongs not wanting a party!”

“Well, it is quite early in the year…”

“This time last year he’d have been all for it.” Sirius grumbled, “It’s her.”

“Oh dear,” Mary said, with a knowing smile, “I know what’s wrong with you, Mr. Black.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m the same as I ever was, it’s—”

“Exactly!” She interrupted, raising an eyebrow, “You never change. You’re jealous.”

That was the most ridiculous thing Sirius had ever heard. “Pffft.” He crossed his arms, slouching
down in his seat and letting his legs sprawl out beneath the table. “As if I would be jealous of him.”
Lily had James wrapped completely around her finger—it seemed like a horrible fate, to Sirius.

“Not of James,” Mary said, as though it were obvious, “You’re jealous of Lily. She’s taken your
best friend away and now you’re feeling neglected, right?”

Merlin, why did Mary have to go and say a thing like that? She made him sound like a pouting
child!

“No.” He snapped, vehemently, pushing back from the table. “I’m going to Potions.” He stomped
off through the doors to the Great Hall without looking back, feeling even more irritated than he
had before.
Who did Mary think she was, acting like she knew all there was to know about his friendship with
James? He wasn’t a little kid, he knew that his friends were allowed to have relationships if they
bloody wanted to. It wasn’t as if James spent all his time following Lily around, asking if she could
tag along with them, talking about her when she wasn’t there…

Well, okay, maybe James did spend most of his time absorbed in Lily Evans, one way or another.
So what if Sirius found it irritating? It was understandable to get annoyed, sometimes, if your best
mate’s entire personality suddenly became his girlfriend. At least when James had still been pining
over Evans, he’d known how to have some fun. But now, too busy playing the perfect Head Boy to
Lily’s Head Girl, he hardly had any time to join in on pranks with Sirius—they hadn’t even done
any Honeyduke’s runs, or snuck about under the invisibility cloak. Sirius scowled as he made his
way down to the dungeons, scuffing his shoes along the stone floors. This was their final year at
Hogwarts—it was supposed to be their last hurrah!

By the time he reached the Potions classroom, he was in a sour mood. Sirius stomped over to the
cauldron that he shared with James, dropping his bag carelessly on the floor. The other boy raised
an eyebrow.

“You alright there, mate?”

Sirius grunted, slouching into his chair and flipping open his textbook to a random page, where he
began to doodle in the margin.

“Alright, students!” Professor Slughorn clapped his hands together, bustling to the front of the
room, “Eyes up front, please!” He beamed out at them, raising his eyebrows excitedly.

“We’ll be brewing Exstimulo potions today, which can be rather touchy, so please follow the
instructions on the board exactly…”

By the time Slughorn had finished explaining the ingredients they’d need (which was basically just
a repetition of what was already in their textbooks), Sirius had practically fallen asleep.

“Dunno why he has to rewrite all the instructions on the board,” he grumbled, helping James lay
out the ingredients on their table, “They’re literally all right there in our books.”

James shrugged, grinning. “Think he just likes to hear himself talk, to be honest.”

Sirius scowled, rolling up his sleeves to begin sorting their ingredients, and James nudged him.

“What’s got you in a mood?” He teased, still grinning. When Sirius didn’t respond, James leaned
in, whispering conspiratorially,

“I have a feeling Exstiumlo’ll be quite a bit of fun to brew…especially once we get to see how
Snivellus’s potion turns out…”

Sirius glanced up, narrowing his eyes.

“What?”

James continued to grin that shit-eating grin, and Sirius felt a familiar spark of excitement. He set
down the bitter root in his hand, whispering excitedly,

“What have you done, Potter??”

James paused, twisting around to make sure no one was paying attention. When he turned back to
Sirius, he had a familiar mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Laced his cauldron with pixie dust,” he muttered, under his breath, “Earlier. While Lily was
talking to Slughorn. He won’t notice ‘til the potion’s already started brewing—and by then it’ll be
too late.”

Sirius shook his head, smile spreading slowly across his face.

“Potter, you mad genius!”

The other boy laughed, and they both went back to arranging their ingredients, exchanging
knowing smiles as they worked. Sure enough, halfway through the class, Snape’s cauldron went up
in flames—Slughorn bustled over, tutting,

“My, my, Severus…why did you add pixie dust?...”

James and Sirius nearly choked on their laughter, and Snape spent the rest of the class glaring
murderously at them. By the end of the lesson, the earlier frustration of the morning had been
forgotten—Sirius watched James sling an arm around Lily’s shoulders, shaking his head fondly.
Lily Evans might be able to take Prongs out of mischief, but nobody could take the mischief out of
Prongs.

* * *

Friday 7th October 1977

By the end of the week, however, Sirius couldn’t help but feel neglected once more. He had barely
seen James at all outside of classes—too busy with quidditch and Head Boy responsibilities—and
when they did spend time together, Lily was there more often than not, wrapped up in James’s
arms and making it impossible for Sirius to even broach the subject of marauding without her stern
looks and disapproving tutting.

Peter was having an off-week with Dorcas, and seemed to be spending more time trying to win her
back than he actually spent with her when they were together, and Remus had been spending long
hours in the library, as usual, leaving Sirius once more to his own devices. He went to bed on
Thursday night feeling grumpy, wondering if this was really how they were going to spend their
last year at Hogwarts—a month gone by already, and not a single marauding mission!

James and Remus were already gone when Sirius woke up the next morning, though once he went
down to the common room he discovered Remus reading in an armchair.

“Morning,” Sirius muttered, still feeling rather grumpy. The other boy yawned, sticking a scrap of
paper between the pages of his book to mark his spot.

“Morning. Breakfast?”

Sirius nodded, heading for the portrait hole. They had just stepped through when the fat lady
began, abruptly, to sing, in a warbling high falsetto;
‘Ride it on out like a bird in the sky ways

Ride it on out like you were a bird

Fly it all out like an eagle in a sunbeam

Ride it on out like you were a bird…’

At first, Sirius could only stare in shock—but then, he began to laugh.

“Brilliant!” He reached out to grip Remus’s arm, shaking his head, “Absolutely brilliant!”

As they walked down the hall, the other portraits began to break into song too—pretty soon, “Ride
a White Swan” could be heard from almost every corner of the castle, blaring not only from
portraits but also from radios, gramophones, record players—even the suits of armour! The
pureblood students were baffled, but most of the muggle-born students were just as delighted as
Sirius, singing along at the top of their lungs as the halls filled with crowds of students on their way
to breakfast.

By the time everyone had gathered in the Great Hall, the noise was so bad that McGonagall
announced to the room that lessons had been cancelled for the entire day so that the professors
could figure out how to neutralise the spell (Sirius had seen Flitwick trying to cast Silencio in the
hall, and the portrait he’d used it on had only begun to belt out Marc Bolan’s greatest hit with even
more vigour).

Sirius could barely contain his excitement as they sat down for breakfast, listening to a group of
sixth-year girls chanting across the hall;

‘Wear a tall hat like a druid in the old days

Wear a tall hat and a tattooed gown

Ride a white swan like the people of the Beltane

Wear your hair long, babe you can’t go wrong…’

“Who’d you think did it?” Peter asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the racket.

Sirius grinned. “I don’t need to think, I know.”

“Who?!” Mary demanded, leaning over.

“Prongs, obviously!” Sirius told her, “Probably trying to make it up to me, about the party.”

Mary looked sceptical. “Blimey,” she said, frowning, “James? By himself?”

“Amazing, right?” Sirius shook his head, “I didn’t even think Prongs knew any T. Rex songs!”
“Mm.” Remus said, sharply, “Funny thing, that.”

“What’s up with you?” Mary poked his side, “I thought you liked T. Rex!”

“I do.” Remus replied, coolly. Sirius shot him a confused look, but he ignored it, standing abruptly.
“If lessons are cancelled, I s’pose I’ll go and catch up on some homework.”

Sirius frowned.

“I thought we were going to – er – play chess?”

Remus shrugged, looking away. “Not in the mood.” He stalked off, and Mary glanced between the
two of them, raising a brow.

“I’ll play chess with you, Sirius!” Peter piped up, smiling hopefully.

“Er—thanks, Pete, but I think I’d actually better go catch up on homework, too…” He pushed back
from the table, following Moony out.

It was obvious, what was wrong—Sirius cursed himself for jumping to conclusions so quickly. Of
course it hadn’t been James. The attention to detail, the music choice, the staggering scale of the
prank…it had Moony written all over it.

Sirius took a breath before entering the library, letting the familiar tide of anxiety rise in his chest,
breathing slowly until it ebbed. He found Remus exactly where he had expected: pouting by
himself at one of the desks.

“Alright, Moody?”

Remus glanced up, frowning when he caught sight of him. Sirius suppressed a smile as he watched
the tall boy slouch in his seat, folding his arms over his chest in an uncharacteristically petulant
gesture.

“I’m busy,” he muttered, flipping open one of his textbooks.

“Mm, you look it.” Sirius pulled out the chair opposite, spinning it around to straddle it. He folded
his arms along the back and rested his chin on them, unable to stop the fond smile that spread
across his face.

“Go away.” Remus pouted, staring stubbornly down at his book.

“Moony.” Sirius tilted his head to the side, “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Remus shrugged, still refusing to look at him, and Sirius rolled his eyes. “You twat, why didn’t you
just say so?!”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Ok…”

“I dunno.”

“Could it be that you are completely mental, in addition to being a moody git?”

“Bugger off.” Remus’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile, and Sirius grinned. Gotcha.
 He sighed, dramatically. “Y’know, Moony, if you insist on being so secretive all the time,
misunderstandings will happen…”

“I know.” Remus glanced up at him, nervously, and then looked back down. “Sorry.” He slumped,
slightly, fidgeting with the pages of his book as he asked, “Do you like it, though?”

“Of course I like it, you idiot!” Sirius slapped a hand down on the desk, sitting up. “It’s incredible,
Remus. Thank you. I…” he faltered, flushing, “I really love it.”

“You do?” Remus looked up, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“I do,” Sirius nodded, earnestly, “I’ve always loved your magic. It’s so…you.”

“Shut up.” Remus turned back to his book, blushing, and Sirius rested his chin on his hands again,
watching him fight to suppress his smile.

Under the table, Remus kicked his leg. Sirius grinned, and kicked him back.

Chapter End Notes

i know the mischief/prongs line is cheesy i KNOW but i had to do it don't come for me
 Seventh Year: Amortentia
Chapter Summary

good soup

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Friday 4th November 1977 – 2:00 AM in Gryffindor Tower

“I think there’s something to the colour changing idea,” James insisted, waving his goblet
haphazardly as he spoke. The contents had been drained long ago, fortunately, so there was no risk
of spillage.

“Nah, it’s too obvious,” Sirius slurred, feeling pleasantly warm and fuzzy, a lingering effect of the
copious amounts of firewhisky that he had consumed. James had challenged him to a drinking
contest, but by the time they had finished the bottle they’d completely lost track of who had
actually drunk more.

“Besides,” Lily added, stifling a yawn, “What do we change? Their robes?”

“Their whole dormitory!” Mary grinned, swaying drunkenly with her arms above her head. She
was the only one of them left standing, kept dancing by the power of Nina Simone. “Complete
makeover! Bright pink!”

“Why pink, though?” Sirius took a swig from his own goblet (it was supposed to be Witches Brew,
but Remus had replaced it with water half an hour ago and thought he’d been sneaky about it).
“Some people might like pink.”

“Ha, on your own, Black!” Marlene poked her tongue out at him from where she was lying upside-
down on an armchair, legs sticking out over the back. It made Sirius dizzy to look at her, cheeks
gone red with all the blood rushing to her head. But Marlene seemed perfectly content, watching
Mary twist back and forth in front of the fire.

The common room had emptied out over the course of the past hour, as drunken students stumbled
back to their dorms after Sirius’s eighteenth birthday party. It had been just as boisterous and
chaotic as the previous years—but better, because this year Sirius kept catching Remus’s eye from
across the room, exchanging slow, lazy smiles that sent heat curling through his belly. He’d had
half a mind to ditch the rest of their friends and drag Moony upstairs, but seeing as it was his party,
had decided that that would probably be a bit too risky. Still, maybe once James and Peter fell
asleep…

“How would we even get hold of their robes, though?” Peter asked, drawing Sirius’s attention back
to the matter at hand, “We had the same problem in first year, remember? With the itching
powder.”
“Oh yeah,” James frowned, “That’s right – it was easier to sneak into their common room than it
was to work out how the house elves organise the laundry…”

“How did you sneak in?” Marlene asked, tearing her eyes away from Mary to glance at him, “You
can’t have perfected an invisibility spell by the age of eleven…”

“Ask us no questions and we shall tell you no lies, McKinnon.” Sirius shot her a wink, turning back
to watch Mary dance, too. “Anyway, we’ve decided not to do it.”

James raised an eyebrow. “You decided.”

“It’s my birthday!”

“Not anymore, it isn’t,” Peter chucked a cushion at his head, and Sirius dodged, laughing. He
threw one back, and then James joined in, and pretty soon the entire group was flinging couch
cushions back and forth, giggling helplessly.

“Right,” Marlene swatted away the velvet pillow James had just tossed, “I’m off to bed.” She
planted her palms on the carpet and executed a perfect forward flip, astonishingly dexterous for
someone who’d polished off nearly an entire bottle of Witches Brew herself.

“Nooo,” Mary reached out, snagging her waist, “Don’t go, Marls, dance with meee!”

Marlene chuckled, though her voice sounded slightly strained as she untangled herself from Mary’s
arms.

“I’m sure one of the boys will oblige,” she said, smiling tightly, “Night, all!”

“Night!” Everyone chorused back. Sirius allowed himself a sneaky glance at Remus, seated a
careful distance away on the sofa with his head tilted back against the cushions. He was fiddling
absentmindedly with the cuff of his jumper, those long, delicate fingers…

“I think I’ll go up, too.” Christopher said, standing from his spot on the floor. He was the only non-
seventh-year left in the empty common room, and had been stifling yawns for the past half hour.
“Don’t decide anything without me, though!”

“I really don’t think anyone’s going to formulate a plan tonight.” Lily assured him, smiling, “See
you tomorrow, Chris.”

“Night.” He gave them a jerky wave before hurrying off up the stairs.

“If no one wants to dance with me, I s’pose I’d better get in some beauty sleep too,” Mary sighed,
stumbling over to the record player to turn it off.

“And me,” Peter stood shakily, taking a final swig of his drink.

“And me—” Lily began to stand, but was thwarted by James, who tugged her down into his lap
and trapped her in his arms.

“Don’t go yet…”

“Mmm…” She nestled into his shoulder, eyes sliding closed. Sirius shook his head, thinking with a
faint sense of amusement about how James might have responded if someone had told him, this
time last year, that he would one day have Lily Evans falling asleep on his lap.

“Absolutely obscene,” Sirius teased, making a face at the two lovebirds curled up together. “Well,
if that’s the way this party’s going, I’ll follow Wormtail’s example…coming, Moony?”

“Yep.” Remus stretched as he stood, jumper riding up his long torso—everything was always too
short on him. Not that Sirius was complaining.

They tramped up the stairs after Peter, only to discover that he had shut himself in the bathroom.
The unmistakable sound of tooth-brushing and mouthwash-gargling could be heard from inside.

Remus yawned, sitting heavily on the end of his bed and rubbing at his eyes. “Good birthday?”

“Brilliant.” Sirius smiled lazily, taking advantage of the moment alone to let his eyes run
indulgently along the line of Remus’s throat as he swallowed.

“Good.”

“…If we wait until Pete’s asleep—”

“Bad idea, Padfoot, especially if James isn’t back yet. Anyway, I’m knackered.” He paused to
yawn again, then said sleepily, “Another time.”

Sirius swallowed, looking down. “Another time.” He sighed, “Just…it’s my birthday, and I’ve
barely seen you.”

“I’ve been here all day!”

“You know what I mean.” Sirius mumbled, impatiently.

It seemed like they were repeating this same conversation, more and more often. Sirius would
reach out, and Remus would brush him off, getting huffy and irritated if he tried to question why. It
was almost like…Moony just didn’t want to spend time with him. Just didn’t want him.

Remus stood and began to change into his pyjamas, and Sirius tried to swallow the hurt crawling
up his throat. He walked across the room, hovering at Remus’s bedpost. “You’re not avoiding me,
are you?”

“No!” Remus snapped, pulling on a pyjama shirt, “I’m just busy. I’ve got a lot on.” It was what he
always said.

“Ok.” Sirius took a breath, trying to choose his words carefully through the haze of drunken
feelings. “Just, y’know. Lily and James are busy too, but they still seem to find time to—”

“We’re not Lily and James, though, are we?!” Remus frowned at him, as if he were being
purposely dense. Sirius shrank back.

“No…but—”

“That was your decision.” Remus looked down, buttoning his shirt. “What was it you said? Not to
‘scream it from the rooftops.’ I thought you wanted it this way.” His voice was sharp, words taut
with frustration.

“I…” Sirius blinked, wishing he knew how to respond—how to explain. His brain still felt fuzzy;
in his current inebriated state, the only words that bubbled up were needy, pathetic. I just want to
be with you.

Remus rolled his eyes. It stung.

“You said you needed time. I’m giving it to you. But you can’t keep whinging about it.”

Sirius fell silent, unable to find a response. Remus was right—it had been his decision to keep
things secret. He couldn’t have it both ways.

Luckily, Peter chose that moment to walk out of the bathroom, effectively ending the conversation.
He yawned as he plodded to bed, flapping a hand in their direction,

“Night, lads…”

“Night Pete!” They both chirped back.

* * *

Sirius woke the next morning to the sound of James Potter, shouting in his ear.

“Come on, lazy bones! Up and at ‘em! Rise and shine!”

“Prongs,” Sirius groaned, rolling over to escape the verbal assault, “Have I ever told you how
much I despise you?”

“What’s that? You think I’m the most amazingly wonderful, jaw-droppingly handsome wizard that
has ever walked the face of the earth? Sorry, it’s a bit tricky to hear with your face under that
pillow…”

Sirius threw the pillow in question at James’s head, and he jumped back, laughing.

The others were already awake, Peter struggling with his shoelaces and Remus leaning against the
doorway of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth. He watched James and Sirius with an amused
smile. When Sirius looked up, their eyes met, and Remus seemed to realise that he was watching—
his face fell, slightly, but he didn’t look away. After a moment, Sirius smiled, shyly, back at him.

Are we okay?

Remus shook his head, grinning, and went back to brushing his teeth.

We’re okay.

They were all a bit quieter than usual, walking down to breakfast—still feeling the effects of the
previous night’s drinking. Except James, whose mysterious immunity to hangovers continued to
astound.

His girlfriend was not quite so cheerful—she glared ruefully from her spot next to Marlene as the
boys sat down, clutching a mug of black coffee. The moment James was seated, she smacked his
arm.

“Ow! Oi—what did I do?!”

“You idiot!” She frowned at him, then lowered her voice, hissing, “Why did you let me drink so
much last night?”

James grinned. “You were having fun!” Lily smacked his arm again, and he laughed.
“I’m a mess!” She groaned, “And I’ve got Slug Club tonight, ugh…”

“What are you talking about? You look radiant!”

Lily glared up at him, green eyes circled by dark bags, hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. It
was pretty clear that she’d had a rough morning; still, James appeared to be completely serious,
looking at her with the same sickeningly sweet adoration that he did every other day. Sirius
pretended to gag, which made the rest of their friends laugh and even won a grudging smile from
Lily.

By the time they were making their way to Potions, everyone had perked up a bit, fuelled by fried
eggs and black coffee. Lily gave James’s hand a little squeeze as they walked through the door
before hurrying off to her own cauldron, and as the boys settled down at their table Potter was
grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Good morning, students!” Slughorn bustled in, with his usual inane smile, “Ready to finish your
potions?”

They had spent the week on amortentia, which Slughorn insisted was one of the most dangerous
potions known to wizardkind. Sirius thought it was just dangerously boring; so far, it had mostly
been a lot of stirring clockwise and counter-clockwise and leaving things to simmer overnight.

“Please remove the lids from your cauldrons! You should see a thick skin of pulp on the top; using
your knives, carefully scrape it off…”

“Ugh,” Sirius grimaced, watching James scoop the greyish pulp into an extra bowl on their table,
“Why are we even making love potions? It’s not as if they’re useful.” Slughorn had spent twenty
minutes in their first lesson of the week warning them, sternly, that the potions were not to be taken
recreationally for any reason.

James shrugged. “Think they’re just difficult. Y’know—NEWTs-level material and all that.”

Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes, reaching over to increase the heat on their cauldron.

They spent the next twenty minutes utterly bored out of their minds, slowly increasing the heat by
miniscule degrees, as per the instructions Slughorn had written on the board. Once the mixture
began to bubble, they had to squeeze the juice from a pomegranate’s seeds into the cauldron (Be
sure that you don’t let any of the seeds fall in, Slughorn had warned, Or the potion will be ruined
completely!)

Fingers stained red with juice, they reduced the heat by half and took turns stirring the potion
slowly until it had stopped boiling. The pomegranate juice had turned it from a bluish-grey to a sort
of muddy brown colour, which was distinctly unpleasant. Slughorn puttered around the room,
nodding and murmuring as he eyed his students’ concoctions.

“Good, good…” he moved back towards the front of the room, clapping his hands together,
“Alright, time to add the belladonna paste…”

Sirius sighed and began to scrape their paste—made from ground-up moonberries, belladonna
seeds, and rose oil—into the cauldron. The potion started to hint more towards pink.

“And the final step!” Slughorn instructed cheerfully, “Drop your pearls in—gently, now, and stir
once clockwise, once counter-clockwise—Merlin, Barnaby, I said clockwise first…” He bustled
over to one of the tables, yanking the wooden stirrer out of the hands of a very flustered-looking
Slytherin.
“Ready?” James wiggled his eyebrows, holding the pearl above their cauldron.

“Ugh, just drop it, come on,” Sirius nudged him, and James grinned as he added the last ingredient
to their mixture.

The jewel dissolved immediately, and as Sirius stirred the entire potion turned a milky, luminescent
white. He finished stirring and set the stick aside, staring down into the cauldron. James stared
down, too. After a moment he turned to Sirius, raising a brow.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one that sees it.”

Sirius grinned, trying not to laugh. “No, I was just about to say that—it looks exactly like—”

“Alright, class!” Slughorn clapped his hands together, and the two boys glanced at each other,
snickering. “Go on, give it a whiff! If you’ve brewed them correctly, you should each smell
something different…”

“After you, Potter,” Sirius said, trying to suppress a laugh as he gestured to the potion. James shook
his head and leaned in, still chuckling. Steam rose from the cauldron, and as he inhaled his eyes
went a bit glassy.

“Smells like…” he sniffed again, “Grass, just after a storm…mum’s mince pies…lavender…” he
smiled dopily, looking over towards Lily. Sirius knew from Mary that the redhead rubbed lavender
oil on her wrists every morning, in lieu of perfume.

“Predictable as ever, Potter,” Sirius shook his head, “I just hope for Evans’s sake that it isn’t you
she’s smelling over there—I’d probably chuck up right into my potion.”

“Oi!” James shoved him, laughing, “Bold words for someone whose dirty socks are literally a
health and safety hazard.”

Sirius sniffed, primly, tossing his hair over his shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about;
I smell like a bed of roses.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that, Black…”

At the front of the room, Slughorn was talking again. “Please label your bottle, I’ll want exactly
three ounces…yes, Barnaby, make sure it’s stoppered—leave them on my desk, and I’ll have them
marked by next week…”

Sirius reached for one of their potion vials and began to label it with both of their names. “Can you
grab the ladle?”

“Aren’t you going to smell it?”

“Hmm?”

When he glanced up, James was giving him a pointed look, eyebrows raised.

“Come on, I smelled it, it’s only fair for you to take a whiff.”

“…ugh, fine.”

Sirius leaned over, sniffing quickly—he was about to pull back when the scent hit him.

Fresh pine, crushed underfoot…the earthy smell of the forest, mixed with something muskier,
animal…chocolate and buttered toast, mouth-watering and warm…the clean, papery scent of fresh
parchment…

“Well?” James asked, and Sirius realised that he had been hovering with his nose over the
cauldron, inhaling. He pulled back, quickly. James grinned.

“Must be something good, eh?” Prongs shot him a devilish smirk, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, sod off,” Sirius rolled his eyes, turning away to hide his flushed face, “It’s nothing special.”

“Ha! Like I’d believe that—you looked like you were just about ready to shove your whole bloody
face into the cauldron.” James nudged him, unrelenting, “Come on, then, what’d you smell?”

“Just—pine needles, chocolate…er…some sort of perfume, I think.” He felt guilty, as he said it—
but there was no way he could admit everything that he had actually smelled.

“Ooh, a mystery woman, eh?” James winked at him, “We’ll have to keep an eye out for a bird that
likes chocolate.”

Sirius huffed, stoppering their vial of potion. “That’s half the girls in the school—everyone likes
chocolate.”

“Mm. Sounds about right, then, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, sod off, Potter.”

* * *

He was going to have to tell James eventually. Sirius knew that—it wasn’t fair to Remus, keeping
things secret, and it only got more difficult to hide their…relationship as the term wore on. The
amortentia was just one instance in a long line of incidents where Sirius nearly found himself
slipping up and blurting out everything, just to get it over with.

But every time, he hesitated, and the moment would pass. It was just…never the right time, Sirius
told himself. It wasn’t only that everyone was so busy—it was much more than that. As the
weather cooled outside, autumn giving way to winter, the headlines of The Daily Prophet grew
gradually darker, as well:

MINISTRY RAIDS THREE HOUSES IN SEARCH FOR FORBIDDEN ARTEFACTS

THIRD VAMPIRE ATTACK IN TWO WEEKS

MINISTER JENKINS STEPS DOWN IN WAKE OF DISAPPEARANCES

 WEREWOLF REGISTRY ‘DANGEROUSLY UNDER-MANAGED’ MINISTRY INSIDERS REVEAL

Even inside the insulated walls of Hogwarts, everyone was on edge. The divide between Slytherin
and the other houses was worse than ever; though nobody would say anything outright, it was clear
that everyone was feeling pressure to choose a side—even when it was unclear what, exactly, each
“side” constituted.

And at the centre of it all—head held high, wearing a cold, confident smirk—was Sirius’s little
brother.

Regulus had always been respected by his fellow Slytherins, of course. The Black family name
carried weight, and like Bellatrix and Narcissa before him, he had quickly become the focal point
for a group of his more ambitious pureblood peers. Now, with the rumours of his new death-eater
status spreading rapidly throughout the castle, Regulus had become the most polarising figure at
Hogwarts; students either shied away from him, wary and anxious, or flocked to him, falling at his
feet like he was some sort of celebrity.

Gone was the reserved, petulant boy from Sirius’s childhood; gone was the cry baby, the little
brother who had begged him for bedtime stories. In his place was someone cold, someone
cunning, someone cruel. A stranger, whose face Sirius searched desperately for signs of the person
he once knew.

Bad things seemed to befall those who crossed Regulus Black’s path—nothing that was ever traced
back to him, of course, but still… Sirius found himself borrowing James’s invisibility cloak more
and more often, creeping after his brother in the halls. Just to be safe, he told himself, Just to make
sure he doesn’t do anything that he’ll regret.

But he couldn’t spend all his time following Reg around. When a Hufflepuff who’d spilled ink on
Reggie’s books turned up mute a few days later; when the Ravenclaw quidditch team found
themselves unable to practice due to a nasty curse that made their brooms shoot splinters; when the
words ‘Mudbloods get out!’ were found carved into the board of the Muggle Studies classroom—
Sirius searched for Reggie’s face in the dining hall, careful only to look when his brother was
turned away.

This isn’t you, he’d find himself thinking, helplessly, You’re not the kind of person who does these
things. But it was getting harder and harder to believe it.

So Sirius waited. He couldn’t tell James—not yet. He knew, logically, that it would probably turn
out fine; Prongs hadn’t had any qualms when Remus…came out. If anything, James seemed to be
Moony’s most enthusiastic supporter (aside, maybe, from Lily). Sirius knew he shouldn’t worry,
that James was his best mate, that they’d always be by each other’s sides…

Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of anything changing. Sirius had already lost one brother; even if
it was stupid, and unreasonable, and a product of his own fear—he couldn’t risk losing another.

Chapter End Notes

amortentia recipe was taken from here

also i have now seen a handful of tiktoks abt this fic so !! ty they make me smile :)
lurking + stalking when u least expect it <3
 Seventh Year: Christmas Part 1
Chapter Summary

my favorite thing about the holidays is that they're always happy and fun and nothing
bad ever happens <3

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Padfoot?”

“Prongs.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

“Merlin!” Sirius nearly dropped the joint as James passed it to him, laughing, “You’re in a mood!”

“I’m serious!”

“That’s funny, I thought I was—”

“I will push you off this tower, Pads, don’t make me do it.”

Sirius grinned, but decided not to push his luck. They were perched on one of the windows of the
Astronomy tower, sitting side by side on the sill, watching snow fall from the sky. After months of
begging, pleading, and cajoling, Sirius had finally managed to corner Potter into smoking a spliff
after winning a bet—it may or may not have been rigged, but what James didn’t know wouldn’t
hurt him.

“You’re going to make me regret corrupting you, if this is how you’re acting after a few hits.”

James laughed, but didn’t reply, waiting patiently for him to respond. Sirius sighed, sucking smoke
into his lungs and holding it, exhaling slowly.

“Soulmates?” he passed the joint back to James, scratching his head. “I dunno. Never really
thought about it, I guess.”

James hummed, and Sirius glanced over, watching him take a shallow puff—he could at least do it
without coughing, now.

“Do you?”

James nodded, looking up at the sky. Sirius swallowed.

“Oh.”

James inhaled, again, and then passed the spliff back to Sirius. It was almost burnt out—one or two
hits left, at most.

“You all thought I was crazy,” he murmured, and it took Sirius a moment to process the words. “I
think sometimes I thought I was, too.”

Sirius took one last hit off the joint, then dropped the dying stub off the side of the tower, listening
to James speak.

“I couldn’t understand it—why I’d look at her and just feel right. Like I was at home. It drove me
mental, sometimes. She’d tell me over and over again that she couldn’t stand me, and I still just…
couldn’t get her out of my head. Couldn’t get away from it. I just kept coming back to her, every
time; it didn’t make sense, but it was also, like…the only thing that made sense. D’you know what
I mean?”

Sirius swallowed. Yes, he thought, I know what you mean.

James laughed, breathless and happy, head lolling back on his shoulders. “Sorry,” he mumbled,
“You’re right, I’m just—in a mood. I just…” he paused, for a moment, searching for words, “I
can’t believe it’s real, sometimes. I look at her, and I’m so happy that I can’t breathe. And—and it
makes me feel like shit, because…there’s a bloody war on, and people are dying, and my parents
are—” he broke off shaking his head. “And I’m just…waking up every day, feeling like I could fly
to the fucking moon on my Nimbus.”

Sirius laughed. He couldn’t help it—James Potter, Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, high and
expounding on the finer points of love. It was so ridiculous. It was so James.

“Merlin, Prongs, you’re such a sap!” He giggled, dopily, unable to stop smiling. James grinned
back.

“Oi—you’re the one that lured me up here and got me high! If you didn’t want me waxing poetic,
you shouldn’t have been so eager to corrupt my perfect lungs.”

“Oh, shut up, one spliff isn’t going to kill you.” Sirius rolled his eyes, still smiling, and James
chuckled.

“Yeah,” he sighed, happily, looking back up at the sky. “One day you’ll meet the right girl,
Padfoot, and then you’ll understand.”

Sirius swallowed, and opened his mouth, and didn’t say anything at all.

* * *

Christmas of 1977, for the marauders, was not a festive day. The full moon that month fell right
smack on Christmas Day, which meant the four of them stayed behind at Hogwarts while their
friends boarded the train and headed home for the holidays. They had all agreed to leave for the
Potters’ on Boxing Day, knowing that the Shack would be much better for Remus than another full
moon tied up in James’s attic.

Still, it meant a strange, subdued sort of Christmas. They didn’t open presents—Mrs. Potter wanted
them to wait until they were all together for that—and none of them were exactly brimming with
holiday cheer. James was pining after Lily, Peter was grumpy that no one wanted to play chess
with him, Remus was broody and short-tempered, the way he always was before moons, and
Sirius…
Sirius was just about ready to crawl out of his skin, mind buzzing with thoughts of Remus and
James and sappy shit about soulmates. About being so happy you couldn’t breathe.

So it was quite a relief, when he actually did get the opportunity to crawl out of his skin. Padfoot
was delighted to spend the night running through the forest with his friends, and by morning they
were all grinning and pink-cheeked and utterly knackered, and some of the tension had bled away.
Even Remus smiled, drowsily, as he bid them farewell and watched them disappear under the
invisibility cloak.

Madam Pomfrey insisted, as usual, that Remus spend at least the next few hours in bed. She
knocked him out with a sleeping draught the moment she’d brought him to the hospital wing, and
when Sirius went down to check on him at lunchtime he was still out cold, chest rising and falling
steadily beneath the blankets.

James and Peter had stayed back in the dorm to finish up packing and try to catch a few minutes of
shut eye before traveling home by Floo, which meant that Sirius could stare for as long as he
wanted, as brazenly as he wanted. So he did.

He didn’t think that he would ever get tired of watching Remus sleep. In the mornings, when they
shared a bed and he woke up first, Sirius would find himself lying on his side, mesmerised, face
just a few inches away from Moony’s. Lying close like that, he could make out every detail—each
faded freckle across the bridge of his nose, the tiny shadows cast by fluttering eyelashes, the way
his hair turned the colour of honey in sunlight. It was the only time that Sirius had ever seen Remus
completely unguarded, soft and vulnerable, without his walls.

It frightened Sirius, sometimes, the urge that he felt to protect him in those moments—almost
violent in its intensity, fierce and powerful. The desire would rise like a physical ache as he
followed the lines of all those scars with his eyes, thinking desperately, I won’t ever let anyone hurt
you. I don’t want you to ever be hurt.

It was foolish, Sirius knew, and meaningless. Because of all the people in Remus’s life, he was one
of those who had hurt him most. Who continued to hurt him, even now, by forcing him to hide.

When Moony woke up, it was always the hands that came first—his fingertips would twitch,
slightly, and that was how Sirius knew that the switch had been flipped between sleep and
consciousness. The eyes would come next, brow crinkling as he squeezed them shut tighter before
opening them. And then he would yawn, and stretch, and the rest of his body would catch up as he
slipped slowly, languidly, back into the land of the living.

Sirius grinned when their eyes met. Remus smiled back.

“Ready when you are!”

The other boy glanced down at the two suitcases by his feet, blinking. “Have you packed for me?”
He sat up, slowly, “Blimey.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Sirius smirked, “Prongs did. I made sure he got the book on your bedside
table, though.”

Remus frowned, opening his mouth to speak—but Sirius raised a hand, silencing him. “And the one
under your pillow. Don’t worry, Moony, nothing gets past me.”

“Cheers,” Remus relaxed, “Just let me get dressed, then…”

Sirius watched him climb out of bed, wobbling slightly as he stood.

“Sure you’ll be ok to floo?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Apparated after a full moon once, remember?”

“Ok. But you should say, if you don’t feel up to it.”

“I will. Pass my jeans, will you?”

Sirius handed them over, watching Remus dress. He moved slowly, carefully, as if he wasn’t
entirely sure that his body would move with him.

“Where are the others?” He bent down to tie his shoelaces.

“Common room,” Sirius said, waving his compact mirror, “I’m to let Prongs know when we’re on
our way to McGonagall’s office, they’ll meet us.”

“Great.” Remus paused, stretching.

“Moony?”

“Mmm…?” He bent back down, eyes fixed on his laces.

“I’m going to tell Prongs, over Christmas.”

“What?!” Remus stood up so quickly that he almost fell over, reaching out to grasp Sirius’s arm for
balance. He blinked rapidly, staring. “Tell…Prongs?”

“Yeah.” Sirius bit his lip, not sure what to make of the reaction—wasn’t this what Remus wanted?
“If it’s ok with you? I think I’d better.”

The other boy nodded, quickly. “Of course. Yeah. I mean. Wow. Why now?”

Sirius swallowed, thinking about James’s words. I’d look at her and just feel right. Like I was at
home.

Sirius Black didn’t know what that felt like. He’d never had a home—not really. Grimmauld Place
was more cage than anything, a place where slamming doors or raised voices could make you
flinch. The Potters’ house was better, but it wasn’t—his. He still felt like an intruder sometimes, a
puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. James and his parents were all love and light and laughter, and not
a single shred of darkness. Not a single bit of Black.

But still, Sirius thought he knew what James meant. When he looked at Remus, he thought he
understood.

“Something’s got to give. And I’m mental about you.”

Remus blushed and looked away, mumbling at his shoes,

“Shut up.”

“Never.” Sirius stuck his tongue out, trying to catch Moony’s eye again. “So it’s ok?”

“Yeah. Of course it is. Will you let me know…when?”

“Definitely. I want to pick the right time.”

“Ok.”

Sirius smiled, heart pounding in his chest.

“I’ll go and get Pomfrey now, shall I?”

“Cheers.”

* * *

James looked just as thrilled to see his parents as they were to see him, and he only grew more
excited when they urged him over dinner to talk about the two things he loved most at Hogwarts:
Euphemia wanted to hear about Lily, and Fleamont immediately asked after the quidditch team.

Sirius could have done without the Lily chit-chat, but he quickly became engaged in the discussion
about Gryffindor’s new chaser, who had been asleep on her broom during their last match. James,
Sirius, and Mr. Potter spent quite a bit of time with their heads bent over the table, drawing out
quidditch plays and making lists of pros and cons on a sheet of parchment that Fleamont had
conjured up. Eventually, Remus excused himself and went to join Euphemia in the kitchen,
mumbling something about helping with the dishes.

The quidditch conversation eventually devolved into other topics, and once Euphemia went up to
bed (kissing both James and Sirius on the forehead and wishing them goodnight), Mr. Potter
withdrew a bottle of brandy from one of the cabinets. He turned to James with a mischievous gleam
in his eye.

“Now, don’t tell your mother…”

They stayed up for another hour, laughing and talking in the living room. Eventually, the
conversation spun back around to Lily as Fleamont encouraged his son to tell them more about his
new girlfriend—though James hardly needed encouragement; he jumped at any chance to gush
about Evans. When he finally took a break to breathe, Mr. Potter turned to Sirius.

“What about you, eh?” He said, smiling warmly, “Any special lady in your life?”

Sirius stiffened, then forced his muscles to relax back into his chair.

“Oh—er, no, not right now.”

Mr. Potter smiled knowingly, nodding his head. “Ah, that’s alright. I’m sure one’ll come along,
soon enough.” He turned back to James, asking another question about Lily, and they both moved
on—neither one seemed to think anything of the interaction. But Sirius still felt stiff, unsure why
his ribcage had suddenly squeezed tighter around his heart.

He made sure to wait until Mr. Potter had gone to bed and James was fast asleep to creep out of his
room, tiptoeing down the hall. Remus was curled up in bed, and Sirius jostled him, slightly, as he
crawled under the covers.

“Sorry,” he whispered, as Moony began to stir, “Di’n’t mean to wake you up.”

“Yeah, you did.” Remus murmured, sighing. “Haven’t told Prongs yet, then?”
“Nah,” Sirius pulled the duvet over his head, nestling his face against Moony’s arm, “I thought
tomorrow. After Diagon Alley, before dinner.”

The brandy had made him feel warm, and slow, and sleepy. Moony started to mumble something
back, but Sirius was too tired to listen, too preoccupied with the comforting heat of the body next to
him.

Home, he thought, drifting off to sleep, I’m so happy to be home…

* * *

Tuesday 27th December 1977

“COME ON, COME ON! HURRY UP!” With the way James was shouting, one might have
thought the bloody house had caught on fire.

“Calm down you lunatic, we’re almost ready!” Sirius turned back to the mirror, frowning. They
had been friends for nearly seven years—James should have learnt by now that Sirius Black’s hair
was not something that could be rushed.

“No shouting in the house, boys!” James’s mum shouted.

“I can’t find it. Did you pack it?” Remus hung off the door frame, trying to catch his eye. He’d
been searching for his woolly hat for the past fifteen minutes.

“I told you, I left packing to Prongs. OI, PRONGS! YOU FORGOT MOONY’S HAT YOU
BASTARD!”

“I ASKED YOU TO HELP ME!” James yelled, from the bottom of the stairs, “YOU SAID I HAD
EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL!”

“I ASSUMED YOU DID!”

“SORRY, MOONY!”

“IT’S OK, PRONGS!” Remus shouted back, looking a bit sheepish. “I’ll go without. It’s not that
cold.”

“Have mine,” Sirius offered, flipping a few strands of hair out of his face, “I don’t want to muck up
my hair, anyway. Accio hat.”

The woollen hat, Gryffindor red and sporting the House’s mascot, came zooming out of his
bedroom and down the hall. Remus snatched it out of the air and shoved it over his messy curls,
smiling.

“Ok. Let’s go!”

“Finally!” James groaned, arms folded impatiently as he watched them come down the stairs.

“Where’s Wormtail?”
“Sent an owl, doesn’t feel like it, apparently. Grumpy git.”

“Yeah, well for once I don’t blame him for not wanting to floo to London on a winter’s day just to
see you and Evans snog.” Sirius poked him, grinning.

“That’s not all we do!” James protested, “Anyway, if that’s true, why are you and Moony
coming?”

Before Sirius could reply, Remus was speaking. “I want some new books and he’s a voyeur.
C’mon let’s go, shall we?” Sirius stifled a smile.

Remus went first, and Sirius followed after, stepping out of the grate to find the other boy
staggering into Lily Evans’s arms. He smirked as James came through, wiping the soot off his
trousers.

“Too late, Prongs, you’ve lost her to a better man already.”

“It was inevitable, I suppose.” James replied, face splitting into a grin as he caught sight of Lily—
who immediately let go of Remus and jumped on Prongs, wrapping her arms around him. Oh, how
the times had changed…

The pub was incredibly crowded, but they managed to elbow their way over to a small table and
put in an order for four butterbeers.

“Busy, isn’t it!” Remus commented, shoving past a group of wizards as he came back to the table
with their drinks.

“Sales,” Lily said, by way of explanation, “Oxford Street’s just as bad, I was there with Mum this
morning.”

“Anyone here we know?” Sirius straightened up, scanning the throngs of people.

“Um…not really…Ooh, er, I did see Frank, earlier – do you remember Frank Longbottom? He was
Head Boy in our first year.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, yeah, I remember Frank…”

This sent them into a series of reminiscences on all the antics they’d got up to during their first year
of Hogwarts, most of which had left poor Frank shaking his head in exasperation and telling them
sternly to go clean up their mess. By the time they’d finished their drinks they were all laughing
and smiling, though a bit overheated—it was a relief to get out into the fresh air after the stifling
pub, even though it was just as packed outside. Sirius’s heart kicked as he looked at the crowds—it
seemed that everyone had picked today to come to Diagon Alley, and he wondered for a moment if
he might see his family.

But—no. He shook the thought from his mind; his mother would never be caught slumming it
amongst the half-bloods and muggleborns.

“Try to stay together!” James called back to them, seconds before he disappeared with Lily into a
wave of shoppers walking past.

“Let’s just do our shopping and find them later,” Sirius sighed. “Did you say you wanted books?”

“Yeah,” Remus murmured, glancing about absentmindedly. “Can you smell that?”
“Smell what?” Sirius tugged him over towards Flourish & Blott’s, since he was clearly too
distracted to move on his own.

“I dunno.” Remus frowned, sniffing. “Just smells different than last time. The magic. It’s probably
just all these people.”

Sirius dropped his sleeve. “You can smell magic?!”

“Oh. Yeah, I can.”

“Bloody hell.”

He lost Remus almost immediately once they entered the bookshop—there was no holding the boy
back when he caught sight of the shelves, ducking and weaving his way over to the stacks that he
wanted to look at. Sirius sighed and shook his head, staying near the fringes of the throng,
worming his way around the outer edge of the shop.

He ended up in a small corner, tucked near the back of the store. Muggle Literature. Sirius blinked
as he read the sign—he hadn’t realised that Flourish & Blott’s even had a section with muggle
books. But then, it was sort of out of the way, hidden behind the section on Goblin History.

Sirius thumbed through a few of the paperbacks absentmindedly, killing time—he knew that
Remus would need half an hour, at least, just to read the blurbs of everything he picked up.

“It’s a good story, that one.”

Sirius startled, spinning around; one of the booksellers was standing behind him, an elderly man
with bushy grey eyebrows and deep creases around his eyes. He had a stack of novels in his arms,
which were clearly supposed to go on the shelf that Sirius was standing in front of.

“Oh—er, yeah.” He cleared his throat, stepping away to make room, and the old man smiled at
him.

“Have you read it?”

“What?”

The man nodded at the open book in his hands, and Sirius looked down. The Ancient Legend of
Orpheus and Eurydice.

“Oh. Erm, sort of.” He’d seen the opera—for all his mother’s raving about muggles and their
encroachment on the wizarding world, their music had been the one thing she was never able to get
enough of. Sirius remembered, when he was very young, hearing the sounds of Grieg or Chopin
floating out from behind the door of her study, and on a few rare occasions she had even taken
them to shows—orchestras or operas or ballet. Always in a private box, of course, away from the
muggle filth. The trips had stopped sometime around his tenth birthday, shortly after his Uncle
Alphard had died.

Sirius blinked. He hadn’t thought about that in a long time.

“Do you know how it ends?” The bookseller was still talking, shelving the books in his arms as he
spoke. Sirius shifted, uncomfortably.

“He…goes with his father, doesn’t he? Apollo comes down from heaven, and they go back up
together.”
“Ha!” The old man laughed, slapping his knee. “You’re thinking of the opera!”

Sirius flushed, beginning to feel irritated. Who was this bloke, even? Why were they talking? He
looked down at the book in his hands, and thought about closing it—but his curiosity got the better
of him.

“Is it different, then? In the book?”

“Oh, yes. In the original story, he dies.”

“What?!”

The shopkeeper nodded, sagely, looking like he was enjoying the conversation far too much. “Torn
to pieces. Dismembered, by a group of women that worshipped Dionysus.”

Sirius frowned. “Who?”

The old man laughed, finishing his shelving and straightening up. He nodded, again, at the book in
Sirius’s hands.

“You’ll find out who he is, if you read that.”

Sirius shut the book, looking down at the title. Greek Myths and Legends.

“Oh.” He hesitated, for a moment—then replaced it on the shelf. “No, I’m not buying it. Just
looking.”

The bookseller shrugged, turning away. “Suit yourself.”

Once the man was out of sight, Sirius ducked back into the more crowded area of the shop,
searching for Remus. He felt shaky, unsettled, though he wasn’t sure why.

“…get all sorts, ‘round here.”

The nerves in his chest only winched tighter as Sirius heard a familiar, sneering voice. He stepped
around one of the shelves, and came face to face with Remus—who was, unfortunately, standing
face to face with Snape.

“All right, Snivellus?”

The Slytherin spun around, greasy hair whipping behind him as he turned to glare. Sirius glared
right back.

“Get lost on the way to Knockturn Alley, did you? Or maybe just in town for your annual hair
wash?”

“Fuck off, Black.”

“Oh, please, after you.” Sirius bowed, dramatically, stepping aside to let Severus past. He stomped
away, muttering under his breath.

“Thanks,” Remus said, with a weak little laugh. He looked pale, a bit sallow, as if he might be sick.

“You ok?”
Remus smiled. “Fine. Come on, let’s go and find the others, shall we?”

“Don’t you want to buy your books?”

“Nah,” Remus began to walk towards the door, “I just wanted to make a note of the names, see if
Pince will order them into the school library for me. Free, that way.”

“Fair enough. C’mon then, mad in here.”

They had to shove through the crowds the get outside, and the moment they had stepped into the
fresh air Remus ducked into the alley, breathing heavily as he leaned against the wall.

“Are you sure you’re ok?!” Sirius asked, again, fiddling anxiously with a lock of hair.

“Fine!” Remus insisted. He took a deep breath. “Just the moon, probably. Still tired.”

Clearly, it was more than that. “What did Snivellus want?”

“Oh, the usual nonsense,” Remus shook his head, “I don’t think he meant to bump into me. What’s
Knockturn Alley?”

Sirius tried not to let it sting, knowing that Remus was keeping something from him. He jerked his
chin towards the alley across the street. “Over there. It’s where the dodgier types hang out. Dark
wizards, banshees in disguise, vampires. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“James’s dad was telling me they’re planning a raid on some of the shops down there in the New
Year – reckon they’re stocking illegal supplies. Bet you anything it’s where Snivellus snuck off
to.”

Remus stared down the alley for a bit, frowning. Sirius watched him, trying to read his face—
wishing desperately that he would just say what was actually wrong.

“Quality Quidditch Supplies?” Remus asked, turning back, “If James is anywhere he’ll be there.”

“Good shout!” Sirius plastered on a smile, “Let’s go then.”

They stepped out from the shadows of the cramped alley, into the cold, bright winter sunshine. The
air was crisp, stinging, turning their cheeks and noses pink. As they walked past the crowds of
happy shoppers, smiling and chattering and laughing, Sirius couldn’t help sneaking glances at
Remus. He was still tense, shoulders knotted, staring out at the street like he was searching for
something.

Something’s wrong, Sirius thought, looking away before Remus could catch him staring, Why
won’t you tell me what’s wrong?

They were just coming up on Quality Quidditch Supplies; Sirius spotted James and Lily, standing
down the street and peering in the shopfront window. He grinned, watching James gesture as he
talked, obviously expounding on something to do with the latest broom model perched behind the
glass. Lily was smiling and shaking her head, listening.

BANG

Sirius spun around, and the Leaky Cauldron was gone—disappeared in a violent haze of red smoke,
shattered glass and brick raining out over the street. For the tiniest moment, there was complete
 silence.

Then the screaming started.

CRACK CRACK CRACK

People were apparating, coming and going, running and shouting, dropping shopping bags onto the
ground. Everything was too slow and too fast, all at once; Sirius felt as though he were moving
through molasses as he turned, looking back down the street.

BANG

Another shop exploded, then another one. Sirius searched for James—their eyes met. Everything
snapped into focus.

“Get down!” He lunged for Remus, tackling him to the cobblestones, and they both threw their
arms over their heads as Quality Quidditch Supplies erupted in a scream of shattering glass.

Chapter End Notes

so i think in the jkr version technically uncle alphard dies when sirius is older ? but in
the mkb version he talks about his uncle being dead from the time he's at hogwarts, so
that's what we're sticking with :)
 Seventh Year: Christmas Part 2
Chapter Summary

promises, promises

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Not James.

It was the first thought he had, once he could think again.

Not James.

A horrible, violent whirlpool, around and around, the same words repeating relentlessly in his
mind:

Not James, not James, not James.

Someone was crying, next to them. A woman. Sirius could hear her sharp, gasping sobs. Beneath
his face, the ground was cold, grit pressing into his skin. He could feel it—he could feel all of it.
Like every nerve in his body was suddenly fine-tuned, sharp-edged, five times stronger. There was
laughter—someone was laughing.

Not James, not James, not James.

Diagon Alley was ripped open, a gutted carcass, broken glass and brick and splintered wood
spilling out into the street like blood. Everything was hazy; Sirius realised that it was because of
the dust, settling around them like fog. He could taste it in the air when he breathed.

“You two!” There was a woman, picking her way through the rubble, “Get back! Behind me!” She
swept in front of them, wand raised, and Sirius saw her uniform: an auror.

James.

He didn’t know if he’d said it aloud, couldn’t feel his tongue—it was fear that propelled him to his
feet, sent him stumbling forward, like a puppet dragged on strings. Where is he where is he where
is he

“James?!”

This time he was shouting; he knew it, but everyone was shouting, and he could hardly hear his
own voice. The name was swallowed up in all the overlapping sounds, just like James had been
swallowed up—

“James!??”

Some part of him was aware, vaguely, of Remus calling out for him. But Sirius couldn’t stop,
couldn’t think—not until he found his best friend.
“MUDBLOODS OUT!”

The voice cracked through his skull like lightning, with unbearable volume, and he clapped his
hands to his ears. But it didn’t matter—it was inside him, in his head, the awful words ringing
through his skull.

Not James, not James, not James.

People were duelling, somewhere. Sirius could hear their voices, could see flashes of magic as
curses were cast. But not here—here, there was only dust, only the rubble of what had once been
Quality Quidditch Supplies, splintered broomsticks littering the ground.

“JAMES?!”

Someone ran past him, knocking into his shoulder. The force of the impact threw Sirius off-
balance, sending him sideways into a heap of rubble. He scrambled for his wand, ripping it out,
trying to see—there was dust in his eyes. There was dust everywhere.

“James…” he croaked, desperately. Anything but this, he thought, Anything but him. Please,
please, please.

“Morsmorde!” It was the same voice from before, but this time it wasn’t in his head—this time it
was distant, coming from somewhere over near Gringotts. Black smoke filled the street, writhing
and thickening until it swirled upward, above their heads. And then it wasn’t smoke anymore but a
snake, a horrible black snake, a twisting monster in a gaping skull.

For a moment, there was a hush. Then the screaming started again.

Sirius scrambled to his feet, choking on air, on dust, on smoke.

“JAMES!!”

CRACK CRACK CRACK—people were apparating, so many people, and—

“Sirius?!”

He turned so quickly that it made him dizzy, squinting through the smog. Someone was running
towards him, stumbling over rubble.

“Sirius??”

“James?!”

“Sirius!”

They collided, arms and legs and hands, gripping each other so tightly that Sirius thought he might
bruise. Lily was there, too, and he tugged her in, so that they were all three wrapped in each other’s
arms. Someone was shaking—or maybe they all were. Sirius couldn’t tell.

And then James pulled back, and found his eyes, and said,

“Remus?”

And he was—he’d been right there, but—

“Sirius?! Sirius?!”
Someone was coming through the dust. They ran for the front of the shop, all three of them, but
James got there first.

“Moony!”

“James!”

When Sirius and Lily caught up they were hugging, Remus’s fingers white-knuckled where they
twisted in James’s cloak. Over his shoulder, their eyes met, and Sirius sagged with relief.

“I lost you.” Remus croaked, voice scraping out of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“We’d better go and help,” James reached out to grip both their arms, “The battle’s—”

“Finished.” Remus shook his head, “They ran away. Disapparated, most of them. How did you
two…” He swallowed, staring helplessly at James and Lily.

It was Lily who answered. “Frank,” she told him, in a voice that folded in on itself, “Frank’s an
auror. He used a knock-back jinx on us, right before the shop was hit, then protego, I think. I
didn’t…I didn’t know what to do.” Her eyes went glassy, and James pulled her into his chest, like
he could shield her from her own tears.

“I didn’t, either.” Remus looked down at his hands, “Didn’t even get my wand out.”

Sirius stared at his friends, with their wide eyes and their trembling shoulders and their smudged
faces. One of the lenses on James’s glasses were cracked, and when he saw it Sirius felt a horrible
surge of anger.

How dare they, he thought, furiously, How fucking dare they?! He needed to move—he needed to
do something.

“I’m going anyway. They might still need help.”

He began to move—but Remus was there, yanking him back, using what felt like all of his strength
to hold him place.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” The words were practically a growl, all authority, all command. For a
moment, Moony’s eyes flashed, wolfish, and Sirius stared back, bristling. He wanted to bare his
teeth. He wanted to taste blood.

But then James spoke.

“Moony’s right, we ought to—”

CRACK

“Boys!”

“Dad!”

Fleamont appeared at James’s side, and he wasted no time in grabbing his son, clutching him to his
chest. He reached for Sirius after, then Remus—as if he needed to touch them for himself, to
confirm they were really there.
“Are you all ok?” He surveyed the shattered street, then turned to James, “Your mother wants you
back at the house immediately, she’s been called to St. Mungo’s, otherwise she’d be here.”

“Shouldn’t we stay and help?” James asked. He’d tugged Lily back into his arms, and she stood
with her head against his chest.

“No, son,” Fleamont regarded James with a proud expression that made Sirius’s chest ache, “It’s all
in hand – Moody’s there, and Dumbledore’s on his way. I just want you all home and safe, before
anything—”

“No one is to leave!” Someone shouted, striding towards them over broken cobblestones, “Not
until they have been questioned by—oh, hello Monty. Didn’t know you were here.”

“Amos,” Mr. Potter greeted the man, “Got here as soon as I could. Taking the boys home, they
were out shopping and got caught up.”

“That so?” The ministry official—Amos—stepped closer, peering at them. “Names?”

“Amos, is that really nece—”

“Names?” His face hardened into a frown.

“Well, you know James, you’ve known him since he was five, for goodness’ sake…” Fleamont
frowned right back, “And this is Miss Evans, I presume?” He glanced over at Lily, who was still
wrapped up in James’s arms.

“Yes,” she said, voice a bit wobbly, “Lily Evans.”

“Evans?” Amos studied her, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket, “Evans, Evans…
Parents’ names?”

Right, Sirius thought, bitterly, It’s going to be that sort of questioning.

“You wouldn’t know them,” Lily replied, nervously, “I’m muggleborn.”

Amos looked down at her again, quirking his eyebrow judgmentally at James. Sirius felt his anger
swelling, simmering.

“I see. Very well. And you two?” The official turned, eyes going wide. “Oh hoho! I know you!
You’re the Black heir!”

“Was.” Sirius bit out, shrugging off Remus’s hands. He slouched, hands shoved into his pockets,
glaring belligerently. He could already see what Amos was thinking, already knew what
conclusions he was drawing.

“He’s coming home with us, too.” Mr. Potter interjected, “Sirius has lived with us for well over a
year now, and—”

“Come come, Monty,” Amos gave him a pointed look, “The Black heir? I’m not stupid, and neither
are you. He’ll have to be questioned.”

Of course, Sirius thought, of fucking course. It didn’t matter that he’d left; that he’d renounced
them; that he’d given up everything. He could pretend all he wanted, but the Potters would never
be his real family. They’d never be his blood.

“Absolutely not.” Fleamont said, sharply. “They’re school kids, for Godric’s sake!”
“Plenty of school kids on their side too, from what I hear.” Amos replied, “Plenty of Blacks, too.”

It shouldn’t have hurt. It really, really shouldn’t have hurt.

“I’m not interested in that. You can speak with Dumbledore if you have to, but I am responsible for
these boys and I am taking them all home right now.”

“What about you?” Amos rounded on Remus, ignoring Mr. Potter. The tall boy blinked, looking
surprised.

“R-Remus.” He cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes. “Lupin.”

“Hmph.” Amos scribbled something on his parchment, but didn’t ask any more questions. “You’re
all to wait here while I speak with Dumbledore.”

“Like hell we will.” Fleamont glared, “If you want to go and interrupt Albus Dumbledore while he
assists in the investigation of a terrorist attack for the sake of a few frightened teenagers, then—”

“Amos!” A familiar voice called out from down the road, obscured by distance and the still-
settling dust, “Where the hell are you, we need you up here – it’s Leo!”

Frank, Sirius realised, numbly, That’s Frank shouting.

Amos turned, shooting one final, dark look at Sirius before he hurried off in the direction of the
voice. Mr. Potter began to move immediately, reaching out to grasp his son’s shoulder.

“Quick, boys – are you all ok to apparate? Miss Evans, probably best you come with us for now?”

Lily nodded, once, and James leaned down to kiss her. They left together, disapparating away with
a loud CRACK. Fleamont glanced at Remus and Sirius, giving them a nod before he vanished, too.

Fuck this, Sirius thought, remembering the way Amos had looked at him. ‘Plenty of school kids on
their side…Plenty of Blacks, too.’ If that was what they thought of him—the aurors, the Order, the
whole bloody world—then he would just have to prove them wrong.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Remus gave him a sharp look.

“Oh no,” he reached out, grabbing Sirius’s elbow hard enough to bruise, and Sirius could feel the
buzz of magic under his fingertips as Remus prepared to apparate them both.

He fought it. He tried to get away, to escape the magic pressing down on him. But Remus—Remus
was too strong, overwhelming, a flood of power like nothing Sirius had ever felt that grabbed him
and swallowed him and spat him back out.

He stumbled as they landed on the Potters’ front porch, and their heads knocked together. Sirius
yanked his elbow away, staggering back.

“Fucking hell, Moony!” His arm was sore—since when was Remus so fucking strong?

“Had to…stop you…idiot…” the other boy panted, bent double as he tried to catch his breath.

The door opened, and James poked his head out.

“Get inside,” he urged, “Quickly.”

Sirius didn’t look at Remus as he pushed past him, anger still buzzing in his veins. His skin felt too
tight, too hot, like he was trapped inside his own body. Once they were inside, Sirius couldn’t sit
still—though the others did, accepting cups of tea from Gully as Mr. Potter apologised.

“I do sincerely hope that the next time we meet will be under better circumstances,” he told Lily,
contrite and harried, before hurrying off to his study and shutting himself away to do…whatever it
was he did for Dumbledore.

The room felt very quiet, in his absence. Lily was silent and pale, leg bouncing as she sipped her
tea. Remus refused to meet anyone’s eye, staring down at the carpet with the sort of exhausted
resignation that he usually only sported after full moons. James was just as wound up as Sirius, but
the bulk of his energy appeared to be going towards comforting Lily; he sat next to her on the sofa,
making sure they were always connected in some way—an arm around her shoulders, a hand on
her knee, his fingers, brushing through her hair. Sirius could tell that his own jittery energy was
making the rest of them uncomfortable. But he couldn’t stop—he couldn’t stay still.

“Snape!” He growled, pacing along the carpet, “We saw him in the bookshop, he threatened
Moony – he must have had something to do with it!”

“You don’t know that,” Lily protested, in a small voice.

“Did anyone see any of them, though?!”

“No.” James swallowed, “Too busy trying to take cover.”

“No.” Lily echoed, faintly.

“No…” Remus mumbled. He glanced up, and their eyes met.

Liar, Sirius thought, furiously, Stop lying to me. Stop hiding things.

“Moony. You smelled something. You told me, remember? Do you know who—”

“Remus, you can smell people?!” Lily interrupted, eyes wide, “Like a scent?”

“Not like…it’s just a…a wolf thing. Instinct. But I didn’t. I don’t…” He trailed off, staring back
down at the ground like he wished he could sink into it.

“Moony.” Sirius fought to keep his voice steady, even, “Tell me. Who?”

Remus looked over at James, helplessly, as if he wanted the other boy to rescue him. When he
turned back to Sirius, his eyes were pleading, and—

Fuck. Sirius already knew, didn’t he? He already knew—he could see it in Moony’s eyes.

But he still needed him to say it.

“I think Regulus was there.”

Of course. It always came back to Reg, didn’t it?

“But lots of people were there, Sirius—”

It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to hear any more—didn’t want to hear Moony try to make excuses
for his shitty family, for his death-eater fucking brother. Sirius left—he threw his hands up, cutting
Remus off, and he left.
It was freezing outside, far too cold to be out without a cloak. Sirius went anyway, letting the door
swing shut behind him and gripping the railing of the Potters’ porch. He was shaking.

I think Regulus was there.

“Fuck,” he hissed, reaching up to scrub at the tears that crawled out of his eyes, “Fuck.”

What did you expect? Said that small, cold voice at the back of his head, Did you really think that
he’d take the mark and just—what? Sit on the side-lines? Wait on the bench?

“He’s just a kid,” Sirius muttered, under his breath, “He’s just a—fuck.”

Did you actually believe that would make a difference?

Sirius choked on the lump in his throat, trying to swallow. Without meaning to, he found himself
searching the sky.

The sun had only just set a little while ago; they hadn’t yet reached the deep hours of night ideal
for stargazing. Still, Sirius found it—Leo. The Lion. The symbol of all things Gryffindor. And
there, its hind paw, the brightest star in the constellation:

“Hi, Reg,” he whispered.

The star continued to shine, silent and bright and so, so far away.

Tell me it wasn’t you, Sirius begged, silently, Tell me you weren’t there. Tell me you didn’t do it,
you didn’t want it, you didn’t mean it. Tell me that isn’t who you are.

The stars didn’t reply. They never did.

* * *

Lily was gone when he returned, but James and Remus were still there; Sirius could hear their
voices coming from the living room. He paused outside the entrance, listening.

“I didn’t do anything,” Remus was speaking quickly, “I just…I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.”

“Remus…” James’s voice; warm and steady and kind. “Nobody could. It was horrible; it’s the
scariest thing that ever happened.” There was a pause, then, “None of us knew what to do.”

“Sirius did. He was the one who got up. He wanted to help…”

“Sirius never thinks though, Moony, you know that.”

“Oi, up yours, Potter.” He stepped into the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and both boys
spun around to look at him. Remus smiled, a hopeful, shaky thing. After a moment, Sirius smiled
back.

“I was going to say,” James continued, “That’s what makes you so brave, you wanker. You just
want to rush in and help, even if it’s the worst idea in the world.”

“Yes, ok, it was not a good idea.” He relented, moving to sit down next to James.
“At least you did something.” Remus insisted, “At least you got up.”

“You got up, too, Remus.” Sirius replied, quietly, catching his eye.

“After you did!” Remus ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, “I was pathetic, I was…how are we
ever going to win this war if it’s going to be like that?! If I’m too scared to…”

“I was scared too,” Sirius said, holding his gaze, “I’m not that bonkers. I was still bricking it, I
mean. Fucking hell.”

“Don’t.” James swallowed, frowning, “It took me so long to even figure out what happened – and
all I could think about was getting Lily somewhere safe. I thought I would just do anything to
make sure she was safe.”

Sirius looked between his two friends, sitting up a bit straighter. “There you are then,” he said,
firmly, “That’s how we win it.”

They were quiet, after that, for a long time. Mrs. Potter never returned home, though Fleamont
made an appearance to tell them that she was okay and still helping out at St. Mungo’s before he
disappeared back into his office. Peter came over in the evening, staring at them all with huge,
watery eyes. He’d heard the news from his cousin who worked for the Prophet, but there hadn’t
been any details—no death count. No names.

The conversation was stilted and awkward; eventually, Peter left, seeing that nobody really had
anything to say. Remus got up to go to bed, and James and Sirius followed him up even though it
was only half past eight.

In the shower, Sirius watched the water, grey with dust and grit, swirl down the drain. He watched
until it ran clear, until there was nothing left of the attack to wash away. Afterwards, he brushed his
teeth, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

James didn’t even seem surprised when he knocked on his door, just stepped back and let it swing
open. Sirius walked in, and for a moment they stared at each other.

There was so much he needed to say—he didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know how to start.

I need to talk to my brother. I need him to not be a bad person. I miss him, and I need you to
understand that, and I need you to not hate me for it. I need to be braver, and stronger; I need
something to fight. I need a chance, just one chance to prove myself—I need people to stop looking
at me like all they see is my family. I need to tell you about Remus, that he’s too good for me, that
he somehow wants me anyway. I need to tell you how it scares me, the way I need him—how I
didn’t even know it was possible to need someone this way. I need to tell you that I think I’m falling
in love with him, and I don’t even know what that means, and I don’t know if he feels the same
way. I need to talk about it—I need to talk about it so badly. I need to be able to tell you this, and
for it to not change anything—I know that’s not possible, but I need it. I really, really need it,
James.

He couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say any of it. So instead, he said,

“I thought you might have died. Today. For a second.”

James opened his mouth; closed it; nodded.

“Promise me that won’t happen, James.”

 “Promise you that I won’t…die?”

Sirius nodded, waiting. He knew it was childish—knew it was ridiculous. He knew it wasn’t a
promise that anyone could truly make.

He needed James to make it anyway.

After a moment, the other boy reached out, placing a hand on Sirius’s shoulder.

“I promise, Padfoot,” he said, voice a bit scratchy, “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

They talked. They talked for a long time. About the war, and the explosions, and the aurors. They
talked about quidditch and Hogwarts and death eaters and their favourite flavours of ice cream
from Florean Fortescue’s. They talked about Lily and NEWTs and James’s parents and ideas for
new pranks.

They didn’t talk about Regulus. They didn’t talk about Remus.

When Sirius finally left, sneaking into the guest room where Remus was staying, the sun was just
starting to rise. He felt a guilty kick, staring down at Moony’s curls on the pillow, thinking about
all the things he still hadn’t told James.

“Remus?”

Please be awake. Please, please, please.

“I’m here.”

He had barely finished speaking before Sirius was on him, diving under the covers and tangling
their arms together and pressing into his chest. He could hear Moony’s heartbeat against his ear,
steady and solid.

“Tell me a secret? A nice one?”

There was a moment of silence. Remus leaned down, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“I’m mental about you, too.”

Chapter End Notes

this was a fun one to rewrite :) hope ur all doing well <3
 Seventh Year: Christmas Part 3
Chapter Summary

oh right there's still a war

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Monday 2nd January 1978

Mrs. Potter did not return home until the day after the attack. She came back with deep bags under
her eyes, pallid skin, and sagging shoulders, clinging to James and her husband as if they were the
only thing keeping her standing.

“About fifty dead, so I’ve heard.” She reported. “I was mostly triage, though. Hundreds wounded.”

“Any…any of us?” Mr. Potter asked, forcing the words out as if he didn’t want to say them. When
Sirius had snuck from James’s room into Remus’s that night—morning, whatever—there had still
been light coming from beneath his office door.

Euphemia pressed her eyes shut and nodded, once.

“Later,” she mumbled, eyes darting over to the boys. James clenched his fists.

“We can hear it,” he protested, “We’re all of age, and we were there when it happened!”

“Yes, I know you were!” Mrs. Potter snapped, voice rising suddenly. James fell silent, looking
abashedly down at his feet. His mother stood. “I’m going for a lie down.”

She stalked out of the room, leaving only tense silence behind.

“Sorry, dad.” James said quietly, still staring down at the floor.

“It’s all right.” Mr. Potter sighed, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “We’re all
upset. Your mother and I need you boys to listen, and do as you’re told until it’s time to go back to
school, do you understand?”

Sirius stiffened, clenching his jaw. He understood that everyone was upset, but that didn’t mean
James was wrong—they were old enough to hear what was going on, old enough to have all the
adults stop tip-toeing around them and treating them like children. It’s our fight, too, he wanted to
say.

But he didn’t. Instead, he kept silent, listening as Mr. Potter went on,

“Now, this house is going to be very busy for the next few days, and you’re going to see a lot of
very important people doing very important work. Do not ask too many questions, and do not make
nuisances of yourselves.”
“Can’t we help?” James asked, looking up.

“Yes.” Fleamont said, sternly, “By being gracious hosts and minding your mother.”

“Yes, dad.” James mumbled, shoulders slumping.

“James…” Fleamont spoke quietly, reaching out to place a hand on his son’s arm.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance and quickly stood, giving James and his dad some privacy.
They moved to the kitchen, where they began to unenthusiastically assist Gully with the dishes.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about.” Sirius muttered, scrubbing at a sudsy plate, “If they knew half
of the things we were capable of – we can actually help.”

“We’ll have our chance,” Remus said, absentmindedly, gazing out the window with a dishcloth in
his hands. Sirius frowned, feeling tense and anxious and like he should be doing something—
something more important than washing the Potters’ china.

“That’s all right for you to say,” he grumbled, “You’ve already proved yourself.”

“What?!” Remus turned to look at him, brow furrowed in confusion.

“With that werewolf you met, last year. You’ve already faced the enemy and shown Dumbledore
he can trust you.”

“I don’t think I explained that properly, if that’s what you think…” Remus frowned, “Livia
wasn’t…it wasn’t about the war.”

“Dumbledore thinks it was. Moody does. They talk about the werewolves all the time – how useful
you’ll be trying to convince the dark creatures not to join you know who.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Fine.”

They both fell silent, very pointedly looking away from each other. Sirius scrubbed the dishes,
scowling down at the soapy water. Remus dried, staring out the window at nothing.

James came in just as they finished, looking subdued and thoughtful. Sirius plastered on a smile.

“All right, mate?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, solemnly, “Just dad stuff, y’know.”

No, Sirius thought, glancing at Remus, we don’t. But of course, neither of them could say that.

“I said I’d give Lily a ring, if you two fancied a walk into the village?”

“Why not.” Sirius left his dish rag on the sink, drying his hands on one of Mrs. Potter’s colourful
tea towels. A walk might do him some good—he still felt wound up, muscles tight with smothered
energy.

“Oh, Moony, dad said to give you this?” James passed him a small scroll of paper, which Remus
quickly unfurled. His eyes darted over it, hungrily, as the other boys watched.

“What is it?” James asked, curious.

“Oh, nothing,” Remus said quickly, glancing up at them, “Book I was asking about.” He shoved
the paper into his pocket, moving towards the door. “C’mon, calls are cheaper after six.”

After about a hundred tries, James had finally managed to figure out the phone box. Since he no
longer needed Remus’s help, the two boys stood next to each other outside, leaning against the
fence. Sirius watched Moony rolling cigarettes; he’d cut the fingers off his gloves to make it easier,
which was so unbearably sexy that Sirius was pretty sure he’d felt his soul leave his body the first
time he saw it. Even after a few months to get used to it, the sight was still distracting.

They were both quiet, stiff—Remus had that line of tension in his shoulders that Sirius had begun
to recognise as a sign that he was upset, but wasn’t going to say anything about it. Sirius thought
back to their conversation in the kitchen, going over what he’d said. After a moment, he spoke.

“I didn’t mean you.”

Remus looked up, a question in his eyes. Sirius swallowed.

“When I said dark creatures.”

There was a moment of silence; then Remus went back to rolling his cigarettes. “I know you
didn’t,” he replied, quietly, licking the rizla and smoothing it down. He passed the fag over, and
Sirius stuck it behind his ear for safekeeping.

“Got to teach me how to do that one day,” he mumbled, feeling slightly mesmerised as he watched
Remus roll another one, “I bet we could work out a spell to do it instantly.”

“Probably,” Remus shrugged, “But I like doing it this way.”

“Fair enough.”

The conversation stalled. Moony’s shoulders were still tense—there was something bothering him,
Sirius could tell. He just wished that he would say what. But Remus remained silent, finishing his
second cigarette and staring down at it as if he were debating whether or not to smoke it. Sirius
began to chew on his fingernails, anxiously, trying to decide if he should say something else.

Remus snapped his fingers to light the cigarette, and Sirius copied him, just to have something to
do with his hands. They both inhaled, staring off at the village down the road.

“I am, though.” Remus said, breathing out smoke.

“What?”

“A dark creature, like you said.”

Sirius felt a twist of guilt. “Moony, no…”

“Yep,” his voice was steady, unwavering. “So when you talk about wanting to prove yourself, I do
understand what you mean. People trust werewolves just about as much as they trust the disgraced
sons of dark wizards.”

“I do know. I didn’t mean to act like…”

“Like you’re the only one with a stake in this war?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, looking down. “Like that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” Remus turned to look at him, with a sad sort of smile. “I’m sorry about Regulus.”

“Well,” Sirius stiffened, sucking hard on his cigarette, “I already knew, pretty much. Of course he
was there.” Of course. Of course—what else did I expect?

“I’m going to work so hard on this Slytherin prank when we get back to school. It’ll be my best
work.”

Remus spoke so earnestly that it unlocked something in Sirius’s chest, and he threw back his head,
laughing.

“Godric, Moony,” he turned to look at him, with his messy hair and his freckled nose and his
stupid, sexy fingerless gloves. “When you say things like that it makes me want to snog your face
off.”

“Ha,” Remus shook his head, glancing wryly at James in the phone box, “Maybe not just yet…”

Sirius frowned, thinking of his promise.

“I’m going to tell him, just not with all this bad stuff going on, you know?”

“I know.” Moony smiled encouragingly, lifting his cigarette back to his lips. Sirius swallowed,
watching him.

“Remus? If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”

The other boy eyed him, warily. “Ok.”

Sirius took a breath.

“What was the note from James’s dad? It wasn’t a book title, was it?”

“No,” Remus said quietly, “It wasn’t.” After a moment, he dug around in his pocket and pulled out
the little scroll, passing it over.

Sirius unfolded it, scanning quickly.

“Hope Jenkins? What does that mean?”

“It’s a name,” Remus told him, “My mother’s name. And address.”

“Oh!” Sirius blinked, looking back down at the paper. “Your mother.” He remembered, vaguely,
Remus mentioning something about his mother over the summer. But he hadn’t realised—he’d
never really thought about her as a real person. Moony’s family had always been something
nebulous, something abstract.

“Yeah,” Remus accepted the parchment when Sirius passed it back to him, tucking it into his
pocket, “I know we said we would talk about anything but mothers, but. Well. Dumbledore gave
me a letter she’d written me, back after Lyall died. She said I could try to find her, when I was of
age, so…Mr. Potter found her, I s’pose.”

“What are you going to do with it? Write to her?”

“Yeah, I think I will.”

Sirius shifted, slightly, so that his gloved fingertips were just brushing against Remus’s bare ones.
“Well. I hope you find her.”

* * *

Over the next few days, Sirius was pretty sure that he saw nearly every member of the Order
coming in and out of the Potters’ living room. They were from all walks of life; young and old,
witches and wizards, healers and ministry officials and aurors and shopkeepers. Thanks to the
charms placed on the Potters’ house—one to make it unplottable, another to make any apparition
from the grounds untraceable—Sirius began to feel a bit like he was living on Platform 9 and ¾.

Not that he minded. It at least felt like doing something, sitting in front of the fireplace and
watching for visitors so that they could let Mr. Potter know if someone arrived. And it made Sirius
feel hopeful, seeing all the people who were loyal to Dumbledore—he forgot, sometimes, with the
amount of people who had attended his parents’ meetings, that the Order had plenty of allies, too.

Plus, it was nice to see some familiar faces. Moody came through nearly every day, nodding
gruffly at the boys (Sirius was pretty sure that they were growing on him). Frank Longbottom was
a frequent visitor, as well, and would always try to stop for at least a few minutes to chat. He
introduced them to his girlfriend, Alice, a young woman with a round, friendly face who Sirius
recognised as the auror from the attack in Diagon Alley.

The Prewett twins were an even better surprise; James and Sirius spent every moment they could
get talking to them, telling them all about the pranks they had executed since the older boys had
graduated. Fabian and Gideon were just as jovial as they had been at Hogwarts, though a bit
rougher around the edges from their work with the Order. Fabian had the same dry wit, Gideon the
same booming laugh, and when they had time they even exchanged a few secrets and tips related to
dodging Filch or getting around other mischief-making obstacles.

“The thing about Peeves,” Fabian explained, “Is that you have to work with him, not against
him…”

They were often accompanied by their younger sister, who tutted disapprovingly at such
discussions, and her husband, who stifled his smiles for his wife’s sake.

James and Sirius always begged the older boys to stay for dinner, and were delighted one evening,
just a few days before they were set to return to Hogwarts, when the brothers agreed. Frank and
Alice were there, too, along with an older gentleman whose name Sirius hadn’t quite caught and
two healers from St. Mungo’s that seemed to be friends with James’s mum. No matter how tired
she was, Mrs. Potter always welcomed any guests who wanted to stay in the evenings, and the
large group sat around the dinner table talking and laughing late into the night.

Afterwards, when the dishes had been cleared, James and Sirius migrated to the front porch with
the Prewett twins, listening to Gideon re-tell the story of one of their more exciting battles against
the death-eaters while Fabian smoked a cigarette. Remus had gone to bed early, and Mr. and Mrs.
Potter had retired to the study with the two healers, speaking in hushed voices.

Gideon was just getting to the good part, voice low and eyes wide, James and Sirius hanging on to
his every word.

“So there we were, surrounded—there must have been at least six of them—and we could hardly
 see through the fog, no idea when our backup would arrive. But you should’ve seen what Fab did
with a knockback jinx—”

From the shadows a few feet away, someone snorted. Sirius whirled around, and realised that Alice
was on the porch, too; he’d been so focused on Gideon’s story that he hadn’t seen her slip out the
door. She was holding a cigarette of her own, shoulders hunched against the cold as she smoked it.

Gideon stiffened, marginally.

“Something to say, Alice?”

She met his gaze, blowing out smoke.

“Nah,” she dropped her cigarette, stubbing it out with her toe, “Just think it’s fucked the way yer
makin’ it seem like some big adventure out there.”

Gideon clenched his hands into fists, and Fabian stepped quickly between them.

“Woah, hey, let’s not—”

“No, go on, Alice,” Gideon stepped around his brother, glaring, “How would you have me talk
about it, huh? What d’you want me to do, make it a horror story? Give them fucking nightmares,
like everybody’s not already scared enough?”

Sirius and James remained silent, glancing anxiously between the two. It felt like an old argument,
both parties staring each other down as if they’d gone over this before.

Alice shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, evenly, “Better than gettin’ em all starry-eyed over a fuckin’
bloodbath. Why don’t you tell ‘em about the curse you cast after the knockback jinx, Gideon, the
one that—”

“Alright!” Fabian interrupted her, placing a hand on his brother’s chest as he started forward,
“Enough, Alice. We get it.”

The three adults stared at each other, for a moment, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
James and Sirius stood in the middle, unsure of where to put their eyes.

“Suit yourselves,” Alice muttered, finally, moving back towards the door. Underneath the porch
light, she looked very tired, and very small—a good foot shorter than either of the Prewett twins.
But the glance she cast back over her shoulder was fierce; it made her seem taller, somehow.

“It’s shite,” she said, flatly, staring directly at James and Sirius. “It’s war, and it’s fuckin’ shite.”

The door slammed behind her, and they all stood in silence; nobody seemed to know what to say.

Chapter End Notes

idk why i imagine alice as irish but i simply do

 Seventh Year: Responsibilities
Chapter Summary

that's suspicious....that's weird :|

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Monday 9th January 1978

“So it’s just the Ferox letter still to post, then?” Sirius asked, sitting next to Remus in their usual
carriage on the Hogwarts Express. He’d gone with him to the muggle post office the day before, to
send off two letters—one to his mother, and one to Grant. Moony had written a third letter for
Ferox, the old Care of Magical Creatures professor—he’d been very upset to learn that the man had
been injured in the Diagon Alley attack. Fortunately, that letter could be sent the usual way: by
owl, from the Hogwarts owlery.

“Just the Ferox one,” Remus confirmed, settling into his seat. Peter had rushed off to find Dorcas
the moment they boarded the train, and James and Lily had to ride in the prefect’s carriage, which
left the remaining two boys completely alone. Sirius decided to take advantage of the space,
reclining sideways and stretching his legs out over Remus’s lap. He grinned up, arms behind his
head, and Remus raised a brow.

“Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Sirius yawned, then asked, “So, which letter are you most looking forward to
getting a reply from?”

“Which reply am I most looking forward to?” Remus shot him a wry smile, “You mean between
my battle-wounded ex-teacher, my young-offender ex-boyfriend or the mother who abandoned
me?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “Honestly, the amount of stuff you keep
back.”

“Would you rather I was whinging all the time?” Remus pulled out a book, cracking it open on top
of Sirius’s legs.

“No,” he sighed, thoughtfully, “But, I mean. If you didn’t have me to talk to about this stuff, I’d be
worried your head would explode.”

“It would not explode, thank you very much,” Remus huffed, slapping him lightly with the worn
paperback. “You’re so dramatic. I coped perfectly well before you decided to involve yourself.”

“How?!”

“Well.” Remus hesitated, biting his lip. “I er…you’ll think it’s stupid.”
“What?”

“I…make lists, in my head. Benefits and losses. And sometimes I have pretend conversations, you
know, to help me work through a problem…”

“Bloody hell, Moony,” Sirius pushed himself up, staring, “You complete nutter.”

This earned a laugh, and Remus rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, ok. Maybe a bit mental.”

Sirius moved his legs, sitting upright so that he could scoot closer on the seat.

“Ever had an imaginary conversation with me?” He rested his chin on the other boy’s shoulder,
murmuring the words into his ear.

“No!” Remus replied, shutting his eyes and swallowing as Sirius breathed onto his neck, “I only
have imaginary conversations with sensible people.”

“Well,” Sirius leaned even closer, “Maybe that’s where you’re going wrong…” he began to kiss
him, softly, just behind the earlobe. Moony squirmed, dropping his book, and Sirius felt a slow
pulse of heat creeping through his blood at the stifled noise that Remus made.

The door rattled open, abruptly, and the two of them shoved apart just as Marlene burst through.
There was another girl following behind her—Yasmin. Sirius recognised her from the quidditch
team.

“Oh!” Marlene stopped short, blushing furiously, “Thought this car was empty…”

Ah ha, Sirius thought, glancing between the two girls. He didn’t try to stop the amused smile that
spread across his face, leaning back casually in his seat.

“Nope.” He shot a wink at the dark-haired girl, nodding. “Patel.”

“Remus, have you met Yasmin?” Marlene asked, voice a bit strained as she took the seat opposite
Moony. “She’s the new Keeper.”

“Oh, right, hiya.” Remus waved, stiffly.

“No Mary?” Sirius asked innocently, enjoying the guilty blush that crept across Marlene’s cheeks.

“No Mary.” Yasmin replied, smirking like the cat that got the cream.

“She’s talking to one of the Ravenclaw prefects,” Marlene interjected, “It’s not as if we’re
deliberately avoiding her or anything!” Sirius bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Hm.” He grinned at Marlene, unable to keep the teasing smile off his face, “What were you two
up to, then?”

It was Yasmin who answered, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly between him and Remus.

“Nothing. What were you two up to?”

Bugger, Sirius thought, sitting up straighter. Next to him, Remus had gone rigid, eyes wide as he
stared at Patel.
“Nothing!”

“Well then.” Marlene cleared her throat, leaning back in her seat, “We’ll leave it at that, then, shall
we?”

“Fine.” Sirius shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. Yasmin giggled, scooting a bit closer to
Marlene, and Remus stared at them, perplexed.

“What are we leaving where?” He demanded, as they walked up to the owlery later that evening.
They were moving slowly; Remus was out of breath, panting by the time they neared the top.

“Moony, really.” Sirius shook his head, laughing, “Someone as observant as you hasn’t noticed
anything different about Marlene, lately?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus grumbled, gripping the banister as they made
their way up the spiral staircase.

“Oh, come on, Moony,” Sirius nudged him, “Marlene and Yaz? Don’t tell me you didn’t see – they
were all over each other before they realised the carriage wasn’t empty.”

Honestly, he was surprised that Remus had never noticed—he had always been closer with
Marlene, especially once Sirius was no longer on the quidditch team. But the revelation seemed to
take Moony completely by surprise; he stopped in the middle of the stairs, blinking.

“You mean, Marlene is…?”

“Yep.”

“And Yasmin…”

“Yep.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yep.” Sirius shot him a wicked grin, “Can’t believe you hadn’t figured it out already!”

“Well,” Remus tutted, as they rounded the last few steps, “I’m pretty impressed that you did.
Seeing as you apparently had no idea about me, after we’d been shagging for a year.”

“It wasn’t a whole year,” Sirius protested, glancing around the room to ensure it was empty before
continuing.

Remus followed behind him, breathing heavily. Sirius leaned by the window as he selected an owl,
looking out over the Forbidden Forest.

“So if Marlene knows…” Remus said, pointedly, trailing off as he tied the letter to the leg of the
bird he’d picked.

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius ran a hand through his hair, “James next.”

“I don’t mean to keep bringing it up…” Remus said, sounding a bit sheepish as he sent the owl off
through the nearest window.

“No, I promised I would do it.” Sirius sighed, “Anyway, this term’s going to be enough of a
nightmare what with NEWTs and the war…rather not have anything else to worry about.”
“Are you nervous?”

“Shitting myself.”

“Lovely.” Remus said dryly, moving to stand next to him. “Can I help?”

“Not if you’re going to suggest me having an imaginary conversation with Prongs…”

“Don’t see why not,” Remus smiled, teasingly, “Prongs is easy to do. Nice and predictable.”

“Mm, unlike some.” Sirius replied, glancing at him. “Anyway, it’s not what he’ll say that I’m
worried about. I know what he’ll say. It’ll be like it was when you…um…”

“…came out…” Remus supplied. Sirius swallowed, nodding.

“I know he’ll be his usual righteous self. I’m more worried about the stuff he doesn’t say…”

“Well.” Remus sighed, shrugging, “There’s nothing you can do about that.”

I know, Sirius thought, stomach twisting, That’s why it’s so bloody terrifying.

“Black?! Bla-aaack? Oi, Padfoot!” The mirror in his pocket began to buzz with James’s voice,
shouting insistently. Sirius shook his head, pulling it out and flipping it open,

“Speak of the devil.”

“Where are you, tosser?” James demanded, face squashed so close to the mirror that Sirius could
only see one of his eyes.

“Owlery.”

“Moony with you?”

“Yep.”

“Dumbledore wants him.”

“Right now?!” Sirius frowned, looking up at Remus. The other boy had gone stiff beside him.

“Right now,” James confirmed.

* * *

It was an hour before Remus stepped out from behind the stone gargoyle, shoulders sagging in
exhaustion. Sirius leapt forward, pushing off the wall he’d been leaning against—he, James, Peter,
and Lily had been standing outside of Dumbledore’s office for nearly forty minutes.

“Well?” Sirius demanded, scanning his face as if he might be able to find some sort of clue as to
what had transpired. None of them had been able to think of any reason that Dumbledore would
want to speak to Remus so soon after the term had started.

“Um.” Remus blinked, looking at them.

“Come on,” Lily pushed past Sirius, taking Moony’s arm in hers, “You don’t have to tell us, we
just wanted to know you’re ok.”

“Of course he has to tell us,” Sirius corrected, sharply. Remus shot him a look, frowning.

“Can we go somewhere a bit more private? Not the common room…”

“Dorm room?” Peter asked.

“Yeah.”

Remus remained stubbornly silent for the entire walk back to Gryffindor Tower, refusing to say
even one word. Sirius had to stifle the urge to interrogate him, shoving down his questions until
they were buzzing in his stomach, his chest, the back of his throat. He was just about ready to burst
out of his skin by the time they finally reached their dorm room—Lily came up with them, arm
firmly linked with Remus’s, and sat down on James’s bed as if it were the most natural thing in the
world for her to be there. Remus sat, too, settling down on the lid of his trunk.

“So?!” Sirius demanded, fighting the urge to bite his nails, “What did Dumbledore want?”

“He gave me an assignment,” Remus said, faintly, staring down at the threadbare rug with a dazed
sort of expression on his face.

“He what?!” James yelped, “He gave you…not any of us?”

“James,” Lily frowned, reaching out to touch his arm, “It’s obviously something Remus is best
suited for.”

“Werewolves.” Sirius breathed. His blood had gone cold. He thought of the previous year, the
panic of waking up to find Moony gone in the middle of the night…

Remus glanced up at him, smiling in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but only
succeeded in making Sirius’s heart twist.

“Yeah. Done it before, haven’t I?”

“You’ve done…” Lily began to speak, but stopped herself, seeming to think better of it. “What
does he need from you? Why now?”

“They think there’s one in Hogsmeade,” Remus said, swallowing, “The centaurs told him, or
something.” He looked back down, fidgeting with his hands. “Dumbledore wants me to um…
‘make my presence known,’ next time I’m in town. See if it…er…takes the bait.”

“Bait?!” Sirius couldn’t stop his voice from pitching up, aware that he was almost shouting. Remus
glanced back up at him, warily.

“…It’s just an expression.”

“Not a great one,” Peter said anxiously, frowning.

“Sorry.” Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Don’t worry about me. If there is a
werewolf, and it’s one of Greyback’s, then I don’t think I’m in any danger. He wants me to join
him, remember?”

Like that was supposed to make them feel any better. “Yeah,” Sirius said, bitterly, “I remember
getting my own invitation to join that side.” Remus looked away again.
“It’s not going to be like that.” He mumbled, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself as
much as he was them, “Nothing might happen at all, they might not even be here for me. And I
was ok, last time, wasn’t I?”

“Only because Ferox showed up!” Sirius could feel his anger building, simmering just below his
skin—Remus couldn’t confront the werewolves. He just couldn’t.

“I know, but I’m of age now…I’ll know what to expect.” The tall boy spoke steadily, giving Sirius
a hard stare.

“It’s so dangerous, Remus!” Lily began to speak, but he cut her off.

“I know that too, but I wasn’t exactly given a choice!” Remus wasn’t quite shouting, but he’d
raised his voice—Lily shrank back, pursing her lips and staring down at her hands. Sirius took a
breath.

“When?” He asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Next Hogsmeade weekend.”

“That’s in two weeks.” James murmured, “After the next moon…”

“They’re going to increase security in the village, obviously.” Remus said, “After last time.”

“Okay, I’m going to need a few things explained, here…” Lily said slowly, brow furrowed.

“James, would you?” Remus asked, “I think I just want to go to bed…”

“Yeah, of course.” James straightened, looking more grounded now that he had something to do,
“We can talk about this tomorrow, when everyone’s had some time.”

“Thanks.” Remus attempted a smile, pressing his hands to his knees and pushing himself to his
feet.

“Moony?” James stepped forward, remorseful, “I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t get an
assignment, or that you can’t do it, or anything—”

“I know,” Remus reached out to pat his shoulder, “Believe me, if you or Sirius could do it instead,
I wouldn’t be Dumbledore’s first pick. S’pose I just got lucky, eh?”

Sirius didn’t miss the bitter twist to those last words—he didn’t think James did, either. But neither
of them said anything as Remus shut himself in the bathroom, listening as the sound of running
water started up from the sink.

James sighed, heavily, turning back to face the rest of them.

“Let’s go down to the common room, yeah?” He suggested, “Give him a bit of space.” Peter and
Lily nodded, heading for the door immediately. But Sirius stayed.

“Mate…” James said, tiredly, “It’s really not the time for an argument, c’mon…”

“I’m not going to argue with him,” Sirius shrugged him off, offended. “I’m just—” he hesitated,
swallowing. “He shouldn’t be alone, right now, James.”

The other boy regarded him, for a moment, studying his face. Finally, he clapped Sirius on the
back.
 “Alright. The rest of us’ll be downstairs, ok?”

Sirius nodded. “Ok.”

James shut the door behind him on his way out, leaving Sirius alone in the empty room. He
hovered in front of the bathroom door, unsure whether he should knock. Just as he was about to
raise his fist, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Remus stood in front of him, eyes wide, shoulders trembling. Sirius released a breath.

“You ok?”

Remus swallowed. Something broke, a little, behind his eyes.

“No.”

He moved forward, and Sirius wrapped him in his arms, wishing he could do more.

Chapter End Notes

lesbians <3

anyway anyone got any canon compliant dorlene fics or do i just need to write one :/
love an au but i want them to both die at the end for maximum suffering <3
 Seventh Year: Preparation
Chapter Summary

james makes a discovery

Chapter Notes

long note but please bear with me:

hello! i rewrote this chapter without realizing that mkb had already written the scene of
sirius telling james, and then felt very dumb when someone commented mentioning it
and i went and checked the bootleg tapes (in my defense, i had only been looking at
the chapters titled "sirius").
as it stands, i stressed for a while about whether to cut, re-rewrite, etc, but then i
remembered that this is fanfiction and if the stress outweighs the fun of writing, it isn't
really worth it. so i just left it as is. if i'd realized the scene already existed, i probably
wouldn't have rewritten it at all and would have just replaced it with something new,
or spent longer focusing on the quidditch-pitch-after-the-library convo, because i
really really love the mkb version and i think it fits in well with the rest of this fic. but!
here we are
ANYWAY - if you'd like to switch to the mkb version, it's here, and i highly highly
encourage you to go read it. i'll bold the lines in this chapter that correspond to the
beginning + end of the mkb scene if u wanna do a little switching back and forth thing.
anyway, sorry for this mix-up, but maybe it'll be fun to have two scenes? idk, i trust
you'll all just read what u wanna read and skip what u don't :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I’ll tell you, I can’t sleep at night

Wanting to hold her tight

I’ve tried so hard to convince myself

That this feeling just can’t be right

It’s too late to turn back now

I believe, I believe, I believe

I’m falling in love

Tuesday 9th January 1978

“Right, Moony,” James announced decisively, face hidden behind the towering stack of books in
his arms. He dropped them with a resounding THUD onto the table, directly in front of Remus. The
poor boy jumped, blinking up in shock.

“What are these?” He squinted down at the stack, picking up a book off the top.

“Potter,” Lily glanced over with a bemused smile, looking both shocked and somewhat proud,
“Have you been in the library?! In the morning?! Instead of flying?!”

“We need to get Moony prepared, Lily!”

“But…you said mornings were sacred to you!” Sirius gasped.

“You said you had to pay homage to the gods of the quidditch pitch!” Peter reminded him.

“I can miss one morning,” James huffed, folding his arms.

“Prongs!” Remus swooned theatrically, reaching out to grab his hand, “I’m touched.”

“Gerrof,” James ripped his hand away, cheeks going pink, “You can all stop making fun of me.
Am I the only one taking this seriously?!”

“Hey!” Sirius grinned, ignoring the other marauders’ anticipatory groans, “I am always Sirius.”

Peter shook his head; Remus rolled his eyes; James made a disgusted noise in the back of his
throat. But Lily, who had not yet developed an immunity to the joke, began to laugh, snorting so
hard that tea shot out of her nose. This sent all of them into a bout of hysterics that lasted for the
next five minutes – any attempts to calm down were thwarted by James’s eyebrow-waggling and
Lily’s helpless snorts. By the end of it, Sirius’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard, and he found
himself gasping for breath.

Everyone had perked up a bit by the time they headed to their lessons, imbued with a new sense of
determination. On a suggestion from James, they decided to meet every day in the library after last
bell, combining their efforts to research and practice new spells with Remus.

By the end of the week, they had taken possession of six desks in a back corner, shoving them all
together and marking them with a sign that Peter made which read Marauder’s War Council: Do
Not Disturb. Lily even went so far as to place a charm on the little paper plaque so that it would
scream viciously if anyone else tried to sit down in their spot, making it impossible to study—their
peers caught on quickly, steering clear.

Almost all other duties were abandoned. Christopher took over Remus’s study groups, Marlene
began running two of James’s quidditch sessions, and Lily explained to professor Slughorn that she
wouldn’t be able to make it to Slug Club that week due to an extracurricular project. Sirius even
took a step back from pranking—he was pretty sure that it was the first week in over two years that
he had gone without so much as dropping a dung bomb in the hallway. Instead, all the marauders’
focus was poured into the same goal: preparing Remus for Dumbledore’s mission.

They spent most of their time on defensive spells, covering almost an entire year’s worth of
Defence Against the Dark Arts material in one week thanks to James’s careful tutelage. A good bit
of time was additionally spent on offensive hexes and jinxes—James and Sirius were both banned
from the restricted section, so they had to send Lily and Remus to check out the books that
contained more advanced material. They all got very good at silencing spells, which they had to
cast over the desks so that Remus could actually practice the jinxes he was studying without
drawing Pince’s wrath—for larger-scale hexes, they practiced in the common room.
“You’re good at charms, and that’s half the battle.” James assured Remus one evening, as they
stood in front of the fireplace, “The rest is really just quick thinking and determination.”

“And we know you can do those,” Lily chimed in, un-freezing all the sofa cushions they’d been
practicing stasis charms on.

“It won’t be like Diagon Alley,” Sirius added, patting him on the back, “Because you’ll know
what’s coming. You’ve got time to get ready.”

Remus still looked nervous. “Easy enough to say…” he muttered, “I’m ok at most of this, here,
with you lot, but if I was actually defending myself…and I still can’t do a patronus.” For some
reason, he was very hung up on patronuses—perhaps because it was one of the only bits of magic
that seemed to elude him.

“Don’t worry about that, now, just focus on the simpler stuff.” James waved a hand, “The patronus
will come – it’s not as if you’re not strong enough; you apparate like it’s nothing.”

“That’s easy,” Remus frowned, “That’s just thinking. Patronuses are feeling.”

“Could somebody please let me down, now?” Peter asked, anxiously, from where he’d been
hanging frozen in mid-air.

* * *

Sunday 14th January 1978

Remus seemed a bit more confident by the time the weekend rolled around; he was casting most of
the spells they’d practiced with ease, and had built up quite a repertoire of offensive and defensive
charms. Sirius knew that – if everything went according to plan – he likely wouldn’t even need any
of the jinxes they’d been learning; after all, Dumbledore only wanted him to alert the other
werewolf to his presence. It wasn’t as if the headmaster was expecting Remus to duel them.

Still, it was nice to know that Moony was prepared. Just in case.

All five of them spent their entire Saturday cooped up in the library—it wasn’t as bad as Sirius had
expected it to be, spending the whole day tucked behind the books. They were near a window,
where the sunlight chased away the shadows cast by the tall shelves, and he felt more…grounded,
with all his friends there. It was easier to focus on the present moment; easier to stop himself
slipping through time. And even if it hadn’t been—he would do anything, for Moony.

While they all planned to spend Sunday in the library, as well, Lily was called away to mediate a
prefect dispute, and Peter ended up having to serve a detention; this left only Remus, Sirius, and
James working in their private little corner. Remus darted off to the restricted section, returning a
few minutes later with the biggest book on curses that Sirius had ever seen.

“There are some second years on the other side of the hall taking bets on whether we’re really
behind studying for NEWTs or just planning the most amazing prank Hogwarts has ever seen.” He
informed them, dropping the tome with a heavy thud onto a stack of three other books.
“I’m so proud of our legacy, aren’t you, Mr. Prongs?” Sirius paused his notetaking to grin at James
from across the table.

“Quite so, Mr. Padfoot, quite so.” James murmured without looking up, squinting down at a
glossary. “Ah ha!” He reached for one of the books scattered across the table, flipping rapidly
through the pages.

Sirius raised a brow.

“Found something good?”

“Maybe…” James answered distractedly, eyes darting across the page.

Remus picked up his gargantuan curse book, opening it to the table of contents and frowning as he
read the chapter titles.

“Ok,” James got their attention, “Look at this.” He flipped the book he was holding around to show
Remus and Sirius, who were both sitting across the table. “I really think this sort of thing plays to
your strengths, Moony. It’s all intuitive stuff with a lot of punch behind it, the way you do pranks.”

The two of them stood, leaning forward to scan the page that James was pointing at. As they read,
Remus reached up absentmindedly to rub at his shoulder—he always seemed to be sore,
somewhere, especially as it got closer to the moons.

Sirius paused his reading, distracted by the hiss of pain that escaped Moony’s lips as he pressed
down on the muscle right beside his neck. He always did it wrong, poking at his shoulders like he
was angry with them instead of kneading the way you were supposed to. Without thinking, Sirius
shifted closer, stretching out a hand to rub circles over the sore spot. He pressed firmly, but gently,
feeling the muscle begin to unlock under his fingers, and Remus sighed in relief.

Sirius was still reading when Remus shifted, nudging him slightly. He glanced up, and was met
with James’s shocked gaze. Their friend was staring, pointedly, at the spot where Sirius’s hand
rested beside Remus’s neck, mouth slightly agape, glasses slipping down his nose.

Oh.

Sirius stared back, realising what James was seeing. For a moment, he considered brushing it off—
stepping away, cracking a joke, unspooling the tension. It wasn’t as if he’d snogged Remus; a
shoulder massage could be feasibly written off as platonic.

Except that it wasn’t. It very clearly wasn’t, and James had obviously noticed, and…what was the
point in hiding it, if he’d already seen?

So Sirius didn’t move away. Instead, he stepped closer, wrapping an arm deliberately around
Remus’s shoulders and squeezing, gently. He didn’t look away from James as he did it, holding the
other boy’s gaze.

James blinked, still staring. He looked at Sirius, then Remus, then Sirius again. Finally, he shut his
mouth and nodded, once.

Remus straightened up, allowing Sirius’s arm to slide from around his shoulders. He cleared his
throat. “Er. I’m sure there’s a book I’ve read which goes into more depth than this. I think I’ve got
a copy upstairs, I’ll er…just go and get it…see you in an hour or so, maybe?”

It was an obvious lie, but Sirius appreciated what he was doing nonetheless. He and James nodded,
simultaneously, eyes still locked, and Remus hurried away without another word.

They waited until he was out of sight, unmoving, unspeaking. Sirius realised he was holding his
breath. A minute passed, in which he wondered if he should say something—that familiar anxiety
was returning, the doubt that he had hoped was long gone.

And then James opened his mouth.

“What the fuck are you playing at?”

Sirius blinked.

“What?”

“Merlin, Black,” James broke his gaze, finally, running a hand through his hair and glancing down
at the table before he looked back. “You and…you and him?”

“Yeah,” Sirius swallowed, “Me and him.”

James released a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Fuck, Sirius, you can’t…” he removed his
glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “This is Moony we’re talking about, yeah? You can’t
just…mess around like that, it isn’t—”

“Oi!” Sirius straightened, bristling, “I’m not messing around, you prick, what the fuck?”

James didn’t back down, giving him a hard look. “Well I’m sorry, Pads, but you don’t exactly have
the best track record when it comes to relationships.” He must have seen the hurt on Sirius’s face,
because he softened slightly, saying, “Look, you’re my best mate, yeah? But so is Moony, so
just…you promise this isn’t, like…an experiment, or something, for you?”

“No,” Sirius said, quietly, “It’s…” he glanced down, swallowing the lump in his throat. “It’s really
important to me, James.”

They were quiet, for a bit. When Sirius looked up, James was studying him, brow furrowed.

“It is?”

Sirius nodded, mute. James took a deep breath, placing his hands on the back of his head as he
blew it out.

“Ok,” he nodded, as if he were deciding something, “Ok. When did this—I mean, how long have
you—”

“Look,” Sirius interrupted him, fingers tapping anxiously on one of the desks, “Can we…go
somewhere else? I’ll answer all your questions, I promise, I just…” he glanced up at the
bookshelves, just a few feet away. “I feel like I can’t breathe in here, right now.”

James nodded, blinking. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, let me just—” he shoved the books into his bag,
then slung it over his shoulder. “Quidditch pitch?”

Sirius nodded, gratefully, following him out.

He felt a bit better, once they were outside. It was cold out, but not bitterly so; the air was sharp
and fresh, invigorating. Sirius took a deep breath, turning back to James.

“Ok,” he said, attempting a smile. “Ask away.”

“I…” James shook his head, looking rather shell-shocked. After a moment, he asked, “How long?”

“Er…that one’s a bit tricky, actually…I guess this summer, sort of? Cornwall? That’s when we, er,
talked about it.”

“Talked about…you mean it started before that?”

Sirius nodded, sheepishly.

“When??”

“Erm…after I broke up with Mary? Last year?”

“Last year?!”

“Yeah….remember how you said you thought I’d been moody?”

James shook his head, eyes wide. “I thought you were just moping over Mary…bloody hell,
Sirius.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean…bloody hell.”

“You said that already.”

James laughed, shakily. “I know, sorry. This is just a bit of a shock, that’s all. I can’t believe I
didn’t…” he frowned, as if he’d just thought of something.

“But what about Emmeline?”

Sirius blinked. “What about her?”

“I mean, things with you and Remus…weren’t you…dating her?”

Sirius flushed, looking down at the grass as they walked. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I…it’s hard to
explain. I was trying to keep everything—separate, sort of.”

“Separate,” James repeated, watching him. Sirius nodded.

“I, erm…I mean, you know about my family. My mum…she sort of fucked with my head? About
—that stuff. Being…y’know.”

“Queer?”

Sirius winced. “I guess,” he mumbled, “Yeah—that. Or whatever.”

“Sorry,” James said, quickly, “I didn’t—mean to assume, if you’re not comfortable with that…er,
word.”

“It’s alright,” Sirius shrugged, “Um. Yeah, I’m still not…I mean, it’s easier, now, and Moony’s
helped a lot, but I really…I just couldn’t really think about it, last year. I didn’t—I didn’t want to
think that I could be…y’know. So I just tried to ignore it, or sort of…talk myself out of it, I guess.
But I only ended up making a mess of things. That’s why…that’s why stuff was so weird. Last
spring. Between me and Remus.”
James nodded, slowly, absorbing this. Sirius took a breath, and continued,

“Then, this summer, after Remus…came out, I guess I sort of realised…that it might be ok? I
dunno how to explain it right, it was just…I couldn’t make myself believe that there was anything
wrong with him, y’know? And so I thought, if it’s alright for him, then maybe…it’s alright for
me.”

James was staring at him, brow furrowed. “Padfoot…” he breathed, shaking his head, “Of course
it’s alright, mate. There’s—there’s nothing wrong with it. You know that, right?”

Sirius closed his eyes, for a moment, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. When he opened
them again, James was studying him, concerned.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking back down at the ground, “It just…it means a lot, hearing you say
that.”

James reached out, grasping his shoulder. “You’re still my best mate, yeah?”

Sirius smiled, weakly. “Yeah.”

James grinned back, squeezing his shoulder. After a moment, he dropped his hand, asking slowly,

“Is that…why you didn’t tell me?”

Sirius bit his lip, nodding.

James looked a bit hurt. “Did I do something? To make you think I wouldn’t…react well?”

“No!” Sirius assured him, “No, Prongs, it was nothing to do with you, I promise. It was just my
own fucked-up head. After everything with Remus this summer, I know it should have been easy,
but I just…I didn’t want anything to change. Anything. And, you know. This is a change.”

“It’s not!” James said, quickly, “I swear, Padfoot, this doesn’t change anything, okay? You and
Remus, you’re still my best mates. Nothing could ever change that.”

He looked so earnest that Sirius only nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Ok.”

They walked in silence, for a bit, around the edge of the pitch. James cleared his throat.

“So…are you and he…boyfriends, then? Or like—I mean, it’s serious?”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. “Yeah, it’s serious. I…” he
hesitated, then said quickly, “I really, really care about him, James. It kind of scares me sometimes,
if I’m being honest.”

James looked up, too, smiling wistfully.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I think I know the feeling.”

* * *
 By the time they caught sight of Lily and Remus sitting in the stands, they were high in the air,
racing towards the goalposts on their brooms. They went for a few more laps, just to feel the wind
whipping past their faces, before James pulled up next to him, hovering.

“Oi, Black!” He called, just loud enough for Sirius to hear, “Race you to your boyfriend!”

“Oh, sod off, Potter!” Sirius shouted back, falling into a dive immediately as they both plunged
towards the stands.

They landed at the same time, hitting the ground heavily. James grinned at him as he dismounted,
and Sirius grinned back; they were both breathing heavily, sweating slightly from the exertion.

“All right, lads?” Lily asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Sirius only needed to take
one look at the smile playing across her lips to know that Remus had told her.

“Needed a break,” he panted, “Change of scenery.”

Remus looked up at James, fidgeting with his hands.

“All right, Prongs?”

James turned to Sirius, smiling, then looked at Remus. He shook his head fondly, reaching down to
haul the nervous boy to his feet,

“Come here, you big prat.” He yanked Remus into a bear hug, laughing.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "too late to turn back now" by cornelius brothers & sister rose

also! as a final note - i will not be rewriting any other chapters from sirius's perspective
that mkb has already written. as far as i'm aware, there are only two more that take
place in the main story's timeline (valentine's day and the single sirius pov chapter
post-azkaban -- if there are more please tell me so i don't make the same mistake twice
lol). for valentine's day i've done something a bit different (which i'm both very
nervous and very excited about) and for the post-azkaban content, i've talked a bit in
the comments on here and over on tumblr about my plans post-1981 so i won't bother
rehashing everything since the notes on this chapter are already so long!
 Seventh Year: Instinct
Chapter Summary

poor peter

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“You told him!” Remus slammed the door shut with his foot, kissing Sirius urgently before he
could even respond.

“Well, he worked it out...” Sirius laughed, breathlessly, as they broke apart, stumbling when he
was pushed back towards the bed. Lily and James had run off to a prefect’s meeting, and Peter was
still stuck in detention—which meant they had the dorm to themselves. Remus seemed very eager
to take advantage of that fact.

“But you told him,” he repeated, voice low and rough in his throat. Sirius shuddered as Moony ran
his tongue along his neck, from collarbone to earlobe, making his knees go weak. In the next
moment, they were bumping against the bed frame; Remus shoved him, and they fell backwards
together.

“Merlin.” Sirius gasped, unable to do anything but stare, helplessly, as Remus crawled on top of
him. His hands were everywhere, insatiable, long fingers sliding under Sirius’s shirt and ghosting
over his skin. He shivered.

“If I’d known this was how you’d respond, I’d have told Prongs ages ag—”

“Shut. Up.” Remus nipped at his lip, fingers working his belt. Sirius let his eyes fall shut, biting
down on the palm of his hand and doing his best to obey as Moony kissed down his chest, moving
lower...

“So,” Remus said casually, half an hour later, smoking by the window as if he hadn’t just taken
Sirius apart piece by piece with nothing but his tongue, “It went well?”

“Hm?!” Sirius struggled to think through the fog in his brain; he still felt slightly boneless, like his
limbs had turned to jelly. Remus smirked down at him, smugly, blowing smoke out the crack in the
window,

“James. What did he say?!”

Oh. That was what they were talking about.

“I think the first thing was ‘what the fuck are you playing at,’ but it got better from there.” Sirius
rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand.

“Did he ask lots of questions?”

“Sort of. Nothing I didn’t expect, I s’pose. What about Evans?”

“She said ‘oh my god’ about a hundred times, but she came around fairly quickly.”

“Prongs too.” Sirius frowned, “Except the prat won’t tell Wormtail for us, says we have to do it.”

“Well. Fair enough.” Remus took another drag on his cigarette, this time blowing the smoke
towards the bed. It curled lazily between them, hazy swirls. “What questions did he ask?”

Sirius inhaled, shutting his eyes.

“Nothing scandalous. How long for, when did it start, why didn’t I tell him...that sort of thing.”

“What did you say?”

“I told the truth. Roll us a fag?”

He didn’t have to ask. Remus already had one ready, and he passed it over without a word. Sirius
flipped onto his stomach, stretching his hand out through the smoke to take it. He stuck the
cigarette between his lips, snapped his fingers to light it, and then rolled onto his back, sighing as
he exhaled.

“How’d you feel?” Remus asked, staring at him in the hungry sort of way that made heat curl in
the pit of his belly. Sirius grinned.

“Right now? Bloomin’ marvellous.” He winked, poking his tongue between his teeth. “About
Prongs? Ok. Good, I think.” Sirius stretched, one hand sliding up under Remus’s pillow. His
fingers brushed against something. “What’s this?”

“Oh!” Remus stood, abruptly, cheeks going pink, “I got some letters back. Ferox is ok. And,
erm...”

“Grant.” Sirius stared down at the colourful postcard, which featured a bright blue sea and sunny
pier. Why is he keeping it under his pillow??

He flipped the card around, sucking on his cigarette as he read.

Dear Remus,

Thank you for writing to me. My Christmas was good. I never had turkey before, it was nice.

No flat yet but I am trying. Still staying with my aunt as you will see from the address, but I like it
here. I like the sea and may learn to swim.

I’ve been seeing a lad down here, but he ain’t as clever as you. Nice body though.

I miss you very much.

Your Grant. Xxx

Sirius raised a brow. “He’s seeing someone with a nice body but he misses you?!”

The bed groaned as Remus jumped onto it, snatching the card away and holding it out of reach.

“He’s seeing someone with a nice body and he misses me. Separate statements.”

“Well,” Sirius smirked, folding his arms behind his head as he lay back, “I hope you’re writing to
him about my gorgeous body.”

“Of course.” Remus rolled his eyes, laughing as he lay down beside him. For a moment, they were
quiet, staring up at the dark velvet bed curtains. Then,

“You’re not really jealous, are you?” Remus asked, quietly.

Sirius’s heart gave a little twist.

“Pfft, no.” He kept his voice playful, nudging the other boy, “Curious, maybe...”

“About...?”

“What do you think? You and him! You’ve never told me any detail...”

“We were fifteen, there was no detail. Just snogging.” Remus pursed his lips, prudishly. “Honestly,
what a thing to ask.”

“James did, about us.”

“He never!”

“Well, he didn’t, but I knew he wanted to.”

“No he didn’t, you’re just being vain.” Remus snorted, leaning over Sirius to stub out his fag in an
old cup of tea. Sirius trailed his fingers along a scar on Moony’s leg, catching him at the hip. He
began to pull Remus over, and the other boy shut his eyes, smiling.

—“Thank Godric I had the map, I would have gone to the libr— MERLIN’S BALLS!” The door
slammed open, revealing one very horrified Peter, who immediately slapped his hands over his
eyes.

Remus was out of bed in an instant, searching frantically for his trousers and shouting,

“Sorry Pete, sorry Pete! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“What the fuck?!” Peter squawked, hands still firmly covering his eyes.

Sirius yanked the duvet over himself to preserve his modesty, then glanced between the two boys.
He couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter.

“Wormy, we’ve got something to tell you.”

* * *

Friday 20th January 1978

It was strange, having their friends know. Sirius felt jittery, like he was waiting for the other shoe
to drop—waiting for someone to do or say something, to slip up and reveal that it wasn’t okay, that
things had changed, that they were all secretly whispering behind his back.

He knew that wasn’t fair. James had been nothing but kind, treating him just the same as he always
did; Lily, if anything, seemed to like him more. Even Peter was okay, though Sirius could tell he
was still scarred from their encounter in the dorm. Still, he and Remus were not exactly affectionate
in front of their friends; after all, there was no telling how everyone else in the castle might react if
they started holding hands in the hallways.

“You could tell Christopher, though.” Sirius suggested, on their last night before the Hogsmeade
trip. They had spent the evening in the library, only leaving when Madam Pince threatened to feed
them to Mrs. Norris if they didn’t clear out. It was nearly midnight, now, and everyone was a bit
sleepy and subdued as they made their way back to the common room.

“Oh, now you remember his name,” Remus said wryly, yawning.

“I'm just saying,” Sirius paused, stifling a yawn of his own, “He already knows half of it, no harm
telling him the rest. Not really fair to let him keep pining away for you when there’s not a chance in
—”

“Sirius Black, are you jealous?!” Lily laughed, delightedly—she always got a bit giggly when she
was tired.

“No.” Sirius said sullenly, frowning, “I just don’t want any misunderstandings.”

Remus stifled another yawn. “Well if I survive tomorrow then I’ll think about it.”

It was meant to be a joke, but they still fell silent—no one really knew how to respond. Sirius was
already trying to rein in his own nerves, aware that the frantic energy he felt whenever he thought
about Remus facing down a werewolf was probably not the most helpful thing for Moony, who
had already been on edge all week.

The common room, thankfully, was empty—or at least, it was empty after the loitering second-
years caught sight of James and Lily and darted off to bed before they could be busted for breaking
their curfew. The five of them settled down in front of the fire, where Remus immediately opened
his book and began to study again.

Sirius waved his wand to put the kettle on, and Lily sent a few teacups levitating over from the
cupboard. They waited for the water to boil; Sirius watched Remus anxiously as the tea brewed in
its pot.

“Moony,” he said, gently, “Put down the book, eh? We’ve done so much already.”

“Doesn’t feel like enough,” Remus muttered, thumbing through the pages, “I know I’m missing
something.”

Don’t say that, Sirius thought, Please don’t say that. He was already worried enough.

“It’s loads,” James reassured him, passing over a cup of tea, “Honestly, you know enough now to
walk any Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Might as well bunk off the rest of the year.”

“This isn’t an exam,” Remus said, sharply. His hands were shaking; he set the cup of tea down
quickly, probably hoping that no one would notice. Sirius tried not to stare.

“But Moony,” Peter chimed in, “You’ve done this before. Last year.”

“Exactly,” James agreed, nodding firmly.

Remus sighed, heavily, slumping down in his chair. He had finally closed the book, although he
continued to tap his fingers anxiously along the cover. It was clear that their reassurances had done
sod all to stem his worries. Sirius wished that they were alone, so that he could walk over and rub
his shoulders, or kiss his neck, or do something to stop his anxious fidgeting.

Remus stood, abruptly, elbow knocking into the teacup and sending it flying. Sirius moved without
thinking, freezing it in mid-air, tea and all, before it could spill.

“Going to bed,” Remus grunted, ignoring Sirius as he levitated the teacup safely down to the floor.

“Ok, Moony,” James exchanged a look with Lily, “Think we’ll stay down here for a bit.”

Peter glanced nervously between Remus and Sirius, blanching, and Sirius felt a small, embarrassed
kick of shame.

Remus rolled his eyes. “It’s ok, Wormtail, I really am just going to sleep. See you all tomorrow.”

Sirius thought about following him up, just to be with him—somehow, he got the feeling that
leaving Moony alone would only make things worse. But James and Peter and Lily were there, and
he didn’t want them jumping to any conclusions. It made him flush, self-consciously, to imagine
what they might say if he left—or worse, what they wouldn’t say, what they would just secretly
think behind his back.

So he stayed in the common room, with the rest of their friends. He drank his tea, and watched Lily
snuggle into James’s side, and listened to Peter mumble about a Transfiguration essay he still had
to finish. They remained downstairs for another twenty minutes before going up to bed, and by the
time Sirius got to the dorm room Remus had already drawn his curtains.

* * *

I heard about you and that man

There’s just one thing I don’t understand

You say he’s a liar and he put out your fire

How come you still got his gun in your hand?

Saturday 21st January 1978

Sirius couldn’t eat. He sat with his mug of black coffee, stomach tied up in knots, staring at the
dark bags under Remus’s eyes from across the breakfast table. Despite the rather obvious sleep
deprivation, Remus still ate like he was starving, shovelling second and third helpings onto his
plate. Sirius wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

“Three Broomsticks, later?” Mary chirped, sipping her pumpkin juice. She and Marlene were the
only two members of the group acting normally, blissfully ignorant about Remus’s mission from
Dumbledore. Lily and James nodded in response, offering shaky smiles that made them both look
slightly mad.

“Can I bring Yaz?” Marlene asked, reaching for a slice of toast. Mary frowned.

“I mean, I suppose...”

“Great.” Marlene grinned, either oblivious to the sour look on Mary’s face or choosing to ignore it.

Sirius tried to stay calm as he followed Moony into Hogsmeade, with Peter trailing along behind
them. James and Lily had their Head Boy and Girl duties to see to, so it was just the three of them.

“Where shall we go?” He asked, buzzing with adrenaline. Remus shrugged.

“Everywhere, I s’pose.”

“Would it help if I was Padfoot?”

“If you like.”

“Shall I change too?” Peter panted, jogging a bit to keep up.

“If you like.”

Sirius tried not to let the dismissal in his tone sting. Remus was clearly distracted, hardly glancing
at them as he spoke. He stared out at the row of shops, brow furrowed, sniffing every few seconds.

They picked a spot behind some bins to transform, ducking into one of the deserted alleyways
behind the shops. Remus crouched down so that Wormtail could crawl into his hand, placing the
rat on his shoulder as he stood back up. Padfoot barked, once, wagging his tail.

Why had he been worried? Everything was fine! More than fine—everything was great! He was
with his Moony, and they were wandering through the side streets of Hogsmeade, smelling all the
wonderful smells. Mulchy earth from the gardens, sticky-sweet everything from Honeyduke’s,
warm embering fire in The Hog’s Head—and the people! There were so many, so many scents,
sweat and breath and hair and clothes and perfume, but none of them as good as Moony.

Padfoot nudged his nose into the boy’s hand, snuffling, and Remus patted his head
absentmindedly. He still seemed distracted, walking towards the outskirts of the village, breathing
deeply. Padfoot wondered if he should roll over and try to convince Moony to rub his belly—but
no, they were doing something, something important...

The wolf, Sirius remembered, they were searching for the werewolf. He had nearly forgotten,
retreating into the excitable instincts of the dog. Some of the human anxiety crept back in as he
realised how far they’d strayed from the village. They were headed towards the forest, now,
nothing but tall, dark trees ahead.

Padfoot whined, nose prickling with an unfamiliar scent. It was heavy, animal, all tooth and claw.
He could taste it like a smear of blood, spread over the soil and leaves, making everything smell all
wrong. Danger, his instincts screamed; Danger, run, go, fast.
But Remus wasn’t stopping. He continued to walk towards the trees, eyes slightly glazed, smelling
sharp and eager and unafraid. Danger, Padfoot thought, Stop stop danger. Moony couldn’t go in
there, not now. He was too soft, too human. No claws.

Padfoot ran in front of him before he could cross the line of trees, barking. When Remus didn’t
stop, he growled a warning, hackles raised. Wormtail was squeaking frantically on Moony’s
shoulder—Padfoot could smell the fear coming off him in waves, sour and sharp. But there was no
fear from Remus, just that strange eager something that Padfoot couldn’t quite place.

“Sirius.” Remus said, sternly, “Move."

Padfoot stood his ground, growling, teeth bared. The tension was apparently too much for
Wormtail, because he gave one last frightened squeak before scurrying down into the pocket of
Remus’s robes. The boy didn’t even seem to notice, glaring down at Padfoot as he took a step
forward.

Words—Sirius needed words.

“Where are you going?!” He transformed, stumbling forward on two legs as he moved to block
Remus. “Can’t you smell it?!”

Remus paused, staring at him in surprise.

“Can you?" He asked, in a voice that was hushed and almost...reverent.

“There's something bad in there. It must be the wolf.”

“It is," Remus said, nodding feverishly.

“I can't be sure, though...” Sirius muttered, half to himself. He couldn’t smell anything, really, as a
human. But the dog’s instincts were still there, begging him to run.

“I can,” Remus said, looking once more at the trees, “Let me past.”

Sirius moved again, standing in front of him.

“No.” He insisted, “You've done what you said you'd do. We know it’s there. Let’s go back, now.”

“I...” Remus glanced, again, over his shoulder, eyes drawn like a magnet to the dark mouth of the
forest. His gaze was wistful, hungry. Sirius felt a chill run down his spine.

“I have to."

Before he could respond, James’s voice interrupted them, booming cheerfully from down the path.

“There you lot are! Where’s Pete?”

They both turned; he was striding up from the village with Lily not far behind. “What are you
doing all the way out here? Thought you were supposed to be trailing your scent all over town or
something.”

“Yeah, we’re just coming back now.” Sirius said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
Everything in him was screaming to run, to get away from the forest as quickly as possible.

“You lot can.” Remus frowned at him, resentfully, “I'm not.”

“Not what?” Lily asked, looking baffled. “Where is Peter?”

Sirius thought of the quivering rat in Remus’s pocket, but didn’t say anything. Somehow, it didn’t
quite seem like the appropriate time to break the animagus secret to her.

“I’m not coming back with you,” Remus insisted, “I have to go in there.” He pointed towards the
towering trees.

“You what?!” James stared at him, brow furrowed—then glanced to Sirius, looking for an
explanation.

“The wolf's in there,” Sirius told him, “And Moony’s gone completely mental and decided he has
to go in and face it right now.”

Remus spun around to glare at him, furiously.

“I have not gone mental, you prick!” He snarled, hands curling into fists. “You lot go back, or wait
here. You won’t understand.”

Sirius felt his own temper flaring, but Lily stepped forward calmly. “Help us understand, Remus,”
she urged, “This isn’t like you, barrelling into a fight...”

Remus snorted. “I’m not going to fight anyone,” he said, “I just want to talk to them. That’s what
I’m supposed to do.”

That was bullshit, and they all knew it. Dumbledore hadn’t said anything about confronting the
werewolf—he’d only told Remus to draw it out, to confirm whether it was really there. Sure, they’d
practiced for a fight, but Moony wasn’t actually supposed to confront anyone. They were supposed
to stay together. He was supposed to stay safe.

Remus turned to Lily, pleading. “We were wrong – this isn’t a battle. And I’m not a weapon
against the werewolves. I’m a...” He ran a hand through his hair, voice bordering on frantic, “I
dunno, a way in. They need to know I don’t mean any harm.”

“But Remus, if they’re on you-know-who’s side...”

“They're not!" Remus insisted, “Not all of them.”

Sirius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The werewolf was dangerous—he knew, he had
smelled it, he was sure. Even if Remus said he wasn’t going to fight, even if he swore that he just
wanted to talk—they had no way of knowing whether the other wolf would feel the same.

“Look,” Remus took a breath, speaking firmly, “This is important, and I need you all to trust me.”

It’s not you we don’t trust! Sirius wanted to scream. But before he could say anything, James was
nodding.

“Ok, Moony."

Sirius scoffed, incredulous—they weren’t actually going to go charging into the forest after a
werewolf just because Remus fancied a chat, were they?!

“Ok.” Remus nodded back, “Stay here.”

He didn’t withdraw his wand—didn’t utter any spell that they could hear, didn’t even wave his
hand. But somehow, Sirius felt the magic in the air, buzzing like static.
 “Remus?!”

Moony started forward, walking into the forest as if he couldn’t hear them.

“Remus!”

Sirius tried to move, to follow—but there was a wall, some sort of invisible barrier, hard and solid
as rock. It wasn’t like any magic he had ever seen before; it was far, far too advanced. Sirius
pounded his fists, searching for cracks.

But it was too late. Remus was gone.

Chapter End Notes

song in the middle is "victim of love" by the eagles!

 Seventh Year: Betrayal
Chapter Summary

nooo aha ;) don't go into the forest after the werewolf ur so sexy ;))

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“REMUS!”

He was shouting, banging fists hard enough to bruise.

“COME BACK, YOU BASTARD!”

“Sirius, mate—” James grabbed his arm, trying to stop him, “Calm down, it’ll be alright—”

“Fuck off, Potter!” Sirius rounded on him, breathing heavily. Before he could think, he was
shoving James, sending him stumbling backwards. “This is all your bloody fault!”

“What?!” James stared at him, incredulous.

“You told him to go off on his own!”

“I told him that we trusted him, I didn’t know he’d go barrelling off—”

“Alright, alright, both of you stop it!” Lily stepped between them, holding her hands out as if to
fend them off. Sirius glared at James, hands still balled into fists, and James glared right back,
glasses askew. After a moment, he pushed them back up his nose. Lily continued,

“Look, Sirius, I know you’re upset—”

“I’m not upset, I’m bloody furious!”

She gave him a sharp look, and he fell silent. Lily took a breath, then went on,

“But trying to fight each other isn’t going to solve anything. None of us knew that he was just going
to storm off like that, and I certainly didn’t know that he could cast wandless magic—did either of
you?”

Sirius shook his head, sullenly, and James echoed the movement.

“This isn’t any of the spells we practiced…” James murmured, placing a hand against the invisible
barrier, “It’s…I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Could it be a shield charm?” Lily asked, squinting at what appeared to be empty air. James shook
his head.

“If it is, it isn’t any shield charm I’ve ever heard of. Blimey, I can feel it…”

Sirius took a breath, struggling to get a grip. He felt as though every cell in his body was screaming
run, fast, go—don’t let him leave. Which was useless, of course, seeing as Remus had already left.

He needed to punch something.

“It can’t go on forever,” Lily said, decisively, “C’mon. I’m sure if we just hike down a little way,
we’ll be able to go around it—every shield charm has a set radius, yeah?”

“Yeah,” James perked up, nodding, “You’re right, Evans.” He glanced at Sirius. “Come on, mate.
Let’s go find Moony.”

Sirius nodded, stiffly. He followed as they began to move off the footpath, walking carefully along
the outskirts of the forest with their fingers trailing along the invisible wall. Pretty soon, he’d
overtaken James and Lily, practically running as he hurried along the line of the trees.

It didn’t end.

Sirius tripped; fell; stood up again. He kept his hand on the barrier, searching desperately for a
crack, a chink—anything. But there was only the strange, buzzing static, repelling him no matter
how far he went.

“Sirius! Oi, Sirius!” James was calling for him, running to catch up. Sirius had finally stopped to
catch his breath, hands on his knees. The sun was beginning to sink in the sky.

“Just…a little…further…” he panted, pausing to take a gulp of air. “It has to end somewhere,
James.” Sirius stared up at his friend, pleading. “It has to end somewhere.”

“Sirius…” James placed a hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think it does, mate.”

Sirius let out a choked sound, something that could have been a laugh, or a sob. “He left, Prongs,”
he said, words spilling out of their own accord. “Why would he leave us?” Why would he leave
me?

James stared down at him, helplessly. “I dunno, Padfoot,” he ran a hand through his hair, glancing
over at the unfeeling line of trees. “I think…he was probably just trying to protect us.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sirius spat. His fingers were trembling. “That’s utter fucking bullshit.”

“I know, mate,” James said soothingly, hauling him up, “C’mon, let’s go back, it’ll be alright…”

Lily was waiting for them, back on the footpath. She was hunched over on a rock, head in her
hands, but she stood when she caught sight of them.

“Anything?” James asked, as they approached. She shook her head.

Sirius turned away, scrubbing at his eyes and glaring into the trees. How could you? He thought,
stifling the urge to scream, How could you just fucking leave?

“It’ll be curfew soon,” Lily was saying, “We’ll have to go back…”

And then, suddenly, something moved in the trees. Sirius squinted, rubbing his eyes, unsure
whether it had been a trick of the light—but no, there, there was definitely someone moving
towards them, pushing through the underbrush.

“Rem—”

But it wasn’t Remus.

“Fuck,” Peter gasped, stumbling onto the footpath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He was trembling; as they
watched, he walked clean through the barrier, stumbling over to them.

Sirius ran forward immediately, going back the way Peter had come—but the invisible wall was
still there. He slammed into it, staggering back and wincing as pain lanced through his shoulder.

“Shit,” Peter mumbled, “Fuck, fuck…”

And then they were all speaking at once.

“Peter?!” Lily yelped, “Where did you come from?”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Where’s Remus? Peter—where is he?!”

Sirius had the other boy by the shoulders, gripping so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“I…I just…” Peter stared up at him, helplessly, and burst into tears. Sirius shook him, practically
growling,

“Answer me, Pete! Where the fuck is he?!”

“Oi!” James grabbed his arm, yanking him away, “Give him some space!”

Lily wrapped her arms around Peter, and he sobbed into her shoulder, shaking. She shot Sirius a
reproachful look, but he couldn’t bring himself to care—all he felt was a vicious frustration, acidic
and searing, as he waited for Pete to pull himself together.

“Shhh,” Lily murmured, gently, “It’s alright, you’re safe…”

Sirius started forward, and James tightened his grip. “Padfoot,” he spoke sternly, frowning, “Just
give him a minute.”

Sirius shrugged him off, stalking back over towards the barrier. He pressed a hand against it,
feeling the buzz of Moony’s magic under his skin.

“We were attacked,” Peter told them, when he’d finally calmed down enough to speak, “By a
dryad.”

“A dryad?” James frowned, “They aren’t usually violent, are they?”

Peter shrugged, helplessly. “She was angry. Really angry…” his face went pale, but he pressed on,
“I used confringo, just to get her to stop—but that just made her angrier, and we had to run away. I
wanted to go back, but Remus—” he swallowed, shaking his head, “It was like he was possessed,
or something. Like someone was summoning him. He said…he said that he thought the dryad had
hurt the other werewolf. That he needed to find him. I tried to follow, but…” he trailed off, lip
trembling as if he were in serious danger of breaking down again.

“It’s alright, Pete,” James said, soothingly, “What happened?”

Peter took a deep breath, still curled under Lily’s arm.

“We kept going deeper, into the forest—I didn’t know where we were, I was just following Remus.
He said we were close, and then…there was a voice.”
“A voice?”

Peter nodded. “It—he—I think it was the werewolf. It called out for him—it said his name.”

Sirius felt cold.

“Did you see it?” He demanded, moving away from the barrier, eyes riveted on Peter’s face. The
smaller boy shook his head.

“I…” another choked sob escaped his chest; he pressed his hand to his mouth. “I’m so sorry—” he
found James’s eyes, staring up at him, “I’m so sorry, I was just so scared—”

“What happened, Peter?” Sirius growled; James shot him a warning look.

Peter shook his head. “I ran away,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I just…I just ran.”

For a moment, they were silent. Then the rage crested in Sirius’s chest, and he was shouting.

“You left him? You fucking left him?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t—”

“You bloody fucking coward, how could you—”

“I didn’t mean to, I swear, I just—”

“You’re supposed to be a Gryffindor, how could you turn your back on—”

“ALRIGHT!” James shouted, “ENOUGH!” He turned to Sirius, giving him a hard look. “Enough.”

Sirius was pretty sure that it wasn’t enough. He was pretty sure that it would never be enough,
because Peter had left Remus with a fucking werewolf who knew his name, which meant he
probably worked for fucking Greyback and was there to recruit Moony into their bloody fucking
werewolf cult to work for fucking Voldemort, just like—

“Padfoot,” James said, trying to catch his eye. But Sirius kept his gaze locked on Peter, pouring
every ounce of venom he could muster into his voice as he spat,

“If he doesn’t come back, that’s on you.”

Peter began to cry again, and Lily wrapped her arms protectively around him, staring at Sirius in
horrified shock. James grabbed his wrist, hauling him away, so that they stood alone at the edge of
the trees.

“What the fuck, Sirius?!” He hissed, as soon as they were out of earshot, “That isn’t bloody true,
and you know it.”

“He left Remus, James,” Sirius shook him off, “He left him with that fucking—”

He broke off, horrified by the lump rising in his throat. Sirius swallowed, blinking away the tears
that were threatening to creep into his eyes.

“Merlin, Sirius,” James shook his head, “I know—I know you’re scared, alright? But you can’t
just…say shit like that. Pete did his best; it’s not like he was expecting to face down an angry dryad
and a werewolf this afternoon.”
“You wouldn’t have run,” Sirius said, fiercely, “I wouldn’t have run.”

“You can’t know that.” James told him, helplessly.

“Yes, I can.”

They stared at each other, unrelenting. Finally, James sighed, removing his glasses to rub the
bridge of his nose.

“You can’t make him your punching bag, just because you’re angry.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” He replaced his glasses, giving Sirius a stern look that was incredibly reminiscent of
Euphemia. “We’re going to go back over there, and you’re going to apologise.”

Sirius held his gaze for another moment before giving in, shoulders slumping as he looked down.

“Fine.”

By the time they’d moved back to the footpath, Peter was sitting on Lily’s rock, dejected. He
glanced up nervously as they approached, eyes still watery.

“Padfoot has something to say,” James said, moving over to stand by Lily. He put his arm around
her shoulders, and she leaned her head against his chest. They all turned to stare at him.

Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, Wormtail,” he muttered, stiffly, “It’s…I know it’s
not your fault.”

Peter sat up a bit straighter. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, in a wobbly voice, “I really didn’t mean to
run away, I promise. I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Sirius bit back the response that bubbled up on his tongue, about all the possible things that Peter
could have done which didn’t include abandoning Remus in the middle of the forest with an
unfamiliar werewolf. The anger sat in his chest, with nowhere to go.

James put a comforting hand on Pete’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he said, reassuringly, “You did the best you could. Sounds like you helped out with
the dryad, eh?”

Peter smiled up at him gratefully, sniffling.

“James…” Lily murmured, quietly, “It’s nearly curfew—if we don’t get back soon…”

“Right,” James nodded, “Ok. Right. We’ll go back to the castle and tell McGonagall what’s
happened, ok? If…if there’s anything we can do, she’ll know what it is.”

“You lot go,” Sirius said, roughly, “I’m staying here.”

“Pads…”

“I’m. Staying. Here.”

Their eyes met; James studied his face, brow furrowed.

“…Ok. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok.” James sighed, turning to Peter. “Wormtail?”

The smaller boy bit his lip, glancing back and forth between them. After a moment, he said,

“I’ll stay, too.”

James looked over both of them, appraisingly. “Alright. Lily and I’ll let McGonagall know what’s
happened. Sirius, you have the mirror?”

Sirius nodded, once, already turning back to the forest.

“Ok, then.”

None of them said anything more. James and Lily walked back down the path towards the village,
until they disappeared out of sight.

The two remaining boys didn’t speak. Sirius paced, frantically, back and forth, buzzing with
adrenaline and fear and stifled rage. Peter sat fidgeting on the rock, then stood, tugging at his
cloak, then sat again, this time on the ground.

He’ll come back, Sirius told himself, over and over again, He’s going to come back. He tried not to
think about the things Remus had told him the previous year, about how Greyback was waiting,
about the werewolf sent to Hogsmeade to recruit him. There would be no Ferox this time, no
rescuer. Remus had made sure of that.

Stop it, Sirius gritted his teeth, pushing away the mental images of Remus snatched away by
clawed hands, stolen and trapped and surrounded by monsters. It won’t happen—he’ll come back,
he’ll come back, he’ll come back.

The sun had just kissed the horizon when there was the sound of snapping twigs—Sirius froze,
abruptly, whipping his head around. He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until the moment
that Remus appeared, shoving aside branches, leaving him suddenly gasping for air.

Sirius forgot about the barrier—he forgot about everything, dashing forward, reaching out without
thinking. Pain shot through his outstretched arms as he crashed into the invisible wall; he stumbled
back, barely keeping his balance.

Remus looked up. He didn’t move, or speak, but suddenly the staticky buzz that set Sirius’s teeth
on edge was gone. Remus limped forward, wheezing.

“Sorry.”

Sirius didn’t think, just moved, throwing his arms around Moony before he could stop himself. He
felt as if he might collapse from the weight of his own relief; Remus hugged him back, and he had
to remind himself to keep breathing.

I’m not letting go, he thought, feverishly, I’m never letting go of you again.

“We couldn’t come and help,” he croaked, forcing the words around the lump in his throat,
“Whatever you did…we couldn’t follow you.”

“I’m sorry.” Remus murmured, lips against his temple.

“I’m so sorry, Remus!” Peter began to babble, and Sirius remembered that he was still there, “I’m
so sorry!”

“It’s ok.” Remus tried to untangle one of his arms to reach out to Pete, but Sirius squeezed him
even tighter. Not yet, he pressed his face into Moony’s shoulder, Don’t go yet.

Eventually, though, Remus had to step away, extricating himself carefully from Sirius’s grasp. “I
have to see Dumbledore, right now.” He said, glancing towards the castle, “Where are the others?”

“They had to go back,” Sirius told him, “Curfew. They said they’d tell McGonagall.”

“Good.” Remus turned, “Come on, we have to go, now.” He began to move, limping down the
path towards the village.

“Moony, are you ok?” It occurred to Sirius to check for injuries—he hurried over and slipped an
arm under Remus’s shoulder, supporting him as he stumbled along. There was no sign of blood—
no cuts, no bruises that Sirius could see.

“Just tired,” Remus brushed him off.

“You’re covered in…is that soot?”

“There was a fire…”

“Wormtail said something was summoning you.”

“I can’t…I can’t explain it yet, please don’t ask me.”

Sirius felt the anger, creeping back up his throat. Of course—of course it was too much to ask;
Remus disappeared off to do Merlin knows what, making Sirius feel like he could crawl out of his
own skin with worry, and then showed back up over an hour later with no explanation and just…
didn’t feel like talking about it.

“Fine.”

McGonagall stood with her arms folded at the school gates, waiting for them. She was frowning
severely, although her face softened with relief as she caught sight of them.

“Professor!” Remus choked, pausing to cough, “I’m sorry we missed the curfew, but I need to see
the headmaster right—”

“Yes of course, Lupin, come with me.” She nudged Sirius away, taking Remus’s arm, and only
paused to glance back at the other boys once.

“You two go to the tower and say nothing. I don’t want any arguments, do you hear me?”

Her tone left no room for complaints; all Sirius could do was look back at Remus one more time
before following their head teacher’s orders and trudging back up to Gryffindor Tower.

James and Lily were waiting when they arrived, sitting in one of the common room’s less crowded
corners. Sirius stalked over, fuming, with Peter following behind. James looked up.

“What happened?” He asked, immediately, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard.

“Dunno.” Sirius threw himself down in the window seat, “Remus didn’t feel like talking about it.”
James raised an eyebrow at his tone, exchanging a look with Lily.

“He said that he needed to see Dumbledore right away,” Peter chimed in, anxiously, “I think
something must’ve happened.”

“No shit,” Sirius muttered under his breath. James kicked him.

“Right, then.” Lily said, changing the subject, “I’ve got a couple of questions for you lot.”

Sirius raised a brow. “Such as…?”

She frowned at him, crossing her arms. “Where, exactly, did Peter come from?”

Sirius blinked. Oh.

Peter had gone pale, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve; James was the opposite, face bright red
as he stared sheepishly at the floor.

“Look, Lily,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “Don’t be mad, alright? We—we had to
keep it a secret, you know, and I wanted to tell you, but I just wasn’t exactly sure how to—”

“He’s an animagus,” Sirius said.

Lily’s mouth fell open. “What?!” She glanced around furtively, then lowered her voice and leaned
in, “What??”

“We all are.”

She stared at them, dumbfounded. “You…you’re all…since when?!”

“Summer before fifth year,” James said, watching her anxiously, “We did it for Remus. To help
with his transformations.”

“To help with his—you don’t mean that you—”

James nodded, solemnly.

“But,” Lily shook her head, “That’s so dangerous!” Sirius bristled.

“No it’s not,” he snapped, “Moony would never hurt us.”

“It’s fine as long as we’re animals,” James jumped in, sensing the tension, “Werewolves are only a
threat to humans.”

Lily frowned, still looking unsure. She stared at each of them in turn, hard, appraising looks, before
turning back to James.

“I think I’m going to need you to explain this to me from the beginning…”

* * *

Remus returned just as they had finished their explanation—beginning with the origination of the
idea in second year all the way through their careful planning and preparation. They talked about
the potion-brewing process from start to finish, answering all of her questions about the
transformation itself and what it had felt like. After reassurances that they had now spent over two
years accompanying Remus on full moons and nobody had been hurt (at least, not seriously), Lily
finally seemed to come to terms with the idea.

“Can’t believe the three of you became unregistered animagi at fifteen…” she murmured, sounding
slightly dazed, “That’s such advanced magic…”

When Remus stepped through the portrait door, they all turned to look at him. He’d had the soot
cleaned off his face and robes, leaving him less rumpled, and his eyes had the sort of glazed look
that was a recognisable side effect of pain-killing potions. Sirius reached out to squeeze his hand
once, briefly, as he sat down.

For a moment, they were quiet. Then,

“Suppose you’ve heard about the dryad already?”

They all nodded, and Remus sighed.

“Right. Ok. Er…how much did you tell them, Pete?”

“You were tracking the werewolf,” Peter said quickly, eager to help, “And we were almost there—
we heard him say your name, and then I—that’s when I transformed.”

Remus glanced up, sharply, at Lily, and she raised a brow.

“She knows, mate,” James said quietly, “About the animagus stuff. We actually sort of just
finished explaining it to her.”

“Oh,” Remus blinked, “Right. Ok, then. I um…after Wormtail left, I kept following the wolf’s
scent. It was—I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry if I did. It was just like I couldn’t stop, like I
had to find it, y’know?” He cleared his throat, looking down.

“Anyway. I found him.” He paused, then added, “Castor.”

Castor. Sirius gritted his teeth, anger licking like a flame up his spine.

“The dryad had got him—she’d tied him to a tree with these thorns, he was all cut up. He…he
called himself my brother. Said that Greyback had sent him. He wanted me to free him, told me
he’d just come to talk. But I refused.” Remus swallowed, playing with a loose thread on his jumper.
“I told him I couldn’t trust them, after what happened last time. He—got angry. Tried to convince
me to join their…pack. When I didn’t agree, he—he mentioned something. ‘The big night.’ Said on
the next moon, there’s going to be a hunt…”

Lily had her hand pressed to her mouth in horror, and James had gone about three shades paler.
Sirius felt like his blood was fizzing, hot and jumping in his veins. He had to bite his tongue to
keep from interrupting.

“I tried to ask him about it, but…Livia apparated. Into the clearing. She, er—the werewolf from
last time.” He took a breath, “She wanted me to go with them; I said no, so she tried to disarm me.
But I didn’t let her. So…she started a fire. Without a wand—wordless magic. It was just…
everywhere.” He pressed his eyes shut, as if he were remembering. “She freed Castor. I—I tried to
jinx them, but it didn’t work, not on her…”

Sirius was shaking. The anger had settled into his bones, vibrating.
“I didn’t know what to do so, I…I cast a patronus. I don’t know how I managed it, but I did. And
then I ran—I don’t know if they tried to follow, or if they just left. I guess it doesn’t matter…”
Remus opened his eyes, glancing at them. “Since, y’know.” He gestured weakly to himself, “Here I
am.”

They were silent, for a bit, waiting to see if he had anything else to say. When Remus didn’t go on,
James shook his head.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, “Well done on the patronus,
though, mate.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, ducking his head.

“Did you see what it was?”

“No,” Remus replied, a bit too quickly, “It happened too fast.”

There wasn’t much else to say, after that.

Sirius didn’t know what to do with his anger. Everyone was utterly exhausted, moving like
zombies as they got ready for bed; no one was in the mood for a fight. Yet the rage remained,
screaming, like a kettle left to boil—Sirius fell back onto his pillows, and wished he could tear the
world in two.

He was angry with Dumbledore, for putting Remus in harm’s way, for sending him on a mission
with no training and no backup. He was angry with Peter, for abandoning Remus, angry with
James, for telling him that he could go. He was angry with the werewolves, for trying to steal
Remus away, angry with Voldemort, for joining forces with them, angry with Greyback, for tearing
apart a child and his family and coming back twelve years later to finish the job. More than
anything, he was angry with Remus, for walking away.

He lay in bed for what felt like hours, replaying the scene over and over again: Remus, turning his
back on them. Remus, swallowed by the woods. Remus, leaving nothing behind but his magic.
Nothing but walls.

He didn’t even look back. Sirius wondered, numbly, if that was the part that hurt most.

And then, as if he’d summoned him, Remus was there—curtains pulled away, weak moonlight
shining through.

“Sirius?”

His voice was quiet; tentative; hopeful.

“What?” Sirius waited, unmoving.

“I need you.”

Part of him hated the way those words unlocked him—hated the way they twisted all of the
feelings in his chest. He turned immediately, without thinking, pulled back the covers before he
could ask himself if it was a good idea.

“Get in.”

Remus climbed up, huddling under the blankets. They lay on their sides, curled next to each other.
Moony’s eyes were searching, hesitant, crawling over his face. Despite himself, Sirius felt the
anger slipping.

“Do you hate me?” Remus asked.

“No.” Sirius replied, automatically.

“I’m really sorry. I wanted to protect you all.”

“I know. That’s what James said.” His rage was unravelling faster, now, leaving nothing but the
wilted hurt beneath.

“But it’s no excuse,” Remus said, quickly. “I just…I wasn’t myself. Do you understand?”

Sirius shrugged, not sure how to respond to that—not sure how to say that he was himself.
Throwing up walls; refusing to talk. It just wasn’t the self that he’d promised he’d try to be.

And then Remus caught his eye, pinning him. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“You told us.” Sirius muttered, stiffly.

“Not everything,” Moony whispered, refusing to drop his gaze, “There are things I don’t want
everyone to know about. But.” He swallowed, “I want you to know. If that’s ok?”

I’m trying to be angry at you, you bastard, Sirius thought. But he couldn’t hide the smile that began
to sneak across his face.

“Go on, then.”

Remus talked. He talked for a long time, whispering about the magnetic pull of the other werewolf,
how it had been familiar and frightening all at once. He told Sirius about the forest’s magic, how
he could draw from it like an unending well; how it felt different, smelled different. He talked
about guilt, and doubt—about pity, towards the other werewolves, about anger and fear, about the
taste of smoke from burning trees. His voice broke, slightly, as he described choking on soot, and
Sirius reached out instinctively, stroking gently up and down his arm. Just to be there. Just to
touch.

“What made you think of casting a patronus?”

Remus exhaled, smiling dryly.

“It’s stupid. Voice in my head.”

“Ah.”

“Not like the normal voices, though. Usually it’s someone I know.”

“Maybe this time it was just you.”

Remus seemed to consider that, brow furrowing. Sirius continued to stroke his arm, watching him.
After a moment, he looked up.

“It’s a wolf. My patronus. I didn’t want the others to know, I don’t want them to think…”

“They’d never think badly of you, Moony, they know you too well.”
 “Do they, though? After today…I just feel so stupid. I got so caught up, I didn’t know what to do. I
just kept getting in deeper and deeper.”

“But you did the right thing, in the end.” Sirius assured him, “That’s all that matters.” He leaned
forward, kissing him gently. “You came back to us.”

“I…” Remus swallowed, looking away, and Sirius waited. When he looked back, his eyes were
burning, fervent, though his voice was barely a whisper. “I came back to you.”

Maybe it’s alright, then, Sirius thought, as he kissed him again, Maybe it’s okay. Maybe he can
leave, sometimes—as long as he comes back.

Chapter End Notes

really hoping that the summary reference isn't outdated bc i exist in the weird in-
between age group of not-quite-millenials and not-quite-gen-z but that one fucking
snapchat image has been stuck in my head since 2019
 Seventh Year: Interlude
Chapter Summary

how do YOU know i haven't had sex

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Where did you come from, baby?

How did you know I needed you?

How did you know I needed you so badly

How did you know I’d give my heart gladly

Yesterday I was one of the lonely people

Now you’re lying close to me, making love to me

I believe in miracles

Where’re you from, you sexy thing (sexy thing, you)

I believe in miracles

Since you came along, you sexy thing

Tuesday 24th January 1978

7:50 AM

A handful of people in Gryffindor Tower used alarm clocks. If Sirius found himself (against his
best efforts) walking through the hallway outside the dormitory doors in the early morning, he
could sometimes hear them—shrill ringing, or loud blaring, or (for those more experienced with
acoustic charms) perhaps even some nice, soothing music.

Sirius did not have an alarm clock. What he had was James Potter.

“Oi, Padfoot, get up! Nearly eight, you lazy sod.”

“I’ve got a free study day, arsehole, piss off.” Sirius grumbled, shoving his head under his pillow.

“You’ll miss breakfast!”

“Urrgh.”
“Fine, starve then.” Sirius could practically hear James rolling his eyes through the bed curtains.
As he began to shuffle around again, he called out,

“Seen Moony? His bed’s empty – don’t think he should be off on his own, do you?”

“Err…” Sirius lifted his head, hesitating.

The simplest answer to that question would be ‘Yes, James, I have seen Moony—in fact, I’m seeing
rather a lot of him right now, as he’s currently lying right next to me.’ But the boy in question was
giving Sirius a very frantic look, a look which clearly communicated that he did not want James
Potter made aware that they had spent the night sleeping next to each other—as if James and Sirius
hadn’t shared a bed plenty of times…

Still, Sirius obliged, half because he didn’t want to make Moony uncomfortable, and half because
he found it amusing how the tables had turned. While before it had been Remus urging him to be
more open about their relationship, now that their friends actually knew they were shagging the
private boy seemed determined to do everything in his power to convince them that the opposite
was true.

“Probably gone for breakfast, mate.” Sirius shouted through the curtains.

“Yeah, maybe…” There was a bit more shuffling, then, “…Oh, hang on, I’ll check the map, he’s
left it on his bedside table!”

Remus pulled a face, grimacing at himself as he slapped his own forehead. Sirius bit his lip to keep
from smiling.

“I’m in here, James!” Remus called out, face almost as red as the bed curtains.

“Oh!” James abruptly went still, all sounds of movement halting, “Oh…er, right, of course! Sorry,
I…er…didn’t think…” The footsteps suddenly started up again, retreating towards the door,
“Sorry lads…er…see you later, eh?” The door slammed open, then shut, and there was the distant
sound of footsteps down the stone stairs.

Sirius fell back onto his pillows, laughing, as Remus groaned in embarrassment. The poor boy
crawled under the sheets to hide.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius snorted, trying to yank the sheets away, “It wasn’t that bad…”

“It’s horrible,” Remus moaned, burrowing deeper, “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye
again!”

Sirius huffed and crawled under the sheets after him.

“It’s not like we were doing anything – you’ve still got your pyjamas on!”

“Prongs doesn’t know that!” Remus replied, pouting. He was sitting cross-legged, with the sheets
draped over his head like a tent. Sirius smiled, reaching out to play with his fingers.

“I don’t see what the fuss is about,” he tutted, running his own hands over the calluses on the pads
of Remus’s thumbs, the scars across his knuckles, the lines of his palms. He pressed their hands
together, then wiggled his fingers through Remus’s, bending them up and down aimlessly. “I’m
sure he already assumes…some things.”

“See! You can’t say it either!”

“Well. I’m a gentleman.” Sirius looked up through his lashes as he said it, smirking. It was perhaps
not the most accurate statement, seeing as he was, presently, having some decidedly ungentlemanly
thoughts about Remus’s fingers, and what he could do with them…

“At least we know we’ve got the room to ourselves…” Sirius murmured, leaning in to catch the
other boy’s mouth.

Remus kissed him, but broke away before things could move any further.

“No way, if we don’t go down there right now, James is definitely going to think we’re…”

“Shagging?”

“…being physically intimate.” Remus sniffed, primly.

Sirius couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of his throat. He flopped back onto the bed.

“Oh Moony! You kill me. What happened to that rough little yob I used to know?”

“Some posh boy taught him to read.” Remus quipped, smiling wryly as he flung back the covers
and rubbed at his staticky curls. “Right. Quick shower, then we’ll go down.” He yawned as he
hopped out of bed, stretching. Sirius propped his head on his arm.

“I like the sound of that!” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as Remus moved towards the
bathroom, smirking when the other boy paused in the doorway.

“Down stairs. Pervert.”

* * *

8:30 AM

It wasn’t like Sirius wasn’t self-conscious about it. He was—he understood where Remus was
coming from. He wasn’t keen on the idea that it might change things, that James might suddenly
see him differently, as…less of a man, or whatever. But somehow, Sirius felt as though shrinking
away from it would only make things worse; if he just acted as though it didn’t bother him, then
maybe, eventually, it wouldn’t.

Besides, it was a familiar role to play. Sirius had been throwing his sex life in the rest of his
friends’ faces for the past year; it wasn’t as if they didn’t know that he shagged. And it wasn’t his
fault that he was mates with a bunch of prudes—a fact that was made abundantly clear that
morning at breakfast, where Mary spent most of the meal breaking down all the pros and cons of
the Hufflepuff quidditch player she was currently seeing.

“I mean, obviously he’s fit. Like…Adonis level.” She said, eyes glazing over for a moment, “And
talk about stamina…”

Lily was trying to suppress her giggling by pressing her hands to her mouth, James was staring
straight down at his tea with a slightly mortified expression, and Remus was shovelling eggs onto
his plate, looking as if he was only half paying attention.
“But then,” Mary smirked impishly, “He has the gall to whine about thigh chafing from his bloody
broom!” She shook her head, laughing. Sirius tried desperately to catch James’s eye, recalling all
the times Potter had moaned about the pains of chafing—but the other boy refused to look up,
cheeks gone as red as his girlfriend’s hair.

Mary leaned in, conspiratorially, still with that same evil smirk; “I told him if he thinks that’s
uncomfortable, he should try bleeding from his snatch five days a month.”

Peter nearly spat out his porridge, Lily dropped her head into her hands, and Marlene whipped
around, glaring,

“Fucking hell, Mary! Do you have to?!”

“What?” Mary asked, innocently. Sirius had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Well. You’re being a bit graphic, for the breakfast table…” Lily said carefully, glancing at
Marlene.

“We’re all adults, aren’t we?” Mary gave her a flat stare, “We’re mature enough to talk about sex.”

“Right, I’d better be off!” James almost knocked over his tea as he stood, abruptly, bumping into
the table. Lily turned to him, brow furrowed,

“Where are you going?”

“Potions!”

“It’s not for another fifteen…Ok, wait, I’ll come with you.” She shook her head, bemused, and
stood to follow him.

“Didn’t know James was such a prude.” Mary said, pouring herself more coffee as the couple
disappeared out the door.

“Oh, it wasn’t you, Macdonald.” Sirius yawned, grinning as he reached up to tousle his hair,
“Prongsie-boy just had a bit of a surprise this morning – ow!”

Remus’s shoe had just made contact with his shin under the table. When Sirius looked over, the tall
boy was giving him a meaningful look – brows raised and lips pressed into a thin line – which said,
Shut it, you prat.

Before Sirius could retaliate the morning post arrived, and he was distracted by the owls swooping
into the Great Hall. He didn’t receive anything himself, but Remus got two letters dropped onto his
plate; he snatched them up immediately, scanning them.

After a moment, he grinned and passed the first letter over to Sirius. It was a crude postcard from
Grant, with a man on the seaside holding a jutting piece of rock in front of his crotch. On the back
(written in truly atrocious chicken-scratch) it said: ‘Saw this and thought of you. Looking at flats
next week! Love.’ Sirius grimaced.

He turned back to Remus, watching him read the second letter, which was substantially longer.
Once he’d finished, Sirius caught his eye.

“Anything from…?” He trailed off, raising his eyebrows. Remus gave a little shrug, and shook his
head – nothing from his mother, then. Sirius smiled, encouragingly, “Still time, eh?”
Remus shrugged again.

“Going to the library, see if I can find any of these before History of Magic.” He held up the
second letter, which appeared to contain a list of titles, then nodded towards Mary and Marlene.
“See you later, girls.”

“See you in the hospital wing, this evening?” Marlene asked, looking up from her plate. Remus had
been joining in on the extra-curricular healing lessons that Madam Pomfrey gave to interested
students, though he’d been absent for the past two weeks due to their preparation for Dumbledore’s
mission.

“Of course!” Remus smiled, “See you then!”

Sirius trotted alongside him as they made their way towards the library, looking forward to his free
day. Remus had class in the morning, but they’d have lunch all together with their friends, and then
after that, if they were lucky, the dorm might be free…

Next to him, Remus appeared to be deep in thought, staring straight ahead with his brow furrowed.
Whatever he was thinking about, he was concentrating on it so hard that he completely missed the
library, blowing past it with his long strides.

“Remus?”

No response—he continued walking.

“Moony?”

Still nothing.

“Moooooony? Earth calling planet Moony…!”

Finally, Remus paused. “Hm?”

“We just walked past the library, if that’s where you were heading…”

“Oh! Bollocks.” Remus spun around, hurrying back down the corridor. Sirius followed after him.

“Care to share?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking.”

“Not worrying, I hope? About tonight?” It was the full moon—Remus always seemed to get a bit
introspective and withdrawn around those, and after what had happened with the werewolves there
was now the added threat of an attack. Sirius supposed he could understand why Moony might be
preoccupied.

“Mm, a bit.” They fell silent as they entered the library, walking quietly past Madam Pince’s desk
so as not to incur her wrath.

“I don’t think we ought to leave the shack, tonight.” Remus said under his breath, once they were
safely past, “If anything happens…”

“It won’t, Dumbledore’s dealing with it.” Sirius didn’t exactly consider himself Dumbledore’s
number one fan after what had happened with Remus’s werewolf mission, but their headmaster was
still the most powerful wizard in the world. If he’d promised to handle it, Sirius had no doubts that
he’d be able to.
“I know,” Remus said, scanning the bookshelves, “But I’d like you to respect my wishes, if it’s all
the same to you.”

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Sirius reached out to squeeze his shoulder, briefly, “Of course we will.
Anything for our Moony.”

After a few minutes of searching, Remus selected three books and returned to Pince’s desk to check
them out. He was just about to shove them into his bookbag when Sirius held out his hands.

“I’ll take them,” he said, gamely, “You don’t want to be lugging them around all day, I’m going
back to the dorm anyway.”

“Oh, cheers.” Remus passed the books over with a distracted smile. “Are you going to start on that
Arithmancy essay?”

“Not if I can possibly avoid it.” Sirius grimaced. “See you at lunch? You’re free this afternoon,
aren’t you?”

“Er…yeah, but I’m supposed to be seeing Christopher…then there’s that essay you’re not doing,
and healing class. And I really want to write back to Ferox today, if I can, I think he likes getting
the post, since he’s not allowed out much.”

“Merlin, Remus,” Sirius frowned, heart sinking, “You’ve got to be at the Shack by six!”

“I’m aware,” Remus adjusted his bookbag, glancing away.

“And are you planning to eat?!” Sirius asked, running back over the itinerary Moony had just
rattled off in his head.

“When have I ever forgotten a meal?” Remus asked (which wasn’t really an answer), with a playful
smile. “Anyway, I have to run – History. See you at lunch!”

* * *

10:45 AM

It wasn’t like he needed to spend the afternoon with Remus. Sirius had plenty of friends, and there
was certainly enough homework to get done if he was really desperate for something to do;
besides, he knew that Remus had his own life. It was just that that life always seemed to be so busy,
and lately Sirius had begun to wonder if Moony was wearing himself too thin—especially with the
full moon coming up, he ought to be resting, not running madly all over the castle until the very last
minute. And Sirius had that spliff he’d charmed off a Ravenclaw, which would have been the
perfect thing to get him to relax…

Sirius was just putting the finishing touches on his Arithmancy essay when James walked through
the door, whistling. He faltered for a moment when he saw Sirius, but then plastered a smile on his
face.

“Hiya,” he moved towards his wardrobe, not quite meeting Sirius’s eye as he spoke.
“Quidditch?” Sirius asked, watching the other boy pull out his kit. He nodded.

“Quick session before lunch, to work with Eriksson – what’ve you been up to?”

“Homework.”

“Homework?!”

James spun around to stare at him, shocked, taking in the books and papers spread across his bed.
For a moment, the stiff cheerfulness slipped, and James sounded more like himself as he asked,
“Who are you and what have you done with Padfoot?!”

Sirius laughed, setting down his quill. “Trying to get that Arithmancy essay out of the way for me
and Moony,” he said—pausing for the slightest moment as he wondered whether or not to bring up
what had happened that morning.

Fuck it. James already knew about him and Remus; it was too late to take that back. If he was
going to be weird about it, Sirius would just have to keep throwing it in his face until he got used to
the idea.

“Wanted to make sure Remus had the afternoon free, y’know…” Sirius smirked, raising his
eyebrows suggestively. James went bright red.

“Oh!” He spun around, yanking off his shirt to change, “Right!” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Merlin, James, don’t be such a prude. You can’t pretend you haven’t snuck Lily up here for a
cheeky shag.”

James yanked his quidditch robes on so quickly that he nearly knocked his glasses off his face, still
keeping his back turned to Sirius. The silence went on for a moment too long.

“Prongs?”

James had gone uncharacteristically stiff, pulling on his leather quidditch gloves. Sirius felt a
wicked smile begin to creep across his face.

“Prongsieeee,” he sing-songed, “C’mon you really haven’t…?”

James turned around, finally, and the mortified embarrassment on his face said it all. Sirius threw
back his head, cackling.

“Oh, Godric!” He gasped, incredulous, “You’ve been seeing her for six months. Are you telling me
that Evans really hasn’t de-flowered you, yet?!”

James blushed, furiously, staring at the ground. “We’ve done—other things,” he said, defensively,
“Not that it’s any of your business!”

Sirius couldn’t stop laughing. “I can’t believe that the James Potter, Hogwarts’ Head Boy and
Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, is still a—”

“Well, you don’t have to go broadcasting it!” James snapped, ruefully.

“What in Merlin’s name are you waiting for??”

“I’m not waiting for anything!” He protested. “I’m just—I don’t want to get it wrong.”
Sirius settled back, arms behind his head, smirking. “Well, if you need any advice, you can always
just ask—"

“BYE, Padfoot, see you later!” James darted out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

Sirius was still chuckling about their conversation two hours later, when he headed down the
common room to see if there was anyone around he could bother before lunch. Unfortunately, all
of his friends were absent; James and Marlene were likely still at quidditch practice, and he figured
that Peter was probably out watching them or off somewhere with Dorcas. He had no idea where
Lily and Mary were—Sirius supposed he could see if Remus had left the map on his bedside table
again to check, but he didn’t particularly feel like walking back upstairs. Fortunately, he just so
happened to spot a familiar mousy blond head.

“Oi, Christopher!”

The prefect jumped and glanced up from the chair where he was reading, shutting his book quickly
and shoving it into his bag.

“Oh, Sirius,” he blinked, nervously, “Er…can I help you with something?”

Sirius leaned against the wall next to his chair, staring down haughtily.

“Just wanted to let you know that Moony’s going to have to cancel this afternoon.”

“What?”

“You wanted to study together, right? Well, he isn’t feeling well, so I’m afraid he won’t be able to
make it.”

Christopher frowned. “Oh…erm…did Remus tell you that, or…?”

“Yup,” Sirius said, popping his lips on the end of the word.

“Right,” the younger boy looked down, “Okay…thanks for letting me know?”

“Don’t mention it!” Sirius grinned, pushing off the wall and heading for the portrait door to make
his way down for lunch.

* * *

1:50 PM

He had been waiting, alone, at the table for a solid fifteen minutes before Remus came rushing
breathlessly in. The rest of their friends had already left, having arrived for lunch at a normal time
rather than ten minutes before the meal would end.

“Sorry!” Remus panted, sliding into his seat, “Stayed back to talk to Kettleburn, then remembered
I’d forgotten my notes in Professor Binns’ room. History was a bloody waste, too, all stuff I’ve
covered in the reading—oh, thank you!”
This last bit was said in response to the plate of sausage and mash that Sirius nudged towards him.
Remus began to eat at a truly astonishing speed, practically inhaling his food and continuing to
speak rapidly in between bites. “Anyway, it worked out nicely in the end, I used the time to write
my letter to Ferox and a note for Grant, so at least that’s done – what’s that?”

He was looking down at the stack of parchment Sirius had placed in front of him, trying to read as
he chugged his glass of pumpkin juice. “Arithmancy?”

“Your essay,” Sirius explained, “Finished mine, like a good boy, so I thought I’d do yours too.”

“You what?” Remus stared up at him, shocked. “I don’t believe you!”

“How many times have you done it for Wormy? Or James, for that matter – he’s still got a stick up
his arse about this morning, by the way, won’t talk to me about it – anyway, now that’s done, and
the letters, you’re free for the afternoon!”

“Thanks so much, Padfoot, honestly, this is brilliant…but I did promise to see Christopher, and—”

“Nope.” Sirius couldn’t suppress the smug smile that crept across his face, “Just saw him. Told
him you weren’t well, so you couldn’t see him.”

“Sirius!”

“Well, you’re not well,” Sirius pointed out, “What with tonight, you ought to be resting.”

“I’ll be fine once I’ve eaten.” Remus said, frowning as he looked back down at his plate. Sirius
studied his face, smile falling away—was Remus upset with him? He supposed it had been a bit
presumptuous to talk to Chris like that, but who would actually want to spend the afternoon
studying when they could do…literally anything else?

“Angry with me?” He asked, once Remus had finished eating.

“No,” the other boy sighed, “But you can’t reorganise my life like that just to get your own way…”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Sirius straightened, feeling a kick of guilt, “I just…you always have so
much on, and it’s insane. I mean, it’s amazing, because you’re amazing, and you can handle it, but
you don’t have to.”

“Ok…” Remus said, warily, hauling his school bag back onto his shoulder as he stood. Sirius
pushed away from the table, too, following him out of the Great Hall.

“And you’d written so many notes for that essay it practically wrote itself,” he continued, fumbling
to explain, “And we can go and find Christopher if you want, he’s probably in the library…”

“Sirius…” Remus shook his head, exasperated.

“Go on, I’ll post the letters for you, and I’ll see you for early dinner—”

“Sirius…” Remus paused, staring down at him, and Sirius stopped walking, too.

“Oh, bugger!” He scowled, remembering, “I can’t do early dinner, I’ve got that detention with
Filch. Only for an hour though, I’ll be out in time for—”

“Sirius!” Remus spoke sharply, interrupting him.

“What?!” Sirius glanced up anxiously just in time for Remus to take him by the chin, tilting his
face up for a kiss.

“Shut up, you idiot.” He murmured, smiling, “I’d much rather spend the afternoon with you than
studying with Christopher.”

“Oh.” Sirius bit his lip, smiling back as his heart began turning flips.

* * *

2:15 PM

The spliff had been an excellent idea. Hardly twenty minutes later, Sirius lay with his head resting
against Remus’s hip, mellow and boneless and tapping his fingers along to the Bowie record that
was spinning at the end of the bed. Remus seemed just as relaxed, lying with an arm behind his
head, propped up on the pillows as he inhaled deeply.

“Does the wolf get stoned too?” Sirius asked, stretching up a hand for the joint.

“Hungrier, probably,” Remus replied, passing it over.

“Hmm.” Sirius breathed in, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He exhaled, watching the hazy cloud
that left his lips. James would give them shit if they didn’t get up to crack a window, soon—but
somehow, Sirius couldn’t be bothered, content to remain exactly where he was.

“Can I ask you something?” Remus mumbled, from somewhere above his head.

“Fire away, Moony.”

“What was Mary on about, this morning?”

“About the Hufflepuff keeper’s stamina? I think she was blagging, to be honest with you.”

“Not that,” Remus shook his head, “The bleeding thing…bleeding from her…um…What did she
mean?”

Sirius turned, sharply, to look up at him, unsure whether Remus was joking.

“She was talking about…you know, her ‘time of the month’…” He trailed off, waiting for Remus
to get it. But the other boy only stared, blankly, waiting for him to go on.

“What’s that?”

“Remus…seriously?!”

“What??”

“You know! Girls are different from boys…”

“Well, I know that.” Remus muttered, defensively. Sirius bit back a smile.

“Ok, so girls get this thing every month…” He did his best to explain, watching in amusement as
Remus’s expression grew more and more horrified.

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.” He said, once Sirius was done.

“It’s natural.” Sirius replied, automatically. Mary had hated it whenever anyone made comments
about how gross it was—after listening to a few of her rants, he’d had the response drilled into
him. “I’ll get Lily to explain it to you, I probably told it wrong. Bloody hell, you’re nearly
eighteen, how did you not know?!”

“Oh yeah, make fun of the Care Home kid,” Remus scowled, “I grew up in a boys’ reformatory!
How am I supposed to know anything about girls?!”

“Explains a lot,” Sirius teased. Remus flicked his ear in retaliation. “Ow!”

“What’s your detention for, anyway?” The taller boy switched subjects, getting comfortable once
more on the pillows.

“Hexed Crouch.”

“Oh, right.”

“Him and my darling brother were tormenting some second years – but obviously he got out of it
because he’s a prefect.” Sirius frowned, thinking back on the incident.

He was going to stop using the map to spy on his brother—really, he was. It was creepy, and
weird, and honestly sort of pathetic. But all of his friends had been busy, and Sirius had found
himself pulling the parchment out from Remus’s bedside table, just to check. When he saw Regulus
Black and Bartemius Crouch Jr. hovering next to two unfamiliar names in an empty classroom,
he’d known immediately that something was off.

Sirius hadn’t meant for any professors to get involved. It had just been bad luck that the second-
years he’d sent scurrying off went straight to Flitwick, who walked in just as he hit Crouch with a
stinging jinx. The small professor had broken the whole thing up before it could go any further,
doling out detentions to both Sirius and Barty—but of course, Regulus had pulled out his prefect
badge, insisting that he’d been trying to stop the fight between the two boys.

“Ought to try and ignore them, if you can.” Remus said, bringing Sirius’s attention back to the
present, “I know he bothers you, but it’s better to just stay out of his way. School’s over, soon.”

“I know,” Sirius said, trying to ignore the hollow ache that came with those words. Would he ever
see Reg again, after he left Hogwarts? He took another hit off the joint, trying to chase the thought
from his mind.

Remus reached down, snagging Sirius’s wrist in his long fingers. Sirius stared, mesmerised, as
Moony dragged his hand to his mouth. He placed the end of the spliff—still stuck between Sirius’s
own fingers—into his mouth, and sucked, smirking sinfully when he released his grip. Fuck.

Any other day, it might have been enough to distract him—but as Sirius stood to flip the record
over to its b-side, he couldn’t quite manage to shake the thoughts of his brother from his head.

“I s’pose I just don’t want him to hurt anyone,” he said, lying back down.

Remus frowned. “That’s not your job.”

“Feels like it,” Sirius sighed, taking a moment to stretch. “You don’t know what he was like when
we were kids. He wasn’t…he’s not…” Cruel. Dark. Like them. “I dunno. I just don’t want him to
do something he’ll regret, later on.”

He wasn’t sure why he was talking about it. Probably the weed. Sirius usually tried to avoid the
subject of his brother, when it came to his friends—even with James. Especially with James.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think they would listen. They would—Sirius knew they would. Remus was
listening, right now. But he just…didn’t know if they could hear him. If they could understand.
Everything was so much simpler, from their point of view: the Black family were evil, hateful
bigots, and Regulus had thrown his lot in with them. That made him a shitty person, undeserving of
sympathy or pity or even Sirius’s time. He’d made his choice; it was his to live with.

Sirius knew that. He did. So how did he explain that he still missed him, sometimes? How did he
explain that he looked at Regulus and didn’t see a death eater, the way his friends did? How did he
explain that he still saw his baby brother, only thinner and paler and more dead around the eyes?
How did he explain the desperate urge to see him, to speak to him, to ask him if he was okay? It
was ridiculous, that he could walk in on his brother tormenting a helpless twelve-year-old and still
think that he was the one that needed saving. It was stupid.

“Tell you something?” Remus asked. Sirius shook off his thoughts.

“A secret?” He crawled up the mattress, so that they were sitting side by side.

“Er…sort of? But it’s about Regulus. You might not want to hear it.”

Sirius stiffened. Part of him wanted to cover his ears—but another part of him, a larger one, was
hungry for any piece of information he could get about his brother.

“Go on.”

“Remember the boggart that got me and Chris, before Christmas?”

“How could I forget?” Remus had told them all about it—how they had stumbled upon a shadowed
hallway, how Christopher had disappeared in the darkness, how Remus had followed and found
him facing down a shambling corpse that had then, abruptly, transformed into a full moon. “Wish
I’d been there, never seen a boggart.”

“Werewolves not exciting enough for you now?” Remus asked, dryly. “Anyway, er…I checked the
map, right after Chris went to get someone, and…well, I’m pretty sure it was Regulus who put the
boggart there. He and Barty were nearby.”

Oh. Sirius absorbed the words, feeling the dull, hollow ache that they caused. Like pressing on a
bruise, it was a familiar sort of pain. Remus was watching him.

“Stupid prick.” He looked down at the bed, fidgeting with the spliff between his fingers. “It’s all
her, you know. He’s an idiot for wanting to please her, obviously, but it’s all her fault, anyway.”

“Your mother?”

He nodded, once, still not meeting Remus’s eye. Words bubbled up in his throat, all the things that
he wanted, desperately, to say:

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t who he is. If it weren’t for her—weren’t for her
influence—he would never have become this. He doesn’t want it; he can’t want it; I can’t believe
he wants it. It’s my fault. I should have tried harder. I should have made him leave.
 Remus reached over, fingers brushing gently against Sirius’s jaw. When Sirius turned to look at
him, his eyes were dark, half-lidded, warm and soft and unbearably sweet.

“Let’s forget about all that shit,” he murmured. “It’s boring.”

Sirius kissed him, swallowing the words. They sat heavy, like a stone, in the pit of his stomach.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "you sexy thing" by hot chocolate!

early-ish post tonight because i know i'll be drunk in an hour and THIS time i'm
planning ahead <3

also quick note virginity IS a social construct unless i'm using it to make fun of
someone in which case it's real
 Seventh Year: Victims
Chapter Summary

yikes

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The wolf wanted out. He made that very clear.

The night started normal enough; the transformation went as smoothly as could be hoped, though it
never got any easier to watch. They had already decided to stay in the Shack, per Remus’s wishes,
and so the marauders had left the doors locked and the charms in place before they transformed.

At first, things seemed to be going alright. The wolf was a bit energetic, a bit wound up, but play-
fighting and chase-the-rat seemed to be doing enough to keep him occupied. Padfoot had barked
and wagged his tail, and they had raced in circles together around the room.

But as the night wore on, something changed. The wolf grew more and more restless, pausing to
sniff at the air and howl. Eventually, he began to throw himself at the door, growling and whining
and scratching. Prongs tried to block him, but that only seemed to make him more frantic. Padfoot
tackled him, thinking to distract him with more play-fighting, but the snarl that ripped from the
wolf’s throat in response was not very playful at all—nor were the jaws that locked around his leg,
biting down too hard for it to be a game.

Padfoot wriggled free and growled, but the wolf only launched itself back towards the door. When
he tried to cut it off, the wolf swiped at him, claws slicing through flesh, knocking him back into
the wall. Padfoot whimpered as he slumped to the ground in a tangle of limbs, and Prongs cantered
between them, snorting. Wormtail ran in circles on the floor, which wasn’t helpful in the slightest.

Just until sunrise, Sirius thought, vaguely, We just have to make it ‘til sunrise.

The next few hours were spent playing what felt like a dangerous game of chicken, in which
Padfoot and Prongs would try to push or pull or coax the wolf away from the door, only to have
him turn on them, snarling. They would then spend the next few minutes dancing away from the
snapping jaws, until the wolf lost interest and returned to the door. By the time the sun finally
began to rise, they were all utterly exhausted.

The transformation back was worse. It was like nothing that Sirius had ever seen before—as if the
wolf didn’t want to leave, as if it was fighting to hold on. He panted and whined and howled on the
floor, bones cracking, body shrinking.

The second that Remus had settled back into shape, Sirius transformed, rushing over to kneel at his
side.

“He’s not waking up—Prongs?! Why isn’t he waking up?!”

James knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse; Peter hovered behind, chewing on his lip.
“It’s alright,” James said, after a moment, “He’s breathing, it’s alright. I think it’s just…taking a bit
longer. For him to wake up.”

“Okay,” Sirius nodded, feeling slightly hysterical, “Okay, when will he wake up, though?”

“I—I dunno…mate, are you bleeding?”

Sirius looked down. Three stripes of blood were soaking through his shirt—after a moment his
brain caught up, and he realised he was in pain.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Guys—” Peter interrupted, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, “Pomfrey’ll be here soon, if we
don’t go she’ll catch us…”

“Bugger,” James glanced out the window, running a hand through his hair, “You’re right, Pete.”
He looked back down at Remus, frowning. “I’m sure he’ll be alright—Pomfrey’ll know what to
do. And I don’t see any serious injuries, I think he’s just passed out.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Sirius growled, “Not until he wakes up.” Not until I know he’s alright.

“Mate…”

“I’m not leaving, James.” He glared. After a moment, the other boy relented.

“Right. We’ll leave the cloak for you—”

“What?!” Peter yelped, indignantly.

“—and sneak back now, before Pomfrey’s on her way down the tunnel.” James gave Peter a sharp
look as he finished his sentence, and the other boy shrank back, abashed. “I’m sure we’ll be fine to
sneak back into the castle; no one’s up at this hour, anyway. And if we do run into someone, you
can transform, Pete, and I’ll play the Head Boy card.”

Peter nodded, mollified.

James cast one last look at Remus before passing the invisibility cloak over to Sirius, assuring him
that he would write to his parents to try and find out if something had happened. He snuck out with
Peter at his heels, and once they had disappeared Sirius turned back to the unconscious boy on the
floor.

“Remus?! Remus??”

He knew that he probably shouldn’t, but he grabbed Remus’s shoulders anyway, shaking him
roughly.

“Wake up!”

It seemed to do the trick.

“Wha—??” His eyes snapped open, and Sirius sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are you ok?”

Remus sat up slowly, wincing; something cracked, audibly, in his back.

“What happened?” His voice was scratchy, rough. Likely from all the howling.

“Here,” Sirius gripped his elbow, helping him to his feet. They walked slowly over to the bed,
where Remus sat down heavily. Sirius withdrew the goblet that he’d prepared with a
weightlessness charm, whispering, “Aguamenti.” Remus accepted the water gratefully, spilling half
of it down his chest in his haste.

“What happened?” he asked, once he had finished drinking, “Are you hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Sirius pulled his cloak a bit tighter around himself, covering his chest. “You just nipped
me a few times – you kept trying to get out.”

Panic lanced across Remus’s features. “Did I—?!” He reached out, grabbing at Sirius’s shirt. Sirius
untangled himself, pushing him firmly back down onto the cot and covering him, gently, with a
blanket.

“No, we kept you here. You never left, I promise.”

“Where are the others?”

“They had to go – Madam Pomfrey’ll be here soon. When you turned back it was different – harder
than normal, I think. You wouldn’t wake up properly, so James left me the cloak. I didn’t want to
leave you here.”

Remus stared up at the ceiling, dazed. His skin was very pale, and he was sweating, slightly.

“Something really bad happened,” he breathed, voice cold with terror in a way that sent chills
down Sirius’s spine. He reached out, gripping the other boy’s hand, unsure of what he should say.

The moment they heard Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps on the stairs, Sirius ducked under the cloak.
He retreated to a corner as she bustled over to Remus, looking almost as pale as the sickly boy.

“Poppy!” Remus pushed himself up, wincing, “What happened? Please tell me!”

“How are you, first?” She avoided the question, placing a hand against his forehead, “You’re
running very high.”

“I feel fine,” Remus shrugged her off, “There was an attack, wasn’t there?”

She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. Remus’s face fell.

“Who? How many?”

“I don’t know.” The old nurse looked down at the floor, refusing to meet his eye. Under the cloak,
Sirius’s heart was pounding, chest sticky with blood.

“Please,” Remus croaked. Pomfrey shook her head, sadly.

“There’s nothing I can tell you. It’ll be in the morning news.”

“I have to see Dumbledore!”

“He’s not here.” She stood, glancing at the door, “Now, can you walk? Professor McGonagall says
you’re to go to your lessons as usual, if you’re fit enough? We don’t want anyone asking where
you are. I’ll give you something for the pain.”

Sirius scowled at that—anyone with eyes could see that Remus was practically dead on his feet.
But Moony just nodded, pushing himself up and following Pomfrey down the tunnel. Sirius trailed
after them, still safely hidden under the cloak.

The old nurse healed Remus as they walked, running her wand over scratches and bruises. When
they reached the castle, she slipped him a pain potion and told him to run along to class, but not to
push himself too hard. Remus nodded, downing the potion in one gulp the moment she was out of
sight.

Sirius threw off the cloak. “Why are you pretending you’re ok?” He hissed, wrapping an arm
around the other boy’s shoulders and helping support him as they made their way back to the
dorm, “You can barely walk!”

“I’ll be fine in a minute,” Remus panted, “She’s got enough to worry about. Ugh, fucking stairs.”

“James said he’d send an owl to his dad right away,” Sirius murmured, keeping his voice low, “If
anyone knows what’s happened, the Potters will.”

“Yeah,” Remus replied, breathlessly, “Good…”

By the time they made it back to their room, Remus was wheezing, skin clammy with sweat. He
collapsed onto his bed, trying to catch his breath, and Sirius bit his lip.

“You could just bunk off,” he urged, exchanging a glance with the others. James was waiting by
the window for his parents’ response, and Peter was in front of the mirror, combing his hair. “We
do it all the time.”

Remus shook his head, stubbornly. He clutched the wooden bedframe for support as he stood,

“Can’t risk it. We’ve got Arithmancy first, Snape’s in that – if the papers are full of werewolf
attacks and I’m not there, what d’you want to bet he’ll be the first to start stirring? I’m going for a
shower, just a minute.”

The moment the door locked behind him, James spun around to look at Sirius.

“How are you?” He whispered, hurrying over, “Let me see.”

Sirius winced, shrugging off his cloak. His shirt was sticky with blood—he’d have to throw it out.
James paled.

“It looks worse than it is,” Sirius whispered, keeping his voice low, “D’you still have those
bandages that you keep around for sprains?”

“Yeah,” James nodded, hurrying over to his trunk, “Here.” He tossed a roll of bandages at Sirius,
who winced as he reached up to catch them.

It’s fine, he told himself, firmly, You’ve dealt with worse than this.

He turned his back to Peter and James as he shrugged out of his shirt, grimacing when he looked
down at the damage. Three distinct cuts, right across his ribs—he pointed his wand at his chest,
murmuring one of the healing spells he’d tried to learn when he was fifteen. The blood on his skin
disappeared, and for a moment the wounds stopped bleeding—but then they started again, blood
trickling back down his rib cage.
Sirius wrapped the bandages quickly, hoping that they might be more effective in staunching the
flow, and pulled on a clean shirt. He balled up the ruined one and shoved it under his bed.

“Mate,” James eyed him as he turned around, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sirius nodded, firmly. “Never better.”

* * *

WEREWOLF ATTACKS – MAGICAL COMMUNITY DEMANDS ACTION!

Hundreds were affected by a string of brutal werewolf attacks during last night’s full moon, which
left fifteen wizards dead and at least five missing – presumed kidnapped. None of the creatures
responsible have been identified as of yet, and the Auror’s office has advised everyone to be on
high alert, and to consult the published ministry guidelines on identifying and approaching
werewolves, which are classified XXXXX and considered highly dangerous.

The interim minister for magic has been criticised for failure to maintain the Werewolf Register,
established by Newt Scamander in 1947. Speaking for the opposition, Abraxas Malfoy released a
statement in the early hours of this morning:

“Last night’s attacks are further proof that the ministry is in dire need of reform, and on behalf of
the ancient and law-abiding magical families of Great Britain, we demand stricter sanctions on
half humans and other undesirable and potentially dangerous elements.”

This statement has provoked outrage in what insiders are describing as an increasingly divided
ministry…”

“No names.” James frowned, staring down at the paper, “That’s not good.”

“Protecting the victims’ families?” Sirius said, weakly.

“Since when has the Daily Prophet cared about that?” Lily scoffed, glaring down at the picture of
Abraxas Malfoy, “Since when has the ministry?!”

“Careful what you say!” Peter hissed, “My cousin who works at the Prophet said they’re being
sent really strict guidelines on what they can write – about the ministry, the war, anything – and
there are spies everywhere checking on them, making sure no one’s being too critical.”

Everyone fell silent at that, and Lily even glanced nervously over her shoulder. But of course,
nobody was listening; everyone else in the Great Hall was too busy talking about the news, same
as them.

“It’s not as if we’re disagreeing with what the paper says,” Marlene lowered her voice,
conspiratorially, “I hate Malfoy’s politics as much as the next half-blood, but he’s right about the
failures of the register. The werewolves need to be contained, or stuff like this will happen, dark
lord or not!”

“That’s ridiculous!” Sirius bristled, “An organised attack like this only happens when there’s
someone behind it; this would never happen without Voldemort goading them.”

He ignored the way that his friends winced at the name—it was becoming a common occurrence,
as the word became more and more closely associated with missing people and violent curses and
brutal attacks.

“They’re still dangerous,” Marlene shot back, “I don’t see why we’re pretending they aren’t – it
says right here,” she pointed at the newspaper, “Classified XXXXX. I know it’s unfortunate for
them, they might have been perfectly normal otherwise, but facts are facts.”

Nobody seemed to know how to respond to that—not even Sirius. The cuts on his chest were still
bleeding.

Across the table, Remus was ashen and sweating, hands trembling slightly as he focused on writing
a letter. Sirius tried to avoid glancing at him too much, not wanting to draw any unnecessary
attention, but it was difficult—Remus had hardly touched his food, and his mouth was a thin, grim
line as he listened to Marlene rattle on. Sirius had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting at her to
shut up.

He continued to scowl at the back of McKinnon’s blonde head as they left the Hall, walking next
to James.

“Bloody insufferable,” he muttered, darkly, “Does she ever shut her mouth?”

James gave him a sharp look. “C’mon, mate,” he whispered back, “She doesn’t know—she’s just
repeating the things she’s heard.”

“Which is why it’s so insufferable! Why’s she have to go and act like everything’s a crusade?
Moony already feels shitty enough.”

This was a fact that only became more apparent as the day wore on. Remus had done something to
cover up his newest scars, and he kept a bottle of Pepper Up potion clutched in his fist like a
lifeline, but one look at him was all it took to see that he was on the verge of collapsing. It made
Sirius feel sick with worry, watching him wince and slump forward as he sat down for Arithmancy.

Sirius, James, and Lily took their seats around Remus in the back of the classroom, doing their best
to hide him from view. Lily sat next to him, reaching out every so often to pat his arm or squeeze
his hand; Sirius and James took the desk in front, cracking jokes and levitating paper planes and
doing whatever else they could to keep everyone distracted from the boy behind them.

Sirius had a free hour afterwards, and jumped up immediately to walk Remus to his Care of
Magical Creatures class. The other boy didn’t say anything, just gave him a resigned look as they
made their way out of the room.

“Just bunk off?” He begged, unable to keep quiet as he watched Remus limp down his third flight
of stairs, “You’ve shown your face, Snivellus has seen you…”

But Remus continued, shaking his head stubbornly and gripping the banister like it was the only
thing keeping him upright. They were nearly at the bottom of the steps when a group of third-year
boys rushed by, giggling and shouting at each other. They weren’t exactly paying attention to
where they were going, and as one swerved around them his bag swung out and hit Remus, shoving
him into the banister. The older boy hissed in pain as he banged against the unforgiving stone.

Sirius had his wand out before he could even think. “Syrtis-corpius!” He shouted, not caring who
saw. The marble staircase turned to quicksand beneath the three boys’ feet, and they yelped as they
 began to fall through. Sirius didn’t release the spell until they were half-submerged in the staircase,
legs dangling through the bottom. “Watch where you’re going!” He spat, glaring fiercely before
turning back to Remus and helping him the rest of the way down the stairs.

None of the passing students said anything or tried to stop him as they continued on their way
down the corridor, and Sirius was still in a sour mood by the time they reached the Care of Magical
Creatures classroom.

“Promise me you’ll go back and free them?” Remus insisted, “I don’t need you getting a detention
on top of everything…”

Sirius rolled his eyes. As if detention was anything to be worried about.

“If someone else hasn’t found them,” he agreed, grudgingly. “I only taught them a lesson, any
prefect would have done the same.”

Normally, that might have coaxed a smile out of Remus. But today the exhausted boy just stared
straight ahead, blinking sluggishly as they approached the classroom door.

“Right,” Sirius said, briskly, “I’ll be back here in an hour to get you.”

“I don’t need collecting, I’m not a child.” Remus frowned. Apparently, he still had enough energy
to pout.

“No,” Sirius glanced around, then risked reaching out to squeeze his hand, “You’re my Moony.”

Remus didn’t reply, just dragged himself into the classroom. Sirius stood in the doorway, watching
him leave.

Chapter End Notes

wishing i had the james potter immunity to hangovers

 Seventh Year: Sunday Afternoon
Chapter Summary

this seems like a healthy way to cope

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sunday 29th January 1978

“Moony?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s after midday…”

“So?”

“Thought you might fancy getting up?”

“…no thanks.”

“Can I come in?”

“…no.”

It had been like this since Wednesday. Sirius had arrived at the Care of Magical Creatures
classroom only to discover that Remus was already gone, along with Mary and Marlene. He’d
found Lily and James, who explained in hushed voices what had happened.

Marlene’s brother was one of the victims.

He was still alive. And in St. Mungo’s. Nobody seemed to know much more than that—all Lily
had heard was that it “didn’t look good.” Of course, it didn’t take much imagination to figure out
what that meant. When Sirius returned to the dorm afterwards, the curtains had already been drawn
around Remus’s bed.

Now, Sirius stared at those same velvet bedcurtains, stomach sinking. Remus had hardly left his
bed since Wednesday, only getting up to use the bathroom. He’d bunked off all his classes on
Thursday and Friday—somehow no one had given him detention for it, which Sirius suspected had
something to do with Madam Pomfrey. He hadn’t even gotten up for meals; if the marauders
hadn’t been smuggling food up to him and passing it through a crack in the curtains, Sirius
reckoned he might’ve starved to death by now.

“…ok then.” Sirius said, quietly, turning to leave. He’d try again later—maybe sneak over to
Honeyduke’s and nick some chocolate frogs; chocolate always seemed to make Moony feel
better…
“I’m sorry.”

He was halted by Remus’s voice, weak and somewhat scratchy, but still loud enough to be heard
through the curtains. “I do want you here, I just don’t know what to say.”

Sirius hesitated, wishing that he knew what to say—wishing he could find the magic words that
would make everything better, would make Remus stop punishing himself for something that
hadn’t even been his fault to begin with.

“We don’t have to talk?”

There was a pause.

“…ok then.”

Sirius pulled back the curtains immediately, making Remus wince as the sunlight streamed in. He
clambered onto the bed and let the curtains drop shut behind him, trying not to stare.

Despite lying in bed for the past four days, Remus looked as though he’d hardly slept—his face
was drawn, eyes shadowed by deep bags. His hair was a mess, curls staticky with frizz, flattened in
some places and sticking out in others, and he was still wearing the same pyjamas that he’d had on
since Wednesday. Sirius reached out, pulling him into his arms.

“Thanks,” he murmured, softly, “for letting me in.”

“Reckon I must stink.”

Sirius buried his face in Remus’s hair, inhaling deeply as the other boy tried to squirm away.

“Nope, just smell like Moony.”

“Gerroff, mutt.” Remus shrugged him off, smiling.

“Feel like getting up soon? Everyone’s worried. And they’re looking at me now, like I know what
to do, because everyone knows about us, which is weird, and quite a lot of pressure, really.”

Remus actually laughed at that, and Sirius felt himself smiling. But after a moment, the other boy
looked down.

“I still don’t feel like getting up.”

“Ok, then you need to let me hide here with you, because I’m not going back out there.”

“Sirius.”

“Remus.” Sirius pulled a face, knotting his eyebrows together.

“Stop it.” Remus huffed, crossing his arms like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

“I will not.” Sirius nudged him, “Come on, I know you’re feeling like shit about everything, but did
you ever consider that it’s not for you to hog all of the misery like this? That maybe if you talk to
your friends, it might not all seem quite so bleak?”

Remus frowned, sceptically.

“Maybe that works for you…”

“Are you saying this is working for you?”

Remus narrowed his eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. Sirius stared right back, refusing to back
down, and for a moment Remus looked as if he might say something—but then he paused, sniffing.

“Are you bleeding? I can smell blood.”

Uh-oh.

“Probably you, from the moon.”

“No, I’ve healed already, I never have open wounds longer than a day.”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius shook his head, grinning, “How is it possible for you to get any cooler?!”

“And it’s your blood, I can tell.”

“There you go again! You’re basically a superhero.”

“Sirius!”

“Ok, ok,” he sighed, tugging his fingers through his hair, “You swiped at me a few times over the
moon, I told you that, we did it to each other. And you can’t turn me when I’m a dog, we’ve tested
that enough times.”

“But you’re still bleeding?! It was almost a week ago! You need to go to Madam Pomfrey!”

“Oh yeah, and say my werewolf boyfriend scratched me while I was in dog form as an illegal
animagus?!”

“Jesus.” Remus huffed, clambering to his feet. He snagged Sirius’s wrist, tugging him along.

“Where are we going?!”

“I need better light!”

He dragged Sirius over to the bathroom, shoving him inside and slamming down the toilet lid.

“Sit.”

Sirius obeyed, trying to suppress the smug smile that wanted to creep across his face. Who knew
that all it took was a little blood to get Remus out of bed?

The taller boy threw open the mirror cabinet above the sink, digging around and muttering to
himself. Sirius was pretty sure that he caught the words ‘reckless,’ ‘impossible,’ and ‘idiot,’ in
precisely that order.

After a moment, Remus turned to him, holding a jar of murtlap essence, a bottle of one of his
muggle medicines, fresh gauze and cotton balls. He shifted most of it into one arm, pulling out his
wand with his free hand.

“Ok. Show me.”

Sirius hesitated, knowing that the injury would most likely just add to Remus’s guilt. But there
wasn’t anything he could do now; Moony had him cornered.
“It’s not that bad…”

He lifted his shirt, watching Remus’s face closely as he revealed the three red stripes that had
already begun to scab over on his ribs. Sirius watched the other boy’s eyes go flat, the mark of
some internal reaction that he could only begin to guess at—likely beating himself up, again. After
a long moment, Remus met his eye. He took a breath and reached for his wand.

The healing lessons with Madam Pomfrey must have been going well. In a matter of minutes, the
redness was gone, skin almost completely healed over into three white stripes.

“I’m so sorry,” Remus said, staring at them, “It was a magical wound. You’ll have a scar there for
the rest of your life, now.”

Sirius looked down at the thin lines, studying them. They were different from his other scars—not
the straight, precise slash of his mother’s cruelty, but more jagged, rough around the edges. The
mark of the wolf.

He looked back up, into dark eyes flecked with gold.

“That’s fine, Remus.” He said, softly.

* * *

Having managed to coax Remus out of bed, Sirius was finally able to convince him to re-join
society. He waited while the other boy showered, then accompanied him downstairs to the
common room where their friends were waiting.

Nobody commented on Remus’s prolonged absence, only smiled and shifted over to make room
for him in their little circle of chairs and couches near the fireplace. It had been a stressful few days
for everyone, and they all knew better than to bring up anything that had to do with the recent
attacks.

Following the initial article, the Prophet had printed a list of the dead, with a small black and white
photograph next to each name. On the next page, they’d included a list of those ‘presumed bitten,’
also followed by photographs—which caused quite a stir. Liberal commentators insisted that it was
a violation of privacy, while those on the more conservative end of the spectrum pointed out that
the new werewolves would have had to add their names to the Registry, anyway, which was public
information. This only re-ignited the debate about whether the Registry was a violation of privacy,
though those arguing against it were far outnumbered by those who insisted that it was for
everyone’s safety—in the end, the original argument about whether the names should have been
broadcasted was completely lost to political finger-pointing and accusations of radicalism from
both ends of the spectrum.

There was no new information on any of the perpetrators of the attack.

Marlene had disappeared on Wednesday, and nobody had heard anything since from her—not even
Mary. But her brother was given his own special feature, four inches of text, thanks to his celebrity
status as a beater for the Chudley Cannons.

The Prophet had interviewed the team’s manager, who told them that although he was not yet fully
aware of the details on Danny’s condition, the Cannons maintained a ‘zero-tolerance’ policy to
‘half-breeds and dangerous creatures,’ and were currently looking into the allegations of infection.
James tore down every single one of his Chudley Cannon’s posters and burned them in the
fireplace, vowing never to see another game.

After four days of hearing nothing but news and debates about werewolves, the entire group
deliberately steered clear of the topic as they made their way down to Sunday lunch. Lily
complained about something Isadora Finch had said in Slug Club, James outlined his newest idea
for a quidditch strategy, and Mary rattled on about some article she’d found in Witch Weekly that
sorted your personality type based on season.

Back in the common room, they settled down once more in front of the fireplace. Lily and James
curled up in an armchair together, discussing something that had to do with prefect patrols; Sirius
took one of the personality quizzes in Mary’s magazine (she had darted off to go see some
Ravenclaw boy); and Remus sat on the carpet across from Peter, losing at chess.

“You know what we ought to start getting serious about,” Sirius said, sorting through his record
collection now that Witch Weekly had declared him a ‘Summer.’

“NEWTs?” Remus asked, as Peter moved to check his king.

“Job applications?” Lily suggested. She was now taking the same personality quiz, still curled up
in James’s lap.

“The quidditch cup?” Her boyfriend asked, sitting up a bit straighter.

“For goodness’ sake,” Sirius shook his head, “I’m ashamed to call you all marauders.”

“What?!” The three of them yelped, affronted. Peter grinned,

“He’s talking about the big prank on Slytherin. You know, we started planning it before
Christmas.”

“Wormy-boy, you are without a doubt my very favourite person.” Sirius blew him a kiss, and Peter
rolled his eyes.

“Bugger off.” His bishop captured Remus’s queen.

“Ugh. I don’t know why I bother, haven’t beaten you since I was thirteen.” Remus groaned,
settling back onto his elbows as he sprawled across the rug. “Well then?” He raised an eyebrow at
Sirius, “Got a plan?”

“Maybe. Whatever we do, I think we should focus the attack on the dungeons.”

“Let’s not throw around words like ‘attack,’” Lily interjected, quickly, “This is just a practical
joke, right? In the wholesome spirit of harmless house rivalry?”

“If you like,” Sirius said, neutrally. “Anyway, Moony, I thought your study group was in on this?
What’s the point in you having all these minions if you can’t make them work for you?”

“Oh my god, for the last time, they are not my ‘minions!’” Remus pulled a face, “Anyway, we’ve
not had a proper study group yet this term. I’ve been ever so slightly busy.”

“Well, as none of us are scheduled to be in mortal peril for the next month or so,” Sirius said
lightly, “I think we ought to get cracking. Everyone could do with a laugh, eh? Assemble the
troops, we’ll meet sometime next week.”
“As long as it doesn’t clash with quidditch,” James paused, yawning, “I’m there. Right, I’m off to
bed, Transfiguration first thing.”

The yawn, highly contagious, made its way around the circle, and everyone began to glance at the
clock. It was getting late, and everybody else was going up to bed anyway, so they stood and
waited for James to bid goodnight to Lily (which seemed to become a lengthier and more involved
process every day) before trekking upstairs to the dorm.

Sirius was waiting outside the bathroom when Remus walked out, already in his pyjamas, and
headed for the door, muttering, “Getting my book.” He grinned and shook his head fondly as
Moony disappeared down the stairs, taking his turn to brush his teeth. When he’d finished getting
ready for bed, he lay on his stomach, watching James catch and release his golden snitch.

“Worried about Moony?” He asked, after a moment.

“Mm, a bit,” James nodded, “But he seems better, doesn’t he? Actually…I was thinking about
Marlene.”

“Ah.” Sirius nodded. He had never been particularly close with Marlene, himself—they only ever
hung out in groups, where she tended to be a bit quieter than their other loud-mouthed friends. But
he’d always been rather fond of the girl (aside from her irritating tendency to moralise at all the
wrong moments), with her dry sense of humour and no-nonsense attitude. And he knew that she
and James had bonded quite a bit over quidditch, since he’d become captain—if Sirius was honest
with himself, he was actually a little jealous about it. He still sometimes missed the days when he
and James had been quidditch teammates, cracking jokes together at practice and taunting each
other in the locker room.

“I mean, Remus has got you,” James continued, still fidgeting with the snitch, “And of course
Marlene’s got all of us, but…sometimes it helps, I think. To have someone. Especially during
times like this.”

Sirius swallowed, thinking of Yasmine. James didn’t know, then – he supposed Marlene had
always been sort of private. She was like Remus, in that way.

“Well,” he said slowly, “She’s still got all of her friends, like you said. I’m sure she’ll be alright.”

“Yeah,” James sighed, “It’s just…such bullshit. I keep thinking about Danny, too – I can’t believe
the Cannons would do that to him. I’ve always looked up to them, y’know? Always thought they
were so cool…sometimes I feel like the whole world’s going backwards, and then I wonder if
things are really changing, or if they’ve always been like this and I just…never noticed. And I
don’t know which one would be worse.”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, wishing he knew what to say. He hardly ever heard James talk like this—
Prongs was supposed to be the best of them, endlessly optimistic, the person reassuring everyone
else that it would all be okay. Sirius didn’t know what to do, if the roles were reversed.

James must have caught sight of his expression, because he perked up and shot him a grin.

“Anyway, don’t mind me,” he said, tucking the snitch away in his bedside table, “I’m knackered,
just talking nonsense, really.”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but James was faster, asking,

“Oi, where’d Moony go?”

Sirius frowned, glancing at the clock. It had been fifteen minutes…hadn’t Remus just been going
to fetch his book?

“Dunno, I’ll check.”

Halfway down the stairs, Sirius paused, sniffing the air. Ah. Well, that explained where Remus had
gone.

“Moooony, where are you?” He called out, grinning as he burst into the common room, “I can
smell the pot all the way from here, you’re not being subtle—oh! Hiya, Macdonald.”

“Black,” Mary grinned. She was perched on the arm of Remus’s chair, wearing a very short dress
that rode up her thighs as she shifted, “Sorry, I’m trying to seduce your boyfriend.”

Sirius snorted. “Oh yeah, I’d like to see you – wait, my what?!”

She only smirked in response, giving him a knowing look. He turned to Remus, “Are we just
telling everyone, now?!”

“Oi!” Mary protested, standing up, “I’m not ‘everyone!’ Arrogant tosser. Don’t forget I had you
both first.”

Sirius gaped, at an utter loss for how to respond, and Remus laughed at him.

“Sorry, I’ll come up now, we were just chatting.” He glanced over at Mary, “Will you be ok?”

“Fine,” she headed towards the girls’ dorms, “I’m off to bed, too. Night lads!”

“Good night!”

They were greeted by the muffled sound of Peter’s snoring upon their return to the room, along
with a cheery smile from James, who was studying his quidditch notebook.

“Thought we’d lost you, Moony,” he said quietly, glancing up at them.

“Bumped into Mary, she’s been at some party with the Ravenclaws.”

“See, this is what happens when you get stuck with the Head Boy and the Head Girl in your
house,” Sirius complained, moving over to his bed, “All the fun happens elsewhere.”

“Oh, stop whinging,” James tutted, smiling fondly as he shut his notebook, “We’ll have more
parties and you know it. Now go to bed like a good boy.”

“Fine,” Sirius flopped back dramatically onto his pillows, yawning.

“G’night then,” Remus whispered, beginning to walk over towards his own bed. Sirius reached out,
quickly, grabbing his wrist.

“Moony…” he murmured, staring up him from behind the bed curtains. On the underside of his
wrist, Sirius ran his thumb in small circles.

Remus glanced towards James, then back, biting his lip.

“Mmm…ok…” He acquiesced, and Sirius grinned devilishly as he pulled him inside.

Chapter End Notes

living in a city full of mountains is all fun and games until u have to carry ur groceries
home >:( but now i'm making pasta <3 hope ur all doing well thank u for all the love
in the comments and over on tik tok + tumblr u guys make my day :)
 Seventh Year: Valentine's Day 1978
Chapter Summary

writing about str8 sex goes against my principles and morals, but for jily i will do it

Chapter Notes

read this chapter from remus's perspective here

read this chapter from sirius's perspective here

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I’d like for you and I to go romancing

Say the word, your wish is my command

Ooh, love, ooh, loverboy

What’re you doin’ tonight, hey boy?

Tuesday 14th February 1978

James

6:30 AM

“Pssst—oi, Padfoot!”

James stood outside Sirius’s bed curtains, whispering. Normally, he might just tear the velvet
hangings back so that he could shake the boy awake—but of course, that was no longer an option.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m up,” Sirius whispered, head poking out. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, curtains
parting as he stood. James caught a brief glimpse of sandy curls spread across the pillows, and he
glanced away, quickly.

It wasn’t that he minded, exactly—of course not! By now, he was used to Remus and Sirius sharing
a bed, and quite aware that they probably did…other things, as well. And that was fine! It was all
perfectly fine. James supported them, one hundred percent.
It had been a bit of a shock, though, at first. Remus…Remus had sort of made sense, but Sirius?
More than anything else, James was upset that he hadn’t noticed; that he’d been oblivious for so
long. It had just…never occurred to him as something in the realm of possibility, that Sirius Black
might be—whatever he was. And to find out that they were together—had been together for
months?

Well, it took a bit of getting used to.

But this morning, of course, James had other things to worry about. He couldn’t stop himself
fretting as they snuck down to the Great Hall, leaving Peter and Remus asleep in their dorm.

“Think there’s going to be enough room?” James glanced around the empty Hall, anxiously. “Don’t
want anyone getting hurt.”

“They’re floral fireworks,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “No one’s getting hurt unless they’re severely
allergic.”

“Bugger, I hadn’t even thought about allergies!”

Sirius gave him a look. “Merlin, don’t tell me you’re going to change your mind now, not after you
dragged me out of bed at this ungodly hour.”

“I’m not, I’m not…come on, let’s do it, then.”

He didn’t mean to fret. He knew how hard Sirius had worked to help him; knew that they’d gotten
everything right; knew that it should all go off without a hitch. But he just…needed to make sure it
was perfect. He was James Potter, after all; it was what everyone expected of him.

Sometimes, it made James feel like a fraud. The confidence had come naturally, when he was
younger—when the world felt like one big adventure, just waiting to be conquered, and he thought
himself the storybook hero. He’d enjoyed having people look to him, praise him, admire him. After
all, hadn’t he earned it?

But the problem with climbing onto people’s pedestals, James had realised as he grew older, was
that once you were up so high, there was no way to jump down that didn’t end with someone
getting hurt. As the world got darker, and the bad guys got scarier, and people grew more afraid—
as James watched his friends suffer, and found himself helpless to stop it—he began to wonder,
sometimes, if he had only set himself up for failure. If it was inevitable that one day, he would let
everyone down.

But for today, at least, he could make sure that things were perfect. James double-checked the
detonators that he and Sirius had set, ensuring that all the trigger charms were perfectly calibrated.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Sirius asked, perched on a table and watching James
obsessively check over their work. “Or d’you reckon that cat’s enough?”

It was actually a kitten, not a cat—a little grey thing that James had fetched from Hagrid’s hut that
morning, sneaking down at 6 a.m. to do so. But he didn’t bother correcting Sirius.

“She’s got most of the day free and I’ve arranged for the Prefect’s bathroom to be mysteriously
closed for repairs.” He replied, smiling smugly.

“How romantic.” Sirius smirked.

“It is, actually.” Or at least—it would be once he lit all the candles he’d scattered around the tub,
and cast the new olfactory charm he’d learned on the fluffy towels so that they smelled like roses.
But he wasn’t about to tell his friend any of that—Sirius would have a field day. Instead, he
changed the subject.

“What about you? Still steering clear of Moony?”

“Eh?”

“The fight, last night?” They hadn’t exactly been subtle about their bickering, sniping at each other
over some Valentine’s Day nonsense. For two people who had been best mates for nearly seven
years, they could be remarkably hopeless at communicating.

“That wasn’t a fight,” Sirius huffed. “We made up, anyway. Just did a silencing spell so you’d stop
eavesdropping.”

“Oh, is that what it was for…?” James couldn’t resist teasing, just a bit. It was still…new to him,
that part of his mates’ relationship, but he was determined not to treat them any differently (at least,
once he’d gotten over the initial shock). And when Sirius had been with his girlfriends, James had
given him endless shit about it, so…he figured the best course of action was just to carry on.

“Piss off,” Sirius shoved him as he hopped off the table, “Mr. Prefect’s Bathroom.”

“Godric, Black, are you blushing?! Are you actually blushing??” James shoved him back,
snickering. “Wow, Moony must be something else.”

“I can’t believe you…” Sirius turned towards the door, walking quickly away to hide the spots of
red colouring his cheeks.

“Oh, come on now,” James hurried to catch up with him, “You know, I’m actually relieved. You
two act like butter wouldn’t melt, most of the time, I’ve never even seen you kiss.”

He hoped it was the right thing to say. Sirius had been all bluster, the first time James stumbled
upon them in bed, smirking suggestively and making snarky comments for the rest of the day. But
the moment James had gotten over his own awkwardness about the situation and started teasing
him back, it was like the tables had turned—suddenly, Sirius clammed up, acting for all intents and
purposes as if he’d never so much as held hands with Remus. It was a marked change from the way
he was with girls, when he’d shared every sordid detail of his escapades without so much as batting
an eye.

Sirius slowed down a bit, frowning. “Do you think that’s weird?” He asked, chewing on his lip,
“That you haven’t. Er. Seen us? Kissing, I mean.”

James blinked, trying to think of the right thing to say. “I dunno. You do kiss, don’t you?”

“Obviously.”

“Well then. I just assumed it was Moony being his awkward self.”

“Yeah, it is. But y’know…we can’t be as public as you and Evans.”

James fell quiet, considering that. Of course, he knew the sorts of things people said about…blokes
who fancied other blokes; he’d heard it all, too, growing up. But his parents had never really
seemed to care one way or the other, and had always tutted when people said nasty things about it.

“Never be hateful, Jamie,” his mother had said to him, “It doesn’t matter what another person
wears, or if you think they talk funny, or if they choose to live their life differently from you. If you
carry hate in your heart, then the only person doing something wrong is you.”

He had never really realised how lucky he was, to have the parents he did. Not until coming to
Hogwarts—not until meeting Sirius, and Remus. But he understood, now, that not everyone had
had a Euphemia Potter; he knew, from the way he’d heard other boys talk in the quidditch locker
room, or the back of class, or after too much firewhisky at a party, that things would be different,
for his two best friends. Harder.

“No,” he responded, eventually, “That makes sense. Sorry, mate.” He hated that it was all he could
say.

“Not your fault.” Sirius replied. James turned to him, earnestly.

“You should feel comfortable around us, though,” he said, “We’re your friends.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I mean, comfortable within reason,” he added, falling back into his teasing banter, “I dunno if I’m
quite ready to see my best mates doing…er…well, if you even…I mean…whatever it is you…”

“Potter, are you blushing?!”

* * *

8:15 AM

They hovered outside the doors of the Great Hall, peeking in to spy on their friends as they ate
breakfast. James found his eyes drawn, as they always were, to the redhead sprinkling sugar onto
her porridge, smiling distractedly at something Mary had said.

Merlin, she was beautiful. Every day, James waited for the shock of it to wear off, and every day,
she took his breath away just the same. Sometimes he had to pinch himself, just to make sure he
wasn’t dreaming.

Lily had just picked up her spoon when the first detonator went off with a loud pop! The others
quickly followed, setting off the glittering fireworks display that James and Sirius had spent hours
perfecting. Colourful hearts burst over his girlfriend’s head, turning into pink and white lilies that
fluttered down onto the table.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “C’mon, you big sap, get over there!”

Their friends were all smiling and laughing, oblivious to the two approaching boys. Lily appeared
to be blushing furiously, and James arrived in time to catch the tail end of her sentence as he
strolled up behind her.

“…happy with a card!”

“Oh, shut up, Evans,” Mary shook her head, grinning, “It’s bloody gorgeous of him.”
“Cheers, Macdonald,” James winked at her, from behind Lily’s shoulder—his girlfriend startled,
spinning around.

“You utter idiot!” Lily leapt to her feet, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a
kiss. James smiled against her lips, delighted—he’d been worried that she might be embarrassed, or
think it was too much.

They pulled away just as Sirius waved his wand, gathering together the scattered lilies and
transfiguring them into the little box that they had tucked the kitten into, just moments before (it
wasn’t actually transfiguration, but a location swapping spell—if Filch opened the broom cupboard
nearest the Great Hall, he would find himself buried under a cascade of pink and white flowers.
But that was a problem for a later date).

“What’s that?” Lily twisted, arms still wrapped around James’s neck.

“Open it and see!” He urged, sure that he was grinning like a loon yet unable to stop himself.

Across the table, Mary and Remus stood and craned their necks to see. Lily removed the lid
carefully, and all three of them leaned forward. Sitting inside was the little grey kitten, curled up
for a nap on the red velvet pillow that James had given him. He had a little blue bow tied around
his neck, and yawned lazily as his rest was disturbed, blinking up at them with round yellow eyes.

“Ohhh!” Lily plucked the kitten out of the box immediately, cuddling it to her chest, “Really,
Potter?! You got me a cat?! I love him! Or…her?”

“Him,” James confirmed, “I know your old family one died last Christmas, and Hagrid told me a
litter was born in the village last week, so…”

“Oh, he’s so sweet!” Mary gushed, reaching out to pat the little cat’s head.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake…” Christopher, who was also sitting across the table, began to grumble,
“I’m allergic to cats, too! Bloody stupid day…” he shoved back from the table and stormed off to
find a different seat.

“Such a shame,” Sirius smirked, sliding into the seat Christopher had just vacated. “Morning,
Moony.”

“Morning, Padfoot.”

James sat down next to Lily, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head against
his chest, smiling as she stroked the kitten in her hands. Sirius and Mary began a debate over what
to name the cat (with Mary suggesting more and more ridiculous names just to rile Sirius up, and
Sirius playing along with it for the fun of bickering). As Remus laughed at their antics, James
leaned down.

“Do you really like it?” He whispered, just to check. Lily twisted her head, smiling up at him.

“I love it,” she whispered back, “It’s perfect.”

* * *
When I’m not with you

Think of you always

(I miss those long hot summer nights) I miss you

When I’m not with you

Think of me always

Love you, love you

Peter

12:15 PM

Peter poked at his lunch, sulking. He was sitting alone in their usual spot at the Gryffindor table—
which would have been bad enough regularly, but was absolutely mortifying on Valentine’s Day.
Everywhere he turned, he was confronted with the sight of giggly, happy couples, or else other
lonely singles eating grimly by themselves.

He speared his roast potato with a fork, a bit more violently than was perhaps necessary. He’d
thought about going to hide in the dorm room once classes were over just to escape from all the
lovebirds flocking the halls, but one look at the map had told him that that was a bad idea—Sirius
and Remus were alone in there, and Peter knew better than to walk in on that, thank you very
much. He shuddered, suppressing the memory of the last time he’d made that mistake.

He’d checked for Dorcas’s name on the map, too—just to see. She was in the Ravenclaw
dormitories with Emmeline Vance, for some reason, which Peter found odd; he hadn’t realised the
two of them were friends. But he supposed it was better than seeing her with some other boy.

He sipped his pumpkin juice, thinking back on the last conversation they’d had. The one where
she’d broken up with him, ‘for good this time.’

“I signed up to be your girlfriend, Peter, not your bloody therapist!”

She’d been so cross with him, for no good reason. Couples were supposed to talk about their
feelings. But he should have seen it coming—no one ever wanted to listen to him.

He’d said as much to Dorcas, mumbling, “Sorry, I know, I’m annoying. I’ll try not to bother you
anymore, when I’m sad.”

“No—see, that? What you’re doing right now? That’s what I’m talking about! Now I’m supposed
to say that you’re not, and tell you it’s okay to be sad, and then suddenly the conversation is just all
about you again!”

“I don’t understand why you’re yelling at me!”

“I’m not—” she’d blown out an angry breath, scowling. “I’m not yelling at you, Peter. I am trying
to have one conversation about our relationship where your insecurities aren’t the only thing
centred!”

“Well, it’s a little hard not to feel insecure when my own girlfriend doesn’t even like me!”

“I do—no, fuck, see, you’re just doing it again!”

Peter pushed his plate away, standing up and hauling his school bag over his shoulder as he made
his way out of the Hall. He supposed he could go to the library, try to get some homework done.
But the thought of sitting by himself, attempting to start his Transfiguration essay for McGonagall,
was so bloody pathetic that he found himself just wandering the halls, aimlessly.

He wondered if he’d end up eating dinner alone, too. Mary had said she was busy all evening, and
who knew what Remus and Sirius would be up to. Then there were James and Lily—even if they
did join for dinner, Peter thought he’d probably prefer to eat alone again than to third wheel with
them. He snorted, shaking his head—and he’d thought Sirius and James were bad. Ever since Lily
Evans had entered the picture, Potter had turned into the walking personification of a toothache:
mind-numbingly sweet and so mushy that Peter felt like gagging whenever he had to watch the two
of them together.

He sighed, trudging up one of the staircases. Sometimes, Peter couldn’t help but think wistfully
back on the days before Hogwarts—before Lily, before quidditch, before Sirius. Back when it had
just been James and Pete, partners in crime, running amok in their parents’ backyards. It had made
Peter feel big, and bright, having the attention of someone like James Potter—it still made him feel
that way. Only now, he had James’s attention less and less.

“Oh—hello, Peter.”

He looked up from his shoes, startled, and realised that he had nearly bumped into a couple
making their way down the hall. His heart sank.

It was Desdemona.

She was holding hands with a sixth-year, some bloke from the Ravenclaw quidditch team. Of
course. All the girls just wanted to date athletes; if you could chuck a ball through a hoop, you
could get any bird that you wanted. Peter tried not to scowl.

“Oh,” he glanced away, “Hi, Dezzie. Didn’t see you there.”

“Er…I don’t really go by Dezzie, anymore.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

They stood, awkwardly, for a moment. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“Have you met Julien?”

“Ehm…no, nice to meet you.”

The quidditch player—Julien—nodded at him. He was a good four inches taller than Peter, and
much broader along the shoulders. Girls were so shallow.

After another awkward pause, Desdemona took a breath. “Right, then,” she forced an overly
cheery smile, “We’ll be off. Er—have a good Valentine’s Day, Peter.”

The couple hurried away, and Peter watched them go.

“Yeah,” he muttered, scowling, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

* * *

Hey boy, where do you get it from?

Hey boy, where did you go?

I learned my passion

In the good old-fashioned

School of loverboys

Mary

4:27 PM

God, she was knackered. Mary flopped down on her bed, sighing heavily, not bothering to adjust
her skirt as it rode up her thighs. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to see, anyway—Lily was
off with James, and Marlene was still gone.

But Mary was trying not to think about that.

The first date had been a complete wash out. If she was being honest with herself, that was what
she’d expected—she wasn’t exactly sure why she’d agreed to spend the afternoon with Elliot
Crane in the first place. Well, okay, the free pot had probably had something to do with it, but even
the mellow buzz from the spliff they’d shared hadn’t been enough to salvage things once he pulled
out his acoustic guitar.

Still, it could have been worse. At least he didn’t try to put his hand up her skirt, or call her a bitch
when she excused herself to leave. At least he’d been polite.

Christ, Mary laughed, bitterly, as she realised what she was thinking, Since when are basic
manners the standard for a good date? She rubbed her fingers against her scalp, gently.

Once, she’d enjoyed the dates. She’d enjoyed the attention, the compliments, the boys falling over
each other to catch her eye. It had made her feel powerful, in a way. Like if she wore the right
colour lipstick, or undid one of the buttons at the top of her blouse, she could turn their heads;
puppets, dancing on the end of a string. It had made her feel pretty—and after years of comments
in primary school, about her hair and her skin and her nose, Mary had been hungry for that feeling.
She’d gotten high off of it.

And then she’d heard the things those same boys said about her, behind her back. To her face
sometimes, too. And she’d started to realise that pretty meant something very different for her than
it did for girls like Lily, or Marlene, or Emmeline Vance. In some ways, wizards and muggles were
exactly alike.

She sighed again as she pushed herself off the bed, walking over to the mirror to check on her
lipstick. It was a uniform day, of course, as they had classes, but she’d still thrown on a pair of red
studs and tied a bright red ribbon in her hair. Her lipstick matched, tying the outfit together—she
looked good. More than that; she looked bloody gorgeous. She looked like the type of girl who
could bring men to their knees.

But at the end of the day, they’d stand back up, and they’d still be men. They’d still be purebloods.
They’d still be white. It had begun to make Mary wonder, sometimes, exactly who was the puppet,
and who was the one pulling the strings.

The door to the room burst open. “Mary!” Lily rushed in, in a haze of lavender and anxiety and
copper hair. “Thank god you’re here!” She was holding her new kitten, cradled against her chest,
and Mary had to stifle the tug of jealousy in her gut.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for Lily—she was. The girl was a saint; Mary firmly believed that
she deserved only good things in life. It was just hard, sometimes, not to wish that someone would
look at her the way James Potter looked at Lily Evans. That someone would care enough about her
to set off fireworks, or give her a present that was more meaningful than half a spliff and a shitty
Beatles cover on an acoustic guitar.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Mary asked, raising an eyebrow as she turned. Lily stood in
the middle of the room, panicked, clutching the kitten.

“It’s James,” she said, helplessly, “He just told me—the prefect’s bathroom is closed.”

“Okay…”

“I mean,” bright spots of pink appeared on Lily’s cheeks, “He told me it’s ‘closed.’” She raised her
eyebrows meaningfully.

“Oh.” Mary blinked—then felt her face split into a wicked grin, “Oh, I see. Has a romantic evening
planned, then, does he?”

Lily bit her lip, nodding. “I think he wants to…” She trailed off, and Mary couldn’t help but laugh.

“Christ, Lily, you can say the word! It won’t offend my delicate sensibilities, I promise.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Do I? Hmmm, let me think, what could Potter possibly want…”

“Come on, Mary, don’t tease!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She laughed again, holding up her hands in surrender. Lily had begun to
chew her lip, nervously, stroking a thumb over the little kitten’s head. After a moment, Mary
moved to her bed, patting the mattress beside her to indicate that Lily should sit down.

“So,” she said, as the frazzled girl settled next to her, “What’s the problem? Do you not want to?”

“No!” Lily answered quickly—blushing furiously as she realised what she’d said. “No, I…I want
to. I sort of…really want to.”

“Uh huh.” Mary smirked, “So what is it then? Need me to explain how it works?”
“Jesus, Mary, no! I understand the mechanics, thank you very much, I can read.”

“Oh, please tell me that you did not get your sex education from a biology textbook.”

“Anatomy, actually.” Lily sniffed, “It’s important to understand how things work.”

“That is literally the least sexy thing I have ever heard anyone say. And you’re talking about sex.”

“Oh, sod off!” Lily blushed, staring down at her lap. The kitten had curled up there, napping.

After a minute of silence, Mary sighed.

“Lily,” she said, gently, “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

“I know,” the other girl mumbled, face still bright red. Another moment passed; finally, she sighed.

“I just…I’m nervous about him seeing me.”

“Seeing you…?”

“You know,” she gestured to herself, helplessly. “Without…”

Ah. Mary frowned, reaching out to squeeze her friend’s hand.

“Lily,” she said, firmly, “That boy is head over heels in love with you. I’m pretty sure that he
hasn’t so much as looked at another girl the entire time he’s been at Hogwarts. You are bloody
gorgeous, and if you could see the way Potter gawks at you, you would know that he thinks that,
too.”

“I know,” Lily said, quietly, “I know, it’s silly, I like the way I look. I do. I’ve got no reason to feel
this way. It’s just…” She swallowed, glancing up at the mirror across the room. “I’m not…thin.
Petunia always said—”

“Oh, fuck Petunia!” Mary scowled. She’d heard quite enough about all the things Lily’s sister said
to her—snide remarks about dieting every Christmas, loud comments about weight, sarcastic jibes
about how well-fed they must be at Hogwarts. “That bitch doesn’t know what she’s talking about
—she’s just jealous of you, Lily, always has been.”

Lily sniffed, wiping at her eyes. After a moment, she took a shaky breath.

“You know, when we were younger…that first year or two, I think part of me thought that he was
—joking, or something. Like it was all some big prank.”

“Lily…”

“What if he’s disappointed, Mary?” The redhead turned to face her, eyes a bit misty. “What if he
sees me and I’m just…not what he wanted?”

Mary stared back at her, unwavering. “Lily Evans,” she said, slowly, “You don’t need to do
anything you’re not comfortable with. Alright? You don’t owe him anything, and if Potter ever
tries to act like you do I’ll hex his bollocks off. But if this is something you want, and it’s
something he wants…don’t let whatever bullshit your sister put in your head get in the way of that.
Either James thinks you’re the most beautiful person that’s ever walked the face of the earth and
he treats you accordingly, or he doesn’t, and you dump him, and we set his broom on fire for being
the world’s biggest idiot. Okay?”
Lily laughed, weakly. Mary waited for her to look up—when she did, she was smiling.

“Okay,” she said, quietly. “Thank you, Mary.”

“Aw, c’mere—let me get one last hug from those pure, virginal arms—”

“Shut up, Macdonald!”

* * *

Just take me back to yours that will be fine (Come on and get it)

Ooh, love (There he goes again)

(He’s my good old fashioned loverboy) Ooh, loverboy

What’re you doin’ tonight, hey boy?

Lily

7:03 PM

There were candles, everywhere. Why were there so many candles?? Where had he even found this
many candles? When had he set them all up?

“Lily?”

James squeezed her hand, peering down at her. His eyes were wide, anxious, scanning her face. It
was an expression she was still getting used to.

For so long, she’d thought that James Potter was just another cocky, arrogant arsehole, a spoiled
rich kid who got whatever he wanted, the kind of bloke who was handsome and knew he was
handsome, strutting about with his chest puffed out like he owned the world. When she’d heard
that he’d been made prefect at the beginning of sixth year, she’d been so frustrated that she’d
called Mary and ranted for an hour on the phone, until Petunia shouted at her to get off so that she
could talk to Vernon.

And then the school year had started, and they’d begun patrolling together. And he’d been
so…deferent, content to follow her lead, saying things like ‘It’s brilliant the way you figured out
that charm, would’ve taken me twice as long,’ without a trace of humour, completely genuine.
He’d still been arrogant, and irritating, and prone to showing off. But he’d actually listened –
properly listened – when she got cross with him, instead of rolling his eyes or telling her that she
was being too uptight.

Lily supposed that, in all their time at Hogwarts, she had never really understood how hard James
tried. She’d just assumed that it all came naturally to him; the confidence, the talent, the
unwavering optimism. But the more time she spent with him, the more she noticed his earnestness,
and his thoughtfulness, and the way he always put his friends above himself. One day, she’d
watched him spend fifteen minutes soothing a crying first-year who they’d found lost out of
bounds after curfew, and the only thought her brain had been able to supply was: Oh.

That’s when she knew she was in trouble.

Now, she smiled up at her boyfriend, raising an eyebrow.

“Potter…exactly how many candles did you put in here?”

“Er…sixty-two?”

Lily shook her head, laughing, and he frowned.

“Is it too much? I can banish them—I just thought—I wanted to—”

She interrupted him with a kiss, going up on her tiptoes to reach.

“It’s lovely.”

“Oh.” He smiled, relieved, “Right. Ok, good.”

For a moment, they only stared at each other. Then he lifted a hand, cradling the side of her face,
brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“We, er…we don’t have to do anything. If you don’t want to. I mean, not that I don’t want to—I
do, I just don’t want to do anything unless you—”

“I want to,” she said.

He swallowed. “Right.”

He was staring down at her in a way that made her shiver, made her want to push him down onto
the tile and climb on top of him and take him apart. Why had she ever felt nervous? It was
impossible to feel anything but beautiful, with James Potter looking at her like that.

“C’mon,” she stepped around him, smirking over her shoulder, “Water’s warm.”

* * *

7:37 PM

“Wow.”

James lay beside her, panting. They were reclining on a fluffy pile of towels, which for some
reason smelled strongly of roses. Lily released a breathless laugh, staring up at the ceiling.

“That was…” James shook his head, dazed. “I mean, that was really…” He propped himself up on
his elbow, scrabbling for his glasses on the floor. Once he’d shoved them up his nose, he looked
down at her, eyes still slightly glazed.

“Was that—was it good, for you?”

Lily smiled, reaching out a hand to trace along his bicep.

“Yeah,” she assured him, “It was good.”

“But, I mean…did you…y’know…”

“…did I…?”

He blushed, looking away. “You know…”

After a moment, she realised what he was asking. “Oh!” Now she was blushing, too, “Er…”

Lily hesitated, considering for a moment whether to lie. But—no. James would want to know the
truth. She shook her head.

“No.”

His face fell, and she hurriedly continued,

“But that’s alright! It was still good, most women don’t—um, y’know, from…that, so—”

“They don’t?!” James gaped, looking so flabbergasted that Lily couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, you big prat! It’s actually very uncommon—this is what happens when you get all your
information from a quidditch locker room.” She rolled her eyes, smiling.

“But…what’s even the point, then?”

“Careful, Potter,” Lily said, dryly, “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

His jaw snapped shut. “No—I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, obviously you’re amazing, and that
was bloody incredible—like, probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me—but. I just.” He
glanced down at her hand on his arm, frowning. “I want it to feel as good for you. As it does for
me.”

She smiled up at him, fondly.

“It’s alright, James. Really.”

Their eyes met. After a moment, something in his gaze changed—like a fire stoked to life. It was
the sort of burning determination that he usually reserved only for the quidditch pitch, the look that
made her stomach flip every time she watched him mount his broom. Having it focused on her
made her feel dizzy, overheated.

He leaned down, kissing her, still propping himself up on one elbow. After a moment, he paused,
murmuring against her lips,

“Will you show me?”

“Show you…?” She gasped, trailing off. His mouth had moved down to her neck, and his hand was
inching up her thigh, making it very difficult to concentrate.
“How to make it good. For you.” His voice was low, breath hot against the shell of her ear. Lily
shivered.

“Lily?” He pulled back, slightly, when she didn’t respond. Lily realised she was panting, face
flushed like she’d just run up two flights of stairs. Her boyfriend’s hair was a mess, sticking up
everywhere—she wanted to wrap her fingers in it.

“Ok,” she breathed, feeling as if she were melting, “I’ll show you.”

And she did.

* * *

Everything’s all right

Just hold on tight

That’s because I’m a good old-fashioned (fashioned) loverboy…

Regulus

10:49 PM

Valentine’s Day wasn’t horrible, as far as holidays went. The frilly decorations that the house elves
had put up everywhere were annoying, but at least the couples all fucked off to be by themselves,
and nobody expected you to celebrate as long as you weren’t stupid enough to tangle yourself up in
a relationship.

The downside, of course, was that Regulus had been kicked out of his own bloody dorm room.
Rowle had finally managed to win over the blonde fifth-year he’d been after since the beginning of
the term, and had practically begged on his hands and knees for the other boys to vacate the
dormitory. Regulus had agreed, mostly because he knew he wouldn’t get any sleep, anyway—and
once he’d given the all-clear, of course the other boys fell in line. None of the Slytherins ever
dared to disagree with him, now.

Regulus ran his fingers, absentmindedly, over his left forearm. He probably should have enjoyed it
—the deference. The way his peers suddenly stared at him with new respect, both frightened and
awed. And sometimes, he did. Sometimes, it made him feel powerful, like there was finally some
piece of his life that he could control. Sometimes, he wondered if he could get addicted to it—the
way he only had to say one word, and suddenly everyone would be scrambling to obey.

But other times, it just made him feel sick.

On the couch across from his armchair, Barty was snoring, head propped at a weird angle against
one of the throw pillows. Regulus sighed, standing, and moved over to a quiet reading nook on the
opposite side of the room. He wished there were windows, sometimes, in the Slytherin common
room—that they weren’t in a dungeon, so he could look out and see the sky. But then again, maybe
it was for the best. It was impossible to look up at night without seeing him there, a reminder: the
brightest star in the sky.

Regulus leaned his head back against the stone wall, waiting for the old, familiar loneliness to
creep back in. It never left anymore, not really—just stretched, like a cat, uncurling itself and
purring through the marrow of his bones. He sat with it, stroking its head.

Run along, little brother.

They were the last words Sirius had spoken to him. Regulus hated himself for clinging to it, for
replaying them, over and over again. It was pathetic; it made him miserable. Yet he couldn’t stop
himself from wondering, obsessively, every time they spoke, if this was finally it. If this time
would be the last.

Run along, little brother.

It wasn’t fair of him, to say that. Not fair to wield the word brother like a knife, something sharp
and painful, as if he weren’t the one who had walked away first. As if he hadn’t replaced Regulus
the moment he was out the door—the moment he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express and found
someone better. Sometimes, when he saw them together – James Potter and Sirius Black, laughing
in the Great Hall, arms around each other’s shoulders – the anger took him by the throat, so
powerful that it left him breathless.

We were supposed to leave together.

Regulus sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. He knew better than to think like that—thought
he’d abandoned that small, childish voice long ago. They were never both getting out; Regulus had
known that, in one way or another, since he was fourteen.

It was just the lack of sleep. He was so tired, now, all the time. He’d thought about trying to get his
hands on some dreamless sleep potions, but the only ones available in the castle were kept under
lock and key in Madam Pomfrey’s office, and he couldn’t exactly explain why he needed it. At
least—not without telling her about the nightmares.

They’d started after Christmas. It was the same thing, every time. The explosions, the dust, the
screaming. The colourful flashes of light—curses, whipping back and forth through the haze of
debris. Regulus stumbled back, over crumbling brick and then—

There.

There she was.

The woman stared up at him, wide brown eyes, gasping. She was young, perhaps only a few years
older than him, likely fresh out of Hogwarts. She had probably come to Diagon Alley to do some
shopping, maybe meet a few friends, go to grab a butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe she’d
wanted to stop by the bookstore, or duck into Florean Fortescue’s for some ice cream. Maybe mint
chip was her favourite flavour.

She had smooth, clear skin and a purple scarf and a black wool coat. She had dark hair that was
covered in dust, and the longest eyelashes Regulus had ever seen. She had soft white gloves. She
had curls. She had a metal bar punched through the middle of her chest, pinning her to the ground.

In the dream, Regulus stared at her. She stared back. She was trying to breathe, but he could see the
 position of the bar in her chest—it had punctured her lung, gone clean through. There was already
blood pooling in her open, gasping mouth.

It was around that point that he usually woke up.

Regulus reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against smooth porcelain. He pulled out the little
figure, turning it slowly in his hand, an anxious habit.

There are casualties in every battle, Regulus. His father’s voice, years ago, words spoken over a
chessboard, You have to be ready to give some pieces up, if you want to protect the ones that truly
matter.

Regulus sat for a long time, holding the pawn in his fist. He wasn’t sure how late it was, how many
hours had passed—wasn’t sure if it was still night, or if the clock had ticked its way into early
morning. The sun could be rising outside, but he wouldn’t know. He was too far under the ground.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "good old-fashioned lover boy" by queen!

aaaaahh i've been so excited to share this chapter!! hope u all enjoyed, it was so much
fun to write. obviously, there's a lot happening here and i was trying to touch on a few
different topics related to these side characters -- i did my best to portray everything
sensitively + realistically, but if i missed the mark anywhere please don't hesitate to let
me know!
 Seventh Year: The Marauder’s Inter-house Prank Planning Co-operative
Chapter Summary

truth or dare?

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Wednesday 15th February 1978

“I can’t believe you’re holding this thing here,” Christopher said, wringing his hands as he watched
Remus unlock the Charms classroom. Sirius rolled his eyes.

Remus shrugged. “Best way to avoid detection. Flitwick always lets me use it.”

“Exactly! It’s so brazen!”

“Brazen is our middle name!” James grinned, stepping into the room after Chris.

“Your middle name is Fleamont, you prat.” Sirius followed him, “And this place is genius, no one
will ever suspect anything. I knew your swot lessons would come in useful one day, Moony.”

“A lot of people find Remus’s study group very helpful, actually.” Christopher sniffed. Sirius
turned to stare at him, flatly, raising an eyebrow, and he shrank back a bit.

“Oh Chris, he’s just teasing,” Remus said amicably, glancing at his pocket watch. “We’re all nice
and early, James, have you got an agenda?”

“A what?” James looked up from the blackboard, where he had charmed the chalk to draw a truly
magnificent lion above the ever-so-regal slogan: Gryffindor Rulez OK.

Remus shook his head. “Never mind.”

“So who else got an invitation?” Christopher asked, thumbing through the book that had suddenly
materialised in his hands.

“About twenty or thirty people, maybe.” Remus replied, “Anyone who expressed an interest before
Christmas who seemed trustworthy.”

“It was an extremely rigorous vetting process, actually,” James told him, balancing atop Flitwick’s
desk and attempting to see if he was tall enough to touch the ceiling.

“Yeah, we almost didn’t let Wormtail in,” Sirius chuckled, leaning out the window and puffing on
a cigarette. It was an unusually nice day for February, sunny and bright, though still cold.

“Why do you all call Peter that?” Christopher asked.

“Just a nickname,” all three boys chorused, simultaneously. Sirius caught James’s eye, grinning.
It wasn’t much longer before Peter showed up, followed closely by Mary, Lily, and Yasmin. After
that came a crowd of older students from Remus’s study group, along with Dorcas – apparently
things were still chummy between her and Peter. Mary’s favourite boy from her three Valentine’s
Day dates – a Ravenclaw named Jonty Simmons – walked in looking a bit dazed to be there, and
the last two to show up, much to Sirius’s surprise, were Emmeline Vance and Roman Rotherhide.

It almost felt a bit like a party; the room buzzed with chatter, everyone talking and laughing and
glancing around to see who else had come. Sirius stood at the front of the room next to James,
smirking and leaning against the wall with his cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Now, we all know why we’re here,” James began, clapping his hands together to call everyone to
attention. But before he could continue, Emmeline stuck her hand in the air.

“Sorry, but I don’t…”

A few seats down, Remus snorted. Sirius raised his hand to his lips, adjusting his cigarette to hide
his smile.

“Nor do I!” Dorcas piped up, sticking her hand in the air, too. A few of the students from Remus’s
study group followed suit.

“Why did all of you come, then?!” Sirius stared, frowning. Some of the girls sitting near the back
of the room giggled, and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“We’re here to plan a…an organised protest,” Christopher cleared his throat, “Against Slytherin.”

Organised protest. Sirius resisted the urge to scoff. Trust Christopher to make it sound boring.

“Yeah!” One of Remus’s minions shouted, “I heard you lot were planning your biggest prank yet!”

“I heard one of you knows how to get the monster out of the chamber of secrets!”

“I heard you were planning to blow up the dungeons!” Chirped a Hufflepuff boy.

“Woah woah woah,” James raised his hands for silence, “Bit less dramatic than that…”

“Well if it’s about getting the Slytherins back for all the nonsense they’ve pulled, I’m in.”
Emmeline said firmly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Remus tutted, audibly, and Sirius had to
stifle another smile. It was sort of funny, seeing Remus get all grumpy and jealous—and there was
something to be said for Moony when he got all possessive…

“That’s exactly what it’s about,” James said, breaking Sirius’s line of thought (which was probably
for the best). Prongs continued, “And exactly why we need all of you to keep quiet about it. This is
our last year, and we’re inviting all of you to help us plan our final prank.”

“Does that make us marauders?” The Hufflepuff piped up again, eagerly.

“No,” Peter squawked, though his indignance was mostly lost beneath the excited murmur that ran
through the room.

“I like to think of it as more of a collaboration,” James said, rubbing his chin.

“An inter-house co-operative!” Sirius suggested.

That was met with general approval from the room, as everyone nodded and grinned at each other.
“Right.” James straightened, rubbing his hands together and looking out over the faces smiling up
at him. “Now that’s out of the way, who’s got some ideas?!”

A wave of hands went up.

“Err,” Lily interjected, “I think before we get into that it might be good to have some ground
rules?”

“Like what?” Sirius asked, frowning. They were marauders. Rules were the one thing they didn’t
do.

“Like not actually hurting anyone?” Lily raised a brow, speaking sternly, “This is just fun, ok? Not
revenge for everything Slytherin’s ever done.” A few of the hands went down.

“Fair enough,” James said quickly, before Sirius could respond. “No physical harm intended. And
as I said before, no talking about it outside of this room. On pain of death. Joking, Evans!” He
laughed, ducking as she reached up to slap the back of his head.

After the somewhat shaky start, things began to roll quite smoothly. Sirius was pretty impressed
with some of the ideas – of course, Lily vetoed the most exciting ones (like summoning a banshee
to haunt the dungeons), and some of them were far too subtle to have the desired impact
(Emmeline suggested a spell that would turn everyone’s right shoe into a left shoe, but since
Slytherins already walked around with sticks up their arseholes, Sirius didn’t see how a little extra
discomfort would do much.)

Before they knew it, they’d run out of time, and James assigned everyone ‘homework’ – entry to
next week’s meeting would require at least one viable prank idea.

“Then we can decide on the best one,” Sirius said, grinning.

“Who decides?” Mary asked, folding her arms.

Sirius gave her a look. “Me, James, Pete and Moony, obviously.”

“Can’t we vote?” One of the Remus-minions asked.

“Yeah, that seems fairer,” Mary raised a brow, “If we’re all putting ourselves at risk of expulsion
for you.” Sirius rolled his eyes at her, and she poked her tongue out.

But Christopher looked alarmed. “Expulsion?!” He yelped, “Surely not…surely we won’t go that
far…?”

“Will we get in trouble, though?” The same Hufflepuff boy piped up again, raising his hand.
Everyone turned to him.

“Not much,” Sirius replied, casually, “Bit of detention never hurt anyone.”

“No, sorry, I don’t mean detention.” The boy glanced down at the floor, fidgeting with his hands.
“I mean with…you know, the Slytherins. They won’t…tell the death eaters to get us, will they?”

Sirius almost laughed—really? Telling on them to the big, bad death eaters? It was so juvenile; he
tried to imagine his family at one of their mysterious meetings, discussing how best to get back at a
group of teenagers for a prank. No, Sirius was pretty sure that Voldemort’s followers had set their
sights higher than vengeance for schoolkid disputes.
But he stopped himself when he realised that the boy was dead serious. In fact, a tense silence had
settled over the room, and more than a few students were staring awkwardly at the floor or
exchanging nervous glances, as if they really believed that the Slytherins had a direct line of
communication with Voldemort. Sirius blinked, caught off-guard—how bad had things gotten, for
people to believe that they might not be safe at Hogwarts?

James seemed to sense the dark mood, because he straightened up and squared his shoulders,
drawing the attention of the room once more.

“Absolutely not. No one in this room is getting hurt because of this prank.”

Everyone seemed to relax, hearing that. James tended to have that effect on people – it was
impossible to look at him, bursting at the seams with confidence, and feel anything but certain that
he would be able to handle whatever life threw his way. Lily gave him an adoring smile, and Sirius
found himself smiling, too.

“Right,” Lily cleared her throat, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention, “See you all again
next week, I suppose. I think we’d all better leave in small groups, don’t want to draw attention to
ourselves…”

The room dissolved back into a buzz of chatter. Everyone congregated with their friends near the
door, waiting for Lily to wave them out at carefully spaced intervals in groups of three or four.
Over by Flitwick’s desk, the marauders formed a small circle.

“Bloody hell,” James lowered his voice, running a hand through his hair, “That was intense.”

“What did you expect?” Mary asked, perching on the edge of the desk and kicking her legs back
and forth, “This isn’t a game to everyone – some people are out for revenge.”

“Then that’s what we’ll give them,” Sirius said, thinking of look on his brother’s face when he’d
found him tormenting those second-years—the smug little smile he’d flashed as he pulled out his
prefect badge. His heart pounded, blood singing with the adrenaline rush that he always got when
they were planning a prank.

“Calm down, Black,” Mary nudged him, “You’re schoolkids, not generals.”

“For now,” he muttered, still thinking of Reg.

“Ok you lot,” Lily marched over. Everyone else had left; it was only the seven of them remaining.
“We’ll go back in two groups, because no one is going to believe you four weren’t up to
something…”

Sirius and Remus were staying together, of course, as were James and Lily. Peter opted to tag
along with James, and Mary went with them—which Sirius suspected was mostly because she
didn’t want to make Peter third wheel. However, that left him and Remus with their own third-
wheeling situation: Christopher. Sirius remembered, vividly, what had happened the last time the
three of them were alone together.

He didn’t blame Chris, of course. Or even Remus, really—Sirius knew he had been a bit immature
about the whole situation when it happened, and that really neither of them had done anything
wrong. So there was definitely no ulterior motive when he leaned back against the wall, grinning.

“Let’s play truth or dare.”

“Why?” Remus asked, sceptically.

“Pass the time.”

“Or we could just have a normal conversation…”

“Christopher wants to, don’t you, Christopher?”

“Err…”

“Great, you can go first. Truth or dare, what do you fancy?”

“Um.” The younger boy shifted, anxiously, eyes darting between the two of them. “I don’t…um…
truth?”

“Excellent! Start off easy, if it’s your first time playing,” Sirius hummed thoughtfully, tapping his
chin. “Hmmm, let me see…ah! Ok, why did you want to get involved with the prank?”

“What?”

“Y’know. How come you came today?”

“Chris has been involved since the beginning, Padfoot, you know that.” Remus shot him a warning
glance.

“Right, right – so what made you get involved in the first place, then?”

Christopher frowned at him. “If you have to know,” he said, coldly, “It was your brother.”

Ah.

“Fair enough, he’s a right little prick.” Still—not the whole truth, was it? He glanced at Remus.
“Sure there was no other reason?”

“No.”

Liar.

“I’ll go next,” Remus said, sensing the direction things were going. “Chris, you can ask me to do a
dare.” Moony always picked dare, never truth.

“Umm…” Christopher tapped his foot, nervously, “Oh, I don’t know, I’m crap at this sort of
thing.”

Probably because you’re so bloody boring. “I’ve got a good one!” Sirius offered. He shot Remus a
wink, then cupped his hand and leaned in to whisper his suggestion to Chris—who laughed in
shock, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Ok, Remus,” Christopher’s face had gone red, but he was smiling. “Ok, you have to write
something rude on the blackboard and leave it there.”

“I gave you specifics.” Sirius reminded him. But Christopher only blushed more deeply,

“I’m not saying that out loud!”

Remus raised an eyebrow, trying to act like he wasn’t having just as much fun as the two of them.

“Ok, fine, I’ll do it…”

He picked up some chalk and stood in front of the blackboard, studying it like an artist in front of
his canvas. After a moment, he asked wryly,

“How rude?”

“Very.” Christopher told him, still blushing.

“Well, it’s the rules of the game, I s’pose…” Remus got to work, paying careful attention to
proportion as he created his masterpiece. By the time he was done, both Sirius and Christopher
were snickering.

Remus turned to them, raising his eyebrows. “Well?”

Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning.

“Moony, me old pal, it’s the biggest knob I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Remus drawled, eyes bright with mischief. There was a distinctly sultry tilt
to his smirk, and for a moment Sirius wondered if Remus had forgotten that Christopher was still
there.

But the other boy didn’t seem to notice anything, nodding eagerly in agreement. “Glorious.”

“Come on then,” Remus wiped the chalk dust off his hands, “That’s enough of a gap, we can go
now. Common room?”

“Oi, I’ve not had my turn, yet!” Sirius complained.

“What’s the point,” Remus laughed, “You always choose a dare, and there’s nothing I can think of
that you’d even think twice about doing.”

“Are you saying I’m the bravest—”

“Stupidest, maybe,” Moony nudged him, tongue poking between his teeth. “Come on, let’s go.”

They abandoned Remus’s masterpiece in favour of the corridors, which were largely empty so late
in the evening. It was just the three of them for almost the entire trek back to Gryffindor tower,
unless you counted the portraits—but Hogwarts portraits were usually pretty good about minding
their own business.

“Did you finish Maurice, Remus?” Christopher asked, trotting slightly to keep up. Knowing Chris,
Sirius assumed that ‘Maurice’ was a book title, and not a person.

“Nearly,” Remus slowed his stride, “Just a chapter or two to go. Do you promise me it’s a happy
ending?”

“Definitely,” Christopher said firmly, “You’ll love it. I was thinking…if you’re free on Saturday
we could have a chat about it in the Three Broomsticks? I’d really like to know what you think.”

Merlin, he wasn’t even being subtle about it! That was clearly a date—obviously, he was asking
Remus on a date.

“Yeah, maybe…” Remus said slowly, “Don’t see why not.”

Sirius fought to keep from scowling. He could already hear the excuses: Just because he wants to
hang out doesn’t mean it’s a date, Sirius; Chris just wants somebody to talk to about books, Sirius;
He already knows that we’re just friends, Sirius.

Well, if that was the case, maybe somebody should remind Christopher exactly where things stood.

“Is that the muggle book you’ve been reading?” Sirius asked, casually, “Is it good then?”

“Yeah, quite good.” Remus replied, warily.

“Great. Maybe I’ll read it then. I can get it done by Saturday, I read faster than you.”

“You do not!” Remus protested, scowling.

“Well, I have more time to read, anyway.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Only because you hardly go to half your lessons.”

“I doubt it’s your sort of thing, Sirius.” Christopher jumped in. When they both turned to look at
him, he shrugged. “Well, it’s not! Tell him what it’s about, Remus.”

“Er…”

But Sirius didn’t give him a chance to respond—he grabbed at Moony’s book bag, digging around
until he found the book and pulled it out, triumphantly. Remus watched anxiously as he flipped it
over and read the back cover.

Maurice Hall is a young man who grows up confident in his privileged status and well aware of his
role in society. Modest and generally conformist, he finds himself beginning to question everything
he has been taught to believe when he encounters Clive Durham, a fellow student at Cambridge,
and Alec Scudder, the gamekeeper of Clive’s country estate. A moving tale of passion, bravery, and
defiance, Forester’s novel was written in 1914 but was only published posthumously, after the
author’s death in 1970.

“Isn’t this one of my uncle’s?” He looked up.

“Yeah, you said I could borrow it…” Remus trailed off, glancing down nervously at the book in
Sirius’s hands.

“Is it dirty?”

“No.”

“Oh, well. I’ll read it anyway.” He winked, playfully. “That can be my dare.”

“Very brave.” Remus snatched the book away, tucking it back into his bag.

Christopher looked troubled. “But it’s about…” he hesitated, glancing around. They were nearly at
the portrait door; Sirius paused, making the other two boys stop with him.

He gave Remus a meaningful look, jerking his chin towards Chris. “He makes a lot of
assumptions, this one.”

Remus shrugged, helplessly. “He doesn’t know you very well.”

 “Oi, Christopher?” Sirius turned back to the younger boy, smiling wickedly. “Dare me to snog
Moony?”

“Wha—I—?!” Christopher blanched, eyes going wide and darting rapidly between the two boys, as
if he was trying to figure out whether he was missing some joke.

Chris looked like he still needed some help understanding. So Sirius helpfully gripped the back of
Remus’s neck, and helpfully pulled him down, and helpfully pressed their lips together, hard,
twisting his fingers helpfully into Remus’s hair, and slipping his tongue helpfully into Remus’s
mouth.

Do you get it now, Chris? He thought, vindictive and triumphant, a satisfied thrill running down
his spine.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!”

The two boys sprang apart as a voice rang out from further down the hallway, and for a moment
Sirius felt a sharp shock of fear—but then he turned.

“I’m away for a week and the castle turns into an orgy!” Marlene stood with her hands on her hips,
duffel bag at her side. She eyed the three of them, knowingly, with a playful smirk. “What a load of
queers.”

Chapter End Notes

i haven't read maurice (i know, i know, it's on the list) so the blurb in this chapter is
cobbled together from what i could find on the internet

also i am now back to my regular busy schedule after a long break, which means no
more writing all day like an absolute maniac :'( but daily updates will continue, never
fear :)
 Seventh Year: Mind Games
Chapter Summary

marlene's back!

Sirius wasted no time in pulling Marlene through the portrait hole, announcing her presence to the
common room and stepping out of the way with a flourish, as if she were royalty. Marlene grinned,
blushing at the attention but delighted nonetheless as their friends immediately swarmed her.

Everyone needed to hug her, of course, and James and Lily rushed to take her bag and cloak as they
ushered her over to the sofa near the fireplace. Mary looked as if she were trying to suffocate the
poor girl, squeezing her so tightly that Marlene went a little red.

“We’ve missed you!” Mary told her, once she’d finally stepped back.

“I can see that!” Marlene shook her head, “Have you all been that bored without me?”

They settled down in front of the fire, ignoring the startled looks from a group of third-years
studying in the corner. Remus meandered over and sat in one of the armchairs on the outskirts of
the group, with a slightly wary look in his eyes. Sirius glanced behind him, but it seemed that
Christopher had already disappeared—which was probably for the best, as Mary leaned in
immediately and asked,

“How’s Danny?”

“He’s…recovering.” Marlene said slowly, smile falling away. “He’s at home now, mum’s driving
him crazy as usual. He won’t…he won’t be going back to the Cannons.” She bit her lip, staring
down at her hands.

“It’s a bloody disgrace.” James scowled, one hand curling into a fist, “If I was their manager, I’d
—”

“He’s too badly injured, anyway.” Marlene interrupted him, shaking her head, “He’d have been off
for the rest of the season either way; it’ll be months before he's back on a broom. So. Just as well.”

“Still bollocks.” James insisted, darkly.

“Yeah, well.” Marlene gave him a flat stare, “Can hardly blame them. I know I would have…
anyway. Not worth thinking about.”

Sirius’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting; for her to have a miraculous change
of heart, now that her brother was…? Well, it didn’t matter—obviously Marlene was still clinging
to the same outdated ideas she’d had before. Sirius tried not to feel angry with her; after all, she’d
been through a lot, it wasn’t like it was his place to tell her how to feel about what had happened.
Still, he had to resist the urge to glance anxiously at Remus as she spoke.

Marlene cleared her throat, forcing a smile back onto her face.

“I’m going to talk to Madam Pomfrey as soon as I can; see if she recommends anything. The
healers at St. Mungo’s were useless, more concerned with keeping him quarantined than actually
helping him. Hardly anyone could answer the questions I had about transformations, or aftercare,
or pain relief…it was like they’d rather I just stopped talking about him; like they wanted to
pretend he wasn’t there…”

Her voice was trembling, choked with the tears the crept into her eyes. She blinked rapidly,
clearing her throat. “I mean, I know what he is, don’t get me wrong. I know what he’s going to
become. But he’s still my brother, for fuck’s sake!”

“Of course he is.” Mary said quickly, reaching out to take her friend’s hand.

Sirius’s chest felt tight. Something about Marlene’s words—he’s still my brother, for fuck’s sake—
struck a bit too close to home. Part of him wanted to shake her, to fall back into their old debate
about lycanthropy, to say ‘There’s worse things a brother can be, than a werewolf.’

“Anyway.” Marlene sniffed, shaking her head. “What’s been going on here? Is that your cat, Lily?”

“Valentine’s day present,” the redhead replied, smiling down at the purring kitten in her lap. “His
name’s Hieronymus.”

“Catchy.” Marlene gave her a wobbly smile, “Nice one, Potter, you big softie.”

“You’re still on the team, right?” James asked, earnestly, “My star beater?!”

“Obviously,” the smile became a bit more genuine, “I’m assuming the training times haven’t
changed…?”

“First thing tomorrow morning.” James confirmed.

“And, we’re planning this huge—” Peter began to speak, but was interrupted,

“Oi, McKinnon.”

Everyone turned. Yasmin stood behind the sofa, legs apart and hands on her hips, grinning. It
looked as if she’d been in the middle of getting ready for bed; her hair was twisted into a messy
pile atop her head and she was wearing a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt so baggy that it could have been
a dress.

“Alright, Patel?” Marlene turned, kneeling on the cushions so that she could reach up and hug her
girlfriend. Sirius watched them, smiling.

He hadn’t actually spoken to Marlene about their mutual revelation on the train back in January—
though Remus had, and had recounted the conversation to Sirius—but Sirius still felt a new sort of
kinship with the girl. It was nice, at least, knowing that he and Remus weren’t the only ones
muddling through…everything.

The werewolf talk came to an end as Mary discreetly slid to the other end of the sofa, pulling out a
nail file and beginning to chat with Lily. Yasmin quickly filled her spot, clambering over the back
of the sofa and leaning in close to Marlene, their words blurred by a muffliato spell. They sat very
close together, with Yaz’s arm slung over the back of the cushions, fingers just an inch away from
Marlene’s sandy hair.

Sirius turned to James and Peter, continuing a conversation from earlier in the day about the
upcoming quidditch match against Ravenclaw. The Gryffindor team had been struggling, a bit, this
year—their new chaser just wasn’t quite up to snuff, and Marlene was constantly picking up slack
for the other beater. The stronger members of the team ended up spending half their time
compensating for the weaker players, so James had been putting in long hours to work one on one
with the struggling members.

This strategy had helped; based on the last practice Sirius had gone to watch, there had definitely
been improvement. Still, James was anxious about the upcoming match—Ravenclaw had a new
keeper this year who had been almost flawless in their match against Hufflepuff, blocking nearly
every shot. If Eriksson couldn’t get her shit together and James had to spend half the game making
up for her mistakes, they could be in serious trouble…

Across the circle, Remus abruptly slammed his book shut, making Peter jump. They all turned to
look at him—he was frowning, eyes dark, expression stormy.

“All right there, Moony?” Lily asked, carefully. She’d picked up the nickname after spending so
much time around James—Sirius wasn’t sure how he felt about it, yet. The names were usually
only used between the marauders.

“Fine. Sorry.” Remus muttered, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

“Not in the common room, please!” Lily said quickly, slipping into her Head Girl voice.

“Right, right, sorry…” Moony stood, awkwardly, fag dangling between his lips. “I’ll go upstairs.”

“We’re going to bed too.” Marlene stretched—then, realising what she said, went bright red and
added hurriedly, “I mean, upstairs. To sleep. Erm. You know – if we’ve got an early practice…”

Yaz was clearly fighting a smile as she stood, waving goodbye to the group before she followed
her girlfriend upstairs. Sirius glanced at James and Peter, gauging their responses—but neither boy
seemed to notice anything unusual.

“Night.” Remus said gruffly, picking up his school bag and making his way over to the staircase.
The door slammed shut behind him.

Sirius frowned, turning back to his friends. Peter and James picked up where they had left off in
their quidditch discussion, but Sirius was distracted, thinking about Remus.

He’d had that look on his face—broody, the one that Sirius knew meant he was overthinking
something. In fact, he’d been quiet since Marlene showed up. Sirius thought back to those four
days following the attack, how Remus had done nothing but wallow in bed. He knew the boy had a
tendency to spiral when it came to werewolf stuff, and Sirius supposed that he couldn’t blame him.

Was Remus worried about Marlene? Was he thinking about Danny? Was the whole situation
dredging up dark memories, thoughts of his own struggle with the disease—the pain, the secrecy,
the things people said?

The quidditch conversation had died down, and Peter wandered over to play chess with a second-
year who he apparently knew from chess club. Mary went up to bed, and Sirius reclined in his
chair, testing out a new colour-changing spell that he’d learned from one of Mary’s Witch Weekly
magazines, meant specifically for hair. He elected to use Pete as a test subject, subtly aiming his
wand at the back of the oblivious boy’s head as James and Lily murmured to each other, heads
bent close together.

“Where are you off to?” He asked, when the two of them stood. The couple exchanged a glance,
blushing.
“Oh, er….” James scratched his chin, “Just…Head Boy and Girl stuff. Y’know.”

“Peeves made a mess with some inkpots on the third floor,” Lily added, quickly, “Just remembered
that McGonagall asked us to clean it up, and we forgot to do it earlier…”

“Oh?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, “She asked you to clean it up, instead of Filch?”

To Lily’s credit, she didn’t blink. “Yes.” If it weren’t for James looking so guilty beside her, she
would have had an excellent poker face. Sirius smirked.

“Third floor…isn’t that the same floor as the prefect’s bathroom?”

Now Lily was blushing, too, frowning down at him. “I don’t see what that has to do with
anything,” she sniffed.

Sirius grinned, wickedly. “Going down there, are you? For some Head Boy and Girl activities?”

James smacked him with a pillow, glaring. “Oh, sod off, Black.” Sirius cackled as the two of them
hurried away.

After a moment, he sighed, standing up and stretching. Well, he thought, Suppose it wouldn’t hurt
to check on Moony. The boy was probably upstairs, chain-smoking and brooding. It was best not to
leave him alone, when he got like that.

Sirius bounded up to the dorm, pushing the door open as he said,

“Wotcher, Moony, just came to see if yo—”

Remus was on him before he could finish, hands fisting in his hair, lips crashing together. It was
brutal, unforgiving—Remus pressed hard against him, creating friction in all the right places.

“Oh, ok…” Sirius panted, feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen once he finally pulled away. He
slammed the door shut with his foot, stumbling slightly as the other boy hauled him over to the
bed.

It was overwhelming. Remus was everywhere—mouth at his neck, hands on his skin, breath
against his ear. Nobody touched him like Moony, giving and taking all at once, until his own body
felt like something brand new. Sirius didn’t think he would ever get tired of it, would ever stop
wanting it—the feeling was addictive, like he could burn out of his own skin.

By the time they were done, the windows had grown steamy, waxing moon a pale blur through the
glass. “Fuck.” Sirius groaned. He felt like his bones had all melted, leaving him helpless and
wrung out on the bed. “Fuck.” Remus was moving, reaching for his cigarettes. “What brought that
on?”

“Just you.” Moony shrugged, smoke pouring from his lips like a dragon. “Just wanted it.”

“Not complaining.”

Remus shifted next to him, settling back against the pillows. Sirius could feel the heat coming off
his skin; it was like lying next to an open flame. He blinked lazily, watching a lingering bead of
sweat trace its way from Moony’s jaw to his collarbone, sliding over the purpling mark that Sirius
had left there…

He sighed, closing his eyes, blissed out and sleepy and warm.
“Where are the others?”

“Mm?” Remus’s voice brought him back. “Oh, er…Pete’s three rounds into a chess game with a
second year who’s obviously some sort of evil mastermind, Mary went to bed, and Prongs and the
missus have gone to the prefect’s bathrooms. They thought they were being subtle.” He laughed,
breathlessly, remembering his friends’ flushed faces.

“I’m going to brush my teeth.” Remus said, stubbing out his cigarette and standing. Sirius propped
himself up, watching Moony walk away. He still seemed tense, somehow, shoulders creeping up
around his ears—Sirius remembered the reason that he’d come upstairs in the first place. He sat up
when Remus returned, smiling.

“Hey, I just wanted to check you were ok about Marlene and everything.”

“Fine,” Remus crawled back onto the bed, shutting the curtains behind him, “It’s good to have her
back.”

“Mm, I hope you’re not worried about—”

“Do we have to talk about that?” Remus’s voice was rough, eyes burning as he straddled Sirius’s
lap. He rocked into him languidly, teasing, mouth finding the spot just below Sirius’s jaw that
made him feel like he was unravelling.

“Blimey, again?” His thoughts were already going fuzzy, heat jolting down his spine.

“Mmm…” Remus murmured, hands circling his wrists, pinning him. Sirius released a breath,
wanting to—no, focus. Marlene. Werewolves.

“Mmm…well ok, but if you are worried—”

“Shut up, Black.” Remus growled, eyes flashing as he pulled back. Sirius bit his lip, stifling the
whimper that slid up his throat. (Merlin, he was pathetic.)

Remus smirked, a smug, wolfish smile. “Much better,” he murmured, pushing forward so that they
both fell back, lifting Sirius’s wrists to pin them above his head. “No more talking tonight.”

* * *

Alright, so he probably should have realised that something was wrong. And he probably should
have tried harder to get Remus to open up about it—probably should have put his foot down,
refusing to let Moony marinate in his own dark feelings.

But Sirius Black was a weak, weak man. And while he usually revelled in doing the exact opposite
of whatever he was told, there was just something about the way Remus gave orders—voice
dropping low in his chest, eyes going dark—that he couldn’t refuse. He did try to start a
conversation, bringing it up a few more times while they were alone. But the moon was waxing,
and Remus was insatiable, and there were so many things other than talking that they could do with
their mouths…

So it wasn’t until the weekend before the full moon that Sirius finally got his chance. They were
walking back to the school from Hogsmeade after an afternoon at the Three Broomsticks with their
friends, and Remus had fallen behind on the hill. When Sirius turned to look back, he was chatting
with Christopher.

The younger boy was still following Remus around, every chance he got. But he was no longer
asking him on dates to Hogsmeade, and the soppy looks were now more longing than adoring.
Sirius supposed it was an improvement.

“Oi Moony! Come on!” He shouted, hanging back at the entryway to wait. He had already waved
James and the rest of their friends ahead for dinner.

Christopher said his farewells once he caught sight of Sirius, jogging off towards the castle. Remus
continued to make his way slowly over the grass, gritting his teeth. He was limping, though Sirius
could tell that he was trying to downplay it, and there was sweat beaded along his forehead. When
he finally made it to the gate he was out of breath, panting, and had to lean against the stone
archway to collect himself.

“Sorry,” he breathed, after a moment, “Hate that fucking hill.”

“Are you ok?” Sirius frowned, feeling a bit guilty about striding off ahead. “Sorry, didn’t mean to
leave you behind.”

“Fine.” Remus shrugged him off, “You know me, just a bit wonky.” He stood, wincing as he put
weight back on his leg.

“Is it your hip?” Sirius asked, scanning him—he was definitely in pain, face a few shades paler
than normal, and was listing slightly to one side.

“Yeah,” Remus said, brushing him off, “S’always been a bit funny.”

“When you say ‘a bit funny,’ do you mean that you’re in pain?”

“S’just sore.” The stubborn boy grumbled, frowning.

“So, pain then.” Sirius gave him a stern look, trying to emulate Lily’s Head Girl voice. “How long
has it been hurting?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Remus snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “Since I was thirteen.”

Thirteen?! “Are you joking?!”

“Just off and on.”

“What does Madam Pomfrey say?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, I don’t whinge to her about this sort of crap!” Remus scowled, voice rising
slightly. A group of third-years walking past turned to look, giggling behind their hands as they
hurried off.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Sirius said firmly, crossing his arms, “She’s a nurse, she’s supposed to
make you feel better. What would you do if I told you I’d been in pain for five years?!”

“It’s not the same!”

“What are you on about??”

“You’re not a fucking werew—”

He cut himself off, abruptly, and they both glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. But
they were alone; most of the students had already made their way into the Great Hall for dinner.

Still, Sirius leaned in, keeping his voice low despite his frustration.

“You don’t deserve to suffer, for fuck’s sake.”

Remus stared at him as if he’d just been slapped in the face. The shock quickly turned into a
furious glare, and he drew back, straightening. Sirius glared right back, waiting for Remus to try
and deny it, to insist that this wasn’t just one more example of him punishing himself for things
outside of his control.

But instead, his face went flat. “I’m not talking about this anymore. Come on, we’ll miss dinner.”

And without even giving Sirius a chance to respond, he walked off, striding back inside the castle.
 Seventh Year: Remus the Martyr
Chapter Summary

the girls are fightinggggg

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you cryin’?

Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you cryin’?

Feelin’ all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin’

Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you cryin’?

I want you to want me

I need you to need me

I’d love you to love me

I’m beggin’ you to beg me

Wednesday 22nd February 1978

It was a thoroughly miserable weekend. Neither of them was willing to give ground—Remus
remained surly, eyeing Sirius warily anytime he opened his mouth, like he was expecting an attack.
Sirius was just as frustrated, fed up with Remus’s infuriating insistence on pretending that
everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

Even the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match on Sunday wasn’t enough to cheer him up—not with
Remus just a few seats down, tense and silent, only opening his mouth to cheer or boo with the rest
of their friends.

At least the game was going well—it turned out that Prongs hadn’t had anything to worry about
when it came to Ravenclaw’s new keeper. No one was a match for James Potter on a broomstick.

“Aaaand that’s another ten points to Gryffindor!” Came the commentator’s voice through the
megaphone, “An overwhelming sixty points now scored by team captain James Potter, no surprises
there – fans are starting to wonder what will become of the mighty lions next year when they don’t
have their golden boy to depend on—oof, mind that bludger, Simms! …nicely done! Thought I
must say, I’d have veered left, but I suppose not everybody is chosen for their dexterity, sometimes
it’s just about giving everyone a chance, regardless of ability…”
“Who let Lockhart do the commentary?” Sirius scowled, “Stupid prat doesn’t even know anything
about quidditch.”

“He told me he was lined up to play for Puddlemere,” Peter said, “And the only reason he never
played for Ravenclaw was that his coach said he shouldn’t squander his gift in school games.”

“You’re so gullible, Pete,” Remus shook his head, “I know more about quidditch than that twat.”

“Yeah, and Moony knows about as much about quidditch as you know about judging character,”
Sirius sniped, with perhaps a bit more venom than was necessary. Remus frowned.

“Well, Padfoot,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “If you want to do it so much, go and ask
McGonagall. I think you’d be perfect for the job.”

“You—what?” Sirius stared at him. He hadn’t been expecting a compliment.

“Oh yeah, you’re the only person in this school who chats more shit than Lockhart does.”

There it was. Mary and Lily both found Remus’s comment highly amusing, bursting into a fit of
high-pitched giggles. Sirius did not.

“Up yours,” he scowled, turning back to the pitch.

In the end, Gryffindor won with 280 points—but Sirius could hardly bring himself to smile, much
less cheer.

Back in the common room, the victory party started almost immediately. Sirius went straight for
the alcohol, downing shots of firewhisky with James until everything felt warm and pleasantly
fuzzy, making it easier to smile and laugh and pretend that he hadn’t noticed Remus leaving after
the first twenty minutes of the celebration.

James and Lily were wrapped up in each other soon enough, as were Marlene and Yaz—though
they were significantly more discreet about it. Peter had cornered some poor fifth-year and was
trying to drunkenly explain to her the final play that Gryffindor had used to win, shouting to be
heard over the music. So Sirius danced with Mary, spinning her haphazardly around the makeshift
dancefloor in the middle of the common room, laughing.

Eventually, they collapsed onto one of the sofas, sweating and breathless. Mary grinned as he
passed her a cup of Witches’ Brew, holding it up as if she were toasting him.

“No Remus tonight?” She asked, taking a swig.

He took a sip from his own cup, raising an eyebrow.

“No Jordy tonight?”

“Jonty.”

“No Jonty tonight?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Dumped him.”

“Merlin, that was quick!” Sirius laughed, and Mary stiffened, slightly, next to him.

“Yeah, well, s’not my fault all the blokes in this castle are utter pricks,” She muttered,
uncharacteristically sour.
“I’ll drink to that,” Sirius slurred, knocking their cups together. Mary glanced up at him, frowning,
and for a moment Sirius thought she might say something else. But then she shook her head, and
the sunny smile returned.

“Cheers.” She knocked back the rest of her drink, grimacing, and popped back up to her feet.
“C’mon then, one more dance!”

Sirius woke up the next morning alone, with a splitting headache. When he clambered to his feet,
Remus was already gone, sheets curled in a snarl at the end of his empty bed. Sirius made his way
down to the Great Hall for breakfast and found Moony already there—but the sullen boy hardly
said two words to him.

Fine, Sirius thought, reaching for the coffee, That’s how it’s going to be.

For the next three days, Remus avoided him—spending all his time revising in the library, or else
hosting extra sessions of his study club so that he was arriving back at the common room every
night with only minutes to spare before curfew. This suited Sirius, who had decided that he
absolutely was not going to give ground until Remus came to his senses and realised that he was
being a stubborn prick.

But of course, they couldn’t avoid each other forever. The marauders had scheduled their second
Inter-house prank planning meeting for Wednesday, and when Sirius arrived in the Charms
classroom Remus was already there, talking to Chris.

The second meeting didn’t last nearly as long as the first – it seemed that nobody had managed to
come up with anything good yet. Well, actually, some of the fourth-year Ravenclaws had some
rather brilliant ideas—but Lily vetoed all of them, claiming that they were ‘too dangerous’ and that
‘conjuring a swarm of angry bees to sting people is literally the definition of bodily harm.’ (Sirius
made a mental note to catch up to the Ravenclaws afterwards and ask them for the spell though,
just in case).

As with the last meeting, they left the room split up into groups so as not to draw attention. Sirius
ended up with Remus and Mary, which might have been enjoyable any other day—but as things
were, he mostly just let Mary do the talking, trying not to glance over at Moony every three
seconds.

Still, by the time they got back to the dorm Sirius felt ready to crawl out of his skin. Even though
he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t be the first one to break, he was itching to speak to Remus
—to say something, just to get the other boy to look at him. He watched as Moony walked straight
to his own bed, fighting with his traitorous tongue.

“You’re sleeping there, then?” He blurted. Remus turned, staring coldly at him. Both James and
Peter paused from where they were getting ready for bed, glancing curiously between the two of
them. Sirius cursed himself for saying anything.

“Yeah.” Remus replied, stiffly, “Full moon tomorrow. Thought we should all get as much sleep as
possible.”

Sirius swallowed. “Yeah, fair enough.” He didn’t say anything else as Remus climbed into bed,
shutting his curtains with a bit more force than necessary.

“Everything ok?” James whispered, with a pyjama shirt dangling in his hands. Sirius grunted and
shrugged, locking himself in the bathroom the first chance he got.
 * * *

Thursday 23rd February 1978

Everyone was in a bit of a bleak mood the next morning at breakfast. It was hard not to be, with
Marlene sniffling and staring down at the table, eyes puffy from crying. Mary sat on one side of
her, Yaz on the other, both girls acting as if it were a competition to see who could provide more
comfort. Marlene didn’t seem to notice the tension, though, too busy studying her bowl of
cornflakes as she tried to blink tears out of her eyes.

“I just can’t stop thinking about him,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “I’ve read so many books
and accounts, and they all say it hurts a lot…”

Across the table, Remus was watching her, poorly concealed guilt lining his face.

“I’ve read that too,” Sirius spoke up, “But I’m sure that as long as Danny asks for the help he
needs he’ll be fine.”

Remus’s knuckles tightened around the handle of his mug.

“Mum’s had to take him to the ministry,” Marlene went on, as if Sirius hadn’t even spoken, “They
have cells there, apparently. We asked if there would be healers present, but no one can tell me
anything.”

“I’m sure it’s the best place,” Yaz said, encouragingly. Mary frowned, sceptically, but didn’t say
anything.

“He doesn’t deserve this!” Marlene began to cry, abruptly, “He doesn’t deserve to be locked up
alone! He’s my lovely brother, not some…some animal.”

Remus’s face twisted, and he hurried away soon after, muttering something about getting to
History early. Sirius frowned as he watched him go, wishing he could follow after him—wishing
that they weren’t fighting. He picked at his own breakfast, not finding himself with much an
appetite, all things considered.

Remus continued to avoid him for the rest of the day, spending any free time between classes in the
library and only stopping by the Great Hall for ten minutes at lunch, where he scoffed three
sandwiches before muttering an excuse about some essay he had to write and hurrying off.

“Is he alright?” Lily murmured, leaning in so that only Sirius could hear her. He shrugged, sipping
his pumpkin juice and hoping that she would drop it.

She didn’t. “Have you talked to him? About everything?”

Sirius frowned. This was happening more and more often, now that their friends knew about the
two of them—Remus would get into one of his moods, and everyone would turn expectantly to
Sirius, as if he was meant to know what to do with the stubborn bastard.

“Tried to,” Sirius muttered, “He wasn’t in a very talkative mood.”

Lily didn’t seem to notice the sour twist to the words. She sighed, patting Sirius’s shoulder. “Yeah,
he gets like that, doesn’t he? But I’m glad he’s got you. Don’t let him act like he has to deal with
everything alone, alright?”

Easier said than done, Sirius almost said. But he bit his tongue.

The moon, at least, was normal. The wolf wasn’t trying to avoid him; on the contrary, he was eager
to see Padfoot, to play fight and run through the woods and chase rabbits. In the late hours of night
they broke through into a clearing, and Moony turned to the sky, howling. Padfoot threw back his
head and joined him.

* * *

Friday 24th February 1978

The transformation was better, this time around. Remus woke up almost immediately, assuring
them that he was alright and ushering them out under the cloak before Pomfrey arrived. Back in
their dorm, Peter and James collapsed on top of their beds almost immediately to try and get some
sleep before classes. But Sirius lay awake, thinking.

Normally, he’d go down to the hospital wing on the afternoons following full moons, so that he
could be there once Remus woke up. But today, as sunlight began to spill through the windows, he
stared up at his bed curtains, wondering if that was a good idea. Were they still fighting? Was
Remus still angry with him? Was he still angry with Remus?

Sirius rolled over, groaning. He’d thought that they were past all this—after their conversations
that summer, working through months of miscommunication, he’d assumed that actually being in a
relationship would be the easy part. But then, of course, they’d had to keep things secret—and
Sirius had told himself that once he finally worked up the courage to tell James, then everything
would be alright. But after that everything had happened with the werewolves, and suddenly it was
like all of Moony’s walls had gone up again. As he finally drifted off to sleep, Sirius found himself
wondering if the cycle would ever end, or if there would always be some new secret—some new
barrier, some new obstacle.

When he woke up a few hours later, Sirius simply lay in bed for a bit—mind still circling the
question of whether or not to go down to the hospital wing. Part of him wanted to stay stubborn, to
dig his heels in and insist that Remus come to him, for once. But another part of him—the stronger
part, or perhaps the weaker—just wanted to see Moony.

And he was tired of fighting.

By the time he arrived in the hospital wing, Remus was already awake, sitting upright on the bed to
tie his shoelaces.

“Brought you a frog,” Sirius said, feeling uncharacteristically bashful as he waited for Remus to
finish. Once he’d stood, Sirius passed over the box, and Remus accepted it.

“Thanks.”
“Can we be ok, again?” He blurted the words, staring down at the floor. “Can we both just admit
we said some stupid stuff, but it’s over, now?”

Sirius risked looking up, and their eyes met. Remus studied him, face wiped clean of emotion,
impossible to decipher. But after a moment, he smiled.

“Yeah, go on then.”

Sirius smiled back, feeling weak with relief. That hadn’t been so hard—maybe things weren’t so
complicated after all. He supposed that he did have a tendency to blow things out of proportion,
sometimes.

As they made their way back to Gryffindor tower, Remus asked,

“Is Marlene ok?”

“Yeah, think so,” Sirius said, “She got a letter from her mum this morning, saying Danny’s ok.
Cried a bit, but she’s less of a state now.”

“Good. That’s good.”

They had reached the portrait hole; Sirius pushed the door open, following Remus in.

“I think I’ll go straight to bed for a bit,” the taller boy said, heading for the stairs, “If that’s ok?”

“Of course!” Sirius replied quickly, still trailing behind him. Remus was moving slowly, though he
wasn’t limping as badly as he had been before the moon.

When they reached the dorm, Remus made a beeline for his bed. “You tired?”

“Nah,” Sirius leaned against the bed post, “Slept all morning. Peter too.”

“Oh, good.” Remus sat heavily, lifting his hand to rub at his hip—and then freezing, as if suddenly
realising what he’d given away. Sirius frowned pointedly, unable to stop himself asking,

“Did you speak to Madam Pomfrey?”

Remus scowled. “We had a lovely chat, thanks.” He said, words clipped, “About all her poor ex-
students who had to transform for the first time last night. It was really cheery.”

Sirius clucked his tongue, exasperated. Typical—of course he’d try and change the subject. As if
pain was some sort of contest that he had to win.

“But did you talk to her about your hip?!”

“No.” Remus grunted, lying down. Sirius felt a stab of frustrated anger, and found his voice rising,

“Remus, stop being difficult! You see her every week! Just mention to her—I mean, I’ll do it, if
you want me to.”

“Jesus Christ, not this again! Leave me alone!” Remus sat up to glare at him, fiercely.

“No!” Sirius growled, “I don’t understand why you won’t tell her about it, I’m sure she could
help.”

“Oh my god, why can’t you just drop it? I said I don’t want to bother her with crap like this. You’re
 making such a big fuss over nothing!” Remus was standing, now, staring Sirius down. But Sirius
stared right back, hands curling into fists.

“And you’re avoiding your problems again!” The words poured out, overflowing, all the
simmering anger come to a boil, “You always do this and it’s so bloody exhausting! You think
you’re being so mature, do you? Keeping everything bottled up. It’s stupid! You’re just making a
martyr of yourself, it’s like you want to be miserable.”

“Oh, get fucked, Black!” Remus shouted, furious, “Easy for you to have a go, isn’t it?! Why do we
always have to talk about my shit life, hm?! Mr. ‘tell me a fucking secret’?!”

What? Sirius blinked, breath catching in his chest.

But Remus wasn’t finished. He kept going, eyes ablaze, teeth bared like a wolf with a rabbit in its
jaw. “What about you, Sirius?! How come we never get to talk about your fucked-up family, with
your death eater brother and your insane cousin?! Why don’t we talk about your pain, and your
scars for a little while, see how that feels.”

Stop it, Sirius thought, numbly, Stop—this is all wrong. I didn’t mean for it to go like this. “Remus,
for fuck’s sake—”

“No, I know! Why don’t we talk about your mother?”

For a moment, Sirius forgot to breathe.

The worst part wasn’t the word itself. It wasn’t the way he said it, sharp-edged like a blade. It
wasn’t his volume, or the venom in his tone, or the white knuckles on his clenched fists.

It was his eyes. They glittered with triumphant rage, like Remus knew exactly what he was doing
—like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Sirius spent one night every month with a werewolf; he
had seen those eyes angry, had seen them wild and feral and senselessly violent. He had felt
Remus’s knuckles on his jaw, his claws across his ribs, his teeth around his leg.

But he had never looked into those eyes and felt like Remus wanted to hurt him. Not before this
moment. Not like this.

The anger was a familiar shield, one that he reached for and clung to, desperately. Sirius glared at
the boy across from him, shaking with rage.

“Go fuck yourself, Lupin.”

He stormed out the door, and didn’t look back.

Chapter End Notes

song is "i want you to want me" by cheap trick!

 Seventh Year: Family
Chapter Summary

double homicide

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It’s a heartache

Nothing but a heartache

Hits you when it’s too late

Hits you when you’re down

It’s a fool’s game

Nothing but a fool’s game

Standing in the cold rain

Feeling like a clown

It’s a heartache

Nothing but a heartache

Love him ‘til your arms break

Then he lets you down

Fuck you, Sirius thought, crashing through the door to the common room, Fuck you, fuck you, fuck
you.

A group of fourth-years studying on the carpet looked up, startled by the slamming door. Sirius
ignored them, stomping across the room to the portrait hole and storming outside.

He paced through the corridors without direction, no location in mind, fists clenched at his sides. It
was a Friday afternoon; there were still some classes running—Sirius had bunked off Muggle
Studies to go and fetch Remus. The halls were mostly empty, but he knew they would fill up with
students once the final bell rang, so Sirius ducked down side passages, twisting and turning
aimlessly, taking the routes where he would be least likely to stumble upon anyone else. He didn’t
want to see anyone—not in his current state.

Bloody fucking Remus Lupin, he thought, gritting his teeth. All he’d wanted was to help, to
convince Remus that he didn’t have to force himself to suffer every waking hour of his life. Was
that so hard to ask?? Sirius had never met someone so stubborn, so determined punish himself, so
viciously opposed to even considering the possibility that he might not deserve the pain he put
himself through.

Well, fine then. If that was what Remus wanted. Let him wallow in his guilt, in his miserable self-
pity. Sirius was done breaking his fists trying to batter down those impossible fucking walls.

He wandered the corridors, fuming, replaying the argument in his head. What about you, Sirius?!
How come we never get to talk about your fucked-up family…

It was like Remus had wanted to cut straight through him, to rip him open and tear out the ugliest,
most vulnerable parts just so that he could throw them back in Sirius’s face. It might have hurt less,
if it hadn’t been true.

Why do we always have to talk about my shit life, hm?! Mr. ‘tell me a fucking secret’?!

Sirius faltered, pausing to lean against a wall and catch his breath. He’d been walking so fast he
was practically jogging—his lungs burned. So did his eyes. He lifted a hand to scrub at his face,
wishing he had a cigarette.

Was Remus right to be mad? Was his anger justified? Had Sirius been too demanding, too needy—
asking for more than Remus could give? Had he been unfair, trying to pry apart every secret while
locking away parts of his own past? Of his own heart?

But his family…why that? Why had Remus had to ask about that?

Sirius continued walking, more slowly this time, but just as aimless. The anger had faded,
marginally, but the hurt was still a sticky tangle in his gut. He didn’t know what to do with any of
it.

Were things always going to be like this? The two of them, tearing each other to pieces and then
stitching each other back up? Sirius didn’t know how to fix it—simply trying to figure it out made
his head hurt.

He knew that he’d been angry, too. Cruel, even. He already regretted the things he’d said, even if
they were true. At the very least, he regretted the way he’d said them—regretted shouting. But
what else was he supposed to do, when Remus never fucking listened?

The feelings all blurred together as Sirius walked: guilt, anger, frustration, pain. A bone-deep
sadness, when he thought of that triumphant glint in Remus’s eyes. Sirius couldn’t shake the
feeling that he was mucking everything up, somehow—he was pretty sure that being in love with
someone wasn’t supposed to feel this shitty.

Oh.

He paused, blinking, in the middle of the corridor. I’m in love with him. Maybe that explained
things. Why it hurt so badly, at least.

He was about to keep walking when voices came from around the corner, faint and unsettlingly
familiar, drawing closer quickly.

“…can’t just act like imperio is a solution to all your problems, you idiot.”

“Why the hell not? It would work, wouldn’t it?”

“We’re at Hogwarts, Barty. You can’t exactly go around casting unforgivables left and right.”
“Yeah, but what I’m saying’s that you c—”

The voices cut off immediately as they rounded the corner, and Sirius found himself face to face
with none other than his darling brother—accompanied, of course, by Crouch. All three of them
froze.

After a moment, Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Sirius.”

“Reggie.”

“What are you doing here?” Barty spat, already glaring. Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets,
affecting an air of casual nonchalance.

“Just out for a stroll.” He raised a brow, hoping that his eyes were no longer red-rimmed from the
tears he’d rubbed away. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing!” Crouch said, a bit too quickly. Next to him, Regulus rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, Barty,” he muttered, “Just ignore him.” He began to walk again, making to move past his
brother. But Sirius stepped in front of him, blocking the way.

“In a hurry, little brother? Let me guess: off to torment some more helpless twelve-year-olds?
Maybe kick a few puppies along the way?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, again. “Let me through, Sirius.”

Any other day, he probably would have. He probably would have stepped aside, and thrown a few
more insults at his brother’s back as he retreated, and then gone back to doing his best to pretend
that Regulus didn’t exist.

But today—today Sirius was angry. Today he needed…something—a distraction, an outlet—to

expel the emotion lodged in his chest.

“No.”

They stared at each other. For a moment, Sirius forgot that Barty was even there—but then he
pulled out his wand.

“Move, blood traitor!” He growled, pointing it directly at Sirius’s chest. Maybe he should have
been worried—it was two against one, if it came to a fight—but the anger was twisting its way out
of the knot in his gut, flaring hot through his veins, kicking adrenaline into his blood.

So Sirius laughed. “Oh, please,” he made a sweeping gesture, as if inviting Crouch to take a shot,
“I’d love to see how many curses you’ve managed to cram into that pea brain of yours—we’ve got
a running bet on whether it’s two or three.”

Crouch went bright red, but Regulus spoke before he could say anything.

“Do you really want to do this now, Sirius?” He asked, voice wiped clean of inflection. His eyes
were full of bored disdain, staring straight ahead. They were nearly the same height—when had
that happened?

Sirius stared back at him, jaw set. For a moment, the corridor was completely silent. Then,

“Go back to the common room, Barty,” Regulus drawled, “I’ll catch up later.”
“What?!”

Reg broke eye contact, looking sharply at his friend. “I said, go on. It seems that my big brother
has a few things he’d like to say to me.” Sirius ground his teeth, trying not to wince at the venom
that dripped from the word brother.

Barty glanced between the two of them, still looking like he wanted to say something. But after a
moment, he lowered his wand and obeyed, scurrying off down the hall.

“Well well, look at you,” Sirius said once the other boy was out of sight, voice thick with sarcasm,
“The Noble Black Heir. Mummy’s little prince. Do you enjoy it, watching them all scuttle around
at your feet?”

“What do you want, Sirius?”

“C’mon Reg, what’s the matter? No more insults to throw? You certainly had plenty to say back in
Hogsmeade, if I remember correctly.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Sirius blinked, caught off-guard for a moment. “What?” He ran back through what he’d said. “…
Reg?”

A muscle twitched in his brother’s jaw.

“Look, whatever you want to say to me, just say it. But I’m not in the mood to stand around just to
listen to you throw a temper tantrum.”

Sirius scowled. “Oh, fuck you, Reg.”

“Lovely. Great chat.”

The younger boy began to move again, stepping to the side. Sirius reached out, without thinking, to
grab his shoulder.

“Wait!”

Regulus shook him off, ripping away from his grasp as though burned. He stared at Sirius,
breathing heavily—finally, there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes.

“What?”

Sirius opened his mouth, not sure what he wanted to say.

“Did you take the mark?”

Regulus blinked, something slipping behind his eyes. “What?”

“The mark,” Sirius repeated, swallowing, “Do you have it?”

After a moment, his brother’s gaze shuttered again. “Let’s not play games, Sirius. I’m sure you’ve
already heard everything you wanted to from perfect Potter.” These last words were spat with a
sour twist that Sirius didn’t quite understand.

“Do you have it?”

“Fuck off.”

“Do you have it?”

“Merlin’s beard, Sirius, just leave me al—”

Sirius shoved him. Regulus stumbled back, sharply, into the wall, head knocking against the stone.
Before he could recover, Sirius had snatched his arm, holding the wrist tight enough to bruise,
yanking back the sleeve.

It was there.

He’d already known it would be—James had no reason to lie. But still, Sirius felt the breath leave
his lungs.

It was there.

Regulus shoved him away, stumbling a few paces back, panting. His sleeve stayed bunched around
his elbow, black skull grinning from pale skin. They stared at each other.

“How could you?” Sirius asked, curling fingers into fists to keep them from trembling, “How could
you?” Regulus continued to stare at him, eyes wide, and he repeated it: “How could you join
them?!”

Abruptly, Reggie’s features twisted, going dark with spite.

“Oh, please,” he spat, scowling, “As if you’re not planning to run off and enlist in Dumbledore’s
little army the second you’re out of school.”

“Wh—that’s completely different!”

Regulus scoffed. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“Dumbledore is fighting to make the world safe for everyone!”

“Oh, spare me.”

“He’s trying to protect the people that your dark lord wants to kill!”

Something flashed in his brother’s eyes. “Do you really think that makes a difference?” He asked,
in a voice that broke like bone, “Do you actually think that matters, when you’ve got your wand at
someone’s throat? Is that what you’re planning to tell yourself, that you’re doing it for the greater
fucking good—”

“How can you say that? How can you stand there and act like they’re anything alike?”

“Because they ARE!” Regulus was breathing hard, as if he had to make a conscious effort to keep
from shouting. He stared at Sirius with cold fury, bitter and biting as he spat, “You can play at
being the noble solider as much as you want, but the only real difference between you and me,
Sirius, is that you got a choice.”

Sirius recoiled, as if struck.

“Don’t,” he shook his head, “Don’t say that. You don’t get to act like—you had a choice, Reg. I
fucking begged you to leave!”
“Oh, come on Sirius! You know as well as I do that it was never going to be both of us—an heir
and a spare, remember? What the fuck did you think would happen?”

“I thought you would come with me! I thought you wanted to get out!”

“What I wanted never mattered!” Reg really was shouting now, voice ragged, “Stop acting like you
don’t understand! This,” He shoved his arm forward, baring the mark like a weapon. “This was
meant to be yours, Sirius.”

No. Sirius shook his head, mute, eyes trapped by the twisting black snake. No, that isn’t true.

Across from him, Regulus laughed, a humourless, bitter thing.

“Maybe I should be grateful,” he said, lowering his arm, “At least now I’m not throwing my life
away on some idiotic lost cause.” Sirius watched as he rolled the sleeve down, turning to leave.

“It’s not.” He croaked. Regulus paused.

Sirius tried again. “It’s not a lost cause.” He cleared his throat, speaking more firmly. “We’re going
to win.”

Regulus didn’t even bother to turn around.

“Sure, Sirius. Keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

James found him on one of the benches near the lake.

“Bloody freezing out here!” He smiled as he sat down, pulling his cloak a bit more tightly around
his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered, staring out at the dark water. His lips were chapped with cold, his cheeks
numb.

“…you alright?”

Sirius shrugged. He didn’t know what to say—how to articulate the whirlpool rush of emotion in
his head. He was still hurt, and frustrated, and angry, but he no longer knew who he was meant to
be angry with: Remus or Regulus or himself. Maybe all three.

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

Sirius swallowed, hating the lump that formed in his throat. After a moment, he said quietly,

“I just wanted to help him.”

James sighed. “Yeah. Moony told me you had a fight.”

Sirius turned to look at him. “Moony?” He blinked, “He told you?”

“Er…sort of. He didn’t say what it was about. Just that he’d been shitty, and you had a right to be
angry.”

Sirius snorted. “Well, as long as I have the right.”

“Look, Pads, that’s sort of what I came to talk to you about—he didn’t want me to, he said you
wouldn’t go, but I figured I should tell you just in case…”

“Go?”

“Moony’s at the hospital.”

Sirius blinked. “He’s in the hospital wing?”

“No,” James fidgeted, nervously, “A muggle hospital.”

“…why?”

“It’s…to visit his mum.”

Sirius was on his feet immediately. “What?!”

“He got a letter, with an address, and he sort of—lost it, for a minute, insisted that he had to go
right then, so Lily and I went with him—we took the tunnel into Hogsmeade, then apparated—”

“Where?”

“Er—Wales. Cardiff.”

Sirius was already walking back towards the castle.

“Oi! Black, wait up—” James jogged up next to him, matching his quick pace. “You’ll go, then?”

“Of course I have to go,” Sirius shook his head, “He’s been waiting to hear back from her since
Christmas.”

“He has?!”

Bugger. Sirius wondered if that was still supposed to be a secret—but no, fuck it. James and Lily
knew about Moony’s mum, now, the cat was already out of the bag.

“Ok, hang on!” James grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to slow down as they stepped inside the
castle, “Do you have the mirror?”

“The mirror?”

“So you can contact me.”

Sirius frowned. “You aren’t coming too?”

James shook his head. “Lily’s there waiting, but we figured we probably wouldn’t be able to get
away with both Head Boy and Head Girl going missing…”

“Oh.” Sirius paused, patting his pockets. “Er…yeah, I have it.”

“Good.” James breathed out. “Okay. Hang on, Lily wrote down the address…”

Twenty minutes later, a large black dog trotted down the streets of Cardiff. It was dark outside, but
 Padfoot didn’t mind—he was following his nose. He tracked the scent of lavender until he found
Lily, red hair turned to flame under the light of a street lamp. He barked.

“Oh!” She jumped, head whipping around. When she saw it was him, Lily breathed a sigh of relief.
“Oh, Sirius—you scared me.” He barked again, trotting over to sit at her side. She patted his head,
smiling gently as she settled back onto the bench where she’d been waiting.

“I’m glad you came,” Lily said, quietly, staring at the red brick building in front of them. Padfoot
hated the way it smelled—stinging and mouldering; antiseptic and decay. “I think he’ll be glad,
too.”

Padfoot huffed, thumping his tail once against the ground. He didn’t want to think about human
things—about who would be happy or sad or angry to see him. He wanted to think about the scents
of the muggles walking past, and Lily’s fingers scratching behind his ears.

Padfoot smelled Remus before he saw him. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been waiting—dogs
weren’t the best at keeping time—but when he caught a whiff of the familiar sweet-wild-burning
he perked up, cocking his head at the hospital entrance.

Sure enough, a few moments later a familiar gangly figure came into view, stepping slowly
through the doors. Lily stood, and he saw her, walking over with a sort of dazed expression on his
face.

“Alright, Moony?” Lily asked, gently.

He stared at her, looking very lost, and gave a helpless little shrug.

Immediately, Lily closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing
tight. Remus hugged her back tightly, burying his face in her hair. Padfoot could smell the salt
before it left Moony’s eyes, tears bleeding down his cheeks, shoulders shaking. He watched Remus
cry, unable to stop the whine that crept from the back of his throat. Padfoot didn’t like the tears;
they made Moony smell wrong.

After what felt like forever, Remus pulled away, scrubbing his face roughly with the back of one
hand.

“Sorry,” he looked down.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lily said, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “Want to go home?”

“Actually,” Remus took a steadying breath, “I want to get really, really pissed.”

On the ground beside them, Padfoot barked.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "it's a heartache" by bonnie tyler! posting a little early tonight
bc it is once again time for my weekly bout of intoxication <3

if you'd like some more context for what's been going on with regulus/how things got
to this point, i've posted a oneshot of his perspective on their conversation back in
April 1976 -- you can read it here
 Seventh Year: Drunkards
Chapter Summary

surely alcohol will solve everyone's problems

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It’s alright if you love me

It’s alright if you don’t

I’m not afraid of you runnin’ away honey

I get the feeling you won’t

Say there ain’t no sense in pretending

Your eyes give you away

Something inside you is feeling like I do

We said all there is to say

Baby

Breakdown, go ahead and give it to me

Breakdown, honey take me through the night (Take me, baby, breakdown)

Breakdown, now I’m standing here can’t you see?

Breakdown, it’s alright

“Right,” Lily clapped her hands together, sliding easily into her Head-Girl voice, “Pub, then? I
think we’d better go back to Hogsmeade, don’t you? I don’t fancy our chances apparating back to
Scotland drunk…”

“Yeah, good plan,” Remus ducked his head, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “…where’s James?”

“Well, we realised that it was going to look really suspicious if both the head boy and the head girl
were missing,” Lily explained, “So he went back to cover for us. He um…he sent Sirius. We both
thought…”

“It’s ok.” Remus said, swallowing. He finally turned to look at Padfoot, who had been waiting
patiently, trying to resist the urge to bark. “Sirius?”

In the blink of an eye, he was human again, with all the tangled human feelings pushing back up to
the surface. Sirius stood, awkwardly, rubbing his arm.

“Hello, Moony.” He said, heart pounding.

“Hi.” Remus glanced away, equally as tense.

“Oh, Remus, I forgot!” Lily cut in, rescuing them. She fished around in her pocket for a moment,
then passed over a carton of Silk Cut, smiling. “James’s idea.”

“Life saver, thanks!” Remus gave her a grateful smile, accepting the box.

“I’d better go and get in touch with him, actually,” Lily said, eyes darting between the two boys.
“Black, give me the mirror? I’ll go and let him know where to meet us.”

Sirius handed it over, wordlessly, and Lily gave them one last smile before trotting a few feet
away, tactfully out of earshot.

Remus opened the pack of fags using his teeth, sitting down heavily on the bench. He pulled out a
cigarette and held it up to Sirius,

“Light it for me? I’m so nervy it’ll probably blow up in my face.”

Sirius obliged, snapping his fingers. The wandless spell was almost a reflex now—he hardly had to
think about it. Remus took a long drag on the cigarette, and Sirius settled down beside him.

“Moony I’m—”

“Sirius—”

They spoke over each other, stopping abruptly and exchanging bashful smiles.

“Sirius.” Remus exhaled, “I’m sorry. I was a twat.”

“You were.” Sirius agreed, reaching for a fag, “But you weren’t completely wrong.” It was so
much more difficult to be angry with Moony when he was like this, sitting in front of Sirius with
red-rimmed eyes and slumped shoulders.

“Nor were you,” Remus shook his head. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Remus.” Sirius reached out, without thinking, to place a hand on
his knee, and Remus looked up, studying him. After a moment, he smiled.

“You look really good.”

Sirius huffed a laugh. He was wearing muggle clothes—black jeans, black leather jacket. “So what
else is new.” But he wasn’t done talking, yet; there was still more that he needed to say. “I couldn’t
believe it when Prongs told me about the letter. I felt like shit for shouting at you, I just wanted to
make sure you were ok, then he said you’d gone…”

“Sorry,” Remus ducked his head. “I just had to get here straight away, I didn’t even think.”

“I wouldn’t have, either.” Sirius assured him. “Though, actually, I dunno if I would exactly rush to
my mother’s bedside.”

That earned a half-hearted snort from Remus before they both fell silent, smoking.
“What’s she like?” Sirius asked, eventually. Remus was quiet, thinking, staring at the hospital
across the street like he wasn’t really seeing it.

“She’s nice,” He said, softly, “I think I like her.”

“All right, you two, ready?” Lily trotted back over, holding the mirror out to return it to Sirius.

“Yeah.” They both stood, stubbing out their cigarettes.

* * *

An hour later, all five of them sat in the Three Broomsticks, tucked into one of the cosy back-
corner tables. James and Peter had snuck down from the castle together, and everyone was
currently on their third round of firewhisky, laughing and chattering and grinning around the table.

Sirius was the only one still sober, sticking to butterbeer and enjoying it as he watched his friends
grow more and more silly and drunk.

“This map is some of the best magic I’ve ever seen,” Lily gushed, staring down at the parchment
spread across the table. Apparently, the secret had slipped out somehow in the course of their
journey to Wales. “And you only use it for pranks?!”

“What else would we use it for?” Sirius retorted, smirking.

“You’ve even got the moving staircases!” Lily reached out to touch one of the little images,
marvelling.

“That was one of mine,” Remus said, smiling proudly. He’d had more to drink than any of them, so
far—though his tolerance was quite a bit higher—and was looking much more cheerful than he
had an hour before.

“It was all yours,” Sirius said, watching him, “The whole thing was your idea, Mr. Moony.”

Remus blushed. “Yeah, but you lot did loads of work on it…”

“What are you going to do with it at the end of the year?” Lily asked, still smiling.

The four boys exchanged a glance, growing a bit more sombre. They hadn’t actually spoken about
it—none of them were very eager to talk about leaving Hogwarts. As summer drew closer, the
topic just became more of an elephant in the room, something everyone seemed to tiptoe around.

“Pass it on, I s’pose?” James shrugged, “Maybe to someone in the co-operative.”

Remus grimaced, knocking back the last of his drink.

“Rosmerta!” Sirius leaned back in his chair, so that he could see the bar, “Another round, darling?”

“Right you are my love…” she winked at him.

“Flirt.” Remus muttered, knocking their knees together under the table.

“I’m trying to get you drunk,” Sirius sniffed, “As requested.”

“I’m already drunk,” Lily said, surprising no one, “I don’t know how I’m going to walk back to
school…”

“I’ll carry you.” James said, puffing out his chest. Sirius had doubts about whether that would
work out, considering the way James was already swaying on his chair—but he remained silent.

“I don’t want it to be over,” Peter moaned, staring down at his drink.

“Calm down, Wormy, we’re not going back yet.” Sirius rolled his eyes, smiling as Rosmerta
appeared to deliver another round. Remus plucked a firewhisky off the tray, downing it in one
swallow.

“I don’t mean tonight,” Peter slurred, smacking the table for emphasis, “I mean school, I mean
everything.”

“School isn’t everything.” Lily said, kindly.

“No,” Peter moped, “But it’s all going to change, isn’t it? We won’t see each other all the time,
we’ll all have jobs.”

Sirius was beginning to wish he wasn’t sober. He didn’t want to think about this—about any of it.
He forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“Speak for yourself—some of us are independently wealthy. Anyway, of course we’ll see each
other every day, idiot, we’re all moving in together!”

Lily and James sat up, exchanging a guilty look. Sirius stared at them, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Mate,” James started, shifting uncomfortably, “Er. Lily and I have been talking about…maybe
getting a flat together, after the summer.”

Oh. Well, that was alright, Lily could join them. She was basically an honorary marauder now,
anyway.

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, “We’ll all move in, and—”

“Padfoot,” Remus interrupted him, gently, “He means just the two of them.”

“What? Why?!”

“Let’s not talk about this now!” Lily said quickly, fiddling with her drink, “Nothing’s decided!”

Sirius swallowed. The firewhisky was beginning to look very tempting…

“What about this prank, then?” James asked, changing the subject, “What are we going to do if no
one comes up with anything good?”

“We will,” Remus assured him, “There’s time. Is it me or is the mass-levitation idea starting to
sound good?”

“Oh good, you are drunk.” Sirius shook his head, “How the fuck are we supposed to levitate two
hundred students? And why would we?”

“Be funny,” Remus replied, giggling drunkenly.

“There are enough of us,” James mused, “If everyone concentrates, we could easily levitate them
all.”

“And do what with them?! Practical jokes need a practical element!” Sirius reminded them. His
friends exchanged a look, then burst out laughing—Sirius tutted and sipped his butterbeer, shaking
his head.

“You’re not drinking?” Remus asked, blinking down at the mug in his hands as if he had just
noticed it.

“Er…no.” Sirius swallowed, looking away. He didn’t know how to explain that drinking just
hadn’t felt like a good idea, tonight—that he needed to be sober, so that he could make sure he
didn’t muck everything up again. “Thought someone better stay responsible enough to get you lot
back in one piece.”

“Ahhh,” Lily waved a finger at him, drunkenly, “You do care, Black! You’re all soft and sensitive
really, aren’t you?”

“I just don’t want anyone expelled before we can get this prank off the ground!”

“Off the ground! So you agree with the levitation idea!” James wiggled his eyebrows, cackling.

“Oh for goodness’ sake…” Sirius huffed, standing. “I’m going to the loo.” He walked off, leaving
the sound of his friends’ laughter behind him.

In the bathroom, he took a breath, leaning against the sink. Bloody Peter—getting all sentimental
about leaving school, when that was the last thing that Sirius needed to think about. Not with his
brother’s words from earlier still echoing in his head: As if you’re not planning to run off and enlist
in Dumbledore’s little army the second you’re out of school…

Sirius didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about any of it—his brother’s bitter
words, the things Remus had shouted, the guilt on James’s face as he’d muttered Lily and I have
been talking about…maybe getting a flat together.

Everything kept changing, far too quickly to keep up. It was as if every time Sirius managed to get
his feet under him, the rug was pulled out again; some new argument, some new mistake, some
new article in the newspaper about people who were dying or dead. Sirius was nearly an adult—a
real adult; he was meant to feel in control of his life. But instead, he felt as though the more he tried
to make plans, the more he tried to hang on to the people around him…the faster they slipped
through his fingers.

Was it him? Was he just clinging too tightly?

By the time he returned to the table, Remus had popped out for a fag. Sirius braved the cold to join
him, leaning against the side of the pub.

“All right?”

“Mmm.” Remus grinned, dopily, and Sirius felt something twist in his chest. At least this is alright,
for now.

“Pisshead.” He teased.

“Oi!” Remus feigned indignance, “I can hold my drink, ffffank you very much. Unlike some.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius smirked, reaching out to take his hand.

“Yeah,” Remus insisted, nodding, “Remember my fifteenth? You and Pete got so wankered, you
threw up in the tunnel.”

That made Sirius laugh. “Godric, how could I forget,” he shook his head. “Horrific.”

“Nahh,” Remus squeezed his fingers, still smiling. “It was nice. You fell asleep on my shoulder
and told me I was magic.”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

“That does sound nice. I must have been very drunk.” He chuckled, “Not that I don’t think you’re
magic, Moony.”

Remus was staring off, though, looking absentmindedly up at the sky. He dropped his cigarette,
which had gone out.

“Wish I could say stuff like that,” he mumbled.

“Like what?”

“Nice stuff.”

“You say lots of nice stuff, Moony.”

Remus shook his head, looking frustrated.

“Need another drink.”

“Ok, come on then…”

Their friends were in a right state when they returned—Peter looked like he was about to pass out
on the table, and Lily was straddling James’s lap, engaged in an activity that was very much not
something one would expect to see from their Head Boy and Girl.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius shook his head, exasperated. “Give it a rest, you two.”

Remus snickered, polishing off the last of his whisky.

“You can talk!” Lily snorted, not even bothering to climb off her boyfriend’s lap, “Marlene told me
she caught you two snogging in the corridor the other night!”

“So what if she did?” Sirius sniffed, priggishly, “It was private enough until she showed up.”

“Christopher was there,” Remus said (the traitor). Lily pointed across the table, gleefully,

“Ha! Exhibitionist!”

“She’s right,” Remus agreed, slurring slightly, “You are. Remember I caught you with Mary all the
time when I was a prefect.”

“Oh, well that was Mary, you know what Mary’s like…”

“Remus!” Lily exclaimed, tilting forward dangerously—James wrapped an arm around her waist to
keep her from falling onto the floor. “You won’t believe what Mary told me about you last year!”
“What?”

“It was before you came out, so you’d think she’d admit it was made up by now, but she told me
and Marlene that you and she…you know…”

Sirius had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Made sweet heterosexual love?”

“Oh!” Remus blinked, as if he’d forgotten, “Yeah, that’s true, actually.”

“What?!” Lily gaped.

“Ages ago…”

“Last year, actually.” Sirius told her. “It’s fine, Lily, he only did it to make me jealous.”

“Arrogant prick.” Remus rolled his eyes.

From the end of the table, Peter began to snore. James glanced at him, then down at his pocket
watch.

“Reckon we’d better head back?”

* * *

Before they could leave, Remus insisted that he had to finish his drink—along with everyone
else’s. Sirius shook his head in exasperation, but didn’t try to stop him as he knocked back the rest
of the firewhisky.

In an astonishing display of drunken dexterity, James kept his promise to carry Lily, giving her a
piggyback for the duration of their trek back to Honeyduke’s. Remus turned to Sirius as they
watched the couple run off, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius laughed. “I’ll levitate you if you want, but I am not carrying you.”

“Who says romance is dead,” Peter mumbled, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he followed along
after them.

Still, by the time they reached the tunnel, Sirius was wondering if he actually would need to
levitate Remus back to the dorm. The boy was properly sloshed; he kept stumbling against the
wall, trying to sit down.

“No one’ll miss us,” he moaned, attempting to convince Sirius that he should be allowed to sleep in
the tunnel, “S’a weekend tomorrow.”

“I really don’t think you’ll be happy waking up here, Moony,” Sirius replied, continuing to tug him
gently along. “Trust me.”

“I trust you,” Remus slurred.

Ahead of them, Peter had taken the easy way out: transforming into a rat and crawling into Lily’s
pocket to hitch a ride.
“He’s so good at that,” Sirius shook his head, “I can’t transform drunk.”

“I can!” James declared, and suddenly there was a massive stag right in the spot where he’d been
standing. Lily let out a frightened little yelp.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped, “I’m never going to get used to that.”

Prongs sank to one knee, gallantly, lowering his antlered head so that Lily could clamber up onto
his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck, shrieking in delight as they galloped off down the
tunnel.

Remus and Sirius were left behind, watching them disappear into the dark.

“Charming,” Sirius said, dryly.

“Why aren’t you a more useful animal?” Remus complained, leaning almost his entire weight
against Sirius’s shoulder.

“It’s not like we got to choose…”

“Urrgh,” Remus pressed a hand to his stomach, “I’m going to be sick.”

“Ugh, over there, then…” Sirius whirled him around, turning the drunken boy’s face away just in
the nick of time.

He waited, patiently, as Remus gagged, wincing at the noises. When he finally straightened up,
rubbing at his face, Sirius passed over a goblet of water.

“Where did you get that?” Remus squinted, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Keep it on me for the full moons,” Sirius told him, “Weightlessness charm. Must have left it in
my pocket. Oi, just sip it, or you’ll chuck it all up again.”

Remus slowed down, swallowing mouthfuls of water and then taking a moment to rinse out his
mouth. He turned and spat, panting.

“Sorry,” he grimaced, “That’s disgusting.”

“Call it payback for your fifteenth,” Sirius waved a hand, “Come on, shall we keep going?”

Remus nodded, no longer leaning quite so heavily on Sirius, but still gripping his shoulder for
balance.

“Shouldn’a got so drunk,” he slurred, eyes half-closed.

“You deserved it,” Sirius assured him. “After the day you’ve had. Or the week you’ve had…”

“I was a prick,” Remus said, mournfully. Sirius frowned—the last thing he wanted was for Moony
to fall back into the pity-party that had started this whole mess.

“Enough of that now, we’ve talked about it.”

“I am a prick, though.”

“No. You’re lovely.”

 Remus sniffled, moping. “I don’t have any feelings.”

“What are you on about, of course you’ve got feelings. Look, we’re nearly there, now. Ugh, those
bastards have gone on without us. Hey, do you reckon Prongs figured out how to change back?”

“She told me she loves me.” Remus mumbled, into Sirius’s shoulder.

“What? Who? ...oh….right…” Sirius paused, wrapping an arm around the other boy’s back. “Well,
that’s good, isn’t it? Nice to hear that.”

“I didn’t say it back.”

Suddenly, all the moping made perfect sense. Sirius rubbed his back, small, soothing circles. “Oh,
Moony, that’s to be expected. Doesn’t mean you haven’t got feelings! I know you’ve got your heart
set on being a monster, but I’m sorry to tell you that you are not.”

“Couldn’t say it,” Remus replied, head still buried against Sirius’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can say
it to anyone. Even if I want to.”

Sirius stiffened.

They hadn’t talked about it—that word. If he was being honest with himself, he’d sort of thought
they never would. He didn’t know how to respond, what to do with…this. A small, rather pathetic
voice in the back of his head whispered, Never? You’ll never say it?

He stifled it, hugging Moony closer, reaching down to stroke his hair.

“That’s ok, Remus,” he said, twisting their fingers together as he pulled away, “That’s ok, because
it’s not something you say. It’s something you do. Right?”

“Right.” Remus sniffed again, squeezing Sirius’s hand.

“Good.” He smiled, turning back to the tunnel entrance. “Now, let’s get you to bed, eh?”

“Mm.” Remus murmured, sleepily. Sirius had just begun to push aside the statue of the
humpbacked witch when he felt a hand on his arm, tugging at his sleeve.

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re magic.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "breakdown" by tom petty!

glad u guys liked the reggie oneshot! (well--a bunch of u said it was v painful + made
u cry, which i'm assuming means you liked it bc we're all masochists here). i've got
two more from other characters' povs written that go with two different war chapters,
so those'll be posted then :) if there are any scenes/characters you're particularly
interested in, feel free to let me know here or over on tumblr -- i've got a running list of
other ideas that i'm thinking abt messing around with + i love talking abt this stuff <3
 Seventh Year: Brilliant Ideas
Chapter Summary

eureka!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Saturday 25th February 1978

Sirius was woken the next morning by Remus shifting beside him, twisting the sheets around their
legs. Sirius yawned, squeezing his eyes shut, limbs heavy with exhaustion—but he was at least in
better shape than Peter, who groaned loudly from his bed. After a moment, there was the distinct
sound of bare feet slapping against the floor as he stumbled to the bathroom, slamming the door
and doing sod all to disguise the awful retching noises that came from within.

“Lovely.” Sirius muttered. Nothing like starting the weekend off to the sound of your mate puking
up last night’s dinner.

“All right in there, Pete?” James called, not really sounding all that concerned. When the only
response was a choked gurgle, he waved a hand. “Bit of breakfast’ll sort you out.”

James hopped out of bed, whistling as he began to get dressed. Sirius stifled an amused smile and
rolled onto his side to study Remus, who was lying on his back, grimacing. After a moment, his
stomach growled—Sirius smirked,

“All right, Moony?”

“Mm.” He nodded, wincing, “Thirsty. Hungry.”

“S’pose I’m not getting my Saturday lie in, then…” Sirius sighed theatrically, kicking off the duvet
so that he could climb out of bed.

Remus sat up, squinting against the sunlight as the curtains were pulled back.

“Pyjamas?” He asked, bleary-eyed, looking down at his bare chest.

“Yeah, you put up a bit of a fight on that front,” Sirius’s laugh turned into a yawn, and he
stretched. “Said you were too hot. You threw them across the room and I gave up.”

“Defeatist.” Remus grumbled, hauling himself up and glaring at the sun through the window. He
crouched down to search for his pyjamas in the mess of books and clothes and trinkets on the floor,
clad in only his boxers.

“Morning lads,” Lily said, cheerfully, propped up on James’s pillows.

“Shit!” Remus yelped, grabbing a quidditch magazine to cover his crotch, and dove back behind
the safety of the bed curtains. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?!”

“I slept here.” Lily said, with a cheeky grin, “I didn’t know you two shared a bed.”

“I didn’t know you two shared a bed.” Sirius sniffed, raising an eyebrow. He chucked Remus his
pyjamas, “There you are, Moony, make yourself decent.”

Remus could be heard grumbling incoherently as he dressed, rustling about behind the bed
curtains. Lily bit her lip like she was trying not to laugh, and even Sirius found himself smiling a
small, amused smile. He glanced over at James, who shrugged at him, as if to say, Hey, what could
I do?

After a minute, the bed curtains ripped back and Remus marched out, stomping over to the door so
that he could use the communal bathroom down the hall—Peter was still well and truly occupied
in their own bathroom.

“I didn’t see anything!” Lily shouted at him as the door swung shut, wearing a shit-eating grin.

* * *

Fortunately, it was Saturday, which meant they didn’t have to rush down to eat before lessons. The
five of them meandered slowly, waiting quite a while for Pete to finish in the bathroom. He still
looked a bit green around the gills as they took their seats, gripping a cup of tea with both hands
and eyeing the food reproachfully, as though he couldn’t trust it.

Remus, on the other hand, had no qualms with the house elves’ cooking; he got to work
immediately loading up his plate with enough food to feed three people.

“Why is Remus eating a hangover breakfast?” Mary asked, narrowing her eyes, “And where were
you all yesterday afternoon?!”

“Think you’ve answered your own question, Macdonald,” Sirius smirked.

“You lot have all the fun.” She tutted, pouring herself some orange juice.

“Not fun,” Peter moaned, “Bad. Bad time.”

“Have something to eat, Wormtail,” Remus said, around a mouthful of food, “You’ll feel better.”

“I think he’s frightened he’ll lose an arm…” Sirius remarked, raising an eyebrow as Remus
reached for more bacon.

“Yeah, that was the last slice of toast, Moony!” James frowned, staring down at the empty platter.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, the plates refill, don’t they?” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Always wondered how that happens,” Mary said thoughtfully, watching as a new stack of toast
appeared from thin air.

“It’s not that complicated,” Sirius shrugged, “Basic teleportation spell – the house elves have tables
directly beneath us in the kitchens; they load that up, then transport the food to the corresponding
plates above.”
“Sort of like a magical dumbwaiter,” Remus mused, creating an abomination that Sirius was pretty
sure was supposed to be a sandwich, but suffered from an overwhelmingly uneven ratio of bread to
filling—it seemed as though Remus was trying to cram every other food on the table in between
two slices of toast.

“Sounds complicated to me,” Mary sighed, “I’m useless at teleportation, though, I had to re-take
my apparition test three times.”

“It’s easier with inanimate objects,” Remus said, now reaching for ketchup (as if his sandwich
needed to be any more of a mess), “And they’re only sending it directly up, so the destination part
doesn’t take as much effort.”

“I tried using it to clean my room once,” Sirius reminisced, “I just transported all the messy stuff
into the room above mine. Except I couldn’t get it back again after; my mother had an impenetrable
lock on the attic. And I accidentally transported my bed, so that caused a bit of a row…”

This earned a laugh from his friends—except Peter, who sat up a bit straighter, blinking.

“Hm.” He frowned.

“What?” Lily eyed him, warily, “You’re not going to be sick again, are you?”

“No, I’m just thinking…”

“Merlin!” Sirius joked, “Better get him a painkilling draught…”

Peter ignored him, now studying the plates of food with his brow furrowed.

“Could we do it on a bigger scale?” He murmured, “The transportation thing?”

“You mean like getting food from the kitchens to our dorm?” Remus shrugged, “I don’t think so, I
think only the house elves can do it. Would be great, though.”

“No,” Peter shook his head, “More like what Sirius was saying – with beds, and trunks, and
furniture…”

“Yeah, probably,” Sirius scratched his chin. “I’m guessing that’s how everything ends up on the
train at the end of term. Powerful bit of magic, though – it took me half a day to do my bedroom.
Mind you, I was fourteen…”

“We’ve got a lot of people, though,” Peter said eagerly, turning to look at James. “We could do it.”

“Peter,” James replied, with a smile creeping across his face, “Have you just had your best bloody
idea in seven years of pranking?”

Peter smiled back, looking a bit flushed and incredibly happy with the compliment.

“Emergency co-operative meeting!” James stood, dramatically, hands on his hips, “Spread the
word!”

* * *
Of course, calling an emergency meeting with thirty different schedules to work around was no
piece of cake. At first, James insisted they meet that very afternoon—but then he settled for
Sunday, and then Monday, and then, eventually, gave up and agreed that they would just use their
usual Wednesday slot. He wasn’t happy about it, but between homework, exam revision,
quidditch, and the various other clubs that students had joined, there was nothing they could do.

“There’s still plenty of time,” Lily assured him, “And we can always start researching it now, so
we have the right spells ready to show the group.”

“S’pose.” James frowned, dragging his feet and pouting as they made their way back to the
common room.

“I’ve got some dungbombs lying about, if you fancy blowing off some steam today…” Sirius
offered, grinning. James perked up immediately.

“Yes!”

“I can’t hear this…” Lily slapped her hands over her ears, hurrying ahead to walk the rest of the
way with Mary.

When they reached the fat lady’s corridor, Remus hesitated at the end of the hall, outside
McGonagall’s office.

“You lot go on, I’ll just be a minute.”

Sirius glanced over his shoulder and, figuring that it probably had something to do with Remus’s
mother, nodded once, refraining from asking any questions. He continued down the corridor with
James and Pete, throwing an arm over each of their shoulders.

“Dungeons are getting too predictable,” he said, as they made their way into the common room,
“At this point Filch already sweeps the corridors down there for dungbombs practically every
evening.”

“We could set them in a classroom?” Peter suggested, “Before the Slytherins are scheduled for
lessons?”

“Yeah, but then we’d get the professor, too…who’s your least favourite teacher, Prongs?”

James shook his head. “We don’t need to worry about that,” he told them, with a mischievous
smile, “I know the Slytherin quidditch team’s practice schedule.”

Sirius grinned. “You aren’t suggesting…”

“Locker room.” James nodded, “If we set them just before their practice, after Ravenclaw’s already
cleared off the field…”

“We can use the time-delay spell!” Peter chirped, eagerly.

“And no one’ll be able to trace it back to us!” Sirius concluded. For a moment, the three of them
stood, Sirius’s arms still slung around their shoulders, grinning madly at each other. Then he
frowned.

“We’ll only be able to get the boys’ locker room, though…”

James shrugged. “They’ve only got one girl on their team this term, anyway. Yaz and Marlene
complain about it all the time.”

“Why?” Peter snorted, as they made their way up to the dorm. James gave him a bemused look.

“Well, it’s not exactly an equal ratio…”

“Yeah, but the one girl is their captain. And it’s not like she can put people on the team just
because they’re girls; she’s got to make choices based on skill.”

“Don’t let McKinnon hear you say that,” Sirius laughed, digging in his trunk for his dungbombs.
But James frowned.

“Oi—that’s the whole point. They reckon it isn’t based off skill; Heads of House get the final go-
ahead on new team members, and Yaz and Marlene reckon Slughorn just wants blokes on the
team.”

“Well,” Peter shifted, looking a little less sure of himself now that James was disagreeing with
him, “Professional quidditch leagues usually are split into boys and girls…”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a professional league, is it?” James gave him a hard look, and Peter shrank
back.

“Yeah, of course, you’re right…”

Sirius slammed the lid of his trunk, rolling his eyes. “Well, if Slughorn’s an idiot, Marlene and
Yaz’ll just have to thrash his team in your next match, eh? At least for now, it makes our job
easier.”

“Yeah, I s’pose…”

They dropped the subject as they snuck down to the quidditch pitch under the invisibility cloak.
Peter transformed into a rat so that they’d all fit, then transformed back and grudgingly agree to
stand guard at the entrance to the locker room as James and Sirius got to work hiding the
dungbombs and casting the time-delay spell.

Once they were finished, the boys hid under the quidditch stands, with the invisibility cloak on
hand in case they needed to make a hasty escape. As they watched the Ravenclaw team wrap up
their practice and exit the pitch, Sirius turned to James.

“Prongs?”

“Mm?”

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

“…about…?”

“Getting a flat with Lily.”

“Oh!” James glanced at him, sheepishly, “Er…yeah. We just—we’ve been talking about it for a
bit, and…erm…” He swallowed, “I think I’d like to, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, looking down at the ground. “I just…thought we’d all be living together.
Y’know. Since we talked about it.”

“I know, mate, it’s not—it’s not that I don’t want to live with you. But. Well. We’ve already lived
 together nearly seven years, haven’t we? And we could still visit each other all the time, it’s not
like we’d never see each other again…”

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered, scuffing his foot in the grass. Peter glanced back and forth between the
two of them, anxiously.

After a moment, James nudged him. “C’mon, mate,” he grinned, “You’ll still get a flat with
Moony, won’t you? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t enjoy the privacy…” He wiggled his eyebrows,
and Sirius laughed.

“Oh, sod off, Prongs.”

Peter shifted, and James glanced down, as if just remembering he was still there.

“And Pete!” He said, quickly, clearly not wanting to leave the other boy out, “You can…er…”

“I’ll probably just move back in with my mum,” Peter interrupted, speaking a bit more coldly than
he usually did to James, “If the four of us aren’t getting a flat anymore.”

James frowned, guiltily, and looked as if he were about to say something—but then Sirius grabbed
his arm, pointing.

“Look! Slytherins just showed up—they’re going in now…”

The two friends leaned forward, eagerly, watching through the cracks in the quidditch stands. Peter
stared at them, for a moment, mouth pressed into a thin line. Eventually, he turned away.

Chapter End Notes

i am simply not a peter apologist lol

 Seventh Year: Star Star
Chapter Summary

oh good everyone's happy again

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Monday 27th February 1978

“What’s that about?” Sirius asked, watching James scan the note that an owl had just dropped into
his lap. It had come a bit after the rest of the morning post, fluttering onto the table as the
marauders ate their breakfast.

James shrugged. “McGonagall wants to see me before quidditch,” he said, chugging the last of his
pumpkin juice and standing.

“Are you going now?” Lily asked, glancing up from her seat beside him.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Practice isn’t for another hour—you haven’t even finished your breakfast!”

“Yeah, but it’s quidditch.”

“Try not to lose heart, Evans,” Sirius said, sighing dramatically, “Quidditch will always be Potter’s
first love…the rest of us just have to learn to live with it.”

“It’s true,” Peter chimed in, “I’ve heard him muttering about quaffles in his sleep.”

“And don’t even get him started on his broom—” Remus began, grinning, before James cut him
off.

“Alright, alright, we get it!” He gave Lily a peck on the cheek. “Don’t listen to them, they’re
idiots.”

“I’ll try not to get too jealous,” Lily assured him, smiling wryly. She turned back to her breakfast as
he hurried off, shaking her head.

“Why d’you reckon McGonagall wants to see him?” Marlene asked, leaning forward slightly from
across the table.

“It’s got to be about the final match, right?” Yaz added, sitting next to her, “We’ve only got one
more game against Slytherin, then the season’s over.”

“Maybe they need to reschedule the match date?” Peter suggested.

“Nah,” Sirius shook his head, “Why would she need to speak to him privately about that?”
The four of them continued to speculate for the rest of the meal—but, as it turned out, they didn’t
need to guess for long.

“Padfoot! Padfoot!” James’s voice called out from the two-way mirror, just a few minutes before
breakfast was due to end. Sirius took it out of his pocket, frowning down in confusion.

“Quidditch pitch! Now!” His friend’s eager face disappeared before Sirius could even ask what
was going on.

“What’dyou reckon he wants?” He muttered, as they all stood to leave the hall.

“Oh, I think you’ll like it.” Remus said, with a knowing smile. “Go on, he sounds excited.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t you want me to walk you to Care of Magical Creatures?”

“I’ll manage. Go! Hurry!”

Down at the pitch, James was practically bouncing with excitement, grinning from ear to ear.
Sirius eyed him warily as he approached, at a loss for what could possibly have Potter so thrilled.

“Prongs.”

“Padfoot!”

“What’s going on?”

“Pads, you won’t believe it—it’s the best news ever, I didn’t even know what to say when
McGonagall told me—”

“Well, spit it out then, go on!”

James took a deep breath, eyes alight with excited energy.

“You’re back on the team!”

Sirius blinked.

“…what?”

“McGonagall just told me! Gordon has to leave Hogwarts for the rest of the term—she didn’t say
why, apparently it’s private—so we needed a new beater on short notice, and she wants you! I
mean—if you’re up for it…”

“Bloody hell,” Sirius shook his head, stunned. “Yes! Of course—yes, I’ll do it!” He began to grin,
smiling so hard that his cheeks ached. Back on the team! He’d missed quidditch ever since he
stopped playing—missed the thrill of flying, the cheering crowds, the closeness he felt with his
teammates as they all worked together towards the same goal. Suddenly, he felt alive with energy,
hardly able to wait until the moment he got his broomstick back in his hands.

James spent the rest of the morning getting Sirius up to speed, discussing practice schedules and
new drills they’d been using and possible strategies he had in mind for the upcoming game. At
lunch, they huddled together over the schedule James kept on him at all times, trying to figure out
when would work best for extra practice sessions to make sure that Sirius could keep pace with the
rest of the team. They only had a little over a month left before the final game—he would have to
work properly hard if he wanted to be ready.

As Remus slid into his seat at the table, Sirius looked up, smiling wildly. “You were right,” he
said, “I did like it.”

Remus smiled back, a soft, cryptic thing.

“What are you so happy about?” Marlene asked, eyeing the practice schedule on the table as she
sat down.

“Say hello to your new beater!” Sirius crowed, unable to contain himself. Next to him, James
laughed.

“Oh!” Marlene blinked, smiling, “Excellent! Er…what happened to Gordon?”

“Gone home.” James told her, “Not supposed to ask.”

“Ah. Well, anyway,” Marlene turned back to Sirius, “That’s fantastic, I’ve missed having you
watching my back. So how come McGonagall let you? I thought you got kicked off for doing
something unspeakable…?”

“Oh yeah,” Mary nodded, glancing up, “I remember something like that too, what did you do?”

In a rush, it all came back. Sirius stiffened, kicking himself mentally—he’d been so caught up in
his own selfish excitement that he hadn’t even thought about the reason he’d been kicked off the
team in the first place…

But then Remus spoke up. “Ha,” he laughed, lightly, “You can’t expect Sirius to remember every
stupid stunt he pulls that gets him into trouble.”

The girls shrugged and moved on, focused on their lunch, and James turned back to his schedule.
But Sirius remained stiff, glancing anxiously at Remus throughout the rest of the meal—he didn’t
look upset, and he seemed to have already known this was happening…but still, Sirius felt that old,
familiar guilt beginning to gnaw at him.

He remained on edge for the rest of the day, feeling as though he should say something to Remus,
but not quite sure what. He didn’t want to muck everything up again by bringing up something that
Moony didn’t want to talk about—at the same time, trying to dance around the elephant in the
room was torturous. In the end, it was Remus who said something, leaning over while they were
all eating that evening to ask,

“Fancy a walk after dinner?” He waved the matchbox where he usually kept his cigarettes.

“Yeah,” Sirius blinked, relieved, “Sounds good.”

* * *

He tried to stifle his nerves as they made their way up the stairs of the astronomy tower, body
buzzing with adrenaline. Remus seemed perfectly calm, but Sirius had no idea what he was
thinking—was he angry? Frustrated? Was re-joining the team a bad idea—would it make Moony
think that he no longer cared about what he’d done, that he no longer thought it was a big deal?

They had to kick out a few fifth years trying to strangle each other with their tongues, and Sirius
rolled his eyes as the younger students scurried away.

“Honestly, when we were their age, we never…”

“Sure you want to finish that?” Remus asked, shooting him an amused smile.

Sirius held his tongue as they sat, remaining quiet while Remus rolled a few spliffs—Sirius still
didn’t know who he got his weed from, and the secretive boy refused to tell. But he wasn’t about to
complain about that—particularly not when he was reaping the benefits of Moony’s mysterious
connections.

On his first exhale, breathing out smoke, Remus said,

“I’m really happy for you. About the quidditch. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said, carefully, some of the tension unspooling in his chest. “I really…um. I asked
James, and he said McGonagall asked you if it was ok first.”

“She did,” Remus said, easily, “Obviously I said it was fine. Obviously.”

“I’m really grateful. You didn’t have to, I would have understood.”

“Really?” Remus turned to him, raising a brow.

“Of course,” Sirius nodded, earnestly, “I deserved to be struck off; I deserved to be expelled for
what I did. Locked up in Azkaban. I got off easy, and I know it.”

“I never wanted you to suffer,” Remus said, quietly, “I hated you for it – I won’t lie. But I forgave
you then, and I can’t keep holding a grudge. You’ve made it up to me, like you said you would.”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. The words made him feel lighter, as though an enormous
burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Still,” he reached out to touch Remus’s hand, “If you’re still angry about it, that’s ok. I still feel
guilty about it. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“We don’t have to talk about it…” Remus tensed, slightly, lifting the spliff to his lips. But if they
didn’t talk about it now….when would they? Sirius couldn’t bear the thought of dancing around it
forever, trying to act as though it had never happened.

“I just wanted you to know that I do still feel responsible. I don’t blame anyone but myself – not
even Snivellus. Not even…” he faltered; swallowed; forced himself to continue. “Not even her.”

Remus’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Who?”

Sirius thought about their fight—about Moony’s words. How come we never get to talk about your
fucked-up family…

He took a breath.

“My mother.” His voice was quiet; he had to force it out of his chest. “Do you remember what
happened that Christmas? It was when I got kicked out…”
The memory rose up, from where it always seemed to be lurking, just beneath the surface of his
thoughts. The voices—the pain. The fear. Sirius hugged his knees to his chest, holding himself
together, and pushed through.

“She’d done stuff before – I mean, you know about that, the cutting, and the silencing and that time
she vanished my hair. But – and I know this sounds weird – I never thought she’d do…that. She
threatened to disown me all the time, threatened to do all sorts. But until they started getting in
deep with Voldemort, I never really believed her.”

It hurt more than it should have, putting it into words. Part of him hated the boy that had collapsed
on that library floor—how shocked he’d been. How naïve.

“It was always the most important thing, when I was growing up: family. Family loyalty. I know
they froze out Andromeda, but mother knew we were still in touch, she didn’t try to stop it. So I
thought – well, they must be planning to forgive her one day. Bring her back into the fold; because
she was family. And it was arrogant of me, but I really never thought it would happen to me.”

He’d been stupid—so blind to what was going on. Telling himself, every time, that it couldn’t get
worse than this, that if he could get through this punishment, could bear this pain, then surely that
would be the end. Surely, things would get better.

Remus squeezed his hand. Sirius sucked in a breath, then released it.

“But then it did happen – and they’d punished me so many times before, I thought I knew what to
expect. But not like that. I’d never been so…so scared.” He thought about the boy who had cried,
who had screamed, who had begged. “I hated it, feeling that way, and all I could think, lying in bed
at the Potters, was how you or James would have done better. Been braver, or figured out a way to
fight back. I didn’t fight back, because…because they were my family.”

“Sirius…” Remus said quietly, and Sirius could hear the pity in his voice. He scrubbed at his eyes,
wiping the tears that threatened to spill,

“No, it’s ok, I’m not telling you so you feel sorry for me, I’m not making excuses. There’s no
excuse. I’m just…I dunno, trying to explain. Anyway; that happened at Christmas, and then I was
living at the Potters after that, so it was all ok, for me, wasn’t it? Like…I was safe, and I had
nothing to be scared of. But I still felt like she could get me. I had these nightmares, remembering
the curse. Sorry, I know it sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all!”

“Still. I felt like I had to do something, and maybe I didn’t always have the best ideas. You know
what I was like – all over the place, acting like a twat. Me and James, we both used to egg each
other on, didn’t we? And Snape was so easy to pick on, because he’s so foul and nasty already.
Godric, so nasty. He tried to attack Mary, and then him and Reg tried to hurt you too, remember?
And he just kept going, no matter what we did. And I just…not like Snape is like my mother or
anything – I think there are at least six degrees of evil between them – but he made me feel the
way she made me feel. Like I couldn’t control it. I just wanted to make him scared; make him feel
it too, so that maybe he’d stop. It’s no excuse, and I’m so sorry, Moony.”

He stared down at the joint in his hand, trying to get his breathing under control enough to take
another hit. His heart was pounding, and he could feel a headache coming on from trying to fight
back the infuriating tears—his eyes burned when he blinked.

After a moment, Remus’s hand came up to cup the side of his face; he slipped the spliff out of
Sirius’s fingers, pulling him forward and kissing him, gently.

“It’s forgiven,” he murmured, “I mean it.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say—his heart ached in his chest, full to bursting. I don’t deserve you,
he thought, staring up at the boy in front of him, I don’t deserve you, but I’m going to try every day
to change that.

Remus pulled back, smiling dryly. “And you can blame your mother for it if you like. She sounds
like a right cunt.”

It was so unexpected that Sirius couldn’t help but laugh, pressing his face into Moony’s shoulder.

“You oik,” he grinned through the rush of emotion in his chest, “I really bloody l—”

“Who’s up here?!” Mary’s voice interrupted him, and her head popped around the corner. “Oh,”
she frowned, disappointed, “I was hoping you were Marlene and Yaz, been trying to catch them for
ages, finally put an end to this sneaking around malarkey.”

Sirius leaned back, rubbing at his eyes again.

“All right, Macdonald,” he smiled up at her.

“Ohhh, is that what I think it is?” Mary zeroed in on the spliff that Remus was holding,
“Sharesies!”

* * *

Friday 10th March 1978 – Just before midnight.

“Moony!” Sirius stood at the bottom of the stairs, shouting up, “Where have you gone? They’re
going to do your cake before James really gets drunk…”

He glanced behind him at the bespectacled boy, who was currently balancing on one arm of the
sofa, trying to serenade Lily and ignoring all her attempts to tug him back down.

“Yeah I’ll just be a sec!” Remus’s voice came down, muffled slightly and difficult to make out
over the blasting music of Jean Genie. Sirius sighed, shaking his head and glancing back once
more at their friends—now both Marlene and Lily were trying to pull James off the sofa, and he
was wobbling precariously, attempting to fend them off.

Well. They seemed to have the situation in hand. Sirius slipped up the stairs, stumbling a bit as he
opened the door to their room.

“What are you doing up here?” He demanded, letting the door swing shut behind him. Remus was
standing in front of a very odd-looking vase, grinning proudly at a bunch of tulips. “Flowers?”

“Er, yeah. From one of the Hufflepuffs in my study group.”

“Who’s giving you flowers?!”

“Miranda O’dell. Fourth year.”

“But why?!” (At least it wasn’t bloody Christopher—the little prat finally seemed to have gotten
the message).

“I asked her to,” Remus said, smiling cryptically. Sirius groaned.

“Moony! I am too drunk for your puzzles!”

“They’re for Hope,” the other boy explained, finally taking pity on him. “Seeing her tomorrow,
remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Sirius blinked, smiling—he was wearing a wide-brimmed purple hat that he’d
requisitioned from Mary, and had to tilt his head back slightly to get a clear line of sight on the
taller boy. “Looking forward to it?”

“D’you know what, I sort of am? At least I don’t want to throw up, like last time.”

“Progress!” Sirius declared, flinging his arms out. Downstairs, the volume of the music suddenly
shot up as the song started over again, accompanied by James’s truly atrocious singing:

“A small Jean Genie snuck off to the city, strung out on lasers and slash-back blazers, ate all your
razors while pulling the waiters…”

“James really likes this song, eh?” Remus smirked, shaking his head as they listened to their friend
butchering the chorus.

“After years of trying, Bowie finally got through to him.” Sirius stepped forward, leaning against
the bedpost. It had just occurred to him that he and Remus were entirely alone—he knew he had
come upstairs for something, but he couldn’t quite remember what…

“Are you enjoying your party?” He asked, blinking up at Remus from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Very much,” Remus smiled down at him, eyes dropping to his mouth in a way that sent a shiver
down Sirius’s spine.

“Someone invited Lockhart, the prick.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, how come he’s like that, anyway?!”

Remus shrugged, clearly not in a very talkative mood. His eyes had dropped from Sirius’s face to
his hips—he hadn’t realised that he’d started swaying in time with the music, but he quickly
became aware of it as Moony’s eyes darkened in a hungry, familiar way…

Why had he come upstairs? Was there something he was meant to be doing? Sirius wracked his
mind, trying not to get distracted. Suddenly, something occurred to him.

“Want your present?”

Remus looked back up at his face. “You already got me a present!”

This was true – a year’s supply of chocolate frogs, which had come as quite a shock to old
Honeyduke. But that was before Sirius had thought of his other gift, the one that he knew would be
perfect for Remus.
“I’m allowed to get you more than one thing,” he said, straightening. Sirius stepped away from the
bed, lifting his hands theatrically before bowing with a dramatic flourish, reaching up to pull
Mary’s hat off his head. He stuck his hand inside, pulling out the carefully stored gift.

It was a box. More specifically, a cigarette box. More specifically, a solid gold cigarette box, with
leafy filigree on the outside that matched Moony’s pocket watch and an exquisitely rendered
engraving of the night sky within. Remus stared down at it – in one corner, the moon. Next to it, in
mother of pearl inlay, Canis Major. Sirius hoped that wasn’t too soppy.

Remus cradled the gift, gently, running one finger over the engraved constellation. “Sirius,” he
breathed.

“So you can get rid of that manky old matchbox.”

“Thank you…it’s beautiful.”

“Oi you two, hurry up or Wormtail’s going to start on the cake!” James shouted from down the
stairs, over top the sound of Lily’s frantic attempts to shush him.

Sirius laughed, and Remus smiled, and they walked down with their fingers twisted together, only
letting go the moment that they reached the bottom step.

Given free reign by Lily (who had always had a soft spot for Remus and was somewhat more
obliging for his birthday parties), the common room had been completely transformed by James
and Sirius earlier that day. The suits of armour belched flame-free fireworks, balloons charmed
with luminescence bobbed up and down against the ceiling, and multi-coloured fairy lights were
draped and twisted around every surface that wasn’t covered in bottles or bodies.

“Jean Genie! Lives on his back! Jean Genie! Loves chimney stacks! He’s outrageous, he screams
and he bawls…”

James had managed to get almost the entire common room bouncing around with him to the refrain
of his favourite Bowie song – he’d already played it about twenty times that night, so Sirius had no
idea how everyone wasn’t half sick to death of it. Then again, he supposed that the copious
amount of firewhisky on hand probably helped. The second James caught sight of Remus, he began
to cheer,

“Moonyyyyy!”

“Cake!” Peter chanted, flailing about drunkenly, “Cake, cake, cake!”

Pretty soon the entire crowd had joined in, parting to allow Christopher and Marlene through. The
two held an impossibly large rectangular cake between them, arms straining under the weight. It
had been Lily’s idea to ask the house elves to decorate it with chocolate buttercream icing to look
like a particularly tasty leather-bound book.

“My two favourite things,” Remus joked, laughing.

Everyone cheered as he blew out the candles and cut the cake, sending pieces levitating out into the
crowd on plates that Lily had had the foresight to charm earlier in the day, before they all got too
drunk to wave their wands properly. James raised his cup of Witches Brew and began making
increasingly ridiculous and complicated toasts which only ended when he tried to climb back up on
the sofa again and Lily threatened to take his drink away. But at that point, the damage was done
—every single one of them was well and truly drunk.
 Everything got a bit fuzzy towards the end of the night, dissolving more into flashes of colour and
feeling than anything else. There was James’s braying laugh; the red curtain of Lily’s hair; Mary’s
citrus perfume as Sirius twirled her around; Marlene’s flushed face as she passed him another shot
of firewhisky. And Remus – Remus smiling, Remus laughing, Remus dancing in his ridiculous
jumper with his sweat-damp curls, Remus shouting along with everyone else at the top of their
lungs when the Rolling Stones came on,

“If I ever get back to New York, girl

Gonna make you scream all night

Yeah! You’re a star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star!

Yeah, a star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star!

A star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star fucker, star!”

Chapter End Notes

songs in this ch are the same as in the original - "the jean genie" by bowie and "star
star" by the rolling stones
 Seventh Year: The Sister
Chapter Summary

ugh siblings

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Don’t forget,” James said, breathing hard as he landed his broom, “Tomorrow at—”

“6 o’clock sharp, yes Potter, I know,” Sirius groaned, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Spring
had finally come to the castle and, while there was still a lingering chill in the early morning or late
evening, at midday, with the sun high in the sky, Sirius felt as though he were melting under his
heavy quidditch kit – especially after an hour of relentless drills with James and Marlene.

His fellow beater laughed, landing next to him. “Poor Sirius,” she patted his arm sympathetically,
“You’ll get used to Potter’s madness soon enough—one day, you might even forget what it was
like to have a lie in…”

“Oi, I give you Fridays off!”

“And for that I am eternally grateful, o wise and benevolent captain.”

Sirius shook his head. “Forgot what a bloody sadist you are, Prongs.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll all be thanking me once we’re holding the Quidditch Cup.”

Marlene laughed again, oblivious to the girl coming up behind her until an arm snaked over her
shoulders.

“What’s so funny?” Asked Yaz, smiling at her girlfriend’s flushed face. The two chasers followed
behind her, ready to switch out for their own practice session with James. On Saturdays, he split
them into three groups for more focused drills: beaters, keeper and chasers, and the seeker.

“Just discussing whether Potter’s practice schedule should be reported to the Ministry as a form of
cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Ah,” Yasmin nodded, seriously, “That old ongoing debate…”

“Oh, sod off, you big bunch of babies,” James rolled his eyes, “Morning laps are invigorating.
They help build team unity. I read it in—”

“Quidditch Weekly,” finished Yaz, Marlene, and Sirius. This sent the entire team into another
round of laughter, while James looked on, frowning petulantly.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he muttered, re-mounting his broom. “Come on then, you lot—we’ve only
got the pitch for another hour, chop chop!”

Sirius and Marlene watched as Yasmin and the chasers took off after him, zooming into the air on
their brooms. From below, they could hear the piercing shriek of James’s whistle, and his faint
shouting as he began to direct their drills.

“Going in for lunch?” Sirius asked, as he and Marlene made their way over to the locker rooms.

“Er—no, actually, I promised Mary I’d meet her in the library for Care of Magical Creatures
revision.”

“Ugh, boring.”

Marlene laughed. “You can join us for lunch later, if you want? Mary wants to go down at 1:30.”

“But I’m hungry now,” Sirius whined. Marlene shook her head.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone to go with you; it’s a big castle, Black.”

He groaned, but she only smiled cheerfully as they parted ways, giving him a jaunty little wave as
she disappeared into the girls’ locker rooms.

Sirius took his time in the shower, enjoying the privacy of having the boys’ locker room to himself.
Only once his skin had started to sting from the heat of the pouring water did he step out, whistling
as he towelled off and got dressed.

He stepped out into the early-spring sunshine, making his way back up to the castle at a leisurely
pace. James still had another forty minutes of quidditch, Marlene and Mary would be in the library
for the next hour, and Peter was doing something or other with his chess club—besides, Sirius
wasn’t sure that he’d want to eat alone with Peter, anyway. He’d been a proper downer ever since
Dorcas had called it quits, over-sensitive and always moping around.

Sirius wished that Remus were around. With everyone so busy, it would have been the perfect
opportunity to take advantage of an empty dorm room. But, as had become his new routine on
Saturday afternoons, he was out visiting his mother.

Sirius was happy for him. Really, he was. Remus seemed to enjoy the visits; he was always a bit
more cheerful when he returned, with quiet smiles and a faraway look in his eyes. Once, he even
brought back some pictures, and they spent the evening sitting in front of the fireplace with their
friends, exclaiming over snapshots of baby Remus.

It was good for him, finally learning more about where he came from. Sirius could see that. So
he’d ooh’ed and aah’ed with the rest of their friends, picking through the pictures of the chubby,
happy toddler. But Sirius couldn’t stop the twist in his gut when he stared down at the photograph
of Moony’s parents—a pretty blonde woman and a gangly man who bore a striking resemblance to
Remus, all legs and arms and sandy curls.

They abandoned you, Sirius thought, glancing up at Moony. The freckled boy was smiling, trying
to snatch a baby picture out of James’s hands. Aren’t you still angry? Have you really just…
forgiven it?

He only broached the topic once, on an evening when Remus returned from the hospital and it was
just the two of them sitting in front of the fireplace.

“Have you asked her why, yet?”

“Asked her why what?” Remus stretched, yawning, and lay sideways on the sofa with his feet in
Sirius’s lap.
“You know.” Sirius swallowed, choosing his words carefully. “Why she never got in touch.”

Remus frowned up at the ceiling, head tilted back. His shoulders tensed, marginally; the barest sign
of discomfort.

“No.” He replied, “I don’t see the point in asking.”

Sirius fidgeted with the laces on his boots, looking away. Remus’s posture told him to drop it, but
he couldn’t help pushing just the tiniest bit. “I’d want to know.”

“Well.” Remus said, coolly, “That’s you.”

“Ok,” Sirius twisted the laces around his fingers, “Sorry.”

He didn’t bring it up again.

It wasn’t like he wanted Remus to be angry with his mother. He didn’t—that wouldn’t be fair of
him. If anyone deserved a loving family, it was Moony; after all, he’d been through enough.

It was just that…Sirius was the only one, now. Without a family. And it was hard not to feel lonely
about it, sometimes.

He sighed as he pushed through the portrait door, chasing away this line of thought. Sirius knew
that he shouldn’t go comparing his home life to Remus’s; jealousy didn’t help anyone, nor did
resentment. If Moony had forgiven his mother for what had happened, that was his decision, and
nobody else’s business. Certainly not Sirius’s.

At first glance, Sirius thought the common room was empty—odd, on a Saturday afternoon, but
not entirely surprising. Between the sunny weather outside and upcoming NEWTs and OWLs, he
figured most students were probably either lounging out by the lake or shut up in the library
revising. He began to head for the stairs, thinking to filch some of Moony’s cigarettes from their
dorm, when a quiet sniff drew his attention.

Sirius turned; the common room was not, as he had first thought, entirely empty. There was
somebody perched in the window seat near the back corner, curled up in a little ball and wiping her
eyes.

“Lily?”

Sirius hesitated in the middle of the common room, unsure of what to do. She had clearly been
crying—her face was red and blotchy, cheeks tear-stained, eyes still watery.

“Hi, Sirius.” She said, plastering on a shaky a smile.

“Are you…alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, don’t mind me!”

Sirius frowned. “D’you want me to get James…?”

“No!” She said, quickly, jerking forward as if to stop him. Realising the suddenness of her reaction,
she slumped back down, curling in on herself again. “Sorry…no, don’t bother James.”

“Er…okay.” Sirius hovered, feeling rather awkward and entirely out of his depth. After a moment,
he stepped a bit closer to the window seat. “…are you sure you’re alright?”
Lily sighed, heavily, dropping her face into her hands. After a moment, she admitted quietly, “…
no.”

Sirius swallowed, moving a bit closer. “Um…d’you want to talk about it?”

Another heavy sigh. Lily spoke without lifting her head, voice muffled by her hands.

“It’s my sister,” she said.

“Your sister.”

Lily nodded. Sirius wracked his brain, trying to remember what he knew about her family—he and
Lily had never been particularly close outside of groups, and most of what he’d heard had come
from Mary or James. They’d both only spoken about Lily’s older sister—a muggle, of course—to
complain about how awful she was; everything Sirius had heard made her sound like a right bitch.

“She’s getting married,” Lily said, voice still a bit wobbly.

“Married?!”

A silent nod.

“Oh…well, that’s…good for her, I suppose?”

Lily laughed, bitterly. “She doesn’t want me in the wedding.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

Lily finally lifted her head, and Sirius saw that she was holding a letter, crumpled in one fist.

“Oh, the usual, you know.” She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. “Doesn’t want her freak sister ruining
the day, stealing the spotlight and making everything about herself. Because apparently, I’m just a
horrible, selfish person for wanting to—to—” She broke off, sucking in a shuddering breath. Sirius
sat down on the window seat across from her, waiting patiently for her to compose herself.

“She wasn’t even going to tell me about the wedding,” Lily said, after a moment. “She didn’t want
to write at all—our mum forced her to.”

“She sounds like a cunt,” Sirius said. Lily laughed.

“Yeah,” she rubbed at her eyes again, smiling shakily, “She bloody well is, too…James hates her.”

Sirius nodded; he already knew that. Lily took a breath, then said quietly,

“But…I don’t.” She bit her lip, smile faltering. “And…James is lovely, you know—he always tries
to cheer me up, says she’s not worth my time, that she’s just jealous, that I shouldn’t even care
what she thinks…and I know all that. I really do. But…” She leaned her head on her arm, looking
out the window. “I still do. Care, that is. I know I shouldn’t, but I just—” She broke off, pausing to
collect herself. Sirius waited.

After a moment, Lily said, quietly, “I just…really, really wanted her to ask me to be a bridesmaid.
Not—not maid of honour, I knew she wouldn’t do that, but I thought maybe…” She shook her
head. “I just wanted her to want me there.”

She turned back to Sirius, with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I know it’s stupid,” she said,
“James doesn’t know why I still bother. He tries to be supportive, but I know he thinks I should
just forget the whole bloody mess. And he’s probably right…”

“No,” Sirius said, firmly, “It’s not stupid.”

Lily’s brow furrowed, a question in her eyes. Sirius looked away, self-consciously, trying not to
fidget.

He had been doing his best not to think about Regulus, since their…argument, back in February.
He tried to avoid passing his brother in the halls; he sat at meals with his back turned to the
Slytherin table; he’d hardly even glanced at Reg since they’d spoken. Still, as big as Hogwarts was,
it was impossible to avoid his brother completely when they both went to the same school.

When Sirius did see his brother – heading onto the quidditch pitch for practice as the Gryffindor
team was leaving, exiting a classroom, walking down the hall with his friends – he was always hit
with a horrible, nauseating swell of anger. He was furious with Reg—furious that he’d taken the
mark, furious that he’d tried to justify it by acting like the death eaters and the Order were the
same, furious that he’d become bitter, and taunting, and cruel. That he hadn’t remained the little
brother Sirius once knew.

Above all, he was furious with Reg for acting like he hadn’t had a choice. Like it was Sirius’s fault.
Like the Mark was something inevitable, something that was always going to happen, something
only one of them could escape. There was always a choice, Sirius told himself, firmly. Reg had just
been too much of a coward to make the right one.

Still, beneath the burning fury, there remained that awful ache that Sirius couldn’t get rid of. A
hollow gap in his heart; an ever-blooming bruise. I should have done more.

I should have saved him.

“I just mean…” Sirius swallowed, staring down at his hands, “I get it. It’s—it can be hard. To hate
your siblings. Even if they’re…”

“Cunts?” Lily supplied, with a wry smile. He laughed.

“Yeah. Even if they’re cunts.”

They smiled at each other, for a moment, the only sound in the common room coming from the
crackling fireplace. Then Lily shook her head.

“Thank you,” she said, “For listening. You know, you can actually be quite sweet when you’re not
acting like a conceited dickhead.”

Sirius laughed. “High praise, Evans. And you can be quite fun when you’re not acting like a poncy
swot.”

“Oh, why thank you very much, Mr. Black.”

“Not at all, Ms. Evans, not at all.” He glanced down at the letter in her hands. “So…are you going
to go?”

Lily shrugged. “Dunno yet. My mum wants me there, even if Tuney doesn’t. There’s a few months
yet to decide—at least I won’t have to wear one of the hideous bridesmaid dresses she’s picked
out.”

“Mmm,” Sirius nodded, “You know, as someone whose family members love to get married, I can
 assure you that most weddings are incredibly overrated.”

Lily laughed. “Is that so?”

“Quite,” Sirius assured her, grinning. “Hey, have I ever told you about the time I was engaged?...”

Chapter End Notes

i literally love the word cunt gotta be top 5 favorite swear words of all time
 Seventh Year: Breakdown
Chapter Summary

remus writes a letter

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I bet you don’t know how much I love you so

I’ve been trying hard

Not to let it show

I bet you don’t know how much I need you now

I know what to say

But I don’t know how

And my love keeps coming on (coming on)

And coming on (coming on)

And getting strong (getting strong)

What else can I do?

I bet you don’t know how I really feel

So let me prove my love to you

Thursday 23rd March 1978

O Noble Cousin Mine,

Another letter—huzzah! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me. You know, if
you only ever write me when there’s a new record you want, I might have to start wondering about
ulterior motives…Besides, you’re a wealthy man, now—haven’t you got enough money to buy them
on your own? Oh, well, I supposed I don’t mind, if only for old time’s sake. Enjoy the new Bowie.

That’s wonderful news about the quidditch team; I wish there was a way for Ted
and I to come watch your final game, but I think they stopped allowing outside spectators before
your time at Hogwarts (after the fiasco with Emory Wood’s mother). Still, I know you’ll do
wonderfully, and we’ll all be cheering for you from afar!

Do you know where you’ll be living yet, after Hogwarts? When I spoke to Effie it
sounded like she was expecting you boys to stay for at least part of the summer, but I can’t imagine
you’ll want to be there long—I remember how excited I was to find my own place once I’d left
school. If you need any help house-hunting or moving in, you always know where to reach me
(unless we have to move again, but so far the new shielding enchantments have held up just fine).

Effie also told me about your other plans—that you want to join the Order. Sirius, I
understand why, I really do, and I won’t try to stop you. But please be careful. You don’t have to
grow up too fast; it’s alright if you want to spend your first summer out of school pissing around. I
sort of wish that I’d had a bit longer to just…be a kid, you know? What I’m trying to say is, don’t
take it for granted.

Anyway, speaking of kids, I know that Dora would love it if you’d visit again. It’s a
bit tricky right now, with all the enchantments, but the poor thing’s been cooped up at home for so
long. We had to send Ted’s family into hiding, what with everything that’s been going on, and
obviously my family isn’t going to be swinging by anytime soon, so I’m afraid that Dora’s starting
to grow rather sick of just seeing her mum and dad all day. Honestly, she’s starting to drive me up
the wall a bit, too—have you ever thought about babysitting?

Write soon!

Your favourite cousin,

Andromeda

Sirius smiled down at the letter, shaking his head. He’d visited his cousin once over the summer,
spending the day with her and her family in their modest two-bedroom home. Nymphadora had
been a right little terror, obviously spoiled rotten by her parents and marching around the house like
a monarch presiding over her kingdom. Sirius loved his cousin, but he would rather swallow an
entire jar of bubotuber pus than spend even twenty minutes alone with her child.

“What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?” Lily asked, sliding into the seat beside him.
Sirius folded up the parchment and stuck it into his pocket.

“Letter from my cousin.” He reached for the plate of toast, “Trying to convince me to babysit her
tyrannical four-year-old this summer.”

“Thought Dora was five, now?” James asked, with his mouth full of eggs.

“Four, five,” Sirius waved a hand dismissively, setting aside a piece of buttered toast and reaching
for the jam, “All the same, really.”

“God, I can’t imagine leaving you alone with kids,” Lily snorted.

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Well, you know, you’re not exactly the most…”

“Reliable?” James asked.

“Dependable?” Peter suggested.

“Mature?” Mary put in.

“I was going to say level-headed,” Lily finished, giggling, as Sirius gave his friends an affronted
look.

“I’ll have you all know that I’m wonderful with children,” he sniffed, reaching for another slice of
toast and the jar of honey, “Kids like me!”

“Probably because you act like such a child yourself,” Mary said, poking her tongue between her
teeth.

“Hey!”

Before Sirius could respond any further, though, Lily changed the subject.

“Where’s Remus?” She asked, glancing at the clock, “There’s only another twenty minutes before
breakfast ends.”

Predictably, everyone turned to look at Sirius. He shrugged.

“Pete was the last one in the dorm with him,” he said, using the back of his spoon to spread the
honey evenly over the toast. He and James had been up early for quidditch practice, leaving their
other two roommates asleep when they headed downstairs at 6 a.m.

“I told him I was going down to eat,” Peter said, “But he threw a pillow at me.”

Sirius snorted. “Probably just fancied a lie in. I mean, you know, since it’s…” he glanced around,
making sure there was no one listening in, “…that time of the month.”

Mary and Lily exchanged a glance; then, abruptly, burst into laughter.

“Well, you know what I mean!” Sirius said, flushing.

“I know, I know,” Mary clutched her stomach, “It’s just…when you put it like that…” She and
Lily dissolved into more giggling.

Sirius tutted, trying to hide his own grudging smile. “Honestly,” he said primly, “And you lot think
I’m the immature one.”

It had been a bit of a surprise, finding out that Mary knew—according to Remus, she’d figured it
out on her own. Still, it was sort of nice not having to hide everything from the girls—except, of
course, for Marlene, who had left breakfast early with Yasmin. She’d been in almost as much of a
dark mood as Remus.

By now, of course, all the marauders were accustomed to their friend’s moodiness surrounding the
full moon. But this month had been worse than usual; Remus was more irritable, more withdrawn,
alternating between snapping at anyone who spoke to him and sinking into brooding silences. He
wasn’t sleeping well, either; Sirius woke up at least five times a night thanks to his tossing and
turning.

Moony finally appeared for breakfast with just fifteen minutes to spare, looking predictably harried
and grumpy. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair was a tousled mess—he’d clearly just
rolled out of bed. As he sat down, he shot Peter a dark look.
“Why didn’t you wake me?? I nearly missed breakfast!”

“I tried to!” Pete frowned, indignant, “You threatened to curse me if I opened your curtains!”

This only made Remus scowl more, and he grumbled under his breath as he reached for the pot of
coffee. Sirius slid a plate in front of him, wordlessly, and he looked down.

“What—” he began to snap, irritably, but stopped when he saw what it was: four thick slices of
toast, each topped with a different spread. “Oh.” He blinked.

Sirius shook his head fondly, fighting back a smile. “No need to bite Wormtail’s head off, you
grumpy git,” he said quietly, leaning in so that only Remus could hear him. The other boy glanced
up, slumping slightly.

“Sorry,” he muttered back, sighing, “I don’t mean to be a prick, I’m just…”

“I know,” Sirius said, reaching under the table covertly to squeeze his knee, “It’s alright.”

Remus smiled at him, gratefully, and reached for the toast.

* * *

Friday 24th March 1978

By the following evening, however, the dark mood was back, and Remus glared at Sirius when he
stood from the dinner table.

“You don’t have to walk me,” the sullen boy said, sharply, “I know where the hospital wing is.”

“I know.” Sirius smiled blithely, ignoring his tone. The rest of their friends looked down
awkwardly, sensing the spat coming on.

“You haven’t finished your dinner.”

“Nor have you.”

“That’s because I don’t want to puke all over myself when the crippling agony hits,” Remus
grumbled, features hardening.

Sirius looked down, steeling himself. James, Lily, and Peter continued to stare pointedly away—
Marlene hadn’t come down for dinner, nor had Mary or Yaz.

He looked back up at Remus, calmly. “C’mon, Moony, let’s go…”

Scowling, Remus turned on his heel and hurried away, taking advantage of his long stride to leave
Sirius behind.

“Hey!” He jogged to keep up, frowning. But Remus refused to slow down until they were already
halfway to the hospital wing—even then, Sirius suspected that the easier pace had more to do with
his hip than anything else.
“Ok,” he huffed, trying to catch his breath, “I get it, you’re in one of your dark moods.”

“I’m always in a dark mood.” Remus muttered. “You ought to stop smoking, how are we going to
beat Slytherin if you’re so out of breath you can’t keep up with me?”

“You can talk,” Sirius shot back, “This is the first time I’ve seen you without a fag in your mouth
for weeks. Anyway. What’s wrong?”

“Really? You have to ask.” Remus shook his head, bitterly, speeding up again.

“Ok, ok,” Sirius hurried after him, grabbing his arm, “You’re not sleeping and you couldn’t have
dinner even though pudding was millionaire shortbread, which is your favourite…Fair enough, I’d
be grumpy too.”

“I’m not ‘grumpy.’” Remus said, grumpily.

“Touchy, then.”

“Fuck off.” He snarled, “Leave me alone if you’re going to be an arse.”

“I’m just trying to keep things in perspective!”

“You don’t understand.”

Sirius threw his hands up, exasperated. “Make me understand!”

This seemed to hit a nerve, because Remus spun around, eyes burning as he shouted,

“Make you understand?! Fucking hell, ok, go on then. Understand that I’m climbing the bloody
walls with worrying and stressing and…it’s NEWTs and the bloody moon and my fucking mother
crying because I can’t see her tomorrow because my fucking dad couldn’t control his fucking
temper and now I’m…and Marlene crying over her brother, which wasn’t even my fucking fault,
but it bloody well feels like it, and school’s nearly finished, and there’s a war on, and a quidditch
match and this big prank, and my hip hurts, and I’m just tired, and I really, really wanted pudding!”

Sirius was relieved that the corridor was empty, because he didn’t think there would have been any
stopping Remus even if he’d wanted to. As it was, he only waited calmly for the furious boy to
finish ranting, listening until Moony fell silent, glaring.

“My goodness.” The portrait on the opposite wall tutted, frowning down from her frame. “I’ve
never heard such disgusting language.”

“Oh, piss off you daft old trollop.” Sirius rolled his eyes at her, and she stuck her nose up,
affronted. He turned back to Remus, unable to stop the amused smile that spread across his face.
“You want to sit down for a bit? I think that’s the most you’ve ever said in one go.”

The other boy released a breath, shoulders slumping. After a moment, he smiled back sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

“For what? Come on, Madam Pomfrey’ll be having kittens…” They continued on down the hall,
feeling much more at ease with all the tension finally unspooled between them. Sirius ran back
over the list of grievances Remus had named, thinking.

“So the way I see it,” He mused, smiling wryly, “If I run back to the hall as fast as I can, I can get
the last of the millionaire shortbread and wrap it up for you to have for breakfast. Anything else I
can do to help?”

“You’re such a wanker sometimes.”

“Yep.”

“Actually, there is something…” Remus hesitated, glancing at him.

Sirius nodded fervently. “Anything.”

“Er…could you post this, for me?” He passed over a sealed envelope, with no return address.
Sirius scanned it—it was addressed to Danny McKinnon.

He looked back up. “Are you sure?”

“No. But it’s the right thing to do.”

At least he hadn’t put his name on it—Sirius supposed there couldn’t be any harm in writing
anonymously. “Ok. I’ll do it right now.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for our Moon—”

Before he could finish, Remus had a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

* * *

Saturday 25th March 1978

The full moon itself wasn’t bad, all things considered. In fact, it was actually sort of fantastic—
Padfoot and the wolf raced ahead of the others, play-fighting and rolling through the underbrush,
hunting and barking and howling at the moon. The forest was its own world; quiet and dark and
full of earth-smells and skittering creatures to chase. Sometimes, Sirius wished they could stay
longer.

It was a weekend, fortunately, which meant they didn’t have to worry about hurrying off to classes
—the second they had bid farewell to Remus and made it back to their dorm room, James, Sirius,
and Peter collapsed onto their beds and were asleep within minutes.

When Sirius woke up it was mid-afternoon. James was still snoring, though Peter was gone—bed
curtains thrown back and sheets rumpled. Sirius pulled himself out of bed, groaning, and showered
quickly before heading down to the hospital wing with a heaping plate of millionaire shortbread.

Remus was still sleeping when he arrived, so Sirius pulled up his usual chair and settled in to wait.
Eventually, he dozed off, still exhausted from the night before, and found himself stuck in the hazy
in-between halfway between consciousness and sleep, dreaming and daydreaming. He was startled
awake some time later by what sounded like an argument—loud voices, going back and forth with
Madam Pomfrey.
 Sirius sat up, blinking. In the hospital bed beside him, Remus was now awake, too. He glanced at
Moony, frowning in confusion,

“Is that McKinnon?!”

“LET ME SEE HIM POPPY!”

“MISS MCKINNON, I ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT HAVE THIS—”

“I KNOW HE’S HERE!”

“I SHALL CALL PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL!”

“REMUS?! REMUS LUPIN!”

“I’m here, Marlene,” Remus croaked, pushing himself up. He had a drawn, resigned sort of look on
his face, steady and exhausted. Sirius straightened, alarmed, as Remus called out, “It’s ok, Madam
Pomfrey.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Marlene was there, yanking back the hospital screen
with the sort of force Sirius usually only saw her use to attack bludgers.

“Is it true?!” She demanded, wide-eyed and frantic, righteous fury burning in her gaze.

Sirius stared between the two of them, helplessly, completely at a loss for what to do as Marlene
studied Remus. Her eyes ran over his scars, his trembling shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes.
Sirius could see the moment it came together, the moment every piece clicked into place. Her face
twisted into a furious scowl, then crumpled as she began to cry. “You fucking bastard.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "let me prove my love to you" by the main ingredient!
 Seventh Year: Choices
Chapter Summary

idk dude i think marlene might be mad or something

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

You know the future’s lookin’ brighter

Every morning when I get up

Don’t be thinkin’ ‘bout what’s not enough, now baby

Just be thinkin’ about what we got

Think of all my love, now

I’m gonna give you all I got

So baby hold on to me

Whatever will be, will be

The future is ours to see

When you hold on to me

“You fucking bastard!”

“Oi!” Sirius stood immediately, hands curling into fists.

“It’s ok,” Remus said, weakly, although Sirius wasn’t entirely sure which one of them he was
talking to. Marlene was sobbing now, shoulders shaking even as she glared.

“Bastard!” She scowled, scrubbing at the tears on her cheeks.

“Miss McKinnon!” Madam Pomfrey bustled over, shocked, “I will have you escorted out if you
cannot be civil.”

“And you!” Marlene rounded on her, “You said you didn’t know anything about it! You said you’d
never worked with one before!”

How did she find out? Sirius wondered, horrified, Who the fuck told her?!

“Don’t blame her, Marlene, please…” Remus stumbled back onto the bed, sitting down heavily,
“She was only trying to protect me!”
“How long?!” Marlene whirled around, still glaring furiously.

“…since I was five.”

“Bastard!”

“Marlene, please…”

She threw a crumpled piece of parchment down onto the mattress, covered in cramped handwriting
—a letter. Remus’s fingers trembled as he picked it up, unfolding it and squinting down at the
words. Marlene stood, arms folded, cheeks still tear-stained, watching as he struggled to read.

“Sorry,” Remus said, after a moment, “Sorry, I’ve got a headache, what does it…er…?”

Sirius was there immediately, stepping in front of Marlene to provide a barrier as he plucked the
letter from Remus’s shaking hands. He scanned it quickly, brow furrowing as he read.

“It’s from Danny McKinnon…” Sirius thought of the envelope Remus had handed him, the
previous afternoon—but hadn’t that letter been anonymous?! “Blood hell, Moony, what have you
done?”

“Please just tell me what it says,” Remus croaked, dropping his head into his hands. Sirius had to
resist the urge to sit down next to him, to pull him into his arms and tell Marlene to fuck off. She
was still waiting, impatiently, looming over the bed. Madam Pomfrey hovered not far behind her.

Sirius cleared his throat, reading quickly. “He says ‘thank you.’”

“What?!” Remus’s head jerked up.

“Well, that’s the gist…” Sirius continued, frowning as he read the last few paragraphs, “…He
received a letter when he arrived home this morning from one of Marlene’s friends, who ‘claims to
be a werewolf.’ It had a lot of useful advice, and he’d like to meet you. He says he won’t tell
anybody, and he has no idea who you are anyway.”

“But I do.” Marlene said, no longer sobbing, but still just as angry.

“Yes,” Remus said quietly, looking down at the bed, “I knew you’d work it out.”

Marlene blinked. “And you sent the letter anyway?”

“I wanted to help.”

You idiot, Sirius thought, staring at him, You beautiful, brilliant idiot. Marlene was staring, too, an
indecipherable expression on her face.

“Dumbledore knows? And McGonagall?” She asked, finally, no longer shouting.

“Yes.”

“It’s so dangerous,” her voice had dropped to a whisper, “You could have killed someone.”

Sirius bristled, turning to her. “No,” he said, firmly, “It’s all been perfectly safe, ever since first
year, hasn’t it, Poppy? Remus would never hurt anyone.”

“Remus wouldn’t,” Marlene said, steadily, “But the wolf might.”

Sirius blinked, thinking of the scars on his chest.

“I haven’t, not ever.” Remus said, voice pleading. “We’ve done everything possible.”

Marlene scoffed. “Are you registered?”

“Er…well, almost everything possible.”

“And you…you just wanted to help Danny? You weren’t trying to…I don’t know, get him on
side?”

Sirius couldn’t contain the burst of anger that erupted, at that. “What side are you talking about
McKinnon?!” He demanded, stepping towards her without thinking. “Moony’s on our side. He’s
your friend.”

But Marlene didn’t back down. She straightened, glaring straight back at Sirius, looking him dead
in the eye. “I thought he was,” she said, coolly. Beside him, Remus deflated.

“I had to keep it secret, Marlene,” he said, in a horrible, guilty voice, “I had to, otherwise I could
never have come to Hogwarts at all. You know what it’s like when there’s something…different
about you. You know what people are like.”

Marlene blanched, staring at him as if he’d just slapped her.

“How dare you,” she breathed, mouth twisting into a snarl, “How dare you.”

“No, I didn’t mean—” Remus reached out, trying to placate her, but she refused to listen.

“Stay away from my family!” She spat, spinning around and storming out of the hospital wing
without a single backwards glance.

Sirius watched her go, buzzing with fury. How dare she! How dare Marlene act as though Remus
had done something wrong, had offended her, just for having an incurable bloody disease! And
when all he’d done was try to help her brother—Sirius had half a mind to follow after Marlene, to
try and knock some sense into her.

But there were more important things to worry about.

He turned back to Remus, who had collapsed back onto the pillows the moment Marlene was out of
sight, features strained.

“I’m ok,” he said, smiling weakly, “Honestly. Just going to have a little rest.”

“I’m going to speak to Professor McGonagall at once,” Madam Pomfrey assured him.

“I think,” Remus mumbled, eyes sliding shut, “You might be better off talking to Marlene, once
she’s calmed down. She respects your opinion. Don’t get her in trouble, she hasn’t done anything
wrong.”

Sirius scowled, but refrained from speaking until Madam Pomfrey had retreated back to her office.

“Hasn’t done anything wrong,” he repeated, once they were alone, “She’s being a bigoted little
cow.”

“It’s not an uncommon point of view,” Remus said, stifling a yawn, “I might as well get used to it
some time.”
“I ought to go and—”

“No.” Remus gave him a hard look, “Leave her alone.”

“But she’s going to—”

“She’s going to talk to her friends, first.” Remus insisted, “Lily and Mary. I’d rather she talked to
them. They’re the best people in this situation.” The last word was half-swallowed in a yawn.

“Bloody hell, Moony,” Sirius frowned. “How can you be so calm?!”

“I’m knackered.” Remus mumbled, nestling further into the pillows. Within minutes, he had fallen
asleep.

Moony might have been able to relax, but Sirius was still buzzing with adrenaline, stifling the urge
to run after Marlene and shake her until she saw sense. He couldn’t keep still, fidgeting in his chair
and staring down at the boy sleeping peacefully in front of him. Remus’s chest rose and fell under
the thin hospital blanket, steadily.

Things had been going so well. Well—not everything; the headlines of the Daily Prophet got
worse every day, the Slytherins nastier, the adults more secretive and worried. Remus was still
withdrawn, sometimes, angry at others; they still argued, especially close to the moons. But ever
since their blowout, that day when Remus first went to see his mum, they hadn’t really fought.
Things had been better; they had both opened up a bit more, about their families, their feelings,
their scars. Things had been good.

I won’t let her ruin it, Sirius thought, watching the sunlight stream through the window and dance
over Moony’s curls, I won’t let her hurt you. They only had a few months left—just a few more
months of school, and then everything would change. He tried not to think about it, but it was still
there, the spectre looming behind every tick of the clock: one day, soon, they would all leave
Hogwarts behind.

But until that day came, Sirius was determined to hold on—to enjoy meals with his friends, and
mornings on the quidditch pitch, and evenings around the fireplace in the common room. If
Marlene hated werewolves that much—if she decided to go to Dumbledore, or threatened to spill
Moony’s secret to get him kicked out—Sirius would just have to stop her. He wasn’t about to let
her steal Remus’s last few months at Hogwarts.

It was approaching dinnertime, so Sirius left Remus sleeping in the hospital wing and made his
way to the Great Hall. Lily, James, Peter, and Mary were already there, smiling and laughing—
clearly, they hadn’t run into Marlene yet. Sirius slid into his seat and began to shovel food into his
mouth quickly, determined to spend as little time as possible eating when there were more
important things to do.

“Merlin, Padfoot, slow down!” James laughed, nudging him, “Where’s the fire?”

Sirius swallowed, unamused, and muttered, “I need to talk to you—all of you.”

His friends exchanged uneasy glances, and Lily began to ask,

“What—”

Sirius shook his head. “Not here. Common room.”

She fell silent, and the entire group remained subdued for the rest of the meal, casting looks at him
that were equal parts anxious and curious.

The others went on ahead while he and James took a detour by the hospital wing to drop off some
dinner and the marauder’s map (tucked safely under a pillow) for Remus, who was still sleeping.
Once that was done, they hurried back up to Gryffindor Tower.

“Finally!” Mary complained, once they’d stepped through the portrait door, “Marlene’s upstairs,
but the door’s locked—pretty sure she’s with Yaz. Want me to go and interrupt—”

“No.” Sirius said, quickly, gesturing for her to sit down. He gathered their group around the fire,
huddling closer together and casting a quick muffliato to ensure that no one could listen in.

Sirius took a breath.

“Marlene found out.”

None of his friends needed to ask what he was talking about—James and Peter went pale, Lily’s
eyebrows shot up, and Mary lifted a hand to her chest, mouth falling open.

“Found out?!” Lily yelped, at the same time that James asked, “How??” And Mary said, “When?!”

“Remus sent a letter to Danny,” Sirius explained, rushing through the words, “Because he felt bad
and wanted to help. He didn’t say who he was, but Danny wrote back to Marlene this morning, and
she figured it out…”

“Oh, Remus…” Lily breathed, shaking her head. James reached out to take her hand.

“She came to the hospital wing this afternoon,” Sirius continued, gritting his teeth, “To shout at
him. She said all kinds of awful things—accused him of trying to get Danny to join ‘their side.’”

Mary pressed a hand to her mouth. “Marls wouldn’t say that—she knows Remus, they’re
friends—”

“Yeah, well, not anymore, according to her!” Sirius snapped. Mary recoiled, and James frowned at
him.

“Ok,” he said, firmly, using his Quidditch Captain voice, “Let’s all just calm down for a minute,
I’m sure Marlene’s just upset…it must have been quite a shock, you know, after everything with
her brother…”

“I don’t give a shit,” Sirius hissed, still fuming, “We can’t let her—do anything. She kept calling
him dangerous, acting like he shouldn’t even be at Hogwarts…” Sirius swallowed.

It was Peter who spoke up, saying quietly, “We won’t let that happen.” He glanced around at the
rest of the group, “Right?”

They all nodded. Sirius fought back the lump in his throat.

“Right,” he muttered, half to himself, “Right. Of course not.”

“We’ll go talk to her,” Lily said, untwisting her fingers from James’s. She looked over at Mary,
who nodded. The two of them disappeared up the stairs, leaving James, Peter, and Sirius to settle
down onto the sofas in front of the fireplace, waiting.

They didn’t have to wait long. Within ten minutes both girls came back down, looking shaken and
guilty. Sirius raised a brow.
“I take it that went well?” He said, sourly. James shot him another warning look, and he bit his
tongue—it wasn’t Lily and Mary that he was frustrated with.

Ignoring his tone, Mary shook her head. “She was really upset…” she murmured, sitting down on
the sofa next to Peter, “Didn’t want to speak to us.”

Lily sighed, cuddling into James’s side as he wrapped an arm around her.

“It’s Marlene,” she said, firmly, “She’ll come around. She’s been friends with Remus since we
were all twelve.” This earned a few half-hearted murmurs of agreement, although Sirius wasn’t so
sure.

Half an hour passed, in which they all attempted to find some way to keep busy—Peter pulled out
his chessboard, predictable as ever, Lily roped James into helping her revise for potions, and Mary
accio’d a bottle of nail polish and got to work on her manicure. But though everyone tried to act
normal, the tension remained hanging over them, heavy and thick, like a storm cloud.

So when the portrait door swung open, and Remus stepped through, they all turned around
immediately. He blinked, then walked towards them, smiling casually.

“Moony!” Sirius shifted, making room for Remus to sit down, “I was just going to come up and see
if you were awake.”

“I’m awake,” he replied, easily, a bit stiff as he sat down.

“Sirius told us what you did,” Peter blurted, fidgeting anxiously with one of the knights from his
chessboard.

“Good,” Remus said, glancing around the circle. “Er…anyone spoken to Marlene?”

“We got yelled at,” Mary told him, waving a hand between herself and Lily. “I think she’s mostly
hurt that she was the last to find out.”

“Mm.”

“She’s not said much else, though. Been locked away with Yaz.”

“Right.”

“Listen, Moony,” James caught his eye, leaning forward, “We’ve been talking, and remember fifth
year? Dumbledore stopped Snape from telling everyone. He can stop Marlene too, if it comes to
that.”

“He might,” Remus said, slowly, leaning back against the cushions. “But leave him out of it for
now, ok?”

Sirius frowned, studying his face. He’d been expecting Remus to be more worked up, now that he
was no longer too exhausted to think straight—but if anything, he seemed even more calm, even
less perturbed by the idea that Marlene might ruin his final year at Hogwarts.

“Why did you do it?!” Peter asked, wide-eyed, still twisting the poor chess piece between his
fingers.

“To help Danny,” Remus said, brow furrowed slightly, as though it were obvious. He blinked,
staring at each of them in turn, as if he was surprised that they hadn’t reached the same conclusion.
“He was alone, no one was helping him, Marlene told me that herself.”

“But Remus…” Lily hesitated, then said gently, “You knew how she would feel about it. You
knew she wouldn’t understand.”

“I knew that,” Remus agreed, “But if was for Danny.”

He made them all promise not to bother Marlene, to let her reach her own decision about what she
wanted to do. Lily and Mary still insisted that they would try to talk to her, once she let them back
into the dorm, to explain the situation and try to convince her to let it go. Remus thanked them,
though he didn’t look particularly confident about this idea.

The rest of the evening passed by slowly. Sirius was desperate to speak to Remus, but most of the
things he wanted to say would be better said in private—he was still churning with emotion; anger
and fear and love for the stupid, beautiful boy in front of him, who was losing at chess with Peter
so badly that it was almost laughable, who had been willing to risk everything just to help a
stranger that he’d never even met.

Once Peter had been declared victorious, Sirius nudged Remus over and took a turn playing—he
tied, which he supposed was about the best you could hope for with Pete. On the sofa, James and
Lily continued to quiz each other on potions ingredients, and once Mary had finished painting her
nails she charmed her quill to begin filling out job applications.

“Half boring muggle secretarial stuff to please mum and half boring ministry of magic stuff to
please McGonagall,” she explained, when Lily asked her about the jobs.

By the time they all finally headed up to bed, Sirius was desperate to get Remus alone—just to hold
him, if nothing else. He brushed his teeth and changed quickly, crawling into bed next to Moony,
who was staring silently up at the velvet curtains as they dropped closed around them.

“I won’t let her do this,” Sirius curled into his side, twisting their fingers together, “I’ll talk to her,
Mary and Lily’ll talk to her, and we’ll make her understand. McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey –
they’ll want to help you, she’ll listen to them if she won’t listen to her friends. Or Dumbledore.
James could kick her off the team – anything. We won’t lose you, Moony, you’ve worked too hard,
you’re not getting kicked out just for trying to be nice to that ungrateful, stuck up, intolerant…”

“It’s going to be ok, Padfoot,” Remus said gently, interrupting him.

“Exactly!” Sirius whispered back, fervently, pressed so close to Remus that his breath ghosted
across the other boy’s neck, “Exactly, because we’re going to stop her.”

“No. I mean – it doesn’t matter what happens; it’s going to be ok. If I leave in three months or I
have to go tomorrow, everything will still be ok.”

What?! “But your NEWTs!”

“Well, I was looking forward to completely destroying you in History and Charms…”

“And Arithmancy, I’ve been copying off you all year.”

“And Arithmancy.” Remus chuckled, under his breath. “But…well, the NEWTs don’t mean much.
I still won’t be able to enter any of the ministry training programmes without registering as a
werewolf – and I’m not going to do that, not ever. I dunno if I even really want to do that sort of
job. What I want is to start changing things. That’s why I wrote to Danny in the first place.”
 Sirius frowned, trying to process the words. “…you mean you want to get kicked out?!”

“I don’t think it will come to that. I don’t think Marlene would, even if she’s angry. But she might
ask me to leave, and if it’s what she wants, then I will.”

“And join the war,” Sirius said, realising what Remus was getting at. He wasn’t sure why the
words felt hollow, why they dropped off his tongue like stones.

As if you’re not planning to run off and enlist in Dumbledore’s little army the second you’re out of
school…

“Yes, I supposed you could put it that way.”

Sirius squeezed his hand, resolve hardening as he whispered,

“I’ll come with you, then. I don’t need NEWTs either, I’m a Black.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know. But I will. We’ll go together.”

After all, wasn’t that the most important thing? They had already seen so much heartache, so much
pain—nothing had separated them yet. Sirius would be damned if he’d let something as silly as
NEWTs change that; Remus was right, it wasn’t as if exams would matter once they were actually
fighting, once they were actually working to make the world a better place. No matter what life
threw at them, they would stick together—Sirius was sure, down to his bones, that nothing could
ever change that.

Remus rolled over to face him, eyes glowing, lit from within.

“Thank you,” he whispered feverishly, passionately, crushing their lips together, “Thank you,
thank you…”

Anything, Sirius thought, as Remus’s mouth moved along his neck, as his hands slipped under his
shirt, I’d do anything for you, Moony.

Chapter End Notes

song is "baby hold on" by eddie money!

 Seventh Year: What We Lack
Chapter Summary

aw everyone's friends again <3 i'm sure this will last—

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Wednesday 29th March 1978

Quidditch practice that weekend was dire. Marlene showed up, same as usual, and ran through all
the drills with her typical dedicated concentration. But she didn’t say a word to James or Sirius—
she hardly even spoke to Yaz, who shrugged apologetically at the two of them once practice was
over and hurried off to the locker rooms after her girlfriend. The drills went fairly well, but Sirius
could tell that James was worried—how were they supposed to come together as a team and win
the Quidditch Cup if the two beaters wouldn’t so much as look in each other’s direction?

Still, he didn’t say anything, wisely electing to give Marlene space. Sirius, on the other hand,
didn’t try to hide his anger, slamming his locker door and grumbling as they changed out of their
quidditch kits.

“She’s a bloody bigot, is what she is,” he muttered darkly, drying his hair from the shower, “We’re
better off without her, if that’s the way she’s going to act.”

James shot him a look. “Come on, Pads. I’m just as upset as you are, but she’s going through a
really difficult time; she’s not a bad person.”

“We’re all going through a difficult bloody time!” Sirius frowned, yanking his shirt on, “It’s not as
if she’s the only one whose family’s been affected by the war!”

“No, but she’s the only one of us whose brother got attacked by a werewolf.”

“And my brother’s a bloody death-eater!” Sirius snapped, “Boo-hoo! Sometimes shit happens,
doesn’t mean she gets to take it out on Remus.”

James blinked. “Padfoot…” he said, carefully, “I get what you’re saying, I do. But…things with
Regulus…well, that’s just not the same as what Marlene’s got going on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

James ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Marlene’s brother didn’t choose to become a
werewolf, Sirius. Someone else forced it on him.”

Sirius faltered, fumbling with the buttons.

The only real difference between you and me, Sirius, is that you got a choice.
After a moment, he shook his head.

“I’m not—” he finished buttoning his shirt, frowning, “I’m not trying to say it’s the same. I’m just
saying that…whatever she’s going through, it’s not an excuse for making Remus feel like shit.”

“I know,” James said, quietly, “It’s not an excuse, just—an explanation. It’s not like she’s
intending to be cruel.”

Sirius snorted. “Does that matter?”

“I think it does.”

They were quiet, for a bit, pulling on robes and storing their brooms. As they headed back towards
the castle, Sirius found himself asking,

“…why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you think it matters?” He clarified, “Whether Marlene intends it or not. She’s still saying
all the same things as the people who do mean it to be cruel, and if anything it hurts him more,
because she’s supposed to be his friend.”

James frowned, thinking. “Well…” he said, slowly, “Because…if she doesn’t intend to hurt him,
that means she still cares about him, doesn’t she? And if she cares enough, then…I think,
eventually, she’ll start to change her mind.”

Sirius grunted. “S’pose.”

James eyed him, smiling dryly. “Really, Padfoot,” he shook his head, “It’s not as if we’ve always
been perfect, either. I mean, think about some of the bollocks you used to say back in first year, or
second year—Merlin, think about some of the bollocks I used to say. If you’ve been taught to think
one way your whole life, it’s not very realistic to expect a complete one-eighty overnight. You
should understand that better than anyone.”

Sirius bristled. “Why, because I’m not a fucking death eater like the rest of my blood supremacist
family?”

“Yeah,” James said, steadily, “That’s exactly why. You know what it’s like to try and…undo the
sort of thinking that your parents taught you. So just—give Marlene a chance before you write her
off completely. Alright?”

Sirius scowled, unable to think of a response. What James was saying made sense—he knew that.
He knew that he’d hurt Remus before, knew he’d said cruel things without meaning to. Sirius’s
friends had always been patient with him, more patient than he deserved. He knew all of that, the
same way he knew that James was probably right about Marlene deserving a chance to do the right
thing.

He was still angry with her, though.

The rest of the weekend passed quietly, without a move in either direction from Marlene—she
mostly just avoided them, hiding away with Yasmin in the library or one of their dorm rooms. That
suited Sirius just fine; Remus seemed to relax a bit more when she wasn’t around, though he
remained quiet and tense throughout the beginning of the week, falling frequently into his familiar
brooding silences.
It was partially in an effort to distract Remus from the whole mess with Marlene, partially to
console James, who was still grumpy about having to wait until Wednesday for the Inter-House
Co-Operative Prank-Planning Meeting, and partially just because they all thought it would be
funny that the marauders spent Monday and Tuesday evening conducting research for a separate
prank—just something small, to blow off some steam.

It had already been set in motion the previous week, mostly by Remus, who spent hours scouring
textbooks about troll history to search for portraits. James and Sirius worked to tweak the spell
they’d used for the red-wig portrait charm the previous year, and Peter…well, he mostly played
lookout, but that was still helpful.

Unfortunately, Remus wasn’t able to actually join in the implementation of the prank; he insisted
that he had to run his study club. James grudgingly offered to wait until later in the week, but
Moony waved them ahead, assuring them that he wanted to see the results of all their research
sooner rather than later. And that was how, on the afternoon just before their Inter-House Co-
Operative Meeting, Sirius, James, and Peter found themselves sneaking through the castle, in and
out of bathrooms, whispering spells over every mirror.

By the time they had finished they were already seeing the fruits of their labour—as they made
their way down to the Charms classroom for their meeting, terrified shrieks could be heard coming
from the girls’ loos. The three boys paused, listening to the horrified exclamations—and promptly
burst into laughter.

Unfortunately, Lily was not so amused.

“I cannot believe you, Potter!” She fumed, storming down the hallway, “We agreed—I told you
—how many times?!” She slammed the door to the Charms classroom open, stomping inside.
James, Sirius, and Peter followed her, all biting back smiles.

“We said no pranks until the end of term! We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, you’re
Head Boy!”

“C’mon, Evans,” James gave her his most charming smile, “That was nothing, barely even a prank,
it was…er…” he glanced at Sirius, obviously in need of assistance.

“High spirits!” Sirius suggested.

James nodded, fervently. “High spirits!”

“All of the bathroom mirrors suddenly reflecting back troll faces is high spirits?!” Lily demanded,
folding her arms and giving them a stern look that was eerily reminiscent of McGonagall.

Sirius began to laugh again, helplessly, and soon he and James were clutching each other’s
shoulders for support and wiping tears from their eyes.

Suddenly, a quiet voice from the corner interrupted them. “You nutters.”

“Marlene!” Lily whirled around, shocked; all three boys turned, too, staring at the blonde girl as
she straightened up from where she’d been leaning against the wall. Sirius turned to look at Remus,
wondering what had happened—did this mean Marlene had made a decision, then?

Remus smiled at them, entirely at ease. He had one hip leaned against Flitwick’s desk, and he
straightened up, too, clapping his hands together briskly.

“Come on then! This co-operative isn’t going to run itself…”

 * * *

Apparently Marlene had decided to ‘try’ and accept Remus—whatever that meant. Sirius was still
wary, but according to Moony she had made it clear that she wasn’t going to tell anyone his secret,
and she wanted him to stay at Hogwarts. Which, Sirius supposed, was the best-case scenario. And
Remus seemed ready to forgive and forget, waving Sirius off when he grumbled about the way
Marlene had talked to him.

“She apologised,” he said, firmly, anytime Sirius began to complain about it, “And I forgave her.
It’s all fine, Padfoot, please, just drop it.”

So Sirius bit his tongue.

Later that night, he lay in bed, watching Remus crumple up pieces of parchment and restart the
same sentence over and over as he tried to compose a letter to Danny McKinnon. It was getting
late, but he wasn’t giving up, determined to introduce himself properly. Sirius yawned, watching
Remus huff in annoyance, and asked,

“What do you want to talk to him for, though? You know more about being a werewolf than he
does, it’s not as if he’ll have any special insight.”

Remus yawned, too, finally giving up and levitating his parchment and quill off the bed. “It’s not
really about that,” he said, lying down next to Sirius, absentmindedly rubbing his knuckles. The
boy spent so much time with a quill in his hand that Sirius was surprised his fingers hadn’t
permanently twisted into a new shape.

“Wait until school’s finished, then,” Sirius urged, “Safer for both of you.” Now that things were
finally stable with Marlene, he didn’t see any reason to tempt fate—what if someone somehow
found out that Remus was writing to Danny McKinnon, and managed to put two and two together?

“There are three moons between now and then,” Remus said, a bit irritably, shifting around in the
sheets. Sirius frowned.

“I know that,” he replied, a bit more sharply than he meant to, “But there’s not much you can do, is
there?”

“S’pose not.”

“And you don’t owe him anything.”

“No…” Remus said slowly, “But I owe it to myself to do the right thing, don’t I?”

Right thing for who?? Sirius wanted to ask. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Is that what got into
your head?”

He knew it was a bit patronising—but honestly. It wasn’t as if Remus would be helping anyone if
he got himself kicked out of school—or worse, forced to sign the registry. Who was to say that the
Ministry wouldn’t somehow find out, that they weren’t monitoring the post of all the new
werewolves from the attack? Peter kept talking about how there were spies everywhere, according
to his cousin who worked at the Prophet.
 Remus went stiff. “What do you mean, ‘what got into my head’?!”

“When you wrote to Danny in the first place. You’ve got to admit it was a bit reckless.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Well for someone who’s spent seven years trying to keep every aspect of himself completely
private, it was a bit bonkers to just go and send a letter to a stranger—”

“—my friend’s brother—”

“—spilling your guts about everything—”

“Not everything!”

“—but if it was all in the service of doing the right thing, then I suppose that’s fine.”

“Look, if you’re pissed off with me then just say so, this sarcastic crap doesn’t suit you, Black.”
Remus snapped, rolling onto his side.

“I’m not pissed off.” Sirius replied, automatically.

“Good.”

Okay—maybe he was a little pissed off. Sirius took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. He
didn’t want to be angry with Remus; it was just easier than feeling everything else that lay
underneath.

“…I’ve just been thinking, that’s all.” He said, deflating slightly. Remus rolled back over to face
him, eyes hard and wary.

“What?”

“It’s like you wanted to leave, or something.” Leave me, he didn’t say.

“Obviously I wanted to leave,” Remus scowled, expression growing stormy, “I told you. It’s
pointless, me doing NEWTs, pissing about with silly exams and clubs and pranks, when things are
happening out there, right now. I had a chance to help, and I took it. So what if I didn’t care about
the consequences?! Calling me reckless?! I thought you’d understand! What happened to wanting
to get back at your family? What happened to wanting to put a stop to it?”

“I do want to…” Sirius protested, shrinking back.

“Well, you’re not acting like it. You seem more fussed about that stupid quidditch match than the
war. Maybe they’re the same thing to you.”

“Merlin!” Sirius released a breath, trying to feel less like he’d been punched in the gut, “You don’t
stop until you’ve tasted blood, do you?”

“Must be the wolf in me.” Remus said, coldly.

He rolled over, and didn’t turn back again.

Chapter End Notes

a week to go before the war woohoo <3 i think i am probably the only person excited
abt that lmao
 Seventh Year: Apologies
Chapter Summary

omg i'm soooo sorry ;) however can i make it up to you?? ;) ;)

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Here you come again

Looking better than a body has a right to

And shaking me up so

That all I really know

Is here you come again

And here I go

Saturday 1st April 1978

“No Remus today?”

Lily smiled up at him, squinting slightly against the afternoon sunshine. Sirius opened his mouth to
reply, but James got there first, jogging to catch up and slinging an arm around Sirius’s shoulders.

“Nah, they’re still fighting.”

Sirius shrugged him off, scowling.

“We are not fighting,” he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets, “He’s just gone to make a
phone call.”

“Oh, to who?” Lily asked, politely ignoring his sour tone, “His mum?”

“No,” Sirius muttered, “His friend.” Grant. Sirius’s scowl deepened.

James and Lily exchanged a look, which Sirius pretended not to see. After a moment, Lily said,

“Well, I suppose he’ll be joining us after…?”

Sirius didn’t respond, only grunted and shrugged, scuffing at the ground with his shoe. Lily gave
James another pointed look, but finally let the subject drop. She and Prongs chattered quietly for
the rest of their walk into Hogsmeade, with Sirius only half-listening, still feeling grumpy and
irritable.
He and Remus weren’t fighting. In fact, they were hardly even speaking; Sirius was fed up with
getting snapped at, and had resolved to remain aloof until Moony apologised. The problem with
this strategy was that Remus had also seemingly decided to remain aloof, and the result was a lot
of very pointed ignoring each other and passive aggressive comments across the dinner table. They
were still sleeping in the same bed, which Sirius was secretly grateful for—he’d grown used to the
warm weight of Moony beside him, and it no longer felt right to sleep alone. But they didn’t talk,
and they didn’t touch, and in the mornings Remus would inevitably elbow him as he tried to
untangle his limbs from the sheets, causing Sirius to wake up and glare spitefully at the other boy
as he stumbled into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

All in all, it had not been a very good end to the week.

Sirius cheered up, marginally, once they reached the Three Broomsticks, where Peter, Mary, Yaz
and Marlene had already claimed a corner booth. James stopped by the bar to grab three more
butterbeers as Sirius and Lily slid into their seats. After a bit of shifting around so that the couples
could sit together, Sirius ended up squashed between Peter and Mary, who promptly stole a sip of
his butterbeer (her own glass was empty).

“Right then,” she said, smacking her lips and ignoring the dirty look that Sirius shot her, “What’s
the plan for today?”

“Homework,” Lily groaned, slumping, “I’ve still got to start that Potions essay for Slughorn, I
haven’t had time yet…”

“I meant for Hogsmeade, Lily, but thanks a lot for reminding me about that.” Mary raised Sirius’s
glass in a sarcastic toast, and Lily rolled her eyes.

“Well, you didn’t clarify…I need to go to Scrivenshaft’s, but that’s really it. Oh, and Potter and I
need to gather all the prefects once it’s time to go back, so we’ll have to leave a bit early…”

“Ugh, boring. Marls?”

“Yaz and I need to pop over to the Quidditch Emporium at some point, but there’s no rush.”

“Mm, so my options are third-wheeling while shopping for stationery or third-wheeling while
shopping for broom supplies, lovely.”

Marlene laughed, and Yaz smiled wryly, shaking her head. Their relationship was another new
development in the group—at least, it was new for half of the group. Lily hadn’t seemed all that
surprised when Marlene finally came clean and admitted that Yasmin was her girlfriend, but James
and Peter had clearly been caught off-guard. Once they were back upstairs in their dorm, Peter had
scratched his head, stupefied, and asked,

“Blimey, is everyone bent now?”

This had resulted in a stern talking-to from James, the effectiveness of which was undermined
somewhat by Sirius and Remus’s hysterical laughter in the background.

“I need new gloves, I’ll tag along to the Quidditch Emporium,” Sirius said, snatching his half-
drunk butterbeer away from Mary’s greedy hands.

“Nobody has anything more interesting going on?” She sighed, heavily. “When’s our next Big
Prank meeting?”

“Not ‘til Wednesday,” James told her, grinning, “But there is something else that we need to plan,
if you wanted to get started…”

“Ooh, go on then, what is it?”

He leaned forward, elbows nudging aside his glass on the table,

“Our end of the year party, of course!”

Mary’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” She clapped her hands together, excited, “What did you have in mind,
Potter?”

“Well, I may have already asked my parents if we could host…”

“And??”

James smirked, smugly. “They said yes, of course.”

“Yes!” Mary cheered, “Bless your family and their disgustingly huge mansion. Ooh, I’m so bloody
excited—you cannot put Remus in charge of the music again, though, or I will mutiny.”

This made everyone at the table laugh, and in a fit of excitement Mary hopped out of her seat and
returned with another tray full of butterbeers.

“To the greatest end of the year party that Hogwarts has ever seen!” She said, raising her glass.
The rest of them followed suit, smiling and grinning, and Sirius felt his earlier frustration melting
away as they began to discuss plans for the party—who to invite, what music to play, what drinks
to provide.

By the time he was getting up to fetch a third round of butterbeer, Sirius was feeling very cheerful,
and he smiled widely at Rosmerta as he ordered.

“There you are, love,” she passed him the tray.

“Ta, darling.” He winked at her, playfully, and the pretty bartender rolled her eyes and suppressed a
smile, shooing him away with a dishrag. Sirius made his way carefully back over to the table,
balancing the heavy tray of drinks on one arm.

“Right, come and get them…!” He looked up, grinning—and froze.

Remus was there, sitting in what had previously been Sirius’s seat. There was now only a sliver of
room left on the edge of the bench. Sirius swallowed, gut churning, unsure of what to say. All their
friends glanced away, awkwardly, as if they could sense the tension between the two. Sirius
supposed that they hadn’t exactly been subtle about…whatever it was that was going on between
them.

It was a relief when Remus spoke first. “Hiya,” he said, casually, tilting his chin down so that some
of his curls fell into his face. They were getting long and a bit floppy—Sirius adored it. But he was
trying not to think about that right now.

“Hi,” he responded, trying to match Remus’s casual tone—were they acting normal? Was that what
they were doing now? Would they talk and laugh with their friends and then go back to ignoring
each other, to falling asleep side by side without even touching? “I’ll go back and get you—”

“Remus can have mine,” Mary interrupted, getting to her feet, “Samuel from my Charms group has
been throwing me looks all afternoon…have my seat, Black.” She gave him a little push, urging
him to sit down, and Sirius, seeing no other option, complied.

“See you later!” Mary sang, hips swaying as she strolled over to a group of Ravenclaw boys sitting
at a table on the other side of the pub.

Marlene smirked over at Yaz, who laughed and twisted their fingers together on top of the table.
The public display of affection drove Remus to glance anxiously about the bar, as if trying to
ensure that nobody had noticed—but there was no need to worry. Marlene and Yasmin had selected
this booth for a reason: it was poorly lit and mostly concealed from the rest of the pub, meaning
they wouldn’t need to worry about getting caught. James and Lily were taking advantage of this
fact, too—she was sitting practically on top of him, and he was sneaking a hand up her shirt.

“How was the call?” Sirius asked, politely, staring down at his beer.

“Good,” Remus angled towards him, slightly, “He sounded really well. Happy.”

“That’s nice.”

Sirius wasn’t sure what else to say. Down the table, Peter was engaged in a conversation about
quidditch with Marlene and Yaz, but it would probably be rude to lean over Remus to talk to them.
And James and Lily weren’t exactly the world’s greatest conversationalists at the moment—they
appeared to be having some sort of lovesick staring contest, smiling dopily as they gazed into each
other’s eyes.

Next to him, Remus gulped his beer. Sirius fiddled with his own glass, wondering if he should try
to say something else—but his mind had gone blank. Fortunately, Remus broke the silence first,
twisting sideways to face him as he said, quietly,

“I’m such a prick.”

Well. That wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Sirius wondered if Grant had said something to make
Remus change his tune—he wasn’t sure whether that thought should make him happy or even
more irritated.

“Yep,” he replied, settling on irritation, taking a swig of his drink to hide the smile that twitched at
the corners of his lips.

Remus scooted closer, so that his knee was pressing into Sirius’s thigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispered,
breath warm against Sirius’s ear.

“I can’t talk to you about anything sometimes without you biting my head off,” Sirius muttered,
trying not to get distracted by how close Remus was sitting. “You get into these moods and I can’t
reach you.”

“I know…” Remus murmured—that warm breath again, fluttering over Sirius’s neck. He
suppressed a shiver. Remus was actually trying to apologise for once, it definitely wasn’t the time
to be getting distracted by his own filthy mind. If only Moony wasn’t so warm, or didn’t smell so
good…

Suddenly, Remus’s fingers were brushing against Sirius’s jaw, pushing his hair back behind his
ear. Before Sirius could ask what he was doing, the taller boy leaned in, quickly, pressing his lips
against the pulse point of Sirius’s neck, flicking his tongue out for just a moment before pulling
back.

Sirius couldn’t help himself—he nearly gasped, sucking in a sharp breath of air as the heat from
Remus’s mouth jolted straight through his body like lightning. His heart stuttered, then began to
pound frantically in his chest.

“I’m really sorry,” Remus was murmuring, still close enough that his breath fanned out over
Sirius’s neck, “It’s my fault, and I’ll do better.”

Sirius tried desperately to concentrate, though half of his brain had just turned to mush. “Better?”

“Better. I’m sorry. I lose my temper when people tell me what to do, but I’m going to try.”

Sirius turned towards him, and Remus pulled back, slightly, so that their eyes met. Those fucking
eyes—just as warm as the rest of him, deep brown, with those mesmerising flecks of gold…

“S’pose it’s not really my job to tell you what to do in the first place…” Sirius breathed, all anger
forgotten. It was impossible to stay mad with Remus looking at him like that—earnest and
searching and penitent. Sirius just wanted him to lean in again, to keep kissing his neck, to run
those long fingers up his thigh, under the table.

“No, but I don’t have to be such a dick about it,” Remus replied, scooting even further back,
stretching out a hand for his drink. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius smirked, coyly, raising an eyebrow. He could think of quite a few ways in
which he’d like Remus to make it up to him, and it was becoming very difficult to concentrate on
anything else.

“Later,” Remus rolled his eyes, slapping Sirius’s thigh playfully. He stifled a groan—Merlin, this
was pathetic. Three days without touching, and suddenly the barest hint of contact had him ready
to jump Remus in the middle of the pub.

He forced himself to relax back into his seat, putting more space between them. “So what did Grant
say?”

“Oh, we just caught up.” Remus shrugged, “He’s still working in Brighton, has his own flat; wants
to get a car for weekends.”

“We could go there, after school’s finished.” Sirius offered, “If you wanted? If there’s time for a
holiday.”

“Maybe,” Remus agreed, taking another swig of his beer. Sirius supposed it was the best answer
any of them could give. Right now, everything after Hogwarts was just one gigantic maybe.

“—so I told him I’d hex his bollocks off if he asked me one more time.” Yaz was saying across the
table, sending Marlene into a fit of helpless giggles,

“You’re awful!”

“Well he needs to learn his lesson!”

“Who?” Sirius asked, at the exact same time as James—they both leaned forward, mirroring each
other’s posture.

“Ugh, Lockhart,” Yaz grimaced, tossing her hair.

“Is he bothering you lot again?” James frowned, falling immediately into quidditch-captain mode,
“I told him to stay away from my team! I’ll tell Flitwick—”
“Don’t worry, he got the message this time,” Marlene interrupted, laughing, “Yaz is convincing.”

“What does he want?” Sirius took a sip of his beer, eager to get back to the gossip.

“He just keeps sniffing around, trying to find out what we’re up to.” James said, “Reckons he’s
being left out. He’s like a more hygiene conscious version of Snape in fifth year.”

Lily tutted and elbowed him, sharply, but James only laughed.

“Left out of what?” Remus wrinkled his brow, “He doesn’t even play, and he’s a Ravenclaw – they
lost the last game.”

“Moony!” Sirius grinned at him, “Did you just demonstrate quidditch knowledge?!”

This made everyone laugh—except Remus, who tried to hide his smile behind his glass of beer.

“Hard to avoid it in our bloody dorm,” he grumbled, mock-offended.

“Anyway, it’s not the quidditch team he’s interested in,” James got back to the matter at hand, “It’s
the other thing.” He lowered his voice ominously, glancing around as if looking for spies. Sirius
shook his head, smiling fondly—it was very clear to everyone at the table that Prongs was referring
to the Prank.

“He hasn’t asked me,” Remus said, unperturbed.

“That’s because you’ve got everyone fooled,” Marlene teased, smiling. “The whole school
somehow thinks you’re the mild one out of this lot.”

A slow smile crept across Remus’s face.

“Are you suggesting I’m not?” He smirked, raising an eyebrow, and—oh, Merlin, Sirius thought, I
am weak, I am so very, very weak. A small, strangled noise slipped from the back of his throat—he
chugged his drink hastily, hoping that no one had heard.

“Right,” Lily knocked back the last of her beer, wiping her lips on her sleeve as she stood, “We’ve
got two hours before I’ve got to start herding the prefects back, and I need to go to Scrivenshaft’s
before it closes. Potter?”

“Yep, coming.” He hopped up, draining what was left of his own pint.

“We both need broom polish, if you want to come, Pete?” Marlene offered, smiling as she slid out
from the bench.

“Great!” He chirped, shooting her a somewhat relieved smile as he clambered out after her.

“Black?” Marlene turned to him, “Didn’t you want new gloves?”

“I’ll order them from Quidditch Monthly,” he told her, too distracted to look up. Remus was licking
a drop of beer from the corner of his mouth, pink tongue darting out from behind his lips.

“Suit yourself,” Marlene said, easily. The next several minutes were spent rummaging around in
the booth to ensure that no one had forgotten anything, then shoving back and forth to the bar to
settle the tab. Finally, the group dispersed, waving goodbye as they headed for the door and
leaving Remus and Sirius alone in their private corner.

Remus turned to him, smiling angelically.

 “What do you fancy doing, then? Walk? Honeyduke’s?”

“When the dorm room is guaranteed to be empty for at least two hours?!” Sirius scoffed, raising a
brow. He had an entire list ready of things that he’d fancy doing—but none of them were
Hogsmeade-appropriate.

“More like an hour and a half, by the time we get up there…” Remus said coyly.

“Better get a move on then.”

“Oi,” Remus stood, smirking, curls flopping into his face. “I thought I told you I don’t like being
told what to do.”

He held the door open as they walked out of the pub, and Sirius brushed past him, turning and
leaning forward just enough to whisper,

“You’ll just have to tell me what to do, then.”

Moony’s eyes flashed, and the smirk went from coy to positively sinful. Merlin, Sirius thought, as
they hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, Why was I ever mad at him?

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "here you come again" by dolly parton!

do i think sirius would have listened to dolly? mmmmmm idk. but this song was too
good not to include <3
 Seventh Year: After Dark
Chapter Summary

may i offer you a snack in this trying time...?

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I don’t mind you hangin’ out

And talkin’ in your sleep

It doesn’t matter where you’ve been

As long as it was deep, yeah

You always knew to wear it well and

You look so fancy I can tell

And I don’t mind you hangin’ out

And talkin’ in your sleep

I guess you’re just what I needed (just what I needed)

I needed someone to feed

I guess you’re just what I needed (just what I needed)

I needed someone to bleed

Friday 28th April 1978

“Remus...Remus. Fuck’s sake, wake up...”

“Piss off,” Remus muttered, still half asleep as he rolled over. “S’the middle of the night.”

“You’re grinding your teeth again,” Sirius whispered, frowning.

“I can’t help it. Go to sleep.”

“Between your gnashing and Prongs’ snoring and Wormtail getting up every five minutes, how can
I?!”

“Oi!” Peter’s indignant voice came from the opposite end of the room, “I have a nervous bladder!”
“You shouldn’t drink so much before bed!” Sirius hissed.

“Sor-ry, mother,” Peter grumbled, “I didn’t realise you were monitoring my biology.”

“You trip over your dirty laundry every time you get up!”

“Actually, it was Moony’s books!”

“Not mine!” Remus protested, “For the prank!”

“All of you, shut up!” James snapped.

For a moment, there was silence.

“Bloody Wormtail,” Sirius grumbled, rolling over and shoving his face into his pillow.

“Great, now I need the loo...” Remus sighed, shoving back the blankets and crawling out of bed.

Everyone had been on edge lately, for good reason: NEWTs started next week, and there wasn’t a
single seventh-year who wasn’t feeling the strain of endless revision. Even Sirius had found
himself roped into a few study sessions, not wanting to let James and Remus one-up him when it
came to their final marks.

Sirius shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, listening to the quiet sound of water rushing and
the bathroom door opening and shutting. The moment Remus was out, Peter dashed over to the
little bathroom, footsteps scurrying across the floor. Suddenly, an explosion of light burst through
the room; in fumbling for the switch to the bathroom, Peter had accidentally turned on the
overheads. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, startled out of the sleep that he had just begun to drift
into.

“Wormtail, you prick!” He shouted, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over his face.

“Sorry, sorry!” Peter yelped, fumbling at the light switches again, “I didn’t mean to get that one...”

“I can’t wait until I don’t have to share a room with you anymore, you little rodent,” Sirius hissed,
glaring through the brightness, “Don’t you ever think about anyone else?!”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Peter shot back, voice slightly wobbly, “Think I like sharing with you and
Moony?!”

Sirius bristled, narrowing his eyes. “What about me and Moony?!”

“Just go to the loo, Peter,” Remus interceded, reaching over to turn on the bathroom lights and flip
off the switch for the overheads, allowing blissful darkness to fall over the room once more. Peter
stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it behind him.

“Silly little sod...” Sirius muttered, still glaring as his eyes re-adjusted to the dark.

“Sirius!” Remus frowned, using the commanding voice that he had perfected – the one that left no
room for protest, “Stop whining.”

Sirius fell silent immediately, sitting up a bit straighter. One command in that voice was usually
followed by others—be quiet, lie back, shirt off...

Remus smirked, as if he knew exactly what Sirius was thinking. “Good boy.” Traitorously, he did
not return to bed, instead glancing at the clock and muttering, “I’m going downstairs, I won’t be
able to sleep now.” He turned back, and the smirk became mildly sadistic. “And you can have
some peace.”

Tease, Sirius nearly said, but didn’t. It was true that he’d been complaining more than usual about
sharing a bed—he’d accidentally vanished his own earlier that week while they were practicing for
the prank, and even though he preferred sleeping together anyway, it was nice to have the option to
move when Remus started incessantly grinding his teeth in his sleep. Still, just because he’d been
whinging didn’t mean he actually wanted Moony to leave. Especially not after he’d purposely
gotten Sirius worked up, the bastard.

He frowned as Remus grabbed a book and left, watching the door shut quietly behind him. For a
moment there was nothing but darkness and silence, save for the crack of light from under the
bathroom door and the sound of water rushing as Peter washed his hands. Then James’s voice,
sleepy and amused, came from behind his bed curtains,

“...‘good boy’?”

Sirius’s face grew hot. “Shut up, Prongs.”

“Merlin, you really are like a dog!”

“I mean it, Potter, don’t make me smother you with your own pillow!”

“Oh, but then you wouldn’t be a very good boy, would you?”

There was a thump as one of Sirius’s pillows smacked against the curtains on James’s bed,
followed by muffled laughter. But then Peter exited the bathroom, and they both let the subject
drop, and within a few minutes James was back to his usual thunderous snoring.

Sirius sighed, shutting his eyes and trying to sleep. But it was no use—Peter had started up snoring
too; it was almost like he and Prongs were singing a duet. Sirius crawled out of bed, wrapping the
blanket around his shoulders like a cape and making his way down to the common room.

Remus was pouring tea when he walked in, already levitating a second cup over from the cabinet.
As Sirius moved over to the couch he said, without turning around,

“Thought you wanted to sleep?”

“Prongs’ snoring still,” Sirius mumbled around a yawn, wrapping himself even more tightly in the
blanket as a cool breeze whispered through the open window. “Bloody hell, it’s freezing down
here.”

“I’ll shut the window—”

“No, it’s ok. I’ll warm up.”

He accepted the mug of tea that Remus passed him, leaning against the taller boy’s shoulder as he
sat down. Remus murmured a spell under his breath to levitate his book in the air, wrapping one
arm around Sirius and holding his own cup of tea in the other hand.

“What you reading?” Sirius asked, blinking sleepily down at the thick text.

“Oh, something I found on legilimency.”

Sirius stiffened. “Eh?” He frowned at Remus, “Why?”

“Just interested.” The other boy shrugged, “Wanted to read something outside of my NEWT core
texts, and I thought – mind reading; cool. Who wouldn’t want to?”

“I think it ought to be illegal,” Sirius said, coldly, “It’s an invasion of privacy – practically a dark
art.”

Remus gave him a wary look. “Well, I’m only reading about it.”

Sirius blinked, realising how tense he’d become. He lay his head back on Remus’s shoulder,
muttering, “I didn’t mean you would...”

After a moment, Remus released the levitation spell, setting the book down on the coffee table in
front of the sofa. He lifted a hand to stroke Sirius’s hair, running his fingers gently through the
strands, brushing against his scalp with just the right amount of pressure. Sirius sighed, relaxing.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, after a bit, “I didn’t mean to snap.” He hesitated; swallowed, then said,
“It’s just that my mother can do it. She’s a legilimens.”

“Oh...”

“So she could find out what we were up to – where our ‘loyalties lay.’”

“I’m sorry, Padfoot,” Remus squeezed him a bit tighter, and Sirius felt warm, and safe, even as the
dark memories surfaced from the murk in the back of his mind.

“Don’t be. I’m well shot of her, mad old bat. And I’d sort of learnt to deflect it, by the end. Made
her so angry.” He tried to laugh. It worked, sort of.

“You learnt occlumency?” Remus asked, sounding impressed, “That’s incredible!”

“Not exactly...” Sirius trailed off, searching for the words to explain. Remus waited, patiently, and
after a moment Sirius sat up, placing his tea carefully on the little table.

“It’s more like...you just learn not to think the things she wants you to think. It got worse when we
were teenagers, you know, she was worried about ‘impure thoughts.’ Toujours pur. So I’d
just...distract her by thinking something else.”

“So she wouldn’t find out about Mary?” Remus asked, softly, “Or the other muggleborn girls?”

“Um.” Sirius swallowed. You are tainted—tainted, just as he was... “Yeah, that. And...” I can still
save you— “Well, whatever, anything I didn’t want her to know. Trouble is, you end up confusing
yourself. It’s like tying your own thoughts up in knots. Hard to unpick...’fraid you used to get the
raw end of that, a bit.”

He looked up, carefully, into Moony’s eyes. There was pity there, but there was something else,
too—something fierce, something protective. Something sweet. An understanding, which Sirius
hadn’t realised he’d been seeking.

Remus hugged him, tightly, both cups of tea abandoned on the table. Sirius pressed his face into
the crook between shoulder and neck, blinking back the tears that stung his eyes.

“Sirius...” Remus began, when they finally broke apart, “I’m so...”

“It’s fine, Moony.” Sirius assured him, quickly. “It’s over now.”

“I know, but I want you to know, I want to tell you...I really really...I...”
“I know,” Sirius breathed, leaning forward to kiss him. “Me too.”

* * *

Every day (every day) I try and I try and I try

But everybody wants to put me down

They say I’m going crazy

They say I got a lot of water in my brain

Ah, got no common sense

I got nobody left to believe in

Friday 5th May 1978

“I’m hungry,” Sirius groaned, lying with his head hanging upside down off the end of the bed.

“Take the cloak down to the kitchens, then.” Remus said absentmindedly, only half-listening from
where he was sitting propped against the pillows with a book.

“But that’s so far.”

“Don’t take the cloak down to the kitchens, then.”

“Ugh, you’re no help. Wormy, got any food?” Sirius looked hopefully up at Peter as he exited the
bathroom, yawning.

“No,” the shorter boy frowned, sullen, “You ate the last of my cauldron cakes last night.”

“Uggggghhhh. Prongs?”

“Sorry, mate. You can take the cloak if you want, though.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Can’t, I’ve got to be up early tomorrow for extra practice with Eriksson.”

Sirius groaned again, dramatically. “Utterly heartless, the lot of you. Do you really want to watch
me starve to death, here, in our beloved dormitory?”

“Oh, sod off, Pads, it’s your own fault for not eating enough at dinner.”

“I was busy!”

“You were trying to build a tower out of goblets.”

“Exactly!”

James tutted, exasperated, and from somewhere near Sirius’s feet Remus snorted, shaking his head
and turning a page in his book. Sirius pouted.

“Pleeeeeease?”

The balled-up invisibility cloak hit him in the face.

Twenty minutes later, Sirius reached the final landing before the staircase up to Gryffindor Tower,
arms full of sweets. The house elves had been overly accommodating, as usual—he just hoped that
his friends were hungry too.

Sirius was about to round a turn in the spiralling staircase when he heard something. He hesitated,
listening – sure enough, there was a soft shuffling sound, and then...sniffling? Someone was
crying?

He peeked around the bend, safely hidden under the invisibility cloak, and was shocked to see
Mary. She sat curled up in the little alcove next to the window, knees drawn up to her chest. Her
face was red and splotchy, free of the makeup she usually wore, and she was clad only in pyjamas.
Sirius didn’t think he had ever seen her without jewellery before.

As Sirius watched, Mary sniffled again, rubbing at the tears on her cheeks. He felt guilty for
spying—clearly, he was intruding on something private. But now that he’d seen her, it didn’t feel
right to just continue on to the common room.

He ducked back around the bend, hastily whispering a levitation spell for the snacks in his arms
before whipping off the cloak and shoving it under his robes. Once it was hidden, he scooped the
sweets up again and continued up the stairs.

“Mary?” He said, cautiously, as he approached the little alcove. She jumped, head whipping
around.

“Oh, perfect,” she muttered, with a small, bitter laugh that sounded completely unfamiliar coming
from her lips, “It’s you.”

“Er...are you alright?”

Mary snorted. “I dunno, Sirius – do I bloody look alright to you?” She scrubbed at her face again,
snapping, “What are you even doing out here?! It’s past curfew.”

“Snuck down to the kitchens,” he said, holding up his armful of sweets as proof. Mary’s brow
furrowed.

“How’d you get past—ugh, never mind, I don’t care. Just run along, Sirius, I don’t have time for
you tonight.”

“Did something happen?”

Mary shook her head, looking away. “‘Did something happen’,” she muttered, half to herself,
“Christ, it’s like none of you people ever see what’s going on around here.”

“You can tell me,” Sirius said, gently, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, “It’s alright.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you!” Mary shook him off, glaring, “Jesus, nobody in this castle ever treats
me like a fucking person! It’s like I’m—I’m—just this thing, this thing for all of you to dump your
shit on, and I’m just supposed to take it, and make you feel better about it, and—and—”

“Mary, what—”

“Oh, please, Sirius, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m fucking talking about!”

Sirius stared at her, utterly shocked. “Where is this coming from?!”

Mary laughed, a slightly hysterical sound. “Where is this coming from? Where is this coming
from? Fuck, I dunno, maybe it’s coming from the six months that you made me feel like shit when
I was fifteen because you were trying to figure yourself out? From the way that fucking—
Emmeline Vance can sleep with Roman Rotherhide as much as she fucking wants, and nobody’ll
ever call her a slag for it, but the second I go out with him every boy at this stupid bloody school
just can’t wait to tell me that I’m easy? And god forbid I complain about it to my best fucking
friend, cause oh, jesus, she has it so much worse, it’s so hard to be another fucking half-blood white
woman in this castle, and if I don’t want everyone calling me a slut then I should just stop acting
like one, shouldn’t I?”

“Wh—Marlene called you a—?” Sirius broke off, hesitant to repeat the word. Mary threw her
hands up.

“She bloody may as well have, it’s what she was getting at!”

Sirius stared, completely at a loss for what to do. He didn’t think he’d ever even seen Mary cry
before—she was always so cheerful, so bright. He’d seen her angry, of course, but even then she
was radiant, passionate and unwaveringly confident. He would never have expected her to…break
down like this, stifling sobs even as she shouted at him.

“That…that’s really shitty of her, Mary, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, spare me, Black, it’s not like you’re any better.”

“What?! Did I—have I said something to upset you?” He wracked his brain trying to think of
anything out of the ordinary from the past few days. But as far as he was aware, things had been
entirely normal—they’d all mostly just been revising for NEWTs.

Mary laughed again, that same bitter sound. Her shoulders slumped; the fire dimmed in her eyes,
and she began to look more exhausted than angry.

“Yes,” she croaked, sniffling, “No. I dunno. It’s—more than that. It’s not just you.” Sirius watched,
anxiously, as she sucked in a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was a bit steadier.

“Some days it’s like…this entire fucking castle is just determined to make me hate myself. If it’s
not one thing it’s another – my blood, my skin, my fucking hair—d’you know McGonagall
suggested I try to make it look more ‘professional’ for Ministry interviews?” She snorted, “As if
I’d ever want to work for the bloody Ministry in the first place.”

Sirius remained silent, and Mary sighed, tilting her head back against the stone wall. “I just really
can’t wait to leave this whole bloody school behind.”

For a moment, they were both quiet. Then Sirius mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mary,” wishing he knew
what else to say. She shook her head.

“Yeah. Well. Doesn’t really change anything, does it?”

 He swallowed, looking down. “No, I suppose not.” After a moment, he glanced up again, asking,
“Is there…something that brought all this on? I mean—I just…I didn’t realise that you…er…”

“Felt like shit?”

He shrugged, sheepishly. “Yeah. That.”

Mary sighed again, deeply, turning to look out the window. “I dunno,” she muttered, “S’pose it’s
just everything. I had a conversation with Remus earlier, about the war…and then McGonagall’s
stupid comment…and then I saw Roman, and he said some stuff…and then I tried to talk to
Marlene about it, and…well, here I am.” She laughed, weakly. “Sorry for yelling at you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not sorry.”

He smiled, tentatively, and after a moment she smiled back.

“Er…” he stepped forward, shuffling around the sweets in his arms, “That stuff in sixth year. I
never…I never meant to make you feel…bad, about yourself. I wouldn’t ever want to make you
feel that way.”

“I know,” Mary wrapped her arms a bit more tightly around her knees, “Still did, though.” She
looked very tired, oddly vulnerable without her usual lipstick and mascara. Sirius frowned, guilt
twisting in his chest.

“Um…I’ll…try to do better? In, y’know. The future. And—if I’m ever acting like a prat, you have
my full permission to yell at me.”

This earned a weak laugh. “Noted, Black. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He continued to hover, feeling simultaneously like there was nothing else he could do and that he
should be doing more. After a minute of silence, he finally held out his arms.

“Erm…fancy a cauldron cake?”

Mary turned to stare up at him. After a moment, a tired smile crept across her face.

“Sure, Sirius. A cauldron cake sounds good.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "just what i needed" by the cars; song halfway through is
"somebody to love" by (of course) queen!

this scene with mary is another attempt to explore the specific intersection of racism +
sexism that she'd face at Hogwarts in this fic, which i think can sometimes get
overlooked or sort of like...lumped in with the sexism her white friends face? as with
the valentine's day chapter, if i missed the mark anywhere please let me know; i've
seen a lot of critiques over the way the fandom portrays this character and am doing
my best to be sensitive to that!
 Seventh Year: The Final
Chapter Summary

i love sports

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Can’t stay at home, can’t stay at school

Old folks say, “You poor little fool!”

Down the streets I’m the girl next door

I’m the fox you’ve been waiting for

Hello, daddy, hello, mom

I’m your ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!

Hello world, I’m your wild girl

I’m your ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!

Sirius Black would never be a fan of Christopher. Even when he wasn’t asking Remus to
Hogsmeade every weekend, the little prat was just boring, and he always had a pretentious sort of
frown on his face, like he thought he was better than everyone. Plus, even after that kiss in the
corridor, Sirius still sometimes caught the boy casting longing looks after Remus.

But as the wind whipped through his hair, and the crowd screamed and booed and cheered, and
James caught his eye, grinning—Sirius could have kissed Christopher, right there in the middle of
the field. He might not like the boy, but he had to give credit where credit was due, and Sirius knew
as he looked up at the stands that he would forever be grateful to the mousy little prefect.

* * *

It had all started four days ago, though of course none of them could have predicted how things
would end up. The marauders had spent the entire evening in the library, studying for the last exam
they would ever take at Hogwarts: Arithmancy. At least—James, Sirius, and Remus were studying.
Peter was providing snacks (the house elves down in the kitchens simply adored him).

“It’s half eleven,” Sirius said, around a yawn, “C’mon, I don’t think my brain can absorb any more
knowledge tonight.”
“I didn’t think your brain ever absorbed any—ow!” Sirius interrupted James’s teasing with a sharp
kick under the table, and the other boy winced and rubbed his leg ruefully.

“C’mon,” Sirius tried again, “It’ll be curfew soon, anyway.”

“We’re with the head boy, I don’t think curfew matters.” Remus muttered, without even glancing
up from his frantic note-taking.

Fortunately, James was on Sirius’s side. He yawned as he took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes and
leaning back in his chair.

“Nah, Padfoot’s right – we’ve been here hours. Let’s call it quits and have a refresher session
tomorrow?”

Peter glanced back and forth between Remus and the others, clearly just as eager to leave. Remus
dipped his quill back in the pot of ink.

“You lot go, if you want, but I’ll kick myself if I waste any time on this – it’s our last exam!”

“You’re hardly wasting time,” Sirius tutted, “You’ve been in the library so much this term they’re
considering putting up a plaque in your honour.”

“It’s necessary,” Remus insisted, “I want to beat Snape.”

“And you will.” Sirius assured him, “Come on, you’re getting black rings under your eyes.”

“Oh no,” Remus groaned, sarcastically, finally setting down his quill, “My roguish good looks,
ruined...”

“Shut up, you handsome prick.” Sirius said, with a playful nudge.

Remus finally acquiesced, and the four of them packed up all their books and papers before
heading towards the exit. Most of the desks in the library were still occupied by harried students,
muttering anxiously to themselves or their friends as they tried to cram in some last-minute
revision.

“I can’t wait for it all to be over,” Peter sighed, wistfully, “Imagine! No more homework, forever!”

Remus turned to him with such a distressed look on his face that Sirius couldn’t help but laugh,
slinging an arm around the poor swot’s shoulder.

“You’ll still have deadlines,” James remined Pete, stifling another yawn as they walked through
the quiet corridors. “If you want to do ministry work. Dad complains about them all the time.”

“Doubt I’ll ever be as important as your dad,” Peter muttered, looking down at his feet.

“How are the applications going, anyway?” James asked, ignoring the bitter undertones to the
remark.

“Oh. All right. Mum says my step-dad might be able to put in a good word...you know, in case I
don’t hear back from anywhere.”

“It won’t be because of you, Wormy,” James reassured him, “They’re making cuts everywhere –
because of the war. Things are hard all over.”

“Not for quidditch players,” Peter muttered, resentfully, scuffing his shoe along the floor.
Sirius frowned at the sour tone, but said nothing, letting James respond for himself.

“I’m not going to be a quidditch player. Not until the war’s won.”

James had been very clear about that. So Sirius didn’t understand why Peter still insisted on acting
so sullen whenever the topic of jobs was brought up—they all knew that James would be
sacrificing more than any of them by joining the war. He probably could have had ten different
contracts to choose from, if he wanted to go pro, yet he was dedicating himself instead to making
the world a safer place. It was bloody noble of him, and it bothered Sirius when Pete gave him a
hard time about it.

He was still debating whether or not to say something snarky when Remus suddenly stopped,
staring straight ahead and frowning. The rest of the marauders paused, too, looking at him.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked, “Forget something?”

Remus shook his head, brow furrowed. After a moment, he whispered,

“There’s someone around the corner.”

“Filch?” James whispered back.

Remus shook his head again,

“I think it’s...” he trailed off, striding ahead without warning and peering around the corner.
“Chris!”

The rest of them heard the younger boy’s voice, slightly dopey and slow,

“Oh, hello...um...Remus?”

When Sirius hurried over to Moony’s side, Christopher was just standing, aimlessly, leaning
against the wall and blinking in a dazed sort of way. Remus frowned, concerned,

“Are you ok?”

“Oh yes,” Chris nodded, “Very well, thanks. Very good. Very fine indeed.”

“Is he...stoned?” Sirius couldn’t stop the amused grin that spread across his face. It would have
been too funny—stuck-up, priggish Christopher, so high that he could barely string a proper
sentence together.

But Remus didn’t seem amused. He was still concerned, reaching out to touch the younger boy’s
arm, gently, as he murmured, “I don’t think so...Christopher? What are you doing? It’s almost
curfew, are you on patrol?”

“Patrol?” Christopher blinked, dumbly. Then a dopey smile spread across his face. “Yes! Yes, that
must be it!”

“He’s confunded,” James said, standing at Remus’s other shoulder. “Christopher? Has anyone cast
a spell on you tonight? Or near you, and it backfired?”

“Maybe he did it to himself,” Peter murmured, “I did that once, remember?”

“No, Chris wouldn’t try to confund someone.” Remus’s frown deepened. “Chris, who was the last
person you saw?”
“Hm? Oh, er...was it...you?”

“No,” Remus said, patiently, putting his hands on the smaller boy’s shoulders and looking him
dead in the eye, “No, not me. Concentrate. Before I got here, what were you doing?”

“Was I patrolling?”

“No, I mean...oh, come on, let’s go back to the tower, eh?” Remus sighed, keeping one hand on
Christopher’s shoulder to steer him as they began to move down the corridor again, glancing back
at his friends with a concerned look on his face.

“Should we tell someone?” Sirius asked, turning to James, “Or...I dunno, take him to Madam
Pomfrey?”

“I’m not ill!” Christopher informed them, helpfully.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I dunno. We’ll ask Lily, she’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t know what to do,” said Lily, once they were all gathered in the common room. She’d tried
asking Christopher a series of questions, but he hadn’t been able to respond properly to any of
them. Still, he seemed alright, smiling up happily from where he was sat in an armchair with that
same blank look in his eyes. Finally, Lily gave up, frowning down at him.

“I mean, he looks ok...and he doesn’t seem upset...Christopher? Did you get into a fight with
someone? An argument?”

“I don’t think so,” Christopher replied, yawning. “I think I’ll go to bed, if that’s alright with you
lot.”

The rest of them exchanged helpless glances, before Lily turned to James,

“Take him up, will you? Just make sure he doesn’t get lost on the way.”

James nodded, springing into action immediately. He clapped a hand on Christopher’s shoulder,

“C’mon then, mate, let’s get you to your dorm...”

They watched the two boys disappear up the stairs.

“Weird,” Lily sighed, “And no one else was around?”

“Not that I saw,” Remus told her, “But god knows how long he was standing there.”

“Well, he was on the rota for patrol this evening,” she mused, rummaging in her bag for the
organiser where she kept track of prefect patrol schedules. “I always tell the prefects to go round in
pairs, though, so he shouldn’t have been alone. He’s usually so reliable. I’ll talk to him in the
morning, maybe he’ll be a bit sharper then.”

“Doesn’t look like he came to any harm,” Peter said, unconcerned, “Maybe he was drunk, or
stoned or whatever, and he’s just trying to cover his tracks.”

Remus frowned at this suggestion, clearly disagreeing—Sirius had to admit that as funny as he
found the idea of stoned Christopher, he didn’t think it was very likely, either. The boy was such a
goody-two-shoes, he probably wouldn’t even touch a cigarette. And besides, James knew his stuff
when it came to magical attacks—he was the best in their year at Defence Against the Dark Arts.
If he thought Chris had been confounded, that was probably what it was.

When James finally made his way back down to the common room, he reported that Christopher
was safely in bed and seemed alright, all things considered. They all settled down in front of the
fireplace and let the subject drop—it wasn’t exactly the strangest thing that had ever happened at
Hogwarts.

It wasn’t long before their conversation turned to the upcoming quidditch match—Gryffindor vs.
Slytherin. They would be playing in just a handful of days, and both James and Sirius had hardly
been able to think about anything else. Now that everything had calmed down with Marlene,
practices were much less awkward—which was good, because every second not spent revising for
NEWTs was spent on the pitch. When they weren’t out practicing drills or flying laps, they were
talking strategy. Peter was almost more enthusiastic about it than any of them; he had an entire
notebook full of information about every player on each side.

Remus, on the other hand, could hardly be bothered to pay attention. As the others nattered on
about Slytherin’s new beater, he pulled out his Arithmancy book and began trying to revise—but
within minutes, he had dozed off in his cosy armchair.

Half an hour later, as the others were stretching and standing to head up to bed, Sirius shook him
awake. “Moony, c’mon, bedtime.”

Remus blinked the sleep from his eyes, looking down at his open textbook in dismay once he
realised he’d fallen asleep.

“Bollocks.” He grumbled, stretching. Sirius laughed.

“Told you that was enough for one day.”

Remus’s only response was a huge yawn as he stood up. He trailed after Sirius and Peter as they
made their way over to the stairs, leaving James and Lily to perform their usual goodnight routine
—which involved quite a lot of tongue, yet very little speaking.

* * *

Sirius was shaken awake at five the next morning by James, and he groaned quietly as he stretched,
trying not to wake Remus. Moony was finally sleeping well again – no more tossing and turning –
and for a moment Sirius just stared down at his peaceful face, lips slightly parted with each breath.

Sirius moved slowly, doing his best not to jostle the sleeping boy as he began to crawl out of bed.
But it was no use—Remus twitched and murmured, shifting under the blanket.

“Mmm, stay...” His hand skimmed lightly along the skin of Sirius’s upper arm, making him shiver.

“Sorry, Moony,” he moved the tired boy’s hand away, gently, placing it back on the bed, “Big
game in two days, got to practice.”

“What time is it?”

“Just gone five.”

“Ugh.” Remus groaned, pulling the blankets over his head. “You’re all mental.”

“Yup.” Sirius grinned at the lump under the covers, “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you later.”

James was tapping his foot impatiently by the time Sirius emerged, using a complicated series of
gestures to indicate that he should dress as quickly as possible so that they could get down to the
pitch. Sirius rolled his eyes, but obliged, pulling on his kit and following James down the stairs.

Prongs was relentless at practice, shouting orders and blowing on his whistle until everyone’s ears
hurt, taking them through the same rigorous set of drills for over an hour. By the time he finally
released them, everyone was completely knackered, too tired to even complain as they dragged
their feet towards the locker rooms.

Sirius and James ended up walking back to the Great Hall with Marlene and Yaz, who was wincing
and rubbing her shoulders – she’d spent the better part of an hour catching the quaffles that were
launched at full speed into her arms.

“Merlin, Potter,” Yaz groaned, “You’re a bloody fantastic captain, and I’ve got no idea what the
team will do without you next year—but I will not miss that whistle of yours.”

James laughed, pulling the whistle out of his pocket and dangling it in front of her face. “You mean
this old thing?”

Yaz shuddered like a vampire confronted with garlic. “Get that away from me, I never want to see
it again after this weekend.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe it’s our last match ever,” Marlene sighed.

“Maybe for you,” her girlfriend poked her in the ribs, “I’ve still got another year left.”

“Yeah, yeah, lucky you...” Marlene shook her head, smiling fondly. Yaz smiled back.

“It won’t be the same without you lot, though.” She said, nudging James with her shoulder, “I’ll
have to deal with Eriksson all by myself, now.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” James grinned at her. It hadn’t been announced yet, but Sirius was fairly
certain that he and McGonagall were planning on making Yaz captain next year—she’d be the
most experienced member on the team once the seventh years graduated, and her no-nonsense
attitude would lend itself to wrangling a team of rowdy Gryffindors. Sirius was pretty sure that Yaz
knew it, too—though she hadn’t said anything outright, she kept dropping hints, as though it were
already a done deal.

Their usual spot at the table was still empty when they reached the Great Hall, though Peter and
Mary arrived for breakfast just a few minutes after they all sat down.

“Where’s Remus?” Sirius asked, at the same time that James said, “Where’s Lily?”

The girls all began to laugh, though Peter just rolled his eyes.

“They went to the library,” he grumbled, spooning porridge into a bowl, “More arithmancy
revision.”

“I’m sure they’ll be down soon,” Mary added, still giggling, “Lily left the room nearly an hour ago,
and I doubt Remus will want to miss breakfast...”
The group settled into their usual chatter, passing coffee pots and sugar bowls across the table.
When the post came, an owl swooped down next to the platter of eggs with a letter for Marlene,
who patted the bird fondly before sending it away. As she scanned the letter, her face darkened
slightly. By the time she put it down, she was chewing on her lip.

“Another one from your mum?” Yaz asked, reaching out to take her hand under the table. Marlene
nodded.

“Did something happen with Danny?” James asked, frowning as he looked up from his plate of
food.

“No,” Marlene sighed, “She’s just checking up every few days to ask me about scheduling the
entrance exam for healer academy. I keep trying to tell her that I’ve already got my NEWTs to
focus on, right now, but...” she sighed again, shaking her head.

“I didn’t know there was a separate exam for healer academy.” James said, scratching his head, “I
thought it was just based on NEWTs results.”

“I wish,” Marlene muttered, “NEWTs results are only half of it, you have to sit for a specialised
exam if you actually want to apply. You can find an apprenticeship with just NEWTs as a potion-
maker, or an apothecarist, but if you want to go the healer route it’s all about test scores.”

“Blimey,” James shook his head, “And you still want to do it?”

Marlene shrugged. “It’s the only job I’ve ever wanted. I’ve been preparing for the exam for the
past three years, I’ve known it was coming—it's just a lot to think about, on top of NEWTs.”

Yaz wrapped an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders and squeezed, smiling encouragingly.
“You’ll do great,” she said, confidently, “There’s no one that would make a better healer than
you.”

Marlene smiled back at her, gratefully, and the rest of their friends chimed in with added
encouragement.

The talk about healer academy and entrance exams was cut short by the arrival of Lily and Remus,
who both seemed very out of breath and somewhat flustered. Lily was obviously trying to suppress
a smile, shooting amused looks at Remus—whose expression was stormy, eyes dark and mouth
twisted into a frown.

“Stupid...ridiculous...completely unfair...” he grumbled to himself as he sat down, and Lily’s smile

only widened. Sirius glanced back and forth between the two of them, curious.

“Something happen?” He asked, as the rest of their friends turned to look at the two newcomers.

“Oh, something happened, alright...” Lily chuckled, shaking her head.

Remus scowled, reaching for the eggs. “Bloody Christopher...”

“What happened with Christopher?” Sirius asked, frowning.

Remus was still grumbling, so it was Lily who answered, obviously trying to contain her
amusement as she spoke.

“He jellified Lockhart.”

“He...what?!“

She nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “Apparently, Lockhart’s the one who confunded him last
night. He tried to do it again today, and Chris used a jelly-legs jinx—except he, and I quote,
‘expanded’ on it—according to Remus, you’re responsible for that one, Potter.”

“You taught Chris jelly-legs supreme?” James turned to Remus with a wild smile on his face.
Remus groaned.

“Anyway,” Lily continued, shooting James a disapproving look (which was mitigated somewhat by
her helpless grin), “The spell went wild, and instead of doing what it usually does, it...it...” she
pressed a hand to her mouth, clearly fighting back laughter. The rest of them waited on the edge of
their seats as Lily took a deep breath,

“It turned him to jelly.”

James blinked. “It what?”

Lily nodded, giggling, “When Remus and I got there, we didn’t even know it was a person at first!
He was just—” she broke off, trying to get her laughter under control, “A giant blue jelly!”

For a moment, James stared at her. Then he threw his head back, laughing uproariously, and pretty
soon the rest of their group had joined in—even Remus was smiling, albeit grudgingly. Sirius
wiped tears from his eyes, trying to picture Lockhart transformed into quivering blue gelatine.

“He’ll be alright though, I assume?” Marlene asked, once everyone had calmed down a bit. Lily
nodded.

“Madam Pomfrey said he’ll be in the hospital wing for a few days, but there shouldn’t be any
permanent damage.”

“Why are you so grumpy, then, Moony?” Sirius asked, turning to Remus, “Lockhart’s an
insufferable git, thought you hated him as much as the rest of us.”

Remus sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not the spell I’m annoyed about...” he muttered. Sirius raised
a brow.

“I had to fetch McGonagall, and she didn’t believe that Remus and Chris had just found Gilderoy
like that...” Lily explained, still a bit giggly. “So she punished them anyway.”

“Well, a bit of detention never hurt anyone!”

“She didn’t give me detention.” Remus scowled.

“She didn’t?”

“She said she thought a different punishment would be more fitting, seeing as Remus only has a
few weeks left at Hogwarts anyway...” Lily said, with a smug smile playing at the corners of her
lips.

“What’d she give you, then?” Peter piped up, peering across the table. Remus looked to Lily, but
she shook her head, refusing to explain for him. He sighed again, heavily.

“Shesed’vegodakom’ndatamash...” Remus mumbled, barely audible, blurring all the words

together.
“Sorry, what was that?”

“She said I’ve got to commentate the match!” He snapped, glaring down at his pumpkin juice.
Sirius’s eyes widened, and across the table, James’s face split into a slow grin.

“When you say match...”

“You don’t mean...”

Remus slumped in his seat. “Yes,” he told them, defeated, “Since Lockhart won’t be able to, she’s
going to make me take over his job at the upcoming quidditch match.”

Sirius just about died from laughter—by the time he’d calmed down, he was gasping for breath,
tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, Merlin!” He gasped, helplessly, “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard!”

He and James spent the rest of the day teasing Remus about his predicament, absolutely thrilled
with the idea of Moony—who could barely tell a bludger from a quaffle—trying to muddle his way
through explaining an entire quidditch game. Marlene and Yaz seemed just as amused, and
between the four of them the teasing was relentless, lasting well into the evening.

“I just won’t do it,” Remus insisted, over and over again, “I’ll just sit there with my mouth shut,
there’s nothing they can do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sirius laughed, “You need to sing our praises!”

“It’s really just about following the quaffle,” James assured him, “If you can keep your eye on that,
you’ll be fine.”

“Oi, spare a thought for the beaters!” Marlene objected.

“And the keeper!” Yasmin put in.

Peter was the only one who didn’t seem to be enjoying Remus’s predicament, sulking in the corner
as the rest of them sat around the fire. It took no stretch of the imagination to figure out why—with
his notebook full of observations and details written down after watching hours of practices, he
clearly thought that he would be better suited to the task. While Sirius supposed that this was
probably true, he doubted that having Peter commentate the match would be anywhere near as
entertaining as listening to Moony do it.

In the end, though, it all worked out—Remus begged Peter for his help preparing, which seemed to
cheer the sullen boy up, and the two of them spent nearly as much time studying for the match over
the next two days as they did revising for NEWTs. Remus even got permission from McGonagall
to have Peter sit in the commentator’s box with him, in case he needed help. Sirius wasn’t sure that
he had ever seen Pete work harder on any assignment in their seven years at Hogwarts.

When the day of the match finally came, the stands were a sea of red and green. Sirius paused as
they walked onto the field, heart in his throat, and James clapped him on the back as he strolled by.

“Alright, Black?”

He savoured it—the buzzing crowd, the brush of wind, the spark of adrenaline in his veins.

“Never better.”
Sirius felt a thrill of ecstatic joy as they took their positions with their brooms, the sort of wild
happiness that not even his brother’s sour face could touch. He grinned fiercely at Reggie from
across the pitch, teeth bared, feeling nothing but the desire to win. He’d never expected to play
another match at Hogwarts; he’d be damned if he let Slytherin steal this glory from him. From
James. From their team.

Suddenly, the sound of a throat clearing rang out over the stadium. “Hello…er, I mean…welcome,
everyone, to the Hogwarts Quidditch cup final, 1978…”

Sirius had to fight to keep from laughing. The game hadn’t even started yet, and Remus was
already flustered—James had given him a shot of firewhisky for his nerves, and Mary had
graciously offered half of her joint, but neither seemed to be doing much to calm the poor boy now
that the game was about to begin.

“Right, um. So, here we go…the teams are on the pitch. That’s Gryffindor in red – Captain James
Potter, and Slytherin in green – Captain Kerensa Smythe. Um…I mean not a lot to say, really, until
they’re all up…”

Sirius gripped his broom, still grinning, and waited for Hooch to blow her whistle. She was
smiling, too, and shaking her head slightly.

“Oh, ok, so the players…well obviously James. He’s the chaser…he’s pretty good, I’m told. I
mean, he’s the one who told me…”

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd; James squinted up at the commentator’s booth,
affronted.

“Um. Gryffindor keeper, Yasmin Patel, also very good, I suppose, I mean as far as I know, I’m no
expert…Sirius Black and Marlene McKinnon, beaters – good beaters…I mean, the whole team’s
really good, let’s just say that.”

Madam Hooch was signalling for them all to mount, and Sirius tried to keep his focus even as he
listened to Remus listing off the Slytherin players—he somehow managed to give even less detail
about them, though he did gleefully announce that the seeker was “Reggie Black.” Regulus
cringed, and Sirius smirked at him, tauntingly.

“Oh great, looks like they’re about to start,” Remus announced, “Yep, there goes the whistle, and –
no surprises here – Potter is in possession of the quaffle. Blimey, he’s fast, look at him go!
Aaaaand it’s a goal! Ten – nil to Gryffindor! Nice one, Prongs!”

James took a victory lap around the pitch, grinning at the cheering crowd and throwing a thumbs-
up towards Remus. Sirius reached out to high-five him as he swept past, limbs buzzing with
adrenaline.

As the game continued, Sirius was pleasantly surprised to discover that Remus was not entirely
incompetent when it came to commentating quidditch. At least, he was able to give a somewhat
accurate summary of what was occurring on the pitch in front of him.

“Slytherin now in possession of the quaffle…er…I think it’s Timothy Bulstrode…yep, ok…hm, not
as fast as James, is he? Never mind, he’s nearly there – argh! No, blocked by a bludger there from
McKinnon, well done Marlene, that looked like it hurt!”

The microphone picked up on Professor McGonagall’s voice, slightly muffled,

“Mr. Lupin, a little less bias, if you please.”

“Sorry, professor…ok, so, Potter back in possession, he passes it to Eriksson…Eriksson’s really
flying, she’s almost – oh bugger. Slytherin back in possession.”

A disgruntled squawk from McGonagall at the swearing; Remus apologised hurriedly,

“Sorry! Bulstrode heading for the goal posts now…oh come on, even I’m faster than that…he
shoots, and – BLOCKED by Gryffindor keeper Patel! See, told you she was good!”

Three fourths of the stands were cheering, overwhelming the booing that came from the green
quarter. Like James, Yaz took a victory lap, and Sirius took advantage of the opportunity to fly past
the commentator’s box. Remus was smiling, microphone sat square in front of his freckled face.
Sirius grinned back, catching his eye.

“Eriksson back in possession of the quaffle now, passes it to Potter, Potter’s charging up the pitch –
see, Bulstrode?! That’s how you bloody fly – sorry professor – GOAL! Twenty – nil to
Gryffindor!”

Sirius had never heard Remus speak so enthusiastically about quidditch before; he wondered if it
was a good thing that McGonagall had never forced Moony to do this earlier, or she might have
created a monster.

“Looks like Slytherin seeker Black might have seen the snitch,” Remus spoke quickly, and Sirius
whipped his head around to check—sure enough, Reg was leaning forward over his broom, diving
sharply. “Yep, he’s definitely seen something, he’s speeding up, he’s—ah, bad luck, blocked by a
bludger there from Gryffindor beater, Black.”

Sirius threw a wink towards Remus from across the pitch—although he had no idea if the other
boy could actually see it or not. Regulus glared at him, furiously, along with the rest of his
teammates, but Sirius only smirked at them. Bring it on, then.

Things ramped up after that – nothing strictly outside the rules, but there were definitely a few
more elbows thrown, and the beaters on both sides started swinging with more force.

“Eriksson has the quaffle again, is she going to pass to Potter…? No, looks like she’s going to try
for a goal herself – COME ON, ERIKSSON! OH FU—I mean, FLIPPING HELL! That was
uncalled for! Eriksson hit by a bludger from Avery – Slytherin, and Knott now has possession.
Eriksson looks dazed…is she…no, that’s a thumbs up, good girl!”

Another brief pause for an indistinct reprimand from McGonagall, and Remus was back at it again.

“Right, so Knott has the quaffle…he shoots…ten points to Slytherin – but it’s still Gryffindor’s
game! Potter has the quaffle, he’s flying…he’s nearly there, he’s – SHIT, WATCH OUT,
JAMES!”

Kerensa Smythe was flying at breakneck speed directly towards James, clearly intending to knock
him bodily off-course. Before she could reach him, though, Marlene swooped in, crashing into the
Slytherin Captain instead.

“Bloody hell!” Remus shouted into the microphone, “Nicely done, McKinnon! That girl is brutal –
oh, come on, Hooch, that’s got to be a penalty to Gryffindor, get off your arse and referee the
sodding match! Uh oh, looks like little Reggie Black has his eye on the snitch again…”

Sirius couldn’t help but laugh, spinning in mid-air to see where his brother was on the pitch. Up in
the stands, McGonagall shouted at Remus again, threatening to take the microphone away—when
it became apparent that Remus would have no issues with that arrangement, she relented, and the
 commentary continued.

“So we’re now – what is it? Oh right, sixty – twenty to Gryffindor – just goes to show that cheating
isn’t going to pay off – I hope you’re listening, Black – I mean the younger Black, obviously—”

Sirius was worried that if he laughed any harder he would be in danger of falling off his broom
completely. Across the pitch, Regulus and the Gryffindor seeker were diving headfirst towards the
snitch, speeding up sharply and headed straight towards each other—

“Buggering Christ, that was close!” Remus shouted, as the snitch darted out of reach and both
seekers careened into the stands, somehow managing to stay on their brooms as they tried to pull
out of their dives. At the exact same moment, Bulstrode managed to pitch the quaffle through one
of the goalposts, missing Yasmin’s outstretched fingers by centimetres.

“They what? They – shit, sorry, folks! Slytherin scored again, must have missed that one…”

Half the crowd was laughing hysterically as the other half booed – though, for perhaps the first
time ever in Hogwarts history, the booing was aimed not at the game, but at the commentator.
Remus did not seem perturbed in the slightest.

“Won’t happen again!” He chirped, “Right, Potter back in pursuit of the quaffle, dodges a bludger
from Avery there – jesus, this game is violent – Black – the good one – catches up with the bludger
and aims it at…yes, Regulus Black once again has to dodge. Lucky he’s so used to weaselling his
way out of trouble, eh—”

Kerensa had started following after Regulus, trying to protect him, as though she knew that the only
hope Slytherin had of winning was to catch the snitch early on. Sirius exchanged a look with
Marlene, who grinned at him; they both fired bludgers straight for the Slytherin captain, forcing
her to abandon her bodyguard position at Reggie’s side.

“FUCK ME!” Remus yelled, watching her swoop out of the way, “Completely mental! I seriously
have no idea why anyone plays this – ah, but fair play, it’s distracted Regulus enough to…wait…
Yes! YES! BLOODY YES! THAT’S GRYFFINDOR WITH THE SNITCH! WE BLOODY
WON! OH MY GOD, THANK FUCK FOR THAT, I REALLY—”

“That’s enough!” McGonagall’s shrill voice echoed over the stands as she yanked the microphone
away, cutting Remus off—but anything else she may have said was drowned out by the roar of the
crowd, who flooded out onto the field in a tidal wave of red and gold.

Sirius landed so quickly that he stumbled, but before he could regain his balance James was there,
knocking him sideways in a ferocious bear hug. Sirius laughed, elated, and hugged him back,
feeling so alive that his magic buzzed beneath his skin. When they broke apart, James was
glowing, glasses askew, hair a snarled mess around his face. He grinned so broadly that he looked
as if his face might split in two, shouting to be heard over the cheers of the crowd,

“We did it, Sirius! We did it!”

Sirius laughed, and pulled him in for another hug, half-wishing that there was a way to make this
moment last forever.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "cherry bomb" by the runaways!

apologies for the slightly delayed updated tonight -- i was watching a movie and got
distracted lol
 Seventh Year: Legacy - Part One
Chapter Summary

boo

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The warmth of your love

Is like the warmth of the sun

And this will be our year

Took a long time to come

Don’t let go of my hand

Now darkness has gone

And this will be our year

Took a long time to come

“You could nick it, bet it wouldn’t be hard.” Sirius suggested, watching Remus stare into the
trophy case. “Just vanish the glass for a second.”

“Professor Flitwick would notice.” Remus said, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “Or one of the
Ravenclaws.”

“Nah,” Sirius grinned, catching the other boy’s eye in the reflection of the glass, “No one’ll miss
it.”

“I think,” Remus said slowly, turning back to the duelling trophy, “Lyall would have preferred it to
stay put. This way there’s always a piece of him at Hogwarts.”

“Ahh, have you gone all soppy because it’s the last week?” Sirius nudged him, teasing. But Remus
just smiled, softly, and said,

“Yeah, a bit.”

Sirius chuckled fondly, leaning in and admitting,

“Me too.”

Remus shook his head. “Come on then, I’m hungry. Lunch.”

They made their way down towards the Great Hall, side by side. McGonagall had stuck Remus in
detention every night since the quidditch game as punishment for his foul-mouthed commentary,
but other than that things had been very quiet since NEWTs finally ended. Everyone was in a bit of
a funny mood, trying to relax and enjoy the freedom from schoolwork while also ignoring the
looming summer and what came after—adult life, whatever that meant.

“We’re not leaving anything behind.” Remus said, out of nowhere, as a group of girls trotted past
and batted their eyelashes flirtatiously at him.

“Eh?” Sirius watched the girls walk by—ever since Remus’s infamous quidditch commentary, he’d
been getting looks from all sides of the castle. Remus, mistaking his distraction, reached over and
flicked his ear.

“Ow!” Sirius frowned at him, defensively, “They were looking at you, Remus ‘fuck-me-we-won’
Lupin. What were you saying?”

“We won’t be leaving anything behind, like Lyall’s trophy.”

“James and I are on the quidditch cup. And Prongs is Head Boy, doesn’t that get recorded
somewhere? And Peter won that chess tournament.”

“Oh, yeah. Must just be me, then.” Remus said, sounding very sorry for himself.

“Er…there’s the Whomping Willow?” Sirius suggested.

Remus tutted and rolled his eyes, clearly not satisfied with leaving nothing behind except an
unusually violent tree. Sirius didn’t see why—he thought that sounded much cooler than a boring
old trophy.

Still, Remus was quiet and withdrawn throughout lunch, pushing his peas thoughtfully around his
plate.

“All right there, Moony?” James asked, watching him mope, “You’re very quiet.”

“He’s worrying about his legacy,” Sirius explained. “He wants a trophy.”

“Shut up, no I don’t.” Remus mumbled, cheeks going pink.

“If you ask me, that match commentary deserved a medal. Special services to the school,” Mary
grinned, laughing. “You can’t go anywhere in the castle without hearing someone shout,
‘buggering christ, that was close!’ It’s brilliant.”

This seemed to cheer Remus up a bit. He’d become quite the celebrity after the final match, getting
more attention even than James, and had been showered in gifts of chocolate and cigarettes from
his many new admirers.

“Don’t worry, Remu,” James assured him, “If you know what goes off without a hitch on Friday,
then no one’ll forget us in a hurry.”

“I thought the point was that no one knew who did it?” Remus asked, raising a brow.

Lily snorted. “Oh, come on.” Sirius laughed as she rolled her eyes.

Despite this encouragement, Remus still seemed lost in thought, staring up at Nearly Headless
Nick as he chatted with the Fat Friar.

“How do ghosts happen?”

“Merlin, Moony, cheer the fuck up,” Sirius shook his head, grabbing another handful of chips,
“You’d have to be dead to become a ghost. And I s’pose you’d have to die here, too, on school
grounds.”

Remus sighed, looking back down at his food.

“A portrait, then.” He said. Then, after a bit more thought, “…Actually, no. I don’t want to be able
to talk to myself, that’s creepy.”

“They’re really expensive, too,” James added, “Our family never bothered.”

“Typical Potters,” Sirius sniffed, affecting the haughty, pureblood pretentiousness that he had been
raised to wear like a second skin. “Of course, the Blacks are all preserved for posterity in the
family gallery.”

“Even you?” Remus asked.

“Not me.” Sirius replied, lightly, “I wasn’t there when I came of age. I expect Reggie’s been done
now, though. More fool him.”

“Remus!” Marlene hurried over to the table, red-faced and panting as though she’d just run up a
flight of stairs.

“Yeah?” Remus straightened, staring up at her curiously.

“Can I see you for a minute? I’ve got something for you!” She was fidgeting like a kid waiting to
open a Christmas present, clearly excited for whatever it was that she had to show him.

“Er…ok…” Remus agreed, slowly. Sirius knew that the boy wasn’t overly fond of surprises, but
there wasn’t exactly a polite way to say no with Marlene hopping from foot to foot and grinning
from ear to ear.

“Come with me!” She grabbed Moony’s arm, hauling him out of his seat.

“Should I…?” Sirius began to ask, but Marlene cut him off before he could finish.

“It’s private! Come on, Remus!”

The rest of them watched, bemused, as she dragged him out of the hall, leaving Remus only enough
time to glance longingly back at the pudding that had just appeared on the table.

“Well,” Sirius frowned, turning back to the rest of the group, “Anyone know what that was about?”

Mary and Lily just shrugged, as James said,

“No clue. Sorry, mate.”

Sirius sighed. He supposed he would find out eventually; in the meantime, he returned to his food.

As they made their way back up to Gryffindor Tower, Mary looped her arm through Sirius’s, so
that they were walking side by side.

“One thing I am not going to miss,” she declared, “About this castle—all the bloody portraits. I
can’t wait to live somewhere where there aren’t a bunch of old dead wizards watching everything I
do.” They were passing by a painting of an elderly witch dressed in hideous purple robes; she
sniffed, offended, as they walked past. Sirius laughed.
“The portraits here are loads better than the ones at my family’s house—trust me, it could be
worse.”

“I never got used to it either,” Lily said, smiling, “The first time I saw one of the paintings move I
screamed.”

“Really?” James grinned, delighted by this piece of information. Lily elbowed him.

“Yes, really, Mr. Pureblood-Heir. Magic is weird if you haven’t grown up with it. I was eleven—I
thought the pictures were haunted.”

“I mean, they sort of are…”

“The whole castle’s haunted,” Sirius pointed out, “We literally have House ghosts.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on those—I thought I’d made a horrible mistake when I sat down for
dinner my first night and Nearly-Headless Nick floated up from under the soup tureen.”

“Me too,” Mary shuddered, “Frank had to tell me at least seven times that the ghosts were friendly
before I finally believed him.”

“What—don’t tell me you were scared of Nearly-Headless Nick?” Sirius looked down at her,
incredulous. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“If you’d heard the ghost stories my mum told me growing up, you would have been terrified,
too.”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Lily groaned, “Tuney gave me nightmares when I was seven with this
horrible story about ‘the woman at the top of the stairs.’” She shuddered.

“How does it go?” James asked, curious. Lily raised a brow.

“You want me to tell it to you?”

“Yeah, go on then.”

She exchanged a glance with Mary, but then shrugged.

“Alright. It’s about this group of friends that goes to a boarding school together—convenient
setting, I know—and there’s only one corridor that’s off-limits. At the beginning of the school
year, their headmaster tells everyone that no students are to go down this hallway under any
circumstances. So, of course, one night the group of friends is playing truth or dare, and they all
decide to dare each other to walk down the corridor.

“At first, they think it’s just a normal hallway. There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual—just a
bunch of empty classrooms. But then, they pass by a nurse’s office. When they peek inside, there’s
just a long row of beds, and in every bed is a student—but something’s wrong with them. They’re
all deathly pale and frozen stiff, staring straight ahead like corpses.”

“Are they dead?” Sirius interrupted.

“No,” Lily shot him a look, “They’re paralysed. Anyway, at this point the friends are all starting to
get sort of scared, but none of them wants to be the first to back out. So they keep going, further
down the corridor, trying to find out where it ends. As they walk, the lights in the hallway grow
dimmer and dimmer, until they can barely see.” On the walls beside them, the torches flickered,
casting dancing shadows over the stone floor.

“Eventually, they’re walking through pitch darkness—none of them can see a thing. They have to
feel along the wall to make sure they’re going the same way, and all of the friends are very scared
at this point. They’re just beginning to wonder if they should turn around and try to go back when
one of them sees something—a light, further up ahead.”

“Wait—why didn’t they turn around when the lights went out in the first place? Why would they
keep walking?”

James reached over to slap the back of Sirius’s head. “Stop interrupting, Padfoot, she’s trying to tell
the story!”

“Thank you, James.” Lily said primly, “Where was I…oh, right. So they keep walking down the
hallway, and finally they get to the end. They were expecting to come out into another part of the
school, but instead there’s nothing—nothing except a staircase.” Lily dropped her voice
dramatically, at the same moment that their group reached the spiral staircase up to Gryffindor
Tower.

“The staircase is very tall—it goes up and up and up, and disappears into shadows at the top. Most
of the friends are too frightened, and they want to turn around and go back. But one boy decides
that they’ve already come this far; they need to find out what’s at the top.”

Sirius, James, and Peter all watched Lily anxiously, hanging on to her every word.

“So he climbs up,”

They rounded the first landing,

“And up,”

They continued to climb,

“And up,”

They reached the second landing, nothing but twisting stairs stretching in each direction.

“There’s no railing on the stairs, and it’s so dark that he can’t see anything aside from the steps in
front of him—just endless, bottomless darkness, dropping off either side of the staircase. Until
finally, he reaches the top.”

Peter was chewing on his nails, James was wide-eyed and silent, and Sirius was holding his breath,
waiting to hear what the boy found.

“At the top of the stairs, there’s nothing but a plain, wooden door. Carefully, the boy reaches out
and twists the knob. As he pushes the door open, he hears something—singing. It’s the most
beautiful song he’s ever heard in his life, and he stands there, mesmerised, listening. Behind the
door there’s nothing but a small room, with a small table and a small stool and a beautiful woman
with long, black hair. She’s brushing it, over and over and over, and singing to herself.”

They were nearly at the top of the stairs now. All three boys’ eyes remained riveted on Lily.

“As the boy stands, watching, she begins to turn around.”

They finally rounded the last turn in the staircase; the corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower was in
sight.

“At the bottom of the stairs,” Lily said, dropping her voice low once more, “The rest of the boy’s
friends began to hear something. A steady sound, slowly getting closer: thud. Thud. Thud. Like
something was falling down the stairs. They squinted up into the shadowy staircase, and suddenly
something came toppling down—thud. Thud. Thud. They all scrambled back, moving out of the
way—and looked down at their friend’s body, frozen stiff, just like all the others in the nurse’s
office. When they looked back up at the staircase, something was rushing towards them, a tangled
curtain of black hair and—”

“AAAAAHHHHH!” Mary shrieked directly into Sirius’s ear, jumping on him, and all three boys
screamed in shock. Sirius shook her off, frowning ruefully as both Lily and Mary burst into
laughter.

“That was bloody unfair of you, Macdonald,” he grumbled, glaring at her.

“You…should have…seen…your faces!” She gasped, trying to control her laughter. Both girls
continued to giggle helplessly as they entered the common room, heading for their usual spot by
the fire. They were just about to sit down when Marlene appeared at Mary’s shoulder, asking,

“What’s so funny?”

“These lot are a big bunch of babies,” Mary told her, chuckling.

“Hey!” James protested, “It’s not our fault that you pulled an underhanded trick like that!”

“‘Underhanded’?”

“Underhanded and dishonourable,” Sirius said firmly, with a haughty toss of his hair.

“We scared them with a ghost story,” Lily explained, grinning.

“You didn’t scare us, you surprised us.”

“Oh, is that what you’d call it?”

“Surprised you with what?” They all turned to see Remus, standing at the arm of the sofa. He was
smiling from ear to ear, looking happier than Sirius had seen him all day. As he settled down in the
seat next to Sirius, Lily and Mary recounted the ghost story—with added commentary from Peter,
James, and Sirius, who maintained that they had not been frightened—and pretty soon the entire
group was in stitches.

Later that night, Remus explained what Marlene had dragged him aside for: she’d concocted some
sort of medicinal salve, which magically (in the most literal sense of the word) relieved the
ongoing pain in Remus’s hip. Watching the taller boy babble on excitedly about it as they got
ready for bed, Sirius couldn’t help but smile—maybe James had been right about Marlene, after
all.

As they lay in bed that night, Remus sighed, murmuring, “I don’t know what I ever did.”

“What d’you mean?” Sirius asked, sleepily.

“You know. You learnt lenticular magna for me, all the way back in first year. And Lily made me
that reading aid, and you, Peter and Prongs all became animagi, just so you could spend time with
me.”
“What’s your point?”

“I don’t know what I did,” Remus repeated, as though it were obvious, “To earn any of it.”

“Moony,” Sirius pulled back a bit, staring at him, “You’re doing that thing again.”

“Eh?”

“We’re your friends! Friends help each other! As if you haven’t done things for Lily, and Marlene,
and Wormtail, and James, and me…merlin, me more than anyone.”

“I know.” Remus smiled down at him, “I know. I suppose I just feel so lucky.”

“You are soppy these days,” Sirius teased. “Is this what it’s going to be like living with you? And I
always thought you were such a tough nut.”

“Still tougher than you,” Remus retorted.

Sirius closed his eyes, smiling fondly as he sank back into the pillows, sleepy and warm…

“Do you really want to live with me?” Remus whispered.

“’Course I do,” Sirius replied, automatically.

“I mean…not just with James’s parents. In our own place.”

Sirius frowned, opening his eyes,

“Obviously. That’s the plan, isn’t it?” Had Remus changed his mind?

“I…” Remus hesitated, fidgeting with his hands, and Sirius felt a spike of anxiety. But then he said,
“I wasn’t sure. You know I haven’t got much money…”

“And you know I’m rolling in it,” Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes—was he really worrying
about this again? “What’s mine is yours, I don’t want you worrying about boring crap like that.”

“It’s only boring to you because you’ve never had to think about it.”

“Well, now you don’t have to think about it either. Got it?”

“Ok.” Remus deflated slightly, finally settling down into the blankets. After a moment, he asked,
“Where shall we live, then?”

“London,” Sirius responded immediately, “Muggle London.”

“In a big house?”

“No,” Sirius said, thoughtfully, “I don’t like big houses; too many empty rooms. If it’s just the two
of us, we don’t need all that space.”

Remus seemed to accept that, and they both fell silent. Sirius was just beginning to drift off again
when the other boy whispered,

“I want you to meet Hope.”

He opened his eyes. “What?”

 “She’s dying,” Remus said, calmly, “Lung cancer – a thing muggles get. Anyway, it can’t be
cured, and I don’t think she has more than a year.”

Sirius blinked, completely floored. He’d known Remus’s mum was in the hospital—but she was
still so young, he’d just figured that she’d eventually get better…

“Moony, I’m sorry…I had no idea.”

“S’ok,” Remus told him, “I’ve known since the first time I met her. I’ve known I wouldn’t have
long. She’s not perfect, but she cares about me. I want her to see that I have someone. That I’m not
alone.”

Sirius’s chest felt tight. “Moony…”

“I know, I know, I’m being soppy…”

“No,” Sirius whispered, turning slightly so that he could lay a hand on Remus’s chest. Through the
thin pyjama shirt, he could feel the steady beat of Moony’s heart. “That’s just one of the nicest
things I’ve ever heard.”

Remus turned to look at him, and for moment there was nothing but his eyes—lovely and dark and
shining in the moonlight. Sirius felt his own eyes begin to sting, slightly, and he had to swallow the
lump in his throat. Eventually, Remus looked away, laughing quietly,

“Christ,” he mumbled, “Listen to us, we’re worse than Potter and Evans.”

“Don’t tell anyone!” Sirius rubbed at his eyes, “Only three days of school left, we’ve got
reputations to maintain.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "this will be our year" by the zombies!

gentle reminder to anyone translating this fic that i would prefer it be kept solely on
ao3 :)) thanks!
 Seventh Year: Legacy - Part Two
Chapter Summary

:')

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

So here we are…

With freedom within our sweaty, greedy, grasps.

So remember this, boys and girls,

When your freedom comes along…

Don’t

Pish

in the water supply,

Just because…school is out for the summer…

“Oi, you missed one!”

“What?”

James spun around, glancing down the corridor they had just run through. There was still a single
stationery suit of armour left on his side of the hallway, while the others had hopped down from
their stands and begun to move about, strolling aimlessly back and forth or dancing odd, jerky little
jigs.

“Oh—bollocks.”

The signal had just gone off a few minutes ago—a shower of golden sparks from behind the
greenhouses, bright enough that anyone looking out the window could see them. Across the castle,
the entire Inter-House Prank Co-Operative were casting their spells, setting everything into motion.
For Sirius and James, that meant enchanting the suits of armour with Potter’s patented locomotion
charm. They had just finished the first corridor when a rush of flapping wings came from outside;
James ran over to join Sirius at the window, where they craned their necks to watch as every owl in
the Hogwarts owlery swooped down over the lawn, twisting through the archways and
disappearing into the castle. In minutes, the dungeons would be completely flocked.

“Blimey!” Sirius laughed, “Our Moony’s done it again!”

“Come on,” James clapped him on the back, grinning, “We’ve still got to get the second floor.”
As they made their way hurriedly through the corridors, more and more students began to pour into
the hallways, startled by the chaos erupting across the castle. Bathrooms exploded in pink foam;
portraits sang at the top of their lungs; clock hands whirled about madly, as if they’d been
possessed. Peeves soared overhead, flinging armfuls of pink foam at unsuspecting students and
cackling euphorically.

“Brilliant!” Sirius laughed, feelings as if his face might split from smiling so hard, “Bloody
brilliant!” After months of work—scheduling meetings, planning out which charms to use, teaching
the younger students to actually perform those charms correctly—everything was finally coming
together.

“Wait until we tell the Prewetts about this,” James said, pulling Sirius up onto a window ledge so
that they could survey their work, “Bet no one’s ever managed to pull off anything so massive
before!”

“It’s not done yet!” Sirius jumped back down, “Come on, we’ve got to get outside before we miss
all the real action.”

Outside, it was a perfect day: clear blue skies and balmy weather. Most of the students were
pouring out onto the lawn, in varying states of disarray—some had pink bubbles in their hair, while
others stumbled out wiping frosting off their faces, and still others were dripping wet, looking very
confused in their waterlogged robes. It was pandemonium.

“Someone flooded the Great Hall!”

“—like someone was throwing cakes, but there was no one there—”

“—pink bubbles in every bathroom, I was just trying to wash my hands—”

“—never want to hear ABBA again—”

“—where did all the owls come from?!”

As James and Sirius pushed through the crowd, the buzz of voices followed them, younger students
turning to stare up with expressions that ranged from awestruck and admiring to sour and wary.

“Look—it’s them!”

“—Marauders, we should’ve known—”

“—no, but I saw the third years casting spells on the portraits—”

“—swear, I saw Lily Evans cast the bogey hex!”

“She’s Head Girl, you dolt, she wouldn’t—”

They passed by the two fifth years before they could hear the rest of the conversation, but Sirius
elbowed James anyway, laughing.

“Tell me, Prongs, how does it feel to have finally corrupted Hogwarts’ Head Girl?”

“Hey, the bogey bombs were her idea! If anything, I was the one corrupted!” James protested,
piously. Sirius rolled his eyes.

They found Peter near the greenhouses, where he’d sent up the signal.
“Did it work?” He asked them, wringing his hands, “Was it bright enough? Did I get it at the right
time? I wasn’t sure—”

“It was perfect, Pete,” James cut him off, slinging an arm around his shoulder, “You did
brilliantly.”

Peter beamed.

“Wait until you see the inside of the castle!” Sirius added, “Absolute chaos, it’s magnificent.”

“Everything worked, then?”

“Exactly according to plan.”

The three boys grinned at each other, eyes bright, hearts pounding. Then James reached out,
throwing his other arm around Sirius’s shoulders and turning all three of them back towards the
lake.

“Come on—it’s time for the grand finale!”

By the time they made it back over to the lake, most of the Hogwarts student body appeared to
have made it out onto the grounds, milling around aimlessly and chattering about what was
happening inside the castle. It was a huge crowd to search through—luckily, Remus Lupin towered
at least a foot above most of the students, and the marauders were able to spot him fairly quickly.

As they shoved their way over towards Moony, it soon became apparent that he wasn’t alone.
Sirius spotted Christopher’s familiar mousy blond head bobbing anxiously next to the taller boy,
and as he moved even closer he caught sight of Snape, dripping globs of green slime and shouting
furiously. Remus didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, standing with his arms folded stoically, one
eyebrow raised at the scene Severus was making. The students around them were pointing and
laughing, clearly amused by whatever it was that was going on.

“Hey Prongs, look, they got Snivellus!” Sirius called over his shoulder, absolutely delighted as he
finally reached Moony’s side, “Excellent!”

“It’s a good look, if you want my opinion,” James replied, smirking, patting Remus’s shoulder as
he walked up.

Sirius’s heart gave a little lurch as he realised that Regulus was there, too, hovering unobtrusively
behind a still-furious Snape and looking utterly bored with the whole ordeal. The moment Sirius
spotted him, though, Reg rolled his eyes and strolled away, moving further down to join a different
group of Slytherins.

In front of them, Snape was still ranting. “When Dumbledore finds out you’re all behind this, he’ll
—”

“What?” Sirius interrupted him, rolling his eyes and leaning casually against James’s shoulder,
“Expel us? On the last day of school?!”

“You’ll pay!” Snape hissed, seething. He spun around, spattering green slime from his robes and
causing the surrounding students to step back as he hurried off towards his housemates.

“Slow down, Snivelly!” Peter shouted, giddy with their success, “You don’t want to miss the grand
finale!”
“Wormtail!” Sirius gave him a meaningful look, along with a kick in the shin, “Shh!”

Remus ushered them away. “Come on, it’s nearly time.”

They followed after Moony, who guided them to one of the only open patches left by the edge of
the lake—which just so happened to put them closer to Regulus and his slimy little clique, who
were still muttering and scowling amongst themselves. Sirius spoke without thinking, adrenaline
crackling in his veins—see if Regulus tried to ignore him now.

“Reggie-boy,” He pasted on a smile, striding closer to his brother. But Regulus still refused to look
at him.

“Sirius.” He stared straight ahead, chin lifted haughtily in an imitation of their mother’s posture. He
spoke without inflection, sounding utterly bored, “I had hoped you’d learnt to put these childish
games behind you. Silly pranks and schemes won’t be any use to you once the war is won. The
Dark Lord demands order.”

Look at me, Sirius thought, scowling. “Sod your stupid old dark lord.” He tried to remain as
unruffled as Reggie, not wanting to let his brother get the upper hand. It was a bit pathetic, the way
that three sentences were enough to make him want to grab the younger boy and shake him—to do
something drastic, to shout or scream. He didn’t want to make himself look like an idiot, the way
Severus had.

There was quite a crowd gathered around the lake now; Lily had found her way over to them and
was holding James’s hand. When Regulus didn’t bother to reply, Sirius forced himself to swallow
and turn away, fighting the adrenaline that urged him to do something. Fortunately, the Hogwarts
clock struck noon just at that second, and James whistled loudly, grabbing the attention of the
entire Inter-House Co-Operative team—along with half the other students gathered around the
lake. It was time.

Beside Sirius, Remus was grinning, eyes dancing with mischief. Their eyes met, and the adrenaline
pulsed again in Sirius’s blood—warmer, this time, and sweeter. This was what he’d come here to
do.

All together, the members of The Marauders’ Inter-House Pranking Collective lifted their wands
and took a breath, shouting; “Attollo Magna!”

Sirius felt the magic course through him, electric, streaming from the tip of his wand to join the
same spell cast by thirty others. They’d tested the incantation before, but never with so many
people—the effect was immediate.

The surface of the lake in front of them distorted, rippling and glistening strangely in the early
summer sunshine. There was a faint creaking noise, which grew slowly louder, as if something
were rising—and then—

POP

Beside him, Remus gasped. A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd, turning quickly to
laughter as students pointed and exclaimed over what they were seeing. Outraged cries came from
the Slytherins—when Sirius turned to glance at his brother, he felt a smug twist of satisfaction at
the way Regulus’s mouth had dropped open.

Every single bed and trunk from every single Slytherin dormitory hung directly above the dark
water, hovering, arranged just as they had been a mile below. It was the most beautiful thing Sirius
had ever seen—he almost wished that he had a camera, just to capture the moment. Nothing was
actually in danger of getting wet, of course, thanks to the barrier charm that Lily had insisted on;
still, the Slytherins would have a hard time figuring out the counter-spell, and they’d be forced to
work together if they wanted to retrieve their belongings (Sirius suspected that that would probably
be the hardest part for them).

He grinned, giddily, at his friends, revelling in the mayhem of cheers and screams that surrounded
them. It was everything they had wanted; as they watched, fireworks burst over the suspended
furniture, spelling out:

Have a Great Summer, Slytherin! From: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff!

Sirius turned to smile at Remus, and was surprised to see that the other boy was oddly tense; he
stood stiffly, jaw clenched, hands trembling.

“Are you ok, Moony?” Sirius frowned, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

“Don’t touch me!” Remus yelped, sharply, flinching away. He stepped back, glancing around at
the crowd with a note of panic in his eyes.

Sirius lowered his hand, stung by the dismissal.

“Sorry,” Remus rushed to apologise, “Just give me a minute—”

But before he could finish speaking, a loud voice rang out.

“YOU!” Snape charged towards them, face twisted with rage, wand already raised. He’d gotten
most of the slime off—but that clearly wasn’t what he was angry about anymore.

“Thieves!” He screeched, eyes glittering and black as beetles, “Give me my things back! Get them
down at ONCE!”

Sirius and James turned to look at each other; for a moment, it was silent. Then, the two boys burst
into laughter at Snape’s furious ranting, gasping helplessly for breath.

Lily dropped James’s hand, stepping forward to calm the Slytherin down.

“Severus, it’s not what you think, it’s easy enough to—”

But he didn’t wait for her to finish. Instead, Snape spun around to face the lake, raising his wand
and pointing it directly at one of the beds. This only made James and Sirius laugh harder; they
watched him attempt to perform a basic levitation spell—as if they wouldn’t have thought of that
and warded against it.

“No, don’t!” Lily cried, trying to warn him.

But at that point, it was already too late. Severus cast the spell, and everyone watched as his bed
began to jerk and wobble. For a second, it looked as if it might actually lift up; but then it plunged
down, sending up a huge spray of water as it splashed into the lake.

It was the best thing that Sirius had ever seen. He was still laughing when Snape turned back, eyes
glittering with malice, and raised his wand.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Sirius heard Snape’s voice as he snarled,
“Sectumsempra!” The laughter died in his throat as a burst of white light left the Slytherin’s wand,
aimed directly at James.

But then Remus was there, throwing himself in front of their friend with a fiery determination
burning in his eyes, lifting a hand as though to catch the spell, and Lily screamed, and James and
Sirius both shouted “Moony!” And—

It worked.

Sirius had no idea how it happened—there was a sort of staticky buzz in the air, a ripple of power
surrounding Remus. The spell broke as it hit his skin, dissipating with no more substance than
smoke, having absolutely no effect. It should have been impossible; no one could shield against
magic with their bare hands.

Moony’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion, and the buzz disappeared, and Sirius hurried forward,
gripping his arm. James began to shout at Snape, asking him what the fuck he thought he was
playing at, but Sirius kept all of his attention focused on Remus. The taller boy stumbled slightly,
sinking down to sit in the grass as though he couldn’t quite manage to stay standing. Sirius
crouched down next to him, scanning his face, trying to figure out what had happened. Had the
curse done something?? It wasn’t a spell that Sirius had ever heard before.

“Moony?!”

“I’m ok.”

“What the fuck was that?!” He kept his voice low, whispering, heart pounding in his chest.

“I…I don’t know.” Remus mumbled, dazed.

“It was just a counter-jinx!” Lily announced, frantically, to the group of curious students that had
gathered around to watch the confrontation. “Snape tried to curse Potter, you all saw it! Lupin just
caught it in time.”

“Can you get up?” Sirius gripped his elbow, hauling him to his feet. “We’ll go to Madam Pomfrey
—”

“No,” Remus said suddenly, shaking his head, “I’m ok. Honestly. Just surprised myself. Wordless
magic or something, I haven’t got the hang of it yet.”

“Ok…” Sirius said, slowly, scrutinising him. He had seen Remus cast wordless magic before—but
always with a wand, and always just small spells, the sorts of things they’d mastered back in their
first year of Hogwarts. This…this was something of an entirely different level. Sort of like the
barrier he’d once made, around the Forbidden Forest…

Remus smiled at him reassuringly, and squeezed his arm, and Sirius decided to let it drop. What
was the use worrying about it now? James had chased off Snape, and Lily had shooed off the
curious students, and everyone else was still laughing at the Slytherins as they tried to figure out
what to do about their beds. It was their last day at Hogwarts; Sirius just wanted to enjoy it.

“Sort of nice, isn’t it?” Mary strolled over, nodding towards a group of older Slytherins that had
formed a huddle and were currently discussing how best to go about retrieving their belongings,
“See them all employing a bit of teamwork. We might have house unity yet!”

“Don’t count on it,” Marlene said, following behind her with a wry smile.

As if on cue, the Slytherins began shouting, angrily, at each other.

They all settled down on the grass to enjoy the show for a bit longer, laughing and chatting as they
watched the Slytherins struggle through a series of useless spells—one raised every second bed a
few feet higher, another made them all face west. After an hour went by with none of them getting
any closer to breaking the spell, a group of charitable Ravenclaws took pity and wandered over to
begin brainstorming ideas with the baffled Slytherins. As they observed this touching display of
house unity, Remus announced to the group,

“I’m hungry.”

“Feast’ll be in half an hour,” Lily replied, absentmindedly, watching the squid reach a long tentacle
out from beneath the surface of the water to bat at one of the beds.

“I might go up and get changed then.” Mary stood, brushing grass off her legs, and the rest of the
group followed, leaving the Slytherins behind to continue their fruitless efforts.

As they made their way back to the castle, Sirius looked over at Remus, studying him for any
lingering signs of…whatever had happened earlier. But the tall boy seemed entirely at ease,
laughing and chatting with Lily and Peter.

“Oi, Black,” Marlene got his attention, “Ever get your bed back?”

“Hm?” Sirius turned to her, taking a moment to process the question. “Oh, no, I never did. Long
gone now, I s’pose, seeking its fortune on the open road. Godspeed, old bed.” He sighed,
dramatically, and Remus snickered.

“Aren’t you worried the school’ll charge you for it?” Marlene frowned.

Sirius scratched his chin. He’d honestly never considered it—but he supposed that if they did, it
wouldn’t matter much. He shrugged, and Marlene shook her head.

“Spoilt brat.”

“Did you even try to get it back?” Lily asked, amused.

“Well, we don’t know where it went.” James explained.

“Not even a basic summoning charm?”

“No, we never—”

“Accio bed!” Sirius waved his wand, shouting as loudly as he could. He wasn’t expecting anything
to happen—so he was surprised when began to hear a faint, muffled rumbling.

Sirius turned towards the lake. “Oh shit…”

The surface of the water had begun to roil and bubble, and they all spun around to watch as his
long-missing four poster bed ascended like some sort of gigantic mahogany ghost, streaming water
and seaweed behind it. But of course, it was much more substantial than a ghost, and everyone had
to scramble out of the way as it flew across the grounds and crashed directly onto the spot where
Sirius had stood just seconds before. For a moment, it shuddered; then the frame collapsed,
splintering into at least five different pieces.

At first, everything was quiet. Lily, Marlene, Mary, Yaz, James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius all
climbed to their feet, staring in shock at the waterlogged mess of wood. Then, abruptly, laughter
erupted from all of the students who had remained outside and witnessed this spectacle – especially
 the Slytherins, who seemed pleased to have at least one of the pranksters responsible for their
predicament receiving a taste of his own medicine.

Sirius just scratched his head, unperturbed.

“Hm.” He blinked, “Bottom of the lake all along, eh?”

The grand bed had certainly seen better days; the sheets had gone green with algae and there was a
thick layer of sand and grit covering the mattress.

“Oi, you wanker!” James exclaimed, catching sight of a mulchy, rectangular pile of disintegrated
paper, “Is this my quidditch magazine?!”

“Er…maybe…” Sirius smiled, sheepishly – then, upon noticing the other boy’s furious expression,
decided that it would be in his best interest to flee as quickly as possible. He made a mad dash for
the castle, well aware of the anger that only an unreturned Quidditch Monthly could inspire in
Potter; sure enough, James chased after him, shouting,

“Get back here, you prick! Just wait ‘til I get my hands on you—you’re a dead man, Black!”

“Only if you can catch me!” Sirius called over his shoulder, laughing. He ran as fast as he could
back into the castle that had been his home for seven years, sprinting past the familiar stone walls,
the statues, the portraits. James chased after him, cursing and laughing, and for a moment, Sirius
felt so happy that he could break.

Behind them, their friends followed at a slower pace. When Sirius glanced back, he could see them
– six familiar silhouettes, striding across the Hogwarts grounds. Further back, over the lake, the
sun began to set.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is the same as in the original - "school's out" cover by the
sensational alex harvey band! (also long note incoming, you've been warned)

hi!! the hogwarts years are over!! thanks so much to everyone who's read this far, and
for all the kind messages/comments/tik toks/kudos etc -- i can't believe that this fic has
already consumed six months of my life, it's been such a blast to write/re-write and i'm
so grateful to all of you who decided to come along for the ride!

as we all know, things will be getting darker from here on out. i know a lot of people
will probably end here, so if you do--thanks for reading! for those of you planning to
continue to the war chapters, a few things:

- i'll try to put content warnings on chapters that might be upsetting, but i tend to
assume that anyone reading a canon compliant marauders fic pretty much knows what
they're getting into. that being said, if there's anything specific i should tag, please let
me know!
- these war chapters might (??) be a bit darker than the original? idk i'm not great at
judging this stuff bc i consume so much gut-wrenching media that at this point i think
i'm a little desensitized, but there's going to be more focus on the death-eater side of
the war as opposed to the werewolves, so it's a bit more violent...i think. maybe you all
will read it and be like wdym this is the same level of angst as the og in which case --
cool! but just wanna throw that warning out there :) please be kind to yourselves and
keep your own mental/emotional health in mind as you're reading
- i've already talked about this in some comment responses + over on tumblr, but just
thought i'd put it here: post-halloween 1981 this fic will be breaking from the mkb
timeline and following the events of hp books 3 + 4 + 5. same number of chapters, just
a different focus. the fic will end in winter/spring of 1996, BEFORE sirius dies (i'm
not THAT evil). and i maintain that my canon is mkb's version of events, so i'll be
reserving the right to fuck around a little more with what jkr wrote :))

ok i think that's everything! i am super super excited about these war chapters because
there's been a lot more space to do my own thing, so if u do decide to continue reading
ily <3
 The War: July 1978
Chapter Summary

wartime, baby!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

All our times have come

Here but now they’re gone

Seasons don’t fear the reaper

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain

(We can be like they are)

Come on baby, (don’t fear the reaper)

Baby take my hand, (don’t fear the reaper)

We’ll be able to fly, (don’t fear the reaper)

Baby I’m your man

Sunday 2nd July 1978

“Hurry up, Potter!” Sirius winced as Remus banged against the door of the phone box, rattling the
glass. “Other people need to make phone calls, y’know!”

James pointedly turned his back on the impatient boy, clutching the receiver closer to his ear.

“Leave him be, Moony,” Sirius groaned, leaning on the fence to support himself. Even with the
dark sunglasses he’d thrown on, the bright summer sunshine was giving him a headache. “And
stop all the banging, will you?!”

“Take another painkilling draught,” Remus rolled his eyes, unsympathetic, “You’re just hungover,
it’s your own fault for getting so smashed.”

“I was the life and soul, I’ll have you know.” Sirius sniffed, crossing his arms petulantly as Remus
finally left poor James alone and came to sit beside him.

Their end of school party the previous night had been everything they’d hoped for—the Potters’
house had been jam packed with all Hogwarts leavers (with the exception of most of the
Slytherins), as well as some of their friends from younger years. Christopher and Yaz had both
been there, along with the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team and a handful of sixth-years from
the Prank-Planning Co-Operative. Quite a few siblings and family members had come, too, as had
some members of the Order of the Phoenix. No Dumbledore, of course – it was a professor-free
zone – but Fab and Gid popped by, much to the delight of Sirius and James, as well as Frank and
Alice. All the girls had cooed over Alice’s engagement ring, and there had been a round of toasts
congratulating the couple on their upcoming nuptials.

The festivities had carried on until late into the night, just like their common-room parties, and
Sirius had had the time of his life dancing with Mary and challenging Yaz to a drinking contest and
telling Fab and Gid all about the marauders’ final prank. Eventually, though, things had started to
wind down, and the girls had all said their goodbyes at midnight, having promised their parents
that they’d spend the night at Lily’s (even though there was more than enough extra room at the
Potters’).

Which was why Sirius now stood, nursing a headache, outside the phone box at the end of the
road, watching James chatter eagerly to his girlfriend as though they’d been separated for days
instead of a handful of hours.

“So unfair, him making us race down here – as if I could ever beat James ‘hangover free since
‘73’ Potter.” Remus muttered, frowning darkly at the boy in the phone box. “And it was
unsportsmanlike. He knows I have a handicap.”

“I thought your hip was better since you got that stuff off Marls?” Sirius asked, sunglasses slipping
down his nose slightly as he peered over at his pouting boyfriend.

“It is.” Remus smiled, dryly. “I meant my smoking.”

Before Sirius could respond, a low rumble began in the distance. He sat up sharply, tearing the
glasses off his face to get a clearer view of the road.

“Is that?!”

Remus frowned.

“Sounds like it, yeah…”

Sure enough, a few seconds later the motorbike crested the hill, shooting down the road in a flash
of chrome and steel and growling engine, just as beautiful as Sirius remembered it. He watched,
riveted, until it was nothing but a speck in the distance. Once it was gone, he sighed, happily.

“Ah, I’ve missed her.”

“It would be a ‘she.’” Remus grumbled, scuffing his toe in the dirt.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Potter!” He moved from his perch on the fence, pounding a fist against the
phone box door, “Get out here right now!” He gave Remus a pointed look, raising his brows, “Will
you cheer the fuck up after you’ve had your phone call?!”

“Yes.” Remus muttered, still pouting.

It took five more minutes for James to bid his girlfriend farewell. When he finally exited the box
with a dreamy smile on his face, Remus shoved past him and slammed the door shut, reaching for
the phone and dialling the number.

“And how is Mrs. Prongs this morning?” Sirius asked, grinning as James took Remus’s previous
spot beside him.

“Shouted at me for letting her drink three cups of Witches’ Brew,” James sighed, wistfully, as
though he could think of no greater pleasure than listening to Lily Evans complain over the phone.
Sirius laughed.

“Sounds about right.”

“She says hello, though. So do Mary and Marlene.”

“They all got back safe, then?”

“Yeah. Apparently they woke Petunia, now she’s not speaking to Lily.”

“Ah yes, the sister.”

James frowned, staring down at his feet. “Properly foul, she is.”

“So I’ve heard. Hey – what’s going on with the wedding? Lily mentioned that it was this summer.”

“Oh, that.” James sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Her mum’s insisted that Lily needs to
go, even though Petunia’s been an awful bitch about it. Still refusing to put Lily in the wedding
party, but at this point I think that’s more a relief than anything – apparently Tuney’s been going
mental for months, harping on about every little detail. Sounds like it would be a nightmare to
actually be involved in the wedding party. Lily already reckons she’s driving their mum into an
early grave, what with all the stress.”

“Ugh, Petunia sounds like she’d get along with my mother.” Sirius shuddered, “Bloody hate
weddings.”

James nodded, still looking a bit distracted by thoughts of Lily and her fraught relationship with her
sister. After a moment, Sirius nudged him, trying to cheer him up.

“So when are you and Mrs. Prongs moving in together, then? Should I prepare a housewarming
gift?”

But this only seemed to make James gloomier. “Lily’s parents want her home for the summer, to
help with the wedding. And she said her mum’s not keen on the idea of us moving in together –
thinks we’re too young.”

“But you’ve both already lived together, at school!”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t think it’d be ‘appropriate,’ just the two of us on our own. Anyway, Lily’s
going to talk to her again after the whole mess with the wedding is over, so we’ll see…”

The conversation was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter from inside the phone box, where
Remus was hunched over, clutching his stomach. James and Sirius watched him, for a moment, as
he tried to catch his breath.

“He’s talking to his…friend? The one from St. Edmund’s?”

Sirius nodded. “Grant.”

“Reckon we’ll ever get to meet this bloke?” James smiled, watching Remus burst into another fit
of laughter, “Seems like a good mate.”
Sirius shrugged, replacing his sunglasses on his face.

When Remus finally emerged from the phone box, he was still chuckling to himself, face split into
a broad grin. James and Sirius hopped down from the fence, joining him as they began to walk
back up the road.

“What’s so funny?!”

“Couldn’t possibly tell you,” Remus shook his head, “Muggle humour.”

As they made their way back towards the house, James mused, “Reckon we ought to see how
Pete’s doing?”

Sirius shook his head. “Nah, you know how he is with hangovers.”

“All right, but we need to make sure not to leave him out,” James said, frowning slightly, “I think
he’s worried about it…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius waved a hand. “Oi, quidditch?”

“Yes!” James nodded, enthusiastically. “Just let me change…”

“I’ll get a book, then…” Remus sighed, though he didn’t really seem to mind—he was in a much
better mood, after his conversation with Grant.

Inside, James dashed up the stairs, slamming the door behind him as he disappeared into his
bedroom to change into a quidditch kit. Remus and Sirius made their way upstairs at an easier pace,
and as they walked Remus turned to him, smiling,

“Brighton in August?”

Sirius blinked, then smiled back, taking off his sunglasses,

“You want me to come, then? Yeah! Cool!”

“Of course,” Remus said, as though it were obvious. Sirius’s heart did a little flip—he’d half
thought that Remus might want to visit Grant alone; that he wouldn’t want Sirius intruding. The
fact that Moony wanted him there sent a warm wave of happiness washing through him, as though
he’d just taken a sip of hot chocolate.

“Hello, boys,” Mrs. Potter chirped, sweeping out of the room where Remus was staying with a pile
of laundry in her arms.

“Hello, Mrs. Potter,” Remus said, glancing at the door with a slightly uneasy look, as if he hadn’t
expected to see James’s mum coming out of it.

“I see Sirius was so drunk he ended up in yours, Remus,” Mrs. Potter chuckled, folding a pair of
Sirius’s jeans, “Honestly, dear, you ought to have just shoved him out.”

“Oh!” Remus stammered, going bright red.

Sirius glanced between the two of them, heart pounding. He’d been wondering, for a while,
whether to tell James’s parents about…this. He knew, rationally, that he could probably keep his
relationship with Remus a secret if he really wanted to; after all, they’d had plenty of practice
sneaking around and making up excuses. But the Potters were his family—the only real parents
he’d ever had. And…he didn’t want to hide from them.
“Actually,” Sirius said, before he could change his mind, “Remus and I prefer sharing. If that’s…
er. Well, we’d just prefer to, ok?”

Mrs. Potter blinked, looking between him and Remus—who was still blushing furiously, but said,
weakly,

“Yeah!”

“Well,” she replied, slowly, “If you like. I suppose the bed’s big enough for two.” She smiled,
warmly. “Whatever makes you happy, dears.”

Sirius felt a rush of gratitude and relief as she patted Remus’s shoulder, gently, and then leaned
over to kiss his cheek. Euphemia continued down the stairs, humming quietly under her breath, and
Sirius realised that he was grinning like an idiot. He reached out to squeeze Remus’s hand,
wondering to himself,

How did I get so lucky?

* * *

Wednesday 5th July 1978

They received the invitations on Tuesday night, one letter each. They weren’t delivered by owl;
instead, they simply appeared, mysteriously, on the Potters’ dining room table as the five of them
were eating dinner. Sirius, James, and Remus read the notes together – a request to attend a
meeting at a top-secret location, which only Mr. Potter knew, and which could only be reached by
portkey. They were signed by Dumbledore; the second each boy finished reading, the notes
crumbled into dust.

It was what they’d expected, of course. They’d all made their intentions to join the war effort very
clear to Dumbledore, so it was no shock to find themselves recruited. Still, Sirius could hardly
finish the rest of his dinner, stomach churning with nerves. He and Remus got ready for bed
without speaking, both lost in their own thoughts about the mysterious invitation. The second they
crawled into bed, Sirius curled into Remus’s arms, burying himself under the covers.

“Tell me something,” he begged, “Anything.”

“I’m really scared about tomorrow,” Remus murmured, holding him a bit closer, “It feels so real
now. But I think it’s normal to be scared. I think anyone would be.”

Sirius grunted into his arm, still feeling sick with anxiety. Wasn’t this what they’d all wanted? His
brother’s words from all those months ago rang, once more, in his head: As if you’re not planning
to run off and enlist in Dumbledore’s little army the second you’re out of school…

Next to him, Remus whispered, “But d’you know what scares me more?”

“Hm?”

“The fact that we’re planning to move in together and neither of us can cook.”
A startled laugh leapt from Sirius’s throat, and eventually he found himself drifting off, smiling
against Moony’s chest.

They had to walk, the next morning, to reach the portkey, tramping through an overgrown field
until they came across a small yellow duck – it looked like a children’s toy. Sirius thought that it
was too early for hiking, but Remus seemed to be enjoying the trek.

“Can’t believe we’re only a few miles from London,” he murmured, smiling up at the clear blue
sky.

“Garden of England,” James grinned back.

Fleamont gathered them around, so that they formed a small circle around the little duck.

“All got your wands?” He stared at each of them in turn, waiting for them to nod. Despite the
cheerful sunny day, he looked very solemn, and Sirius felt another twist of anxiety in his gut.

On Mr. Potter’s signal, they all reached out to touch the toy. The world was sucked away as they
were each sent spinning; it had been a while since Sirius had travelled by portkey, and he felt a bit
dizzy when they finally landed at the secret location.

Sirius wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Some sort of bunker, maybe, or a general’s war room
with maps spread across the walls and a grand mahogany table. Instead, he found himself standing
in a rather small and horrendously decorated living room – it looked like a gaggle of grandmothers
had been left to run wild, pasting up garish floral wallpaper and vomiting tacky cross-stitched
throw pillows onto the ugly faux-leather sofa.

“Fleamont?” A gangly man with a shock of red hair walked in just as they arrived – Sirius
recognised him from Christmas, the husband of Gid and Fab’s older sister.

“Arthur!” Mr. Potter reached out to shake the man’s hand, with a friendly smile.

“Sorry, Monty,” Arthur said, leaving Mr. Potter’s hand dangling in mid-air, “But Moody would
never forgive me if I didn’t follow protocol. Now, let me see…what was the nature of the last owl I
sent you?”

“It was a thank you card,” Mr. Potter responded immediately, “Effie sent Molly a few of James’s
old things for Bill and Charlie.”

“Lovely.” Arthur nodded, reaching out to return the postponed handshake.

“Boys, you remember Arthur Weasley,” Mr. Potter waved them all over, indicating that they
should shake the man’s hand, as well. “This is my boy James, Sirius, Peter Pettigrew and Remus
Lupin.”

“Hello there, what’s this?” Arthur squinted down at the little yellow duck, which Remus had
clutched in one fist.

“Er. A rubber duck.” Remus looked down at the toy in his hand.

“I see, I see, and what’s it for?” Arthur stepped closer, clearly intrigued. Remus seemed a bit
perturbed by his eager curiosity.

“Er…it’s just a rubber duck,” he said, shrugging. “D’you want it?”

Arthur accepted the toy, looking absolutely delighted.

“Better not tell Molly! She thinks I’m mad already.”

Remus didn’t reply, only smiled politely—Sirius nudged James, resisting the urge to snicker.

“How is Molly?” Fleamont asked, “And the boys? Twins, did I hear?”

“Yes, three months old now,” Arthur said, proudly, “I did wonder if we ought to stop at five, but
Molly’s keen to try for a girl; poor thing’s rather outnumbered, as things are.”

He walked as he spoke, guiding them out of the gaudy living room and into a more conservative
kitchen, which was attached to a sunny conservatory. As they entered, Frank and Alice looked up
from where they were lining up mugs on the Formica counter.

“Hello!” Alice greeted them, “Tea?”

They gave her their orders, and Frank began divvying up tea leaves into a collection of teapots.
Alice instructed them to go ahead into the conservatory, where the meeting was due to begin
shortly.

As they walked, James asked, “Whose house is this, dad?”

“Best we don’t know too much,” Mr. Potter smiled, “Come on, now, they’ll all be waiting.”

The conservatory was much nicer than either the living room or kitchen, with sunlight streaming
through the glass windows and turning the terracotta floor a warm burnt orange colour. Through
one of the windows, Sirius could see a neat little garden beside a swing set and a slide; inside the
greenhouse, there were even more plants, flowers and cacti and even a few small trees all potted
and arranged carefully on homemade wooden shelves.

It must have been the largest room in the house, but even so, it was crammed nearly to bursting
with people. Sirius guessed that there were about thirty different witches and wizards, some
gathered around a large table, other standing or sitting on the scattered wicker garden furniture.
Hagrid was there, towering over everyone in one of the little corners, with the top of his head
nearly brushing the roof of the greenhouse. Sirius had never seen the groundskeeper outside of
Hogwarts, and he had to do a double take.

Hagrid was not the only person he recognised; there were also the Prewett twins, Mad-eye Moody,
Professor Ferox, and Ted Tonks, Andromeda’s husband. Sirius was a bit surprised to see Emmeline
Vance and Dorcas Meadowes standing off to one side together, but before he could say hello, Lily,
Mary and Marlene hurried over to greet them, looking relieved to see the boys. Mary hugged
Remus, and Lily hugged James, and Sirius opened his arms and waggled his eyebrows at Marlene,
who laughed and smacked him away.

Once everyone had finished saying hello, Marlene beckoned an older boy over from where she and
the girls had been standing.

“Remus!” She said, eagerly, “This is Danny!”

The family resemblance was striking; both siblings had the same willowy build, broad mouths, and
sandy hair.

“Oh, hello,” Remus waved, shyly, and Sirius moved a bit closer, sensing his discomfort.
“Hi!” Danny smiled, eyes catching on the scars across Remus’s face. He held out his hand for a
handshake, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, I owe you such a—”

“Danny McKinnon!” James exclaimed, noticing who they were talking to. He rushed over,
babbling, “Can I just say that you are absolutely, without a doubt, the best beater the Cannons have
ever had?!”

Danny laughed, turning towards James,

“Thanks. I hear you’re a bloody good chaser – it is James Potter?”

“Yes, and I’d love to—”

“Hate to break up the social club, gents,” Moody interrupted, “But we’ve some business to get
down to.”

Everyone fell quiet as they gathered around the table, and the previous cheerful smiles were
replaced with solemn glances. The meeting began with introductions, though it seemed that almost
everyone there was already familiar with each other. When it was Sirius’s turn, he cleared his
throat, heart pounding, and said,

“Sirius Black.”

A few of the members began to whisper, and some faces darkened, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Sirius raised his chin, daring them to say anything – to question why he was there.

Nobody did.

Once everyone had been introduced, they moved on to reading the minutes from the previous
meeting – of course, most of this was unintelligible to the newcomers. Nobody paused to explain
who or what they were talking about, running quickly through a list of names and locations,
referencing past missions without going into any detail. A lot of the talk seemed to centre around
ministry politics; they spend a good deal of time on various policies that they were trying to push
through, or else reforms that ‘their side’ was gunning for—nobody had to ask who ‘their side’ was.

Aside from this discussion about the ministry, they spent a good deal of time talking about
‘gathering allies’ and how to convince more people to join the Order, or at least to support the
Order’s goals. From the sound of it, many wizards were sympathetic to their mission, but the
increasing violence of the death eaters’ attacks made people hesitant to risk their safety by joining.
A list of the missing was read next, and they all observed a minute’s silence on a suggestion from
Alice.

After that, Moody went through a few more updates. There were a handful of questions about
Dumbledore and whether he had made any ‘progress,’ though no one bothered to explain what sort
of progress they were referring to. Assignments came next – Frank and Alice were instructed to be
in Anglesey every night next week at exactly 6pm, though what for, Sirius had no idea. Kingsley
Shacklebolt had a mysterious meeting with ‘our mutual friend’ ‘you know where’ on Friday. The
Prewett twins were assigned to guard duty at a handful of different locations, though of course
there weren’t any details as to what they’d be guarding. Everybody seemed to take these
assignments in stride, nodding solemnly when their names were called.

Finally, Moody clapped his hands together and stood, bringing the discussion to an end.

“Those who have to go, go,” he said, “I’ll send word via the usual channels for our next meeting.
Anyone needs to speak to me now, you’ll have to wait a bit.” He pushed back his chair, moving to
talk to a grey-haired woman in the corner.

Immediately, a furtive buzz of chatter broke out as people turned to their neighbours, discussing the
meeting in hushed voices. Sirius glanced at James, who shrugged, as if to say, Don’t look at me,
mate, I’m just as lost as you. Fortunately, Mr. Potter seemed to sense their confusion, because he
hurried over to their group of friends, saying,

“Come with me and Hagrid,” he glanced at Lily, Marlene, and Mary, “You too, ladies, we’ll get
you all up to speed, eh?”

The girls smiled, gratefully, and their entire group turned and prepared to follow James’s dad.

“Not you, lad,” Moody suddenly appeared, reaching out a calloused hand to grip Remus’s
shoulder. “Ferox and I need a word. And you, McKinnon.” When Marlene turned to him in shock,
he added, “Daniel, that is.”

Remus looked at Sirius with wide-eyed panic, and Sirius felt his heart sink. Werewolves, again. He
supposed they should have expected it—still, his heart crawled into his throat. But before any of
them could say anything, Ferox strolled over, laughing as he said,

“Don’t look so jumpy, Lupin, I promise we’re not going to torture you.”

Remus laughed nervously, smiling weakly at his old Care of Magical Creatures professor. Sirius
frowned as he watched the group walk away, Remus and Danny following after Moody and Ferox
as they made their way back into the house.

“Right then,” Mr. Potter clapped his hands together, “Follow me, you lot.”

He led them out to the garden, where Hagrid was waiting. He looked much more comfortable now
that he was actually able to stand up straight. Dorcas and Emmeline were outside, too, along with a
few other people that Sirius recognised as recent Hogwarts graduates. There were ten of them
altogether, and they gathered into a sort of semi-circle with Fleamont and Hagrid at the centre.

“Hello, hello, nice to see some new faces,” Mr. Potter smiled at the group, looking at each of them
in turn, “The Order is only as strong as its members, and we think it’s honourable what you kids
are doing – standing up for all wizards, to make our world a safer place. I’ve no doubt that this
cause is very important to all of you, and it takes a lot of courage to fight for what you believe in,
especially in times like these. So thank you for being here.”

“Yer all doin’ the right thing,” Hagrid added, gruffly, “Standin’ up against you-know-who.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Potter nodded, growing a bit more sombre. “And, as I’ve said, the Order appreciates
your service. Truly. But you are all very young, and I want to ensure that you understand – what
we are doing here is dangerous. This work, it’s important, but I won’t sugar coat it. Most of the
folks that you saw today at that meeting have spent months risking their lives to try and keep others
safe. You are all incredibly young, and I hope that we will never have to ask that of any of you –
but I would be remiss if I did not impress upon you the nature of this operation.”

He took a breath, eyes sweeping over the row of solemn faces. “This is a war that we’re fighting.
And it is a war in which we have very little support. I don’t know how much you all have been
following the news, but we cannot rely on the Ministry to assist our efforts – Voldemort has friends
in high places, and many departments are already compromised.”

Sirius thought of Rodolphus Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, his cousins’ husbands, both of whom
worked for the ministry. He thought of the crazed gleam in Bellatrix’s eyes as she’d pulled up her
 sleeve, revealing the twisting snake on her forearm.

“I’m sorry—are you saying that the Ministry is controlled by… you-know-who?!” Emmeline asked,
blanching. Mr. Potter shook his head.

“Not controlled, no. Not completely. It has been a long and ongoing struggle to keep the Ministry
out of his hands—in fact, one of the Order’s primary missions is to protect our government from
death eater control.”

Everyone shifted, uncomfortably, at that. Sirius knew that things were bleak, but he had never
heard James’s dad speak so openly about the state of the war—it was jarring to hear that the
Ministry had become just another battleground between the Order and the death eaters.

Fleamont continued to speak, explaining the focus of the Order’s current missions and their
primary goals. Hagrid chimed in every once in a while, to add a few details about the sorts of jobs
that they could expect to help out with – research, reconnaissance, guard duty. It sounded as though
most efforts were focused on bolstering their alliances and defending against death eater attacks.

“You-know-who wants to divide us,” Mr. Potter told them, “He wants to use fear to turn wizards
against each other. That’s why it’s so important that we present a united front against the death
eaters, especially now. We need to show the wizarding world that fear is not enough to break us;
that no amount of violence can turn us to hate. Remember, no matter what happens – the fact that
you’re all here, that you all care enough to fight for this cause…that’s proof that he hasn’t won.
That we aren’t going to let him win. Alright?”

Ten faces nodded, heads bobbing up and down, eyes flashing with passion and determination and
the belief that they could win.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is the same as the original - "don't fear the reaper" by blue
oyster cult!

the next ch is actually very happy + fun i promise <3 after that...no more promises
 The War: Reprieve
Chapter Summary

club! club! club! club!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Warrior in Woolworth’s

His roots are in today

Doesn’t know no history

He threw the past away

He’s the rebel on the underground

She’s the rebel of the modern town

He’s the rebel on the underground

She’s the rebel of the modern town

Friday 14th July 1978

“I’m going to kill her,” Lily said, sliding into their booth at the Leaky Cauldron, “I am truly,
seriously, going to strangle her in her sleep.”

“Wedding planning’s going well, then?” Sirius asked, grinning over his butterbeer. James wrapped
an arm around Lily’s shoulders, leaning over to press a kiss against her forehead in greeting.

“She’s impossible! Completely impossible! Lily, you were supposed to call the florist! Lily, did
you pick up my dress from the tailor? Lily, you stole my earrings—my silver earrings, I know you
took them! I don’t even wear silver jewellery!”

Sirius bit his lip, trying not to laugh. Lily was clearly furious, gesticulating wildly as she ranted.
James had to dodge to avoid being smacked in the face as he tried to cuddle her.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, arriving back at their table with another tray of butterbeers.

“Petunia’s being a cunt, what else is new.” Mary replied, examining her nails under the dingy bar
light. Outside, the sun was still shining, just beginning to sink in the sky—but the fading light
hardly reached them in their private back corner, and Mary had to make do with the flickering lamp
attached to the wall.
“Ah,” Remus grinned, sliding into the seat next to Sirius, “She still sending you out on those
ridiculous errands every day, then?”

“Yes! And mum sides with her—says she’s just under a lot of pressure, and I should try to be
understanding. And Petunia refuses to let me use magic for any of it—she caught me using
scourgify to clean the china for her rehearsal dinner, and she literally threw one of the plates at my
head. Of course, then I had to fix it using reparo, and that just made her even angrier…”

At this point, Sirius couldn’t resist the urge to laugh—Mary had caught his eye and was making a
face, and he nearly choked on his butterbeer as he started to giggle. Lily narrowed her eyes.

“It’s not funny, Black.”

“Oh, come on,” Mary grinned, “It’s a little bit funny, you have to admit.”

“When you don’t have to deal with her, maybe…” Lily grumbled, taking a swig of her drink. “Ugh,
I think I’m going to need something stronger than butterbeer.”

“I second that!” Sirius cheered, raising his glass.

“Second what?” Marlene appeared at the end of the table, smiling.

“Marls!” Mary squealed, shoving both Sirius and Remus so that she could clamber out of the booth
to hug her friend. Lily stood, too, wrapping her arms around the taller girl.

“Started without me?” Marlene asked, eyeing the mugs of butterbeer already scattered across the
table, “Thought this was supposed to be my celebration?”

“Oh, shush, we haven’t started on the good stuff, yet.” Mary winked at her, sliding back into the
booth.

Marlene laughed, sitting down next to her, so that she, Mary, Sirius, and Remus were all squashed
into one side of the booth. Peter, James, and Lily sat on the other—now that Lily had finally
calmed down, she was leaning against James’s chest, and he had an arm thrown around her
shoulders.

“I’ll go get a round of firewhiskies,” Remus sighed, seeing as neither James nor Lily looked like
they’d be moving anytime soon, and Mary had already tangled herself up between Marlene and
Sirius, throwing her legs across his lap and leaning back against the taller girl’s shoulder.

“Thanks, love!” Mary shouted as he walked off, and he waved a hand dismissively back in her
direction, grunting.

“Is Yaz coming?” James asked, sipping his butterbeer.

“Later, hopefully,” Marlene replied, “She couldn’t get away this afternoon—family stuff.”

“Ah, too bad.”

Remus returned after a moment with a tray full of firewhiskies, which he passed around the table.
Everyone lifted their glasses, toasting,

“To our resident healer!” Mary cheered. Marlene laughed.

“I’m not a healer yet—I’ve still got to go through the apprenticeship, and the training.”
Marlene had just received word earlier that week that she’d passed her healer academy entrance
exam for St. Mungo’s. Sirius was still a bit iffy on what exactly “healer academy” entailed, but it
sounded quite different from Hogwarts—apparently, Marlene would begin working part-time as an
apprentice to a healer, while simultaneously attending training courses in the academy attached to
the hospital. Sirius had no idea why someone would want to leave school just to go directly into
even more school, but they all knew how much this meant to Marlene—she’d wanted to be a healer
ever since she was a little girl.

So, of course, they had all decided that her accomplishment would need to be celebrated with
drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. Plus, the gathering provided a much-needed reprieve from the
tension of the past week.

Ever since the meeting, they had all been on edge, waiting to hear from Moody again – to receive
instructions, or invitations to another meeting, or assignments for missions. But so far, the only
person who’d been given anything to do was Remus; Ferox and Moody wanted him to approach a
group of werewolves in Knockturn Alley, along with Danny McKinnon.

Sirius hated the idea. Both Moody and Ferox seemed to think that Remus wouldn’t be in any
serious danger—as if they’d forgotten what had happened the past two times he’d gone to “just
talk” to the werewolves. But of course, he couldn’t complain; this was what they’d all signed up
for. Plenty of people put themselves at risk every day for the Order, and Sirius knew he would
have to get used to the idea that his friends would be doing the same. Still, it hadn’t quite felt real
until after that first meeting, when they’d returned to the Potters’ house and crawled into bed and
Remus had wrapped his arms around him and whispered,

“They want me to talk to them. Again.”

The meeting was scheduled for that upcoming Monday. Mostly, Sirius was trying not to think
about it; he knew it wouldn’t do any good to let Remus catch on to just how worried he was, and at
least this time Moony wouldn’t be going off on his own – Danny would be with him.

Still, it was hard not to think about what had happened last time. It was hard to imagine going
through it again—the waiting, not knowing what was happening, when or whether Remus would
return.

But—no. They were celebrating. There would be time to worry about things like that later.

Sirius downed his firewhisky in one swallow. Mary clapped and cheered.

By the time Yasmine joined them, roughly two hours later, the sun was low in the sky and
everyone at the table was acting very silly and drunk. Marlene insisted that her girlfriend sit beside
her, which resulted in a few minutes of confused shuffling, until all the girls ended up on one side,
with the boys on the other.

“Hang on,” James blinked, dopily, from where he was squashed between Sirius and Peter. “Why is
Lily over there?”

She giggled from across the table, and Mary threw an arm around the redhead’s shoulders.

“I’ve whisked her away from you, Potter!” She declared, planting a kiss on Lily’s cheek, “You’re
never getting her back!”

“Oi!” James protested, as Lily pretended to swoon into Mary’s arms.

“Aww, don’t worry, Jamie,” Sirius pinched his cheek, and James swatted his hand away, “I still
love you. C’mere, give us a kiss—” he puckered his lips, making obscene smacking noises as
James tried to shove him off, crushing poor Peter against the wall in his attempt to get away.

“Gerroff, wanker!”

“Faithless, the lot of you,” Remus muttered, shaking his head and smiling.

“Aww, Moony,” Sirius turned to his boyfriend, “C’mon, you know you’re still my favourite.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remus blushed, lifting his firewhisky to his lips to hide his grin.

A few hours and a few more firewhiskies later, everyone was stumbling out the door into Diagon
Alley, giggly and giddy and grinning.

“Where to now?” Sirius asked, not wanting the night to end.

“Club!” Mary said, trying to climb onto his shoulders for a piggyback ride, “Club! Club! Club!”

“Yaz and I have to head home,” Marlene said, apologetically, “We promised my mum we’d be
back by ten.”

“Booo!” Mary waved a hand at her, flailing and nearly making Sirius lose his balance as he hoisted
her up onto his back.

“Oh, are you staying over at Marls’ house, then?” Lily asked Yaz, from where she was leaning
heavily against James’s arm. Yasmine nodded, smirking.

“Got permission from my parents to spend the night with my dear, platonic girl friend.” She
laughed, “We can stay up late painting our nails and talking about boys.”

“Ah, yes, the classic sleepover activities.” Mary winked suggestively, and Marlene’s face went
scarlet. She and Yaz bid the rest of the group farewell, ducking back into the Leaky Cauldron to
use the floo.

“Well,” James began, “S’pose we should probably head back, too…”

“Noooo!” Mary and Sirius protested at the same time, and Mary started her chant again,

“Club! Club! Club! Club!”

Sirius joined in with her, and James stared at the two of them, exasperated. After a moment, he
turned to Lily for help, but she only giggled and said,

“Actually, I’ll take any excuse to stay out a bit longer—so long as I don’t have to see my sister for
a few more hours…”

“Come on, Potter!” Mary giggled, as Sirius spun her around in shaky circles, “We’re all adults,
we’re allowed to stay up past our bedtime sometimes…”

James turned to Remus. “Moony?”

The taller boy shrugged. “I could drink more.”

James ran a hand through his hair, frowning. “Can’t believe you’re all making me be the
responsible one,” he grumbled. “Fine, where d’you want to go?”
“Muggle club!” Mary exclaimed, now smacking Sirius’s shoulders so that he would set her down,
“M’sick of bloody wizards.”

“Muggle club!” Sirius threw his hands in the air, “Woo-hoo!”

Most of the navigation was left to Remus, with scattered input from Mary. James was in charge of
steering, ensuring that neither Peter nor Sirius wandered off as they made their way out of Diagon
Alley and into the streets of muggle London. Lily had the foresight to send a letter through the floo
to the Potters’ house, informing James’s parents that they’d all be out a bit later, and not to worry.

Half an hour later, they were packed around a small, sticky table. A crush of sweaty bodies pulsed
on the dancefloor, music thumped so loudly that they could barely hear themselves talk, and the
faint, slightly stale scent of pot hung over everything. Sirius was absolutely thrilled.

“Muggle club, Moony!” He shouted into Remus’s ear, “I’ve never been to a muggle club before!”

“You’ve never been to any club before, you idiot!” Remus shouted back. The lights overhead
flashed wildly, casting strange and unpredictable shadows across his face.

James returned to their table, elbowing his way over from the bar. He had a precarious grip on a
tray of shots, which he seemed very relieved to set down.

“What did you get, Potter?” Mary shouted.

“I dunno!” He shouted back, “It was all muggle stuff!”

“Ugh, why did we send you to get the alcohol?”

“You said I had the sharpest elbows!”

Mary and Lily exchanged a glance, then burst into laughter. Sirius found himself laughing along,
though he had no idea what was so funny.

Whatever it was James had brought them, it was disgusting—but that was alright, because Sirius
began to feel it almost immediately, burning through his veins and making everything warm and
fuzzy. Of course, he was already feeling very warm and fuzzy from all the firewhisky he’d
consumed at the Leaky Cauldron, which may have had something to do with his decision to
stumble over to the dance floor with Mary thirty seconds later, laughing and spinning her into the
crowd.

James and Lily joined them after a few minutes, wrapping their arms around each other and
swaying to the thumping beat of the music. Remus and Peter stayed at the table, and when Sirius
flipped his hair out of his face and caught Moony’s eye, the other boy was watching him, eyes dark
as they followed the movement of his arms, his hips. Sirius grinned.

He wasn’t sure how long they danced, but by the time he and Mary stumbled back over to the
table, they were both sweaty and red-faced. Mary laughed, breathlessly, leaning against his
shoulder, and Sirius wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Where’d Prongs and the missus go?” He shouted, scanning the dance floor. Remus pointed over
to a darker corner, where James and Lily were still wrapped in each other’s arms, but were no
longer dancing—their tongues appeared to be engaged in a wrestling match. Sirius laughed.

He was just about to comment on the couple’s indecent behaviour when Remus leaned down,
warm breath ghosting over his face as he spoke directly into his ear,
“Fancy a fag?”

Sirius nodded, and Remus grinned, teeth flashing in the strobing lights.

“Padfoot and I are going for a smoke!” He called over to the others. They made their way to the
exit, leaving Mary behind to drag a terrified-looking Peter back out onto the dancefloor.

After the stifling press of bodies inside the club, the night air outside felt very cool, and Sirius
shivered as the sweat dried on his skin. He and Remus ducked into the alley, leaning against a
graffitied brick wall, partially concealed behind a dumpster.

“This is romantic,” Sirius said, smirking. Remus snorted, cigarette between his teeth. He snapped
his fingers to light it, then held it out to Sirius—who didn’t move, shoulders tilted back against the
wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. Instead, he parted his lips and raised his brows,
expectantly.

Remus rolled his eyes, but leaned forward all the same, placing the cigarette between Sirius’s lips.
He shut his mouth and sucked, inhaling, watching Remus’s gaze drop to his mouth. After a
moment, he raised his hand, plucking the cigarette from his lips and exhaling.

“You should dance with me.”

Remus raised a brow, withdrawing another cigarette. “Don’t think this is that sort of club, Pads.”

“C’mon,” Sirius stretched out a leg, nudging him with his foot, “Mary could dance with us—an
entirely platonic group of friends, out on the town.”

Remus shook his head, smiling. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“That,” Sirius said, taking another drag on his cigarette, “Is not true. I’ve seen you at Gryffindor
parties—you put the rest of us to shame.”

Remus gave him a deadpan look. “Ha, ha.”

“I mean it! You’re sexy, Moony, c’mon.” Sirius nudged him again, with his toe, and the taller boy
stared down at him, exhaling smoke. Sirius swallowed, heart pounding in his chest as he waited for
Remus to respond—he was staring at him steadily, with that hungry look in his eyes, the one that
made heat squirm through Sirius’s belly. After a moment, Remus leaned down, reaching out to
brush a lock of hair away from Sirius’s face. He leaned into the touch, unconsciously, cigarette
forgotten in his fingers.

“But I like to watch you,” Remus said, smirking, voice pitched for the space between them. Sirius
licked his lips.

“Oi, Moony! Moooony! Padfoot! Where’d you lot run off to?!”

Bloody Prongs. Sirius cursed James, silently, as Remus sighed and leaned back, hand falling down
to his side.

“Over here, Prongs!”

James’s head popped around the side of the alleyway, and he squinted into the dark.

“What’re you doing back there? C’mon, it’s time to go home!”

Sirius opened his mouth to ask why, but it quickly became apparent—Lily and Mary stumbled
around the corner, propping up a wobbling Peter, who was moaning and looked slightly green in
the buzzing light of the streetlamp.

“M’gonna be sick…” he mumbled, and the girls managed to get him over to the wall just in time to
extricate themselves. Peter propped himself against the brick with one arm, crouching over and
retching onto the pavement. Sirius wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“A bit too much spinning, poor love,” Mary tutted, reaching out to rub Peter’s back soothingly.
Lily wobbled back over to James, twisting their hands together and leaning against his arm. Once
Peter had managed to stand again, James clapped his hands together, smiling far too cheerfully for
someone whose mate had just chucked up into an alley.

“Right, then. Who’s good to apparate?”

* * *

Monday 17th July 1978

In the end, they took the Knight Bus back to James’s house—which did a number on poor Peter
and his fragile stomach. They snuck as quietly as they could up the stairs, where Mary took
Remus’s bed, Remus and Sirius shared Sirius’s, Lily and James ended up in his, and Peter fell
asleep with his head against the toilet.

Both Mary and Lily’s parents were very upset when their daughters returned home the next
morning, and Euphemia gave all the boys a stern talking-to. But in the end, no harm was done, and
nobody really seemed inclined to hold it against the teenagers—not with everything else that was
going on.

They spent most of their Saturday recuperating, lounging about in pyjamas and nursing headaches
from their abundance of drinking (except James, who spent the afternoon outside on his broom,
just as chipper and energetic as usual). The rest of the weekend passed quietly after that, and before
they knew it Monday had come, and it was time for Remus to go.

“Danny will be there,” he mumbled, as Sirius hugged him goodbye, “And Moody will be waiting
for both of us. It’s just talking; it’ll probably be really boring.”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, squeezing him a bit more tightly. “I know.” He didn’t bother mentioning
that ‘just talking’ had not exactly turned out the way Remus had planned the past two times he’d
tried it.

He and James went to see Remus off; he was taking muggle transport most of the way into Diagon
Alley, to avoid any chances of magical detection. As they walked back from the village to the
Potters’ house, James asked casually,

“Quidditch?”

Sirius appreciated the effort to distract him. Peter came over, and they played an informal game
with him as keeper. But not even an afternoon spent soaring through the Potters’ gigantic yard on
their broomsticks was enough to take Sirius’s mind off of Remus—he kept wondering if he had
reached his destination, if he was in Knockturn alley now, if any of the werewolves there were the
ones he’d met before – Castor, or Livia.

After he missed the third pass from James, they called the game off and ended up lying on their
backs in the grass, staring up at the puffy white clouds.

“He’ll be alright,” James said, “It’s Moony. He’s like a magical genius.”

“I know,” Sirius sighed, anxiety a tightly wound coil in his chest, “But after what happened last
time…”

“Remus can handle it,” Peter said, firmly. “You weren’t there in the forest—he was fearless. Like
he knew exactly what he was doing.”

But you didn’t see him after, Sirius wanted to say, You didn’t hold him while he was shaking, you
didn’t hear his voice break when he talked about choking on ash. You didn’t see his eyes.

Eventually, Peter went home to wash up before dinner, and Sirius and James moved back inside.
James sat on his bed, flipping through a quidditch magazine, and Sirius levitated his record player
into the room and put on Electric Warrior.

At first, he lay on the floor—but then he stood, pacing back and forth across the carpet, and
eventually he sat in the open window, smoking a cigarette. James didn’t complain, even though he
normally gave Sirius shit for smoking inside. But after Sirius replayed Monolith for the third time,
he finally cleared his throat, setting the magazine aside.

“You alright there, mate?”

“How long has it been?” Sirius asked, “It’s been too long. It shouldn’t be taking this long, should
it?”

“I dunno,” James said, carefully, “I reckon it’s hard to say; we don’t exactly know what they might
be talking about…”

“If they are talking,” Sirius muttered, darkly.

For a moment, James was quiet. Then,

“We all knew this would happen, Sirius. When we joined the Order.”

“I know,” Sirius ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, “I know that. But I still hate it—why’s it
always him, why do they always have to send him off by himself? If we could just be there with
him—”

“Sirius,” James said, “You know why.”

Sirius huffed, taking another drag on his cigarette. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, tense
silence stretching between them. Finally, James sighed.

“I get it,” he said, “I’m worried about him, too. I know—it’s how I feel every time mum goes off to
run one of her ‘errands’ that she can’t tell us about, or dad has to ‘help Dumbledore out’ with
something and disappears for two days. But going mental wondering about all the different ways
things could go wrong doesn’t help anything.”

Sirius turned to look at him. For a moment, James didn’t look as bright and cheerful as usual. For a
 moment, he looked very, very tired.

“He’ll come back,” Sirius said. The words hovered somewhere between question and statement—
he searched James’s face for reassurance.

The other boy nodded, firmly. “They always do.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "warrior in woolworths" by x-ray spex!

 The War: Home Front
Chapter Summary

sweating and shaking as i resist the urge to write the word "apartment"

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Late summer, 1978

Sirius drifted, in the hazy fugue halfway between dreaming and consciousness. He stood at the
edge of a pond, grimy with muck, staring down at black seaweed that twisted aimlessly back and
forth, back and forth…

Something jostled his shoulder, and the dream slipped away, and he was in his bed, curled under
the sheets. Next to him, Moony rolled over—he’d been sleeping poorly since the last full moon,
tossing and turning all night.

“Can’t sleep?” Sirius mumbled, yawning.

“No.” Remus sighed, heavily, and sat up, tugging the sheets with him. “Sorry. I should go in the
other room.”

“Please don’t.” Sirius rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “It’s fine, I’m up too now, I’ll keep you
company.”

“I’m really not in the mood to talk.”

“That’s ok. I can talk, I’m always in the mood to talk.”

That earned a smile, and the tension in Moony’s shoulders unwound, slightly.

“Go on, then.” He lay back down, and Sirius rolled closer to him, throwing an arm across his chest
and nestling his face into the pillow beside Remus’s, so that he could mumble sleepily into his ear.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow,” he said, eyes sliding closed, “I can’t wait for you to see the flat finally.
I never had anywhere that was just mine before.”

“Me neither.” Remus murmured, quietly.

Sirius was still a bit nervous about it—he’d bought the flat the previous week, without any input
from Remus. The other boy had been recuperating after the full moon, and Sirius had just stumbled
upon it, as if by magic, while he was wandering around muggle London, searching for the
restaurant where he’d promised to meet Mary. He hadn’t thought twice before putting in an offer—
and had ended up being very late to dinner, which Mary was still a bit peeved about.

The Potters had been rather surprised with his decision to live in a muggle neighbourhood, but they
were supportive nonetheless. Fleamont made sure that the flat was equipped with all of the security
charms that were now standard for Order members, and the process had dragged on a bit, so
Remus hadn’t actually been to see it yet.

“Tell me what it’s like.” Remus rolled over again, facing Sirius, and curled up into a ball, burying
his face in Sirius’s night shirt. Usually, their sleeping positions were reversed—but Sirius didn’t
mind it tonight, happy to feel like there was something he could do for Remus, even if it was just
holding him.

“It’s small,” he mumbled, pressing his face into Moony’s curls, “Just one bedroom, one bathroom,
one kitchen.”

“Sounds massive.” Remus said, voice muffled by Sirius’s shirt.

“We can have it however we want; furniture, wallpaper, anything.”

“I’ll leave the interior design up to you.”

“Fine. You can build the bookcases.”

“Bookcases?” Remus peered up at him, a spark of interest in his eyes.

“Yep, bookcases,” Sirius smiled, “Space for the record collection too, obviously. And there are
some garages nearby I might be able to rent…”

“We’re getting a car?!” Remus asked, a note of panic in his voice. They could barely convince the
boy to fly a broom, so Sirius wasn’t surprised that he didn’t fancy the thought of driving.

“Not a car…” Sirius replied, carefully, “But I was just thinking…I mean, it would be really useful
to have another means of transport.”

“There’s the tube.” Remus insisted, “Buses. London is actually sort of famous for them, y’know.”

“Yeah…”

“Have you already bought it?” Remus pulled back, slightly, studying Sirius’s face.

“Er…”

“Sirius!”

“What?!” He couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face—he’d already rented the garage
space, too, but Remus didn’t have to know that yet. “It’s an early birthday present to myself.”

“Your birthday isn’t for months!”

“Housewarming, then. I’ll get you something too!”

“Honestly,” Remus chuckled, stretching out a bit and switching their positions, so that he had
Sirius wrapped in his arms, “You’re a liability. Spoilt brat.”

“Care home oik.” Sirius shot back, laughing into Remus’s shoulder.

For a while, they just lay quietly, breathing together. Remus had been…not withdrawn, exactly,
but…subdued, since his mission with the werewolves. He’d come back in one piece, unharmed,
and Moody had seemed satisfied with his work. But he hadn’t told them any details about what had
happened, aside from saying that he and Danny had spoken with a group of werewolves, half of
whom were working with Greyback and trying to recruit the others to join their cause by promising
safety and shelter.

Things had returned to normal, mostly. None of them had been sent out on any significant
missions; instead, they’d only been asked to do the equivalent of running errands for the Order—
picking up dead portkeys or passing along messages and the like. And Remus seemed fine, most of
the time. But sometimes he would go quiet, staring out the window or off into space, somewhere
where Sirius couldn’t reach him.

Now, Remus squeezed him a bit tighter, and Sirius nestled into his chest, trying once more to
bridge the distance.

“Everything ok?”

“Fine,” Remus mumbled, “Just can’t sleep.”

“Still not in the mood to talk about it?”

“No.”

Sirius sighed. “Ok.” He twisted slightly, pressing his lips to Moony’s neck, sliding a hand down
his hip. He felt Remus shiver, and he smiled against his skin. “In the mood for anything else?”

* * *

James had to come along to see the new flat, of course, which meant that Lily wanted to tag along,
too. And if James and Lily were going, Peter didn’t want to be left out—so the next morning, all
five of them met in the village to catch the train into London.

They were all dressed in muggle clothes; James in a t-shirt that Lily had bought him with a lion on
it, Peter in a collared button-down that was slightly too big in the shoulders, and Remus in a simple
long-sleeved brown shirt. Privately, Sirius thought that he and Lily were the only ones with any
sense of style—she was wearing a sky-blue pinafore with matching knee socks, and he had on his
leather jacket (despite the heat), black jeans, and combat boots. Plus, he’d flipped his hair over one
side, so that his shiny gold piercing was proudly displayed (very punk, he’d thought to himself,
looking in the mirror that morning).

Sirius could hardly contain his excitement as they made the journey into London; he refused to sit
down in the carriage, raced James down the escalators at Waterloo, and swayed from side to side
as they waited on the underground platform. Remus stood beside him, smiling fondly and shaking
his head at the display of over-eager energy.

The flat was in a neighbourhood that Sirius knew his family would never set foot in: off Leicester
Square, in Chinatown. It bustled with bodies nearly all hours of the day, and the smell of sesame
oil hung thick and heavy in the summer heat. There were posters stuck on the phone boxes that
said things like GIRLS ABOUT TOWN ARE BORED or PARTY WITH THIS BUSTY BEAUTY.
Sirius loved it.

Peter and Lily both seemed slightly alarmed, but Remus grinned, breathing in the smell of sizzling
Chinese food. “I love London.”
To get to the building door, they had to go through a back alley tucked behind an off-licence. The
hallway was so narrow that they had to walk single-file, a fact which Peter commented loudly on.
Sirius led them up the grimy staircase to a concrete landing, where he paused in front of the sunny
yellow door. Number 9.

“Home!” He announced, waving the key with a flourish before he wiggled it into the lock. Sirius
threw open the door and stepped inside, beckoning the rest of the group along after him.

He felt a twist of nerves as he watched Remus enter, gazing around the flat for the first time. The
door opened directly into the living room, which was plainly furnished with a cream-coloured sofa
and a small coffee table—there hadn’t been much time for decorating. To the left, a small arched
doorway led into the kitchen, a bright little room with a window set directly over the metal sink.
Lily brushed past him and went directly to the fridge to store the bottle of sparkling white wine
she’d brought along as a housewarming gift.

Sirius trailed after Remus, trying to decipher his expression. He looked around the living room and
kitchen, then went down the hallway to peer through the other two doors. One led to the bathroom,
with slightly outdated green tile and pink porcelain fittings. The other led to the bedroom. Their
suitcases were already there, neatly packed and sent ahead, sitting next to the small wardrobe.
There was also a bed, a simple wooden-framed affair, with a maroon blanket that had reminded
Sirius of the dark velvet curtains in their Hogwarts dorm room.

“Well?” Sirius asked, unable to bear Remus’s silence a moment longer. “I know it’s really muggle-
ish, but I didn’t want to go overboard on the money…and it’s much easier to protect, Monty even
had Moody advising on some of the shield enchantments…”

Remus shook his head; when he turned around, he was smiling.

“It’s…great.” He looked back at the bedroom—at the bed, the suitcases, the wardrobe. The little
window that looked out over the dingy alley. “It’s…”

Sirius felt a heady burst of joy—he’d known Remus would like it.

“I always know it’s good when you don’t have something sarcastic to say,” he nudged the other
boy, playfully, “Come on, you barely looked at the living room!”

Remus trailed him back into the main room of the flat, where the rest of their friends were gathered
around Lily as she poured tumblers of sparkling white wine (“We should have got you proper
wineglasses as a present!”). Once the drinks had been passed around, they all toasted, cheering
happily.

“Mate, you’ve got to show me how that eclectic oven thing works,” James said, walking out of the
kitchen, “And the radar-eater.”

“Radiator.” Lily tutted, “Honestly, how did you get an Acceptable in Muggle Studies?!”

Peter, meanwhile, stood over at the small brick fireplace, which looked slightly out of place in the
otherwise-modern flat.

“Are you on the floo network, then?”

“Yep,” Sirius replied, nodding. “For Order stuff, obviously. And you lot. Moody’s made it
untraceable. The whole flat is unplottable, too.”

Remus frowned slightly at the fireplace, as though he wasn’t very fond of the idea that their flat
would be open to any of their friends with a floo connection twenty-four hours a day. Sirius nudged
him, nodding over to the little end table in the corner near the couch—which Remus frustratingly
hadn’t noticed yet.

“I got something else, too,” he pointed out, watching as Moony turned to look. Of course, the rest
of their friends looked, too, and James immediately shouted in excitement,

“You’ve got a telly-phone!” He nearly sent his tumbler flying as he pointed eagerly at the little
plastic device, with its looping cord plugged into the wall behind the couch.

“Calm down!” Lily shook her head, staring nervously at the wine in her boyfriend’s hand.

“A phone!” Remus breathed, wide-eyed. “Is it connected?”

“Yep,” Sirius grinned, “Just pick it up and dial – so I don’t have to hang about outside phone boxes
anymore—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, because he was nearly knocked off his feet by Remus,
who practically tackled him into a hug—and then, although their friends were still watching, took
Sirius’s face in his hands and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe.

Lily and James cheered, laughing, while Peter only sighed and chugged the rest of his wine, before
wandering back into the kitchen for a refill.

* * *

“Do I look ok?” Sirius asked, adjusting his shirt again in the bathroom mirror. “Should I wear a
tie?”

“No,” Remus chuckled from behind him, yanking a grey t-shirt over his head, “Stop fussing, you
look fine.”

“Just fine?!”

“Sorry.” Remus rolled his eyes, sarcastically, “You look incredible.”

“Thank you.” Sirius preened, flipping his hair out of his face. “I just don’t want to let you down,
I’ve never met anyone’s mum before.”

“What about Mrs. Potter?”

“The Potters don’t count, they’re like my own parents, I don’t need to impress them.”

“You’ll be standing next to me,” Remus muttered, pulling on a cardigan—he never wore short-
sleeves, except sometimes when they were alone in the flat. “She’ll be impressed.”

“Don’t do that,” Sirius frowned, “I bet she thinks the sun shines out of your arse.”

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They headed out of the cramped little bathroom, through the hallway and living room—which were
still overflowing with boxes. It had only been a week and a half since they’d moved in, and neither
of them was particularly organised when it came to unpacking. Apparently, the fact that neither of
them had ever actually owned a home before meant that they were both a little inept at figuring out
where everything should go.

Still, Sirius felt more at home in their plain little flat than he’d ever felt anywhere else—even
Hogwarts. Even the Potters. There was just something about waking up in the morning next to
Moony, brushing their teeth together in the little bathroom, making cups of tea in the sunny kitchen
and flopping down on the sofa with their legs tangled together—Sirius found himself looking over
at Remus, sometimes, as he chewed his toast and got crumbs all over the upholstery, and thinking
wonderingly, I never really thought we’d get here.

They apparated once they were outside the door, from the landing—it was private enough that they
didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing them. Seconds later, Sirius was standing on sleepy
residential road in Cardiff, where he found his perfectly arranged hair rudely assaulted with
raindrops.

“Sorry, should’ve warned you,” Remus said, once he’d finished laughing at Sirius’s frantic
attempts to yank his shirt over his head and protect his hair, “Welsh summers aren’t much better
than Scottish ones.”

Fortunately, it wasn’t a long walk to the hospital. Remus knew exactly where he was going,
leading Sirius inside the building and through the linoleum hallways, which all looked mostly the
same. Sirius was glad Moony knew what he was doing.

The muggle hospital room was very similar to wizard ones: there was one empty bed, and another
with a yellowy curtain drawn around it. The floors were linoleum, same as the hallways, and the
whole room smelled impersonal and antiseptic. There were a few machines that Sirius didn’t
recognise, but he figured that it wasn’t the best time to ask about them.

Remus pulled back the curtain, peering around as if to check that his mother was there, before
drawing it all the way back.

At Hogwarts, Remus had showed them all the pictures he’d received from his mum. Sirius
remembered her in the photographs: young and smiling, with shiny blonde hair and eyes that
sparkled with life.

This woman was a shadow of the one in the photographs. She was so pale that her skin was almost
translucent, blue veins showing clearly on her arms and wrists. Her bones jutted sharply from
beneath her nightgown, arms like sticks, cheekbones like knives. Remus had said that his mother
was dying, but it was an entirely different thing for Sirius to hear that than to actually see the
woman wasting away in front of him. He swallowed, hard.

“Remus!”

Hope gazed up at her son, setting down the muggle magazine she’d been paging through and
smiling so hard that Sirius thought her jaw might crack. Her eyes, which had previously been dull,
lit up with joy, and for a moment Sirius could see the woman from the photograph, trapped there in
her wasted body.

“Hi,” Remus murmured, shyly, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She stared up at him as though the
rest of the room had fallen away, and her son was the only thing she could see.
“I was hoping you’d come today!” She said, in a musical, lilting accent. She clutched Remus’s
hand as he sat down, pulling up an orange plastic chair.

“Sorry it’s been so long,” Remus said, smiling at her, “I finished school, and then I moved…um.
I’ve brought someone to meet you.” He looked over at Sirius, who was hovering awkwardly by the
curtain, unsure of what to do.

“Mum,” Remus said, “This is Sirius Black.”

Well, Sirius thought, Suppose that’s my cue.

He forced himself not to fidget as he stepped around the curtain, standing at the end of the bed with
his hands clasped and saying politely,

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Lupin.”

She smiled at him, still holding her son’s hand.

“Hello, Sirius. Are you a friend of Remus’s from school?”

“That’s right,” Sirius told her, nodding.

“Sirius and I live together, in London.” Remus spoke slowly, scanning his mother’s face as he
talked. But her expression didn’t flicker; she continued to wear the same soft smile.

“Doesn’t that sound like fun,” she murmured, eyes far away. “Your dad used to take me for trips to
London, I loved a go on the double deckers.”

With that, she launched into a drawn-out story about her many trips into London with Lyall,
describing all the things they’d done and seen. Her memory seemed a bit patchy—she kept
jumping around and looping back, remembering halfway through one story that there was
something she’d forgotten to say earlier. After a few minutes, when she showed no signs of
stopping, Remus caught Sirius’s eye and indicated that he should sit down, dragging over a chair
from the empty bed. Sirius smiled at him, gratefully, as he sat.

“…and I had my first ever curry in a little restaurant in Wembley…” Hope told them, smiling
vaguely to herself, lost in reminiscences.

“We’re in Chinatown,” Remus told her, interrupting gently. She didn’t seem to mind, eyes
refocusing as she looked back up at him.

“Lovely. And you’ll have your exam results soon, will you?”

“We’ve had them,” Remus said, “I passed everything.”

“He came top in the school in three subjects,” Sirius corrected—because of course Remus would
be infuriatingly humble, even with his own mother, who was perhaps the one person in the world
entitled to take pride in her child’s marks. “History, Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy –
and top marks in everything else!”

Beside him, Remus blushed. But the news seemed to make Hope happy—she patted his hand
gently, murmuring, “That’s my clever boy,” her eyes fluttered, slightly, as though she were sleepy,
“Just like his dad.”

“Are you going somewhere, mum?” Remus asked, changing the subject. There was a packed
 suitcase near the end of the bed—Sirius had noticed it earlier, when he greeted her.

“Oh yes,” Hope nodded, leaning back against her pillows, “Yes, I’m off to the hospice tomorrow.”

Remus went stiff; cold horror bleeding into his eyes as he looked down at his mum.

“Tomorrow?” The word was strangled, torn from his throat.

Hope blinked the sleep from her eyes, squeezing his hand in what was probably supposed to be a
reassuring gesture.

“I’m ready, love,” she said, softly, “It’s time.” Time for what? Sirius thought—but this didn’t seem
like the time to ask.

“But…” Remus was blinking, rapidly, eyes gone slightly shiny.

“I’m making sure everything’s in order,” Hope told him, calmly, “If you leave me your address,
I’ll make sure everything ends up where it ought to. And of course the funeral – I’ve told Gethin
you’re to be notified as soon as possible, and that you’re sat at the front. Don’t let them put you at
the back like some poor relation. You’re my son, and I’ve no shame at all, understand?”

Oh, Sirius thought, numbly. That’s what they’re talking about.

“Mum, please…” Moony’s voice cracked, slightly, as he spoke, and he looked away. “I’m not…
just not yet, ok?”

Hope sighed, staring up sadly into her son’s face.

“All right, my darling,” she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Silence stretched between them, unsaid words filling the space like a storm cloud, heavy and
looming. Sirius waited for one of them to speak, to say something else—but neither of them did.
After a moment, he stood, deciding that perhaps the two of them just needed some privacy.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea, Remus,” he said quietly, “Would you like one?”

Moony nodded, swallowing.

“Canteen’s down the hall,” he muttered, staring down at his feet, “I’ll meet you there, in a
minute.”

“Can I get you anything, Ms. Lupin?” Sirius offered, politely.

She smiled at him, shaking her head.

“No thank you, dear. It was lovely to meet you.”

He smiled back, politely, and inclined his head. Then he turned, and hurried out the door—he
glanced back only once at where Remus sat, hunched over his mother’s hospital bed. He was still
holding her hand, and for a moment Sirius’s eyes caught on it: the pale, fragile palm swallowed up
in the long, scarred fingers.

He let the door swing shut behind him on his way out.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

started watching "our flag means death"....i want blackbeard and stede to kiss so bad
i'm vibrating
 The War: Autumn 1978
Chapter Summary

prewett twin supremacy <3

Chapter Notes

cw for very, VERY minor character death + some blood (nothing too graphic)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

You are just a victim

You are just a find

Soon to be a casualty

A casualty of time

You are just a concept

You are just a dream

You’re just a reflection

Of the new regime

Early September

Sirius crawled out of bed slowly, careful not to wake the boy sleeping next to him. He stretched,
silently, and looked back down at the sandy curls splayed across the pillow. In sleep, Remus was
as peaceful as ever, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling with his breath. Sirius had to resist
the urge to lie back down, to press kisses to his forehead, his chin, his cheeks, until he came awake,
blinking and yawning and smiling.

It was too early for that. And besides, Sirius had a mission.

He dressed quickly and silently, a skill he’d perfected as he’d been assigned more and more
missions that kept him out late, past the time that Remus fell asleep—or, in cases like these, forced
him to wake early, while the sun was still no more than a suggestion of grey light on the horizon.

It had been a strange end to the summer, a mixture of domestic mundanity (borrowing recipe books
from Mrs. Potter, studying cleaning spells once the bathroom began to develop a mouldering smell,
unpacking boxes, buying a lamp) and the whirlwind danger of new missions (midnight raids,
advanced defensive manoeuvres, high-level guard duty).

Towards the end of July, Sirius and James had been sent with a larger group on a raid that ended in
a skirmish—no serious injuries, and they had both managed to hold their own in the fight. After
that, they’d found themselves thrust into the middle of the war, upgraded to higher-risk missions
that were both thrilling and terrifying.

Sirius loved it. He loved the rush of it, the adrenaline that coursed through his veins in a duel, the
heady rush of euphoria when he managed to stumble away from what he knew, logically, could
have been a life-threatening situation, but still somehow felt unreal—like he was a boy playing
soldier, and the prize for making it out unharmed was a slap on the back from Gideon and a free
round at the Leaky Cauldron.

And he hated it. He hated the helpless jaw of fear that closed around his neck whenever he lost
sight of James on a mission, not knowing where he was or what might have happened. He hated the
resentment that he’d begun to notice in Moony’s eyes, when Sirius and James were sent off for
another round of guard duty while he and Peter were still being sent to collect dead portkeys or
deliver messages. He hated the relief that he felt, hated himself for hoping that Remus would never
be sent on another mission like the ones with the werewolves again, even though he knew Moony
was aching to prove himself, just the same as the rest of them.

It crept into their conversations, a strange, sickly tension, an argument that they both refused to
have. Instead, they fought about other things—whether to get a television (Sirius didn’t want one;
he’d had enough of moving pictures at Grimmauld Place) or how much time Sirius spent working
on the motorbike (Remus thought that the flying charms he was perfecting were both dangerous
and childish).

They always made up, of course. It wasn’t as if there was anything else they could do—neither of
them controlled mission assignments.

Sirius brushed his teeth in the small bathroom, splashing water on his face. The mission that
morning wasn’t anything too dangerous, though according to Moody it was “of the utmost
importance” to the Order. Sirius, James, and the Prewett twins were being sent on a supply run, to
pick up a crate of live murtlaps from one of the Order’s sources.

Murtlap essence was, of course, one of the most essential ingredients stocked in any healer’s kit—
it was a crucial component of most basic magical first aid. Lately, the Order had begun keeping its
own stock for instances where members weren’t able to make it to St. Mungo’s, either due to
distance or the need to keep the injuries secret from any prying eyes. As far as Sirius was aware, St.
Mungo’s was still neutral territory; but so was the Ministry, and these days, all that meant was that
it was full of spies from both sides.

The problem was that, because the creatures’ tentacles were in such high demand, the ministry kept
close tabs on any murtlap hunting to ensure that the populations across Great Britain didn’t become
severely depleted. Nobody could say for sure whether the Department for the Regulation and
Control of Magical Creatures had been compromised, which meant the Order had to turn to the
black market for their underground supply of murtlap essence.

Their supplier was a wizened old man named Ebenezer Krebshak who lived just outside Liverpool
—hence the need to wake up before the sun. Sirius, James, Gid and Fab would have to make the
long trip up to the northern city, then trek out to the surly old wizard’s cottage, where he had
apparently been running a black market murtlap-breeding operation undetected for years. He was
an odd fellow, highly mistrusting of all forms of government—but he was also a half-blood, and
hated Voldemort just as much as he hated the Ministry. And that was good enough for the Order.

“Ah, there he is!” Gideon crowed, as Sirius crested the hill where the four of them were meant to
meet, “Sleeping beauty finally arrives!”

“Shut up, Gid,” he panted, catching his breath—it had been a very steep hill.

“Gotta stop smoking, mate,” James clapped him on the back so hard that he nearly lost his balance,
“I told you, those things are rotting your lungs.”

“My lungs are perfect,” Sirius wheezed.

“Alright, alright, c’mon you lot, we haven’t got all day.” Fabian called, broom in hand.

“I thought the point of getting up this early was that we have got all day,” Sirius grunted, lifting his
own broom as he walked over to where Fab was standing by a muddy, abandoned shoe.

The plan was to take a portkey most of the way to Liverpool, then fly the rest of the distance. It
was common practice, those days, to take at least two modes of transportation anytime they needed
to get somewhere, since apparition and portkeys were both susceptible to tracking. The four of
them gathered around the old shoe, and Fabian glanced up.

“Ready?”

They all nodded.

“Alright—let’s go!”

On Fab’s signal, they all reached down, and the dewy hill was whisked away.

Long-distance flying was very different from playing quidditch—duller, for one thing. But it also
took a different set of manoeuvres; speed wasn’t the most important thing, and there was no need
for fancy tricks. Instead, Sirius had to remain focused on balance and posture, making sure that he
wasn’t positioned in a way that would strain anything after an hour-long broom ride. James took
the lead, guiding them at a steady pace. Luckily, it was a muggy, foggy sort of day, and they didn’t
have to worry too much about cover. Still, Fab and Gid worked together to cast a concealment
charm, just in case.

They touched down half a mile away from Krebshak’s cottage, taking a moment to stretch and
shake out their legs.

“Fuck,” Gideon scowled, tugging at his jeans, “Forgot about the bloody chafing—this is why I
never played quidditch.”

“James had to go to Pomfrey for chafing once,” Sirius said gleefully, as James shot him a death
glare, “She made him his own special salve and everything.”

“It wasn’t just for me—the other lads on the team used it too, thank you very much!”

“I never needed it.”

“Probably because you’ve got some sort of reptile skin—reptilian immunity."

"Oi! My skin is flawless, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fabian slapped him on the back as he walked past, “Smooth as a baby’s bottom, this
one.” The others laughed.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it like that…” Sirius grumbled, as they began to walk down the dirt road.

“Reckon he’ll invite us in for tea, this time?” Gideon asked, grinning.

“Ugh, I hope not.” Fabian shuddered, looking slightly green.

“He invited you in for tea last time?!” James squawked, indignantly, “He never invites us in for
tea…”

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Gideon laughed, “It was only because Alice was with us.”

“Old Ebby’s got a crush on her,” Fabian added, waggling his brows. Sirius laughed, delighted with
this information.

“Oh, that’s perfect—does Frank know? They should send Krebshak an invite to the wedding.”

“Nah, can’t break his heart like that—where will we get our murtlaps?”

“Besides,” Gideon added, “The tea was ghastly, may as well have been drinking dishwater. I didn’t
know it was possible to burn water, but he managed it.”

They were still laughing as they approached the cottage, stomping through the overgrown weeds
that littered the old man’s front yard. The windows were still dark, flat black panes reflecting back
the weak sunshine that managed to break through the murky fog.

“Lazy git’s not even awake yet,” Gideon muttered, glancing at his watch.

“Shacklebolt said he’d be ready to meet us,” Fabian replied, “If he decided to have a lie-in, that’s
on him.” He strode up to the door, knocking sharply on the wood. There was a designated code:
three fast knocks, two slow ones, then another three fast. Fabian followed this pattern, then stood
back, waiting.

The house remained silent. Sirius’s palms began to sweat.

“…reckon he’s a heavy sleeper?” James asked. His voice was low, quiet, so as not to draw
attention, and he glanced around nervously. There was nothing in sight for miles except long,
scrubby grass and a few scattered trees.

“Try again,” Gideon urged. He’d gone quiet, too, the previous cheerful grin replaced with an
uneasy frown. Despite the humid weather, Sirius shivered.

Fabian knocked again. “Mr. Krebshak!” He called, after a moment, “We’ve just stopped by to pick
up that package for delivery!”

Nothing.

“Right,” Fabian said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “Wands out.”

He didn’t need to tell them the twice. They left their brooms in a pile next to the footpath and
withdrew their wands; once they were all poised and ready, Fabian said,

“Gid and I’ll go in first—Potter, Black, you two hang back by the door, wait for us to call for you.”

“But—”
“No buts, Potter. Technically, I’m the leader of this mission—if you can’t follow my orders, you
can go back down to the main road and wait there.”

James fell silent, frowning. But he stayed—of course he stayed.

Satisfied that the two younger boys had agreed to stay put, Fabian turned to Gideon. The brothers
exchanged a meaningful look; Gid pointed his wand at the door, and Fab held up three fingers. As
they watched, he mouthed,

“3…2…1…”

“Alohomora!”

The second that Gideon cast the spell, Fabian was shoving the door open; the two of them swept
inside. Sirius and James squinted into the dark mouth of the cottage, trying to see, wands at the
ready.

There was a bit of shuffling, then—

“FUCK!”

“Shit—Gid—”

“No, it’s fine, just—”

“Oh, fucking hell!”

“Gid? Fab?” Sirius called out, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot. He looked over at James, who
glanced back at him, wide-eyed and pale.

“It’s alright, lads!” Fabian called, “It’s all clear in here, just…a bit of a mess. You can come in.”

They did, both rushing into the shadowy cottage, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the dark.

“Lumos.” James lifted his wand, bathing the room in a cool blue glow. Sirius followed him
through the narrow entryway into main living area, which doubled as a sort of kitchen-slash-sitting
room. Gideon was standing in front of the worn brown armchair, staring down at Ebenezer
Krebshak.

He was dressed the same as always, in a faded pair of jeans and a sturdy flannel work shirt. There
were dark, slightly shiny-looking splotches of murtlap slime on his sleeves, evidence of a morning
spent wrangling the creatures, and on the side table next to his elbow there was a mug of black
coffee which he appeared to have just settled down to drink. All in all, it was really a completely
normal scene.

Except, of course, for the gash across his throat, and the dark blood spilled down his chest, over his
body, pooled on the floor in a sticky, congealed puddle. Someone had swiped a hand through it,
had coated their fingers and used it to paint on the wall behind his head—a familiar skull, jaw
unhinged, writhing snake twisted around it.

“They’re all dead,” Fabian said, coming in from the back garden, “All the murtlaps. They didn’t
even take the tentacles just—fuck, they just killed them.”

“Why would they do that?” James asked, horrified, staring at the body before them.

“They wanted us to know,” Gideon said, flatly, “This is a message.”

Saying what?? Sirius almost asked, but didn’t. Because wasn’t it obvious? Wasn’t it right there, in
the dark mark painted on the wall?

We know your secrets. We know your allies. We will hunt down anyone who helps you. We will
destroy everything you have, for the sake of destruction.

This was a taunt, a way to twist the knife. Any practical wizard, when faced with a free supply of
murtlap tentacles, wouldn’t hesitate to take them. They were so useful—especially during a war,
who wouldn’t need more murtlap essence?

Leaving them behind was like pissing on a grave. Like spitting in their faces. A way for the death
eaters to show the Order how powerful they were, how well-connected. They had no need for
black-market murtlap tentacles, because they already had access to all the healing supplies they
might want, right there at their fingertips. Which meant they either had a mole in the Department
for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or somebody high up at St. Mungo’s. Sirius
wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

“C’mon,” Fabian said, roughly, “Let’s go. We’ll have to report this.”

They flew back over Liverpool in sombre silence, following Fabian as he led them out into the
middle of an abandoned field. He and Gideon cast a series of detection spells over the portkey
when they landed (a muddy magazine) to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with. Once they gave
it the all-clear, all four boys reached out to touch the damp and filthy paper.

They landed in an Order safehouse. It had been prepared with a large tank in anticipation of the
murtlaps, which they all very pointedly ignored.

It took some time to get a hold of Moody, considering that it was the middle of the workday at the
Ministry. When they finally did manage to contact him, he told them gruffly to hold tight until he
could send someone along to take their report. They sat for an hour in the house’s cramped kitchen,
where Fab turned the wireless radio on so that they wouldn’t need to talk and Gideon searched
through the cupboards until he found a box of cereal.

“Brunch time, lads,” he said, with an overly cheery smile, “The Order feeds us well, eh?”

In the end, Moody couldn’t get away to take their reports—instead he sent Edgar Bones. The wiry
man was a fellow auror, with a starkly protruding adam’s apple and slightly crooked front teeth.
He talked to them all separately, taking them upstairs one by one to ensure that their stories
matched. It was standard protocol, but it meant even more hours of aimless waiting. The kitchen
chairs were stiff-backed and uncomfortable, but none of them wanted to move into the living room
—not with that empty tank.

By the time Bones finally released them, it was mid-afternoon, and Sirius was exhausted. His back
ached from the stupid kitchen chair, and his legs were sore from hours of flying. They all said a
grim farewell, and used the safe house’s untraceable floo network to get home.

The flat was empty when he stumbled into the living room, and for a moment Sirius felt a sharp
kick of panic—but then he remembered that Remus had been assigned a mission, too, and that he
was meant to be out all afternoon with Peter. He slumped, trudging into the bathroom and stripping
off his sweat-soaked t-shirt.

Sirius stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water wash away the dust and grit from
half a day’s worth of travel. He tried to relax, but every time he closed his eyes he saw that crude,
twisting snake, the cup of coffee on the table, the blood pooling on the floor. So he turned his back
to the spray of water, and stared blankly at the green tile wall.

He didn’t know how he was meant to feel. Ebenezer Krebshak’s corpse was the first dead body
that Sirius had ever seen—despite all the missions, and all the danger, death had still felt like
something…abstract. Something impossible. To see it sitting in its armchair, poised to drink its
coffee—suddenly, everything felt a bit more real.

Sirius supposed he should be sad. But honestly, he hadn’t really known the man all that well, and it
wasn’t like he was leaving any family or friends behind. Instead, Sirius was just frustrated—just
angry, that they hadn’t been able to complete the mission. The murtlap essence would have been a
great help to the Order, and he was furious that the death eaters had killed the creatures just to rub
it in their faces that they could. But after the long hours of navigating back to the safe house,
waiting, giving his report—even most of the anger had faded. Standing in the steam of the shower,
Sirius mostly just felt numb.

He towelled off and dressed, then went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He had just opened the
cupboard to search for a clean mug when he heard the front door slam, and the unmistakable sound
of his boyfriend’s footsteps stomping into the living room.

“You’re back early!” Sirius called out, pasting on a cheerful smile. Remus had already been
gloomy enough—he didn’t want to bring him down any more.

“Mm.” Remus grunted from the living room—a bad sign. Sirius moved into the doorway of the
kitchen, where he could see him.

“What’s up?” He asked, “Something happen?” Surely both their missions couldn’t have gone
wrong…

But Remus just snorted, grumpily, kicking his shoes off. “Nothing happened. It got cancelled. Or
someone else did it. Doesn’t matter anyway, it was just busy-work.”

Ah. They were back to this, again.

“No it wasn’t,” Sirius said, half-heartedly, “Why would Dumbledore give you busy-work?”

“Because I can’t be trusted to do anything else but they still want to keep me on side so I don’t
suddenly go evil.”

“Moony…” Sirius sighed, exasperated, not knowing what to say. Remus waved him off.

“Forget about it. How was your day?”

“It was…busy. Long.” Sirius said, slowly. Somehow, it didn’t seem like the appropriate time to
explain that their mission had ended in complete and utter failure—that the Order would now have
to find a new source of murtlap tentacles, and that they were on high alert for death eater plants at
St. Mungo’s. So instead, he hedged, “The usual stuff, you know.”

“I don’t know,” Remus grumbled, “You get to hang around with Aurors all day. The best I get is
Wormtail.”

“Don’t be like that,” Sirius tried, sitting next to Remus on the couch, “You’re doing plenty of
useful stuff, still. And they sent you on that mission at the beginning of the summer, that was
huge!”

Remus scowled, unresponsive. Clearly, it didn’t matter what Sirius said—he was determined to
 sulk.

“Look, if you’re in a mood, I’d rather just get out of your way. I haven’t had a brilliant day either.”

“Fine.” Remus snapped, still refusing to look at him.

Any other day, Sirius might have tried a bit harder. He might have sat beside him longer, poking
and prodding until he managed to coax Remus out of his dark mood. Or he might have gotten
angry; might have snapped back, until they were arguing, and all the things they’d been bottling up
finally exploded, so that at least they were finally out.

But today, he was tired. Today, he took the keys to his garage, and he left.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "obsessed with you" by x-ray spex!

do i need to warn for character deaths like these?? idk i'll probably try and continue to
do it just in case but if there are like super minor side character/unnamed character
deaths i might forget to sometimes--again, if there's anything that sticks out that should
be tagged/warned about just lmk!
 The War: Winter 1978-1979
Chapter Summary

fic writers can have a little comparison to ancient greek myths...as a treat...

Chapter Notes

cw: death of a parent, funeral, general sadness, etc

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Long ago

And oh so far away

I fell in love with you

Before the second show

Your guitar

It sounds so sweet and clear

But you’re not really here

It’s just the radio

Saturday 23rd December 1978 – 1:22 AM

“We could buy a boat,” Sirius said, shoving one shoulder against the sofa. “No—drape it this way,
not that way—hang on…”

“Why would we do that?” James asked, swaying slightly as Sirius grabbed the blanket from his
hands and attempted to drape it between the back of the sofa and the lamp.

“Be pirates,” Sirius mumbled, narrowing his eyes ruefully at the blanket when it slipped and fell to
the floor.

Building a fort had seemed like a brilliant idea half an hour ago, when Remus had finally thrown in
the towel and stumbled off to bed. A few minutes later, Lily had followed after him, displaying an
appalling lack of confidence at James and Sirius’s ability to construct a sleeping space out of the
living room furniture that would rival the comfort of an actual mattress.
“Need’a steal a boat t’be pirates,” James slurred, laughing.

They’d all gone out that night for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, a sort of pre-Christmas
celebration. It had been Mary’s idea, as she’d be out of the country come Christmas day. She was
visiting her relatives in Jamaica for the first time.

Sirius and Remus would be spending Christmas at the Potters’, along with James and Lily, so
they’d see each other anyway—but it was still nice to see their other friends. Yaz was spending the
holiday with the McKinnons, since her family didn’t celebrate Christmas, and Peter had tagged
along too, of course. Frank and Alice had even popped by to say hello, with Alice flashing her
shiny new ring.

They’d all crammed into a taxi back to Sirius and Remus’s flat afterwards, where there was always
a handle of something strong and alcoholic kept under the sink and at the back of the cupboard.
Everyone had ended the night utterly smashed, and once Remus and Lily began to serenade the
room with muggle Christmas carols the others had finally decided that it was time to see
themselves out.

It was around that point that James had had the idea to build a fort. He and Sirius had been
attempting to make this dream a reality for the better part of an hour, but so far all they’d managed
to do was shove the sofa into the middle of the room and fling all the cushions off of it.

“Sailors, then,” Sirius said, trying once more to drape the blanket across their makeshift fort. He
was no longer entirely certain how they’d stumbled upon this topic of conversation, but it now
seemed very important to figure out what they would do with their hypothetical boat. “Sail around
the world.”

“Pfft.” James waved a hand, slumping down onto the floor—apparently, he’d given up on the
blanket-roof. “Who needs’a boat when you’ve got magic?”

“Could be a magic boat,” Sirius countered. James seemed to consider this.

“Nah.”

He pointed his wand at one of the couch cushions, and Sirius frowned.

“What’re you—”

“Engorgio!”

Immediately, the sofa cushion expanded, growing to the size of mattress until it was crammed
between the wall and the naked-looking sofa.

“Brilliant!” Sirius whooped, “You’re a genius, Potter!”

James stood, unsteadily, to give a little bow, before collapsing back down onto the gigantic sofa
cushion. Sirius crawled up next to him, flopping down and grinning. For a moment, they were
silent, lying side by side.

“’Member when we used to share a bed?” Sirius asked, smiling up at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” James chuckled, “Before Moony came’n stole you away.”

“S’like that again.”

“Mm.”

“Or back at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah.” James sighed, then reached over to poke Sirius in the ribs. “Miss havin’ you around,
sometimes.” He mumbled, sleepily. Sirius rolled over to face him, grinning.

“We see each other nearly every day!”

“Yeah. S’not the same though, is it?”

“Mm. S’pose not.” He rolled back over, so that he was staring up at the ceiling again. “I’ll be
around for Christmas, though.”

“Yeah,” James sighed again, and it turned into a yawn. He fumbled for his glasses, taking them off
and throwing them onto the sofa so that he could mash his face into their makeshift cushion-bed.
“Can’t wait for Christmas…jus’ wan’ things to feel normal for a bit…”

“Me too,” Sirius sighed, frowning. He waited for James to say something else, but pretty soon the
only sound coming out of his friend’s mouth was the familiar rumbling snores. Sirius shook his
head, fondly, and shoved himself up onto his feet. He grabbed the abandoned blanket and threw it
over James, then snagged Remus’s jumper from where he’d left it on the floor and rolled it up to
use as a pillow before tumbling back down on the opposite end of the cushion, where he would be
furthest away from the snoring.

“G’night, Prongs,” Sirius mumbled, before drifting off to sleep himself.

* * *

He woke the next morning to the sound of familiar footsteps creaking across the floor, into the
kitchen, where muffled fumbling about in the cabinets could be heard. Sirius groaned, rolling onto
his back and rubbing at his eyes. He had a horrible crick in his neck from sleeping with a rolled-up
jumper as a pillow, and his mouth was unbearably dry.

“Is that the kettle?” He shouted, squinting his eyes shut against the early morning light that
streamed through the living room window. Above him, James snorted and twitched, woken by the
noise.

“Yep!” Remus replied, raising his voice to be heard from the other room, “Two ticks.”

“Ugh,” James sat up, groaning and stretching. His hair looked like a family of birds had taken up
residence overnight and tried to rearrange it into a suitable living space. He blinked, squinting
around the room.

“Sofa.” Sirius said, around a yawn.

Sure enough, James found his glasses sitting where he’d abandoned them on the cushion-less sofa,
and he grinned at Sirius as he shoved them back onto his face.

“Cheers.”

When Remus padded back into the living room a few minutes later with a tray full of milky cups of
tea, James reached for one eagerly.

“You’re a hero amongst men, Moony,” he said, reverently, cradling the mug carefully in his hands.

“Oh, I know,” Remus smirked, passing another cup to Sirius and perching delicately on the arm of
the sofa as he sipped his own tea. “What the fuck have you done to my furniture?”

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Sirius had managed to get himself seated in an upright position, and he grinned
up at Moony as he drank, “Prongs’ idea – we did an engorgement charm.”

“Shall we help you two clean up?” Lily offered, yawning as she emerged from the bedroom. She
plucked the last cup of tea off the tray, nestling into James’s shoulder as she sat beside him.

“Breakfast first,” Remus said. “Fry up?”

They all nodded. “Fry up.”

Remus led them to the nearest greasy spoon café, where they glanced at the menu for all of three
seconds before deciding to just order Full Englishes all around, which proved to be the right
decision. Afterwards, everyone returned to the apartment feeling much more energised and awake.
Lily and James stayed to help tidy up the flat with Sirius while Remus got ready to go and visit his
mum in hospice (Sirius had to push him into the shower, insisting that the rest of them could
handle the cleaning).

The flat was in quite a state—aside from the living room, the kitchen was a mess, covered in
mismatched mugs and glasses, most of which still had the remnants of last night’s drinks floating
in them. The ashtray was overflowing, and there were stray cigarette butts scattered in some of the
cups as well, which Sirius was sure had seemed like a good idea the previous night but was very
unpleasant by the light of day. Also, everything was sticky.

Sirius placed himself on dish duty, washing everything the muggle way while James and Lily put
the living room back in order. When Remus stuck his head through the doorway to say goodbye,
Sirius was up to his elbows in suds, and he had to take a moment to dry his arms before seeing his
boyfriend out the door.

Remus had dressed up a bit more than usual for the occasion, wearing a freshly ironed shirt under
the brown corduroy jacket that Sirius loved. He had a poinsettia under one arm as an early
Christmas gift—he wouldn’t be visiting Hope on Christmas day, and Sirius had figured it was
probably best not to pry too much into that decision. Besides, he didn’t want to share Moony on
Christmas, anyway—even if it was selfish, he would prefer that Remus stay with him, at the
Potters. He’d already been going to the hospice every other day to see his mum.

“Sure you don’t want me to go with?” Sirius asked one last time, hovering in the doorway. Remus
smiled and shook his head – aside from the one time he’d brought Sirius to meet her, he only ever
went to visit his mother alone. Sirius supposed he could understand why; when he was there he’d
half-felt like an intruder, a witness to something intensely private. Still, he always offered. Just in
case.

Sirius shut the door behind Remus, returning back to his dishes in the kitchen. After a few
moments, Lily wandered in, snagging a dishrag to wipe down the sticky countertops.

“How’s the living room looking?” He asked her, rinsing out a mug.

“Almost back to normal,” she smiled, “James went a bit too far on the shrinking charm, and now
he’s trying another engorgio to set that cushion right—I thought it best to leave him to it.”
Sirius laughed half-heartedly, nodding. After a moment, Lily asked,

“How’s our Moony? Doing alright?”

Sirius shrugged, staring down at the sponge in his hand.

Things were still…strange, between them. Sometimes. Near the end of September, there had been a
week where everything had gotten better, for a bit. Sirius wasn’t sure what brought it on, but one
night he got home from a mission and Remus was fussing over a pot of pasta on the stove,
frowning down at a jar of canned tomato sauce as though it might bite him. The flat had been
cleaned, the laundry put away. And he had smiled and reached out and tugged Sirius in for a kiss,
murmuring ‘Hiya’ against his lips.

Sirius supposed that he hadn’t really realised how tense things had gotten, until that point.
Suddenly, there were no more resentful glances when he left or returned from missions; no more
overflowing ashtrays that meant his boyfriend had spent the day chain smoking; no more crumbs
on the sofa and scattered books with bent spines as evidence of Moony’s moping. Instead, the flat
was kept tidy, the fridge fully stocked, the sheets changed. It had felt like a breath of fresh air.

Of course, it hadn’t lasted. The following week, Sirius had arrived home and there had been
nothing but dirty dishes in the sink, a growing pile of crumpled laundry on the floor of the
bedroom, a fog of stale smoke that he had to crack a window to release.

Sirius wished, desperately, that he knew what had caused the switch. If he knew, maybe he could
fix it—change things, so that Remus would quit moping again. But more and more often, there
didn’t seem to be any singular cause; one evening Moony would greet him cheerfully, studying one
of the recipe books he’d borrowed from Mrs. Potter or gifting Sirius with takeaway from one of
their favourite restaurants. The next, he’d come home to find Remus curled up on the sofa, sulking,
cigarette between his lips.

They didn’t fight. Sirius almost wished they did, sometimes—but there was no real arguing, no
shouting, no yelling. Instead, they murmured bitter comments under their breath, or snapped at
each other about whose turn it was to do the laundry, or gave each other the silent treatment. The
worst part was that Sirius knew what it was about—knew that Remus resented being side-lined
while he and James saw all the action. But it wasn’t as though Sirius could control that, try as he
might; he and James both talked to Alice and Frank, even Moody when they saw him, reminding
anyone who would listen that Remus was just as skilled as they were with magic. But nobody
seemed to care.

So Remus resented him. And he resented Remus, for resenting him. And Remus resented him for
resenting his resentment, and they just kept going in circles, until Sirius couldn’t see any way out
of it. Sometimes he tried to goad Remus into talking to him, to get him to snap and explain what
this was all really about. But that just made the sullen boy clam up more, until eventually Sirius
couldn’t take it and would flee to the garage.

He spent a lot of time working on his bike.

Those were the bad days. But on the good days—on the good days, Remus was sweet. On the good
days they smiled, and laughed; they kissed and touched and listened to records; they read stories to
each other, aloud.

“The Ancient Legend of Orpheus and Eurydice,” Remus read, one evening in late October.
Halloween was approaching, and James was determined to throw a muggle-style costume party,
insisting that everyone dress up. In anticipation of the event, Sirius and Remus had spent the day
shopping with Mary at a muggle charity shop, where she was in her element browsing through the
ridiculous, garish jumpers and oversized hats.

“You’ve already read that one,” Sirius told him, throwing a piece of popcorn at his head. He was
sprawled across the sofa, legs in Moony’s lap, head propped up against a throw pillow.

“Yeah, but you haven’t.” Remus smiled, dodging the tasty projectile.

“I know how it goes, though,” Sirius said, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling, “Bloody
stupid ending.”

“D’you think so?”

“Don’t you?” Sirius sat up, frowning. “He goes through all that work – literally to hell and back –
just to save his wife, and then he ruins everything right at the last second by looking back.”

Remus shrugged, paging through the book. “Some people think it’s romantic.”

“How is that romantic?”

Another shrug. “I dunno.” He fiddled with a loose thread on his jumper. “Like, he loved her so
much that he had to look back. Because it wasn’t worth leaving the underworld unless she was
following.”

Sirius snorted. “Sounds to me like he just didn’t trust her.”

Remus frowned. “Maybe.”

When he didn’t say anything else and continued to stare down at the sleeve of his jumper, lost in
thought, Sirius had nudged him.

“Oi—what’s the next one?”

“The next one?” Remus glanced up. “Oh…erm—Icarus.”

“Ugh, didn’t the Greeks write any stories where everyone doesn’t die at the end?”

That had earned a laugh, and Sirius had settled back onto his throw pillow, smiling, cosy and
content.

“Sirius?” Lily asked. He realised that she was still waiting for him to answer.

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “I think he’s doing alright. I mean, it’s been hard, with his mum, and the
war, and…everything. But—yeah. Alright.”

Lily smiled at him, reaching out to squeeze his arm gently. Sirius smiled back at her, grateful for
the touch. From the living room, they heard James cheering,

“Yes—finally! OI, YOU TWO, I’ve got the cushion back to normal, now!”

* * *
Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby?

You said you’d be coming back this way again, baby

Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh baby

I love you

I really do

Sirius ended up just tagging along with James and Lily when they left to return to the Potters’, not
wanting to stay in the empty flat by himself. Euphemia fussed over them when they arrived,
exclaiming about how long it had been since she’d seen Sirius. She gave him one of her famous
hugs, kissing his cheek as she said,

“We do miss having you around, dear. You’ll have to pop by more often!”

The house was just as festive as usual, decorated with tinsel and sparkling lights and a huge
Christmas tree that made the entire living room smell like pine sap. The ornaments hadn’t been put
up yet, so Sirius spent the afternoon sorting through boxes and boxes of decorations with Lily and
James, placing everything by hand, the muggle way.

Remus stayed later than he usually did at the hospice, and it was evening before a knock came at
the front door. They were in the middle of decorating Christmas cookies, and Sirius was competing
with Lily to see who could finish frosting their snowmen faster, so James went to answer it.

Sirius looked up, eagerly, when Prongs returned—but Remus wasn’t with him. Seeing the
confusion on Sirius’s face, James explained quickly,

“Moony’s here, but he was knackered—went straight up to bed.”

“Oh.” Sirius blinked. “Right.” He turned back to the cookies, trying to muster up the same cheery
smile that he’d had on before—but he couldn’t quite manage it. After a moment, Lily said gently,

“Why don’t you take him up something to eat? Even if he’s tired, I’m sure he’s still hungry.”

“Yeah,” Sirius perked up a bit, “Good idea.”

A few minutes later, he was pushing the bedroom door open carefully with his shoulder. He poked
his head inside, and found Remus staring back at him.

“I’ll leave you be, if you want,” Sirius said, balancing the heavy tray gingerly—they’d loaded it up
with just about everything they could find in the kitchen. “I just thought you might be peckish?”

“I’m starving,” Moony’s face cracked into a smile—a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

Sirius smiled back, relieved. He let the door swing shut behind him, setting the tray on the bed and
sitting across from Remus. As he dug in, Sirius tried to scan his face for any hints of what he might
be thinking without staring too overtly. It was a careful balance.

Once Moony had finished eating, Sirius moved the tray off the bed, placing it on the little
nightstand. When he looked back, Remus way lying back on top of the blankets, one hand
stretched out to his side, the other resting on his stomach. Sirius swallowed.
“Shall I go?”

“No.” Remus took a breath, “Just…don’t expect too much, ok?”

“Ok.” He lay down beside him, staring up at the ceiling.

“How’s the hangover?” Remus asked, after a moment.

“Fine,” Sirius huffed a laugh, “Evans and her potions.” Lily was apprenticing in the potions
research department at St. Mungo’s, and she’d whipped up a concoction right there in his kitchen
once they’d finished cleaning—her own twist on the classic Pepper-up potion.

“Great.”

When Sirius glanced over at him, Remus had his eyes closed, brow furrowed in thought. He turned
his gaze back to the ceiling, waiting for the other boy to say whatever was on his mind.

“I’ve got a sister,” Remus said, after a few minutes of silence. “She’s eight.”

Sirius wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Wow.”

“Mm.” Moony reached for his hand, twisting their fingers together. “It took her months to tell me.
God knows what else I don’t know. I wish we had more time together.”

Sirius squeezed his hand, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. Remus took a breath.

“I wish we had more time, but I also…I also wish she would be more open. It really hurts, knowing
that there are parts of her she keeps private.”

“Oh?” Sirius asked, casually.

“Yeah.” Remus twisted, so that they were facing each other. Sirius mirrored his position, waiting
for him to continue.

“So I’m sorry,” Remus murmured, tangling Sirius up in his gaze, “If I ever make you feel that
way.”

“Moony—”

“—It’s just that I get worried,” Remus spoke over him, words a bit rushed as he continued, “That
you won’t…if you knew some things…”

“There’s nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel.” Sirius spoke fervently, willing
Moony to understand—to look him in the eye and feel that he meant it.

Remus swallowed, and something flickered in his gaze, and Sirius thought, This is it. He finally
gets it. When Remus rolled onto his side, Sirius followed, pressing close and wrapping an arm
around him.

“That mission I did, back in the summer?” Remus sighed, “It went really badly.”

“I thought something had happened.” Sirius said, gently. “Go on.”

“I…do you remember how I got, the last time there were werewolves nearby? Like…really pushy
and sort of not thinking? That happened again. No one got hurt, but I’m pretty sure Danny thinks
I’m dangerously mad now.”

“It didn’t happen to him?”

“I think he must have felt it. But we reacted differently. I sort of – took charge. Not on purpose, it
just felt natural at the time.”

Sirius ran a hand up and down his arm, soothingly. “That makes sense. That’s what you do on full
moons, we have to let you be the leader.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“So…if no one got hurt, what happened?”

“One of the werewolves tried to attack me, but I overpowered him.” Remus tensed, slightly, “I was
supposed to get information, but all I did was rile them up.”

“What did Moody say about it?”

“He was…cryptic. I don’t think he was angry. He asked me if I minded going alone next time –
without Danny. But he hasn’t sent me on any other missions, not proper ones, and it’s been
months…”

“They have to be saving you for something,” Sirius assured him, “I know they have to be – James
keeps telling Frank and Alice how good you are at defensive magic, and they just say they can’t do
anything without an order from someone above them.”

“Maybe,” Remus mumbled.

Sirius hesitated—then asked, softly, “Did he really say you had to go alone next time?”

“He didn’t say I had to…just asked if I minded. And I don’t think there’s any other way – Danny
won’t work with me again, he was too scared. So I suppose…yeah, it’ll be just me next time.”

Sirius held him a bit tighter, burying his face in the back of Remus’s shirt.

“I hate that.”

Remus didn’t reply—Sirius supposed there wasn’t really much to say. They lay side by side,
breathing, and eventually, Remus drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Boxing Day 1978

Christmas at the Potters was just as cheerful as always, though considerably quieter than some of
the previous years. Mr. and Mrs. Potter weren’t getting any younger, and with all the work they did
for the Order (in addition to Mr. Potter’s job at the Ministry), they simply weren’t up for hosting as
big a Christmas party as they had in the past. Besides, the Ministry (and the Order) had warned that
large gatherings should be avoided, lest they become targets of the attacks that continued to
increase as the months went by.

Still, it was everything Sirius had hoped for—a warm, bright respite from the darkness that seemed
to permeate so much of their lives. He and James stole the key to Mr. Potter’s office, informing
him that he was forbidden from working, and he laughed good-naturedly and threw his hands up
and gave in to the Christmas cheer. They all gathered to exchange presents around the tree – there
were all the usual sweets and nuts and candied fruit, along with more personalised gifts. Sirius
received a new album from Andromeda, as always, and quidditch tickets to a Hollyhead Harpies
game from James. He watched eagerly as Remus unwrapped the brand new doc martens he’d got
for him, and less enthusiastically as he opened the Filofax organiser from Grant – which seemed to
delight him, though Sirius thought it was a rather boring gift.

In the end, James and Lily seemed to do more hosting than James’s parents – Euphemia still spent
quite a bit of time in the kitchen, but it was Lily who organised most of the cooking, decorating,
and card writing, while James assumed Fleamont’s typical role of making sure that everyone’s
drinks were topped up and leading them all in a traditional game of charades.

The morning after their Christmas celebration, James and Lily headed over to her family’s house
for Boxing Day (which James was not very enthusiastic about – Lily had brought him to her
sister’s wedding as her plus one the previous summer, and he’d had an absolutely dreadful time).
Sirius and Remus left with them, bidding farewell to the Potters and making their way back to their
own flat to prepare for New Year’s Eve – Sirius was determined to host a party, and by some
miracle he’d convinced Remus to agree.

“How many do you reckon we can fit in this flat, anyway?” Remus mused, pushing open the door,
“It’s not like we’ve got a ballroom, there’s only one sofa!”

“We ought to knock through the kitchen, have it all open plan,” Sirius said, striding past Remus,
who had knelt to unlace his boots. The phone was ringing, so he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hello, this is Gethin Rees.”

Sirius frowned. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t remember from where…He held out the
phone to Remus. “For you, I think?”

Remus wobbled slightly, kicking off his boot and stumbling forward to take the phone.

“Hello?”

Whatever the person on the other end—Gethin—said, it made Remus go pale. He sat, abruptly, on
the arm of the couch, gripping it to steady himself.

“Yes, that’s right…”

Sirius watched his face, anxiously, wishing he could hear what the other person was saying. After
a moment, Remus swallowed. Then,

“Is she…She’s gone, isn’t she?”

Sirius froze, feeling an awful weight settle in the pit of his stomach. She’s gone…but it couldn’t
be…

Remus began to cry, and he had his answer.

 * * *

Loneliness

Is such a sad affair

And I can hardly wait

To be with you again

What to say

To make you come again? (Baby)

Come back to me again (Baby)

And play your sad guitar

Wednesday 3rd January 1979

Sirius entered the room slowly, cautiously, the way someone might approach a wounded animal.
Remus was sitting on the bed, staring blankly out the window. It was raining, pelting droplets that
twisted and slid down the glass.

“Ready?” Sirius asked, softly.

Remus turned to look at him, with the same horrible, blank flatness that he’d had in his eyes since
he hung up the phone on Boxing Day. He was wearing a black suit that they’d had to tailor to fit
his long arms—luckily Mary knew a spell. His curls spilled down his neck, shaggy and lovely.
He’d got it into his head that he should cut them, for some reason, but Sirius had managed to talk
him out of it.

“Take your time,” Sirius said, gently, “We’ve got an hour or so.”

Remus nodded, silently. Gethin – Sirius still wasn’t exactly sure who he was to Hope, but he
seemed to be the person organising the funeral – had told them that the service would start at
eleven, but Remus was welcome to come earlier if he wanted to greet the mourners. Remus hadn’t
said either way yet what he wanted to do, but Sirius wasn’t going to push him into making a
decision.

After a moment, Sirius shut the door and went to sit beside him. He held Moony’s hand, running a
thumb over his knuckles as they stared out at the rain together. They were quiet, for a bit. Then
Remus asked,

“Have you ever been to a funeral before?”

“Uncle Alphard’s,” Sirius told him, “I was only little, though. Nine or ten. Don’t remember it. I’ve
never…lost anyone close.”
“Mm.” Remus murmured, eyes following the droplets that slid down the glass, “I don’t know if I
knew Hope all that well. I didn’t even know her for a whole year.”

Sirius thought of Hope’s bright smile, the way she’d lit up with joy when she saw her son. He
thought of Remus, shy and happy, cradling her fragile hand in his.

“I don’t think that matters.”

Remus swallowed. “Nor do I.”

Sirius squeezed his hand. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Remus turned to him, with a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“Thank you.” He took a breath, “Ok, I think I’m ready.” He stood—and then immediately slapped
his forehead, cursing. “Oh shit! The flowers! Padfoot, I forgot to pick up the bloody flowers!”

Sirius stood too, reaching out to grip his shoulder.

“I got Wormtail to do it, he’s got them. And Lily’s got the address for the church, so we don’t get
lost – Prongs has the food for the wake, his mum sent along some pork pies and sausage rolls, and
I’ve got the umbrellas sorted. All you need to do is apparate, everything else is taken care of, all
right?”

For a moment, Remus just looked at him—then the blank flatness cracked, and he reached out,
pulling Sirius into a fierce hug.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

Sirius hugged him back, fingers twisting into the fabric of the suit.

“Anything for our Moony, eh?”

Remus took a deep breath, face buried in Sirius’s hair. He could feel the warm air the taller boy
exhaled, as he mumbled,

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

Sirius’s heart leapt against his ribcage, so hard that it settled back bruised and aching. He kissed
Remus’s cheek, murmuring back,

“Love you too.”

They held hands as they walked into the living room, and Sirius continued to run his thumb over
Remus’s knuckles in small, soothing circles. James, Peter, and Lily were all waiting for them,
dressed sombrely in black. Lily was holding a bouquet of flowers bigger than her head.

“Right,” Sirius said, giving Remus’s hand one last squeeze, “Let’s do this.”

Sirius didn’t think that he’d ever actually been inside a muggle church before. It was a small,
quaint building, grey stone and stained-glass windows, with a jutting steeple. There was a little
graveyard off one side, with mossy tombstones and tilted stone crosses. Sirius studied them, as
they walked up the road, though Remus had told him that Hope wasn’t going to be buried—
apparently, she’d wanted to be cremated.

There was a tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway, greeting each mourner as they walked
in. He looked almost as bad as Remus, with the same hollow emptiness behind the polite smile that
he plastered on as he shook people’s hands. His eyes were very red, as though he’d been crying.
Sirius assumed that this was Gethin.

They separated from Lily, James, and Peter, who went to figure out where they were meant to put
all the food they’d brought along. Sirius and Remus joined the small cluster of people waiting their
turn to shake Gethin’s hand.

“Hullo,” the tall man said, sounding utterly exhausted, “Thank you for coming…”

Remus shook his hand. “I’m Remus.”

Gethin blinked, looking up at the boy as if just seeing him for the first time.

“Remus,” he breathed, studying him, “Hope talked about you all the time. It’s a shame we’re
meeting like this.”

“Yes.” Remus agreed, stiffly.

Sirius hovered beside them, watching as they stared at each other—neither seemed to know what to
say. After a moment, Gethin shook his head slightly and ushered them inside.

“Go in,” he waved towards the door, “Your mum was keen on you sitting in the front row, but it’s
up to you…”

“Thanks,” Remus said, still stiff and awkward.

“See you after, eh?” Gethin reached out to pat his shoulder.

“Yeah. Good.” Remus didn’t move—after a moment, Sirius nudged him, guiding him gently into
the church. They walked to the front slowly, and sat down in the first row, the way Hope had
wanted. Around them, a few of the funeral-goers began to whisper—Sirius held his head high, chin
jutting out defiantly, daring any of them to try and say anything to Remus.

Sirius struggled to follow along with most of the service—there was a lot of praying, and some
recitation, and various people stood up to talk about Hope’s life. Sirius kept glancing at Remus,
distracted, wishing that he could reach out and hold his boyfriend’s hand. Moony stayed slumped
in his seat, staring blankly ahead at the floor.

From the rows around them, some sniffling could be heard, along with a few muffled sobs. There
was a little girl, who Sirius realised with a start must have been Remus’s half-sister. She cried more
than anyone, keeping her head buried in the skirts of an elderly woman who Sirius assumed was
her grandmother. The sight made his chest ache—Sirius had only met Hope once, but it was clear
that she had been very loved.

When the service ended, Remus didn’t move. As the rest of Hope’s family filed out, he remained
stiff in his seat, staring straight ahead with that same empty gaze. Sirius sat beside him, waiting
until the church was nearly empty to lean over and whisper,

“You ok?”
Remus nodded, once.

Sirius glanced around, then reached out to brush his fingers over Moony’s knee. “That was really
sad. It’s ok if you’re tired and want to go home?”

“No, it’s fine.” Remus’s voice was scratchy; he cleared his throat. “I ought to go. I told Gethin I
would. Just. Five more minutes?”

They continued to sit until the caretaker came to tidy up, clearing his throat meaningfully as he
began to sweep around the pews.

Everyone was in the church hall, a small, drab room that felt far too crowded with all the mourners
crammed into it. Some of the people were cheerful, smiling and chuckling as they shared stories
about Hope’s life. Others were quiet and subdued, sniffling into tissues and dabbing at teary eyes.
The three trestle tables set up against one wall were practically overflowing with food, and next to
them there was a woman handing out cups of milky tea.

Sirius followed Remus as he drifted aimlessly through the crowd, ending up in front of another
trestle table. This one was full of muggle pictures—photographs and albums, all strange and static
and unmoving. The woman displayed in them was not the woman Sirius recognised from the
hospital; she was happy and healthy, glowing with joy and life. For a moment, Sirius felt a
directionless burst of anger—this was the mother Remus deserved, and instead he’d only been
allowed ten months with her wasting shadow.

“She’d be so glad you came,” Gethin said, approaching from behind. He reached out, unthinkingly,
and ran a hand over one of the picture frames. It was a photograph of Hope in summer, on the
beach, smiling up at the camera as she wiggled her toes into the sand.

“I had to,” Remus replied, staring down at the picture. He turned to Gethin, “I wish I had been
there. For…well, to say goodbye.”

“It was very quiet, like she was.” Gethin told him, gently, “She was awake on Christmas morning,
and went to sleep after lunch. There was no pain.”

Remus stiffened slightly, turning back to the display.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gethin said, gesturing to the photos, “No pictures of you. It wasn’t
deliberate – she put them all in a box for me to send to you, only I’ve lost track of your address…”

“I don’t want them.” Remus said, flatly.

“Remus,” Sirius placed a hand on his arm, “Don’t make any decisions yet.”

Remus shrugged him off.

“There are a few other bits,” Gethin said slowly, eyes darting to Sirius as if unsure how he fit into
this, “I’ll hang onto them as long as you like.”

“Bits?” Remus asked, hollowly.

“Things she wanted you to have,” Gethin explained, “Not money, or anything—”

“I’m not interested in money!” Remus snapped.

Gethin drew back a bit, surprised by the outburst, and gave him a hurt look. Sirius glanced back
and forth between the two of them, anxiously; Remus stepped back, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” He turned and fled, not quite running, but hurrying out of
the hall quickly enough that he turned a few heads.

Sirius looked back to Gethin, saying quickly,

“I’m sorry—look, have you got a piece of paper?”

“Hm?” Gethin blinked at him, startled, then mumbled, “Oh—erm, here.” He pulled a napkin out of
his pocket.

“And a pen?” Sirius asked. Gethin frowned, patting his pockets. After a moment, he pulled one out
and gave it to Sirius.

“Thanks.” Sirius snatched the napkin and placed it on the table, taking a moment to write down the
address of his garage.

“Look—you can send the boxes here, alright? He just needs some time to…process things.”

Gethin nodded, looking a bit wary as he took back the napkin and pen. “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I
don’t think I caught your name?”

“Sirius.”

“…I’m sorry?”

“S-I-R-I-U-S. Sirius Black. Sorry, but I’d better go check on him—”

“Oh—er, alright. Well, thank you.”

Sirius nodded, smiling tightly before he hurried out the door. He caught sight of Lily, James, and
Peter hovering near the tables of food on his way out; he made eye contact with James, nodding
towards the door. The three of them followed after him immediately.

Remus was already down the road, walking away from the church. Sirius had to jog to catch up,
calling out, “Remus!”

“I want to go,” the other boy said, once they reached him.

“You can come back to mum and dad’s if you want?” James offered, “Mum said she’ll do us all
dinner.”

“No,” Remus reached out, gripping Sirius’s arm, desperately, “Please, can we just go back to the
flat? Just you and me?”

“Of course we can,” Sirius assured him, placing his own hand over Remus’s.

It was what Moony needed, Sirius thought as they apparated – some time alone. Just the two of
them, in their own space, their own world, where they could forget everything else.

But of course, that was too much to ask.

The owl was already waiting for them when they arrived back at the flat, perched on the
mantlepiece. It extended its leg as they walked in, offering the little note that someone had tied to
it. They read it together.
 Remus.

My condolences.

Please meet me at the Auror’s Office at 9am on Monday.

Moody

* * *

Don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby?

You said you’d be coming back this way again, baby

Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh baby

I love you

I really do…

Chapter End Notes

song throughout is "superstar" by carpenters!

 The War: Magic
Chapter Summary

sirius spends some time with his girlfriend

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Monday 8th January 1979

“Please let me come with you?” Sirius tried, one last time, as Remus walked out the door.

“I’ll be fine,” Remus told him, smiling in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring way. The
door shut behind him, and Sirius listened to the lock click into place.

It wasn’t that Sirius didn’t know that. He did—he knew Remus would be fine. He was just visiting
the Aurors’ headquarters, after all, and though there were plenty of death eaters crawling around
the Ministry, it wasn’t like they were walking about attacking people – that would give them
away. Plus, Moody would be there, and Frank and Alice, and all the other Aurors who were loyal
to the Order. So of course, Remus would be perfectly safe.

Still, Sirius wished he was tagging along. A meeting with Moody could only mean one thing for
Remus: another assignment with the werewolves. And though Sirius had assured Remus that the
Order was saving him for something, privately, he’d hoped that they would wait a little longer—
that they would find some other way to deal with the werewolves, send someone else to put their
life in danger for a change.

But of course, it had to be Moony. Of course.

Remus, for his part, seemed somewhere between eager and apprehensive for the meeting. It was
the first time Sirius had seen him properly dressed since his mother’s funeral—he’d mostly just
been sitting in his pyjamas on the living room sofa, or else lying in bed. Sirius supposed it was
good that he was finally leaving the flat after being cooped up for so long—he just wished it was
for a different reason.

Sirius sighed and wandered into the kitchen, where he began absentmindedly washing up the
dishes that had been sitting in the sink all weekend. Lily had stopped by on Saturday to check in on
them, with a plate of sandwiches as an offering. There were still a few left, though they were now
slightly stale, and he sat on the sofa and ate one and stared at the wall.

The problem, Sirius thought, was that he didn’t know what was normal, when it came to grief.
Where was he meant to draw the line – to say Alright, Remus, that’s enough lying in bed all day,
time to get up and shower? It made him feel helpless, sitting next to Moony and still feeling so far
away—like the other boy was cocooned, buried beneath thick layers of sorrow that nothing could
penetrate.
The full moon was due that upcoming Saturday, and in a twisted sort of way, Sirius was looking
forward to it. Since leaving Hogwarts, the marauders had been apparating (Peter side-alonged) to
remote stretches of woodland and spending the full moons there. It was just as much fun as their
nights running through the Forbidden Forest—more, even, because these were new places to
explore, and Padfoot loved exploring with the wolf. Especially after everything with Remus’s
mum, Sirius reasoned that a night of nothing but cavorting through the countryside, free of human
worries, would probably do them all some good.

But that was Saturday, and this was Monday, which meant there was still an entire week to get
through before Sirius could crawl out of his skin and take refuge in the simple joy of being a dog.
Depending on how things went with Moony’s meeting, there was no telling what sort of week it
would be—would Remus return withdrawn? Sullen? Anxious? Eager? The waiting was the worst
part—Sirius felt as though he was holding his breath, anticipating the worst while still trying to
hope for the best.

Whatever happened with Moody, Sirius just hoped that it wouldn’t send Remus spiralling even
further. He had rotating guard duty with James and the Prewett twins throughout the week, which
meant he would no longer be around all day to make sure that Moony showered and ate. If he took
a turn for the worse, Sirius would have to start recruiting Lily to come check up on him more—but
Sirius had a feeling that Remus wouldn’t like that. He hated feeling coddled.

Sirius brushed the crumbs off his trousers as he stood, stretching. There was nothing to do in the
empty flat (unless he fancied reading one of Remus’s many books), so he grabbed his keys and
headed down to the garage he rented, just around the corner.

He whistled as he unlocked the door, inhaling deeply—petrol and leather, sawdust and motor oil.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

The cherry-red tank winked at him in the sunlight, and he grinned.

She was the exact same model as the bike from the village: a Triumph 650 T 120 Bonneville,
black leather and shiny chrome and a vivid red paint job. James was keen to add to it—he thought
he should be allowed to paint lions and flames on the tank. But Sirius had warned him off,
threatening,

“If you even lay a finger on her, Potter, I swear you’ll never see your beloved Nimbus again.”

Sirius waved his wand to turn on the little wireless radio in the corner. It was already set to his
favourite muggle rock station, and he hummed under his breath as he worked, polishing the tank
until it gleamed. He’d spent months poring over muggle magazines and instructional books about
motorbike mechanics, until caring for the bike was second nature – he checked the tires, pressing
the little pressure gauge onto the valve stem and feeling the wear indicator to check the treads.
He’d already changed the oil and swapped out the air filter recently, but he figured with all the
hours the bike had spent sitting in a freezing garage that winter that it couldn’t hurt to change the
coolant.

He used a mixture of magic and muggle mechanics to remove the necessary bodywork and get at
the drain bolt, placing a pan beneath the engine to let it drain. Once everything was out, he put the
drain bolt back and took off the radiator cap, refilling the system carefully with a funnel he’d
bought from a muggle hardware store.

“There you go, darling.”

He patted the bike fondly, replacing the radiator cap and making sure everything was put back
together before starting the engine. She rumbled to life, growling, and Sirius grinned. He gave her a
few minutes to warm up before cutting the ignition, removing the radiator cap once more to check
the coolant level.

Perfect.

With all the ordinary work done, Sirius moved on to the fun part: magical enhancements.

He had quite a few ideas in mind – growth charms, concealment spells, enchanting the headlight to
shoot flames. But first and foremost, Sirius was going to make his motorbike fly.

It had been months of research, of trial and error. Muggle motorbikes were simply not built to fly—
Sirius had to experiment with weightlessness charms to figure out how to get her airborne;
locomotion spells to make sure the wheels would still roll forward with only the meagre friction
provided by air; strengthening charms for the parts of the bike that were not built to take on the sort
of wind resistance that came with flying. Once he found the perfect cocktail of spells, it was a
matter of building the enchantment into the bike, so that she could switch seamlessly between
roaring along the road and lifting off into the air.

Remus thought it was childish. Peter thought it was insane. James thought it was the coolest
bloody idea he’d ever had. Lily said that she was staying out of it, though she bought Sirius a
helmet and absolutely insisted that he wear it. (“I don’t give a shit about how pretty your hair
looks, Black, I’ll not have your skull cracked open in the middle of the road just for vanity’s
sake!”)

Now, after hours and hours of experimentation, Sirius was sure that he almost had it. There were
just a few tweaks that he needed to perfect before weaving the spell into the bike itself—and then,
of course, there would be the trial-and-error period of actually learning to fly it. (He had already
decided not to tell Lily and Remus when he was testing it—what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt
them.)

Sirius grabbed the notebook that he’d been using to keep track of his changing spell work,
smudging motor oil on the pages as he flipped through them. He sat cross-legged on the garage
floor, muttering to himself. If he used a locomotion spell that relied more on intent, rather than
direction, then maybe…

He grinned, scribbling a few notes. This was it—he’d definitely cracked it! Sirius read back over
what he’d written before tossing the notebook aside, pulling out his wand and pointing it at the
bike. He opened his mouth to cast the spell, and—

Sirius .

Sirius blinked, shaking his head. That was weird—for a moment, it had sounded like Moony was in
the garage. Sirius glanced around, feeling silly; he was entirely alone. He shook his head, turning
back to the bike.

Sirius come here.

Okay, that time he had definitely heard something. Sirius spun around, wand raised—but nobody
was there.

He frowned. Was he imagining things? It had sounded just like Moony’s voice…
Unsettled, Sirius put his wand away, deciding to go back to the flat and check on things just in
case. Maybe Remus had gotten back early from the meeting, and was sitting in the living room,
bored out of his mind and trying out some sort of new summoning spell. That was probably it.

“Moony?!”

He shouted as he opened the door, kicking off his shoes. Sure enough, Remus was there—though it
didn’t look like he’d been sitting around, waiting. He was standing in the middle of the living
room, in just his thin t-shirt and trousers, which was unusual (not that Sirius was complaining).
Typically, he preferred to keep his jumper on; he was still self-conscious about his scars.

“You’re here!” Remus said, spinning around to face him. He was breathing hard, like he’d just run
up the stairs.

“Yeah, weirdest thing,” Sirius shook his head, nudging the door shut behind him. “I was working
on the bike up the road, and then…I dunno, I could have sworn I heard your voice. But if you only
just got back then it can’t have been—”

Before he could finish speaking, Remus was on him, slamming him back against the door and
kissing him until he could hardly breathe. Sirius kissed him back, automatically, more than a little
shocked—but then Remus’s fingers wrapped around his wrists, and knee slid between his legs, and
he found himself melting into the firm grip as Moony kissed down his neck, teeth nipping at his
throat.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius gasped, panting, “Are you alright?”

“Mmm,” Remus moaned, and Sirius felt the vibrations against his neck. “Just want to…”

Sirius shifted slightly, moving his hip, and—Oh. Remus was already hard, and as Sirius pressed
against him he hissed, dropping his head onto Sirius’s shoulder, squeezing his wrists. There was a
sudden—jolt, static and crackling, like someone had just injected pure electricity into his veins.

“Fuck,” Sirius groaned, as the buzzing heat spread through him, “Was that you? You feel…what…
what’s…”

“Magic,” Remus stammered, sounding half-mad, “There was so much…I just…um…”

That was enough explanation for Sirius. He felt dizzy, drunk as the magic sang through him,
lighting every cell in his body on fire. He pushed Remus back, grabbed his arm and stumbled
towards the bedroom, determined to make it to the bed before he collapsed right there on the floor.

“Need you,” Sirius mumbled, barely able to form a coherent thought. His mind felt like mush, lost
completely in the sensation of cloth against skin as he tugged his shirt off, then the warm heat as he
slid his fingers under Remus’s. “Need to feel you everywhere…”

“Yes,” Remus moaned, sounding just as wrecked, “Yes yes yes…”

The magic poured out of him, electrifying, until it was everywhere – pressed into Sirius’s skin
through Remus’s palms, kissed into his mouth, inhaled with each breath.

Sirius was talking, mumbling nonsense that he couldn’t even hear as they fell back onto the bed,
chest to chest, skin fever-hot and pressed together. Moony’s mouth was at his neck, hands sliding
down his sides, and Sirius wanted more—wanted everything, everywhere, all at once. Remus
bucked against him, and he arched in response, hips snapping forward until they were both
groaning, shuddering, coming undone in a snarl of limbs and heat and frantic wanting. Sirius fell
apart. He saw stars.

The magic was still there as they collapsed, panting, onto the mattress; it fizzed in their blood, hot
and sparking. They had to go for two more rounds before it had finally calmed down enough that
Sirius no longer felt like he was about to combust every time Remus touched him.

“If you’re planning to visit the Aurors’ Office again,” he said, breathlessly, “I’m going to need
some warning.”

“Sor—”

Sirius slapped a hand over Moony’s mouth before he could finish speaking, turning to grin at him.

“Don’t you dare apologise. I mean fucking hell.”

Remus shrugged him off, laughing, and waved a lazy hand towards the window. Instantly, it slid
open, and a cool winter breeze twisted inside.

“Wow,” Sirius blinked at the effortless display of wordless, wandless magic, “How long does that
last?”

“It’s going away,” Remus murmured, leaning back on the pillows and closing his eyes. “Last time
Snape’s curse drained it, so I s’pose any kind of counter magic works.”

“Well,” Sirius smirked, rolling over and running his fingers along Moony’s hip, “I’d prefer this to
cursing you…”

“Mm.” Remus smiled, eyes still closed. Sirius watched the steady rise and fall of his chest,
propping himself up on an elbow.

“So…” he said, after a minute, “It either went really well or really badly at the ministry…?”

“Both.” Remus muttered, flinging an arm over his face. “Do we have to talk about it?”

“Yeah, I think we do.”

Remus sighed and sat up, fumbling for his pack of cigarettes. Sirius waited, watching him.

“Greyback’s in England,” he said.

Sirius felt as though he’d swallowed a stone. He sat up, reaching to take a cigarette from the
proffered box, and held Remus’s gaze as he lit it.

“Tell me everything.”

* * *

Wednesday 10th January 1979 (2:13 AM)

“They want him to go with them.”

“With them?!”

“For the moons, at least.”

James frowned, studying Sirius’s face.

“And he…he’s going to do it?”

Sirius snorted. “Of course he is.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing a shoe against the
ground. “It’s Moony.”

They were on guard duty outside the house of an elderly witch who, apparently, specialised in
brewing rare potions. According to Moody, she’d been supplying the Order with elixirs and tonics
that you couldn’t just grab off the shelf from any old apothecary. There had been no direct threat
against her, as far as they could tell, but after what had happened with Krebshak the Order was no
longer taking risks; they had members guarding the homes of any suppliers deemed vital to the war
effort.

James nodded, looking troubled. Sirius had just finished recounting the details of Moony’s meeting
at the Aurors’ Office—how Ferox and Moody had noticed that werewolf activity tended to be
concentrated in or around magical woodland; how they had started tracking that activity and
managed to zero in on one particular forest; how Greyback had been spotted in London again, for
the first time since the 60s. How they had put two and two together, and figured that he and his
pack must be planning something—which meant, by extension, that Voldemort was planning
something.

“So…three moons?” James asked. Sirius nodded.

“That’s what they told Remus, back in July. Anyone who wants to meet Greyback has to spend
three full moons with the…pack.”

“And then what?”

Sirius clenched and unclenched his jaw, curling his hands into fists. He wanted a cigarette.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” James swallowed, “Right.”

They were quiet, for a bit, staring out at the dark row of houses. It was well past midnight; the sun
would be rising in just a few short hours.

Finally, James asked,

“How’s he feeling? About it.”

Sirius shrugged. “He’s…alright, I guess. Calm. He’s not—he doesn’t seem worried about it.”

“But you are.”

Sirius nodded. James blew out a breath.

“We could talk to Moody? Ask him if—”

“No,” Sirius cut him off, “We’re not even supposed to know. Moody told Remus that he couldn’t
tell anyone, not even Order members.”
 “Oh.” James blinked, looking a bit surprised by that. “What was he supposed to tell us, then? We’d
have noticed if he disappeared at every full moon.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know we’re usually with him for them, do they? S’pose they thought he’d be
able to get away with just letting us think he was going wherever he normally goes.”

“Ah,” James nodded, “Right.”

More silence. A car drove down the road, slowly, headlights blindingly bright. They both tensed,
murmuring concealment charms and drawing closer into the shadows of the house. But it passed
by, without slowing or stopping, zooming off into the distance. Sirius supposed it was unlikely that
the death eaters would show up in a muggle vehicle—but you could never be too careful.

“Sirius?” James said, quietly.

“Mm?”

“He’ll be alright. Moody wouldn’t have given him a mission if he wasn’t ready for it. And besides
—he’s done this before.”

“I know,” Sirius mumbled, staring out at the empty road. James reached over and squeezed his
arm, a comforting gesture. Sirius smiled at him.

“He’ll be alright.” James repeated, firmly, as though speaking the words could make them true.

Chapter End Notes

all my knowledge of motorcycle care comes from one (1) online article on the geico
website
 The War: The Mission
Chapter Summary

it's fine everything's fine

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Was the sound last night the wind?

Can you feel the change begin?

By the fall of the snow

A single soul will go

The footsteps on the white

There’s an unholy light

There’s a hole in the sky

Something evil’s passing by

What’s to come – when the siren calls you go

To run with the wolf…

Saturday 13th January 1979

First Moon

“I hate this,” Sirius said, sucking hard on his third cigarette.

“I know you do.” Remus sighed, sounding exhausted. They had both slept poorly the previous
night—Remus had been grinding his teeth again, and Sirius hadn’t been able to stop tossing and
turning, mind spinning with everything that might happen on this mission. All the ways it could go
wrong.

“I mean, I really hate this.” Sirius exhaled, standing on his tiptoes to blow the smoke out the top of
the window. It was too cold outside to open it all the way, and Sirius shivered when the freezing
air brushed against his face, wrapping the arm that wasn’t holding his cigarette around his waist.

Behind him, Remus was spread across the sofa with a cold flannel on his forehead—he’d been
complaining about a headache, which wasn’t unusual so close to the moon.
“It’s bloody mental, sending you on your own.” Sirius scowled, staring out the window. “Why
can’t I go with you? I could go as Padfoot.”

“No,” Remus said (for the millionth time), “You still smell human. They’d tear you apart.”

“What if they tear you apart?” Sirius shot back, turning around. He was trying not to make a fuss—
really, he was. But he couldn’t stop the fear that crept into his voice.

“Me?” Remus waved a hand, dismissively, “Greyback’s prodigal son? Not likely.”

“What’s a prodigal son?”

“Oh right, er…just means I’m going to get a warm welcome. Gaius said not to hurt me. Livia
called me her brother.”

Gaius—that was the werewolf from the mission in July, the one who’d attacked him. And Livia…

“Could I come with you for a bit? Just before anyone else shows up?”

Remus looked at him, with something like pity in his eyes. “It’s not safe, Padfoot.”

Sirius turned away, stubbing out his cigarette with a bit more force than necessary on the
windowsill. He didn’t want pity—he wanted Remus to say he could go. He wanted Remus not to
go at all.

“Why don’t you go to the Potters’?” Moony said, carefully, “Don’t spend the night here by
yourself.”

“I don’t care where I spend the night.” Sirius huffed, flopping down into the armchair.

“Well, I do,” Remus frowned, reproachfully, “I need to know where to go after the moon’s down.”

“Shit, yeah,” Sirius straightened, feeling a kick of guilt—once again, he’d only been thinking about
himself, about his own stupid emotions. “Ok, I’ll go to the Potters – then if you need any patching
up Euphemia will be on hand. Fuck, what if you can’t apparate? What if you—”

“I’ll send a patronus.”

“But if you’re not strong enough…”

“I will be.”

They regarded each other, for a moment; Remus with the same calm, steady gaze he’d been
levelling at Sirius all day, every time he began to panic or started asking questions—how would
Remus even know he was in the right spot, how many wolves would be there, how would he know
they were the right wolves…

From their neighbours’ flat, there was a soft, familiar chiming. They had never properly introduced
themselves – only waved, politely, when they passed each other in the halls – but the elderly
couple next door had a grandfather clock that went off every hour and could be heard, clearly,
through the walls. Now, Sirius and Remus listened as it struck four.

Remus pushed himself up, stretching, and tossed the flannel into a corner.

“I’d better get going.”

No – Sirius stared at him, helplessly. Not yet. Remus shook his head fondly, moving over to the
armchair. He brushed a few strands of hair away from Sirius’s face, then leaned down to kiss his
forehead.

“Go to the Potters’. I’ll be fine. Honestly, you go on missions all the time.”

“Not like this!” Sirius protested, “Defensive stuff, guard duty, carrying messages, not…”

Remus shrugged. “Someone has to do it,” he said, simply, “I’d rather it was me.”

Sirius watched him move over to the door, crouching down to tie his shoes. He wished he didn’t
feel so…helpless, wished that there was something – anything – that he could do besides watch
Remus leave. He trailed behind him, hovering in the doorway that led to the kitchen.

Once Moony had finished tying his shoes he stood, and they hugged. Sirius twisted his fingers into
the other boy’s shirt, gripping as tightly as he could, not wanting to ever let go.

“I love you,” he said, pressing his face into Moony’s shoulder. It was the first time either of them
had said it since Hope’s funeral, and Sirius wasn’t sure if—

“I love you too.”

Remus twisted slightly, just enough to press a kiss against his temple. “I’ll see you so soon, I
promise.”

And then he turned, and the door slammed behind him, and Sirius was left standing in their flat,
alone.

* * *

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else, love?” Mrs. Potter asked, handing him a cup of tea.
Sirius smiled up at her, weakly.

“No, sorry. Just…not very hungry.”

She smiled sympathetically, patting his cheek.

“Well, if you change your mind, just give Gully a ring. I’m off to bed…not getting any younger,
I’m afraid; nowadays it seems I’m knackered the moment the sun has set!”

“Good night,” Sirius said, sipping his tea. She leaned down to kiss his forehead before leaving the
kitchen, humming under her breath as she headed upstairs.

Sirius sighed, slumping in his seat. He’d forgotten that James was taking Lily out to dinner this
evening, and Fleamont was locked away in his office as usual, so it had been only Euphemia for
company once he’d arrived at the Potters’. Sirius loved Effie like she was his own mother
(actually, he loved her quite a bit more than he loved his own mother), but neither she nor Mr.
Potter were as spry as they used to be, and though she made for very pleasant company, she was
not exactly the ideal person to distract Sirius from his current dark thoughts. He had mostly just
helped her with the washing up while she finished baking a treacle tart for a neighbour.

Sirius stood, still nursing his cup of tea, and moved over to the window. The sky was clear outside,
stars winking down from their lofty perch. The moon was bloated; swollen; pale and taunting.
Sirius stared up at it, wondering where Moony was—if he was safe, if he was hurt, if he was
surrounded by other wolves. He had seemed so certain that they wouldn’t hurt him, but Sirius
wasn’t as sure. He lifted a hand, absentmindedly, to his chest, tracing over his ribcage…

“Padfoot!” James smiled, walking into the kitchen from the living room entrance and brushing soot
off his shirt. He must’ve come through the floo. “I didn’t know you were coming over—you
should’ve called me on the mirror!”

Sirius shrugged. “Your mum told me you were out with Lily. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Right.” James caught sight of the expression on his face, glancing out the window at the moon.
“Are you…staying here tonight, then?”

“Yeah,” Sirius turned his back on the window, nodding, “Figured it would be best. For Moony. In
the morning. Y’know, if he’s—hurt, or anything…I’m sort of rubbish at healing spells, I thought
your mum would be better…”

“Of course!” James nodded, earnestly, “Sorry, should have thought of that. Where is mum? Am I
allowed to eat that?” He pointed at the tart.

Sirius smiled, grudgingly. “No – I’m under strict orders to keep you away from it. And she went up
to bed, said she was tired.”

“Oh.” James’s smile tightened, marginally. “Right.”

Sirius watched him, studying his face. His parents were still in good health, all things considered,
but Sirius could tell that James was feeling the effects of their aging just as much as his mum and
dad were. Fleamont and Euphemia had always been on the older side of the spectrum, as far as
parents went—James once told Sirius that his mum used to call him her ‘happy surprise’;
apparently, they hadn’t thought that they’d be able to have children. But their youthful vigour had
always made them seem younger, and it had been a bit of a shock when Sirius realised that
Euphemia would be turning sixty-two that year – and Fleamont was three years older.

Still, going to bed a bit earlier didn’t mean anything dire. Sirius had plenty of great aunts and
uncles that had lived well into their nineties, and he was pretty sure that Dumbledore was nearly a
hundred – their headmaster was certainly still lively enough. Sirius was sure that Mr. and Mrs.
Potter would be around for a long time yet; they were just so steady, a permanent fixture of the
boys’ lives. Sirius couldn’t imagine James without them.

“How’s Mrs. Prongs?” He asked, finishing the last of his tea. James relaxed again, eyes going
dreamy the way they always did when he talked about Lily.

“Good,” he sighed, “She likes her job in the potions research department. Eats lunch with Marlene
every day, on their break—I’m trying to convince McKinnon to bring Danny over sometime, play
some quidditch.”

“Mm.” Sirius moved to the sink and began washing out his mug. “That would be fun.”

“Yeah…Petunia’s still a bitch, no changes there. Hasn’t invited Lily over to see the new house,
even though it’s been months.”

Lily’s sister had moved out after the wedding to live with her new husband, and apparently she
only ever invited the family over to visit when her younger sister just so happened to be busy.
Sirius snorted, shaking his head. James went on,
“Moody’s asked her to brew veritaserum for the Order, so she’s been working on that in her free
time, and she’s been talking about taking a muggle typing course…”

“What?” Sirius wrinkled his nose, “Like the one Mary’s done?”

James nodded.

“Why?”

“Well…” James scratched the back of his head, awkwardly, “She says just in case…y’know, if the
death eaters get more of a foothold in the Ministry…Malfoy’s proposed that new reform, to have
muggleborn wizards register with the Ministry, and Mary and Lily think if it goes through then the
hiring discrimination’ll just get even worse…”

“What?” Sirius frowned—he usually zoned out at the political part of Order meetings, not paying
close attention to the discussion of policies and reforms. It wasn’t like any of it involved him; he
didn’t work for the Ministry. “She thinks she won’t be able to find a wizarding job?”

“Well, once her apprenticeship ends she’ll have to apply if she wants to work full time at St.
Mungo’s, or if she wants to do potions research somewhere else. And apparently it’s a lot harder,
y’know, if you aren’t a pureblood…she was telling me about the statistics; I never knew.”

Sirius frowned, considering this. “Me either…” he muttered, drying his mug and putting it away.
He turned. “But she won’t have to worry about that, will she? Once we win, people like the
Malfoys will all be locked away.”

“We don’t know for sure that the Malfoys are death eaters…”

“They are.” Sirius said, firmly. “Trust me. They were always there, at the meetings.”

“Yeah, but…” James sighed, switching tracks. “I mean, even aside from…the war, and
everything…this isn’t anything new. Lily was telling me—it all goes back, way before You-know-
who. It used to be nearly impossible for muggleborn wizards to find jobs, it’s only recently that
things have started to get a bit better. I mean, at least before…” he waved a hand, aimlessly. Sirius
didn’t need to ask what he meant. At least before Voldemort. At least before the war.

They were quiet, for a moment. Then Sirius frowned, stubbornly, and said,

“Evans is brilliant. She’ll be able to find a job—she doesn’t need some silly muggle typing
course.”

James laughed. “Well, there’s no need to get up in arms about it! She just mentioned it—and I
don’t really think she’s all too keen on the idea, anyway.”

“Things’ll be different,” Sirius insisted, not entirely sure why it felt so important to him, “When we
win the war.”

James smiled at him, bemused, and reached out to clap a hand down on his shoulder.

“I know, Pads,” he agreed, “Things’ll be different.”

* * *
Sunday 14th January 1979

Sirius didn’t sleep. He lay awake, in the overlarge bed, staring up at the ceiling until his eyes
ached. There was too much empty space on the mattress—he wasn’t used to sleeping alone.

He’d drawn the curtains over the windows, sick with the sight of the moon, so he had no idea how
much time had passed. But it must’ve been dawn, because suddenly a voice startled him out of the
hazy half-consciousness through which he’d been floating.

“Are you awake?”

“Moony!” Sirius sat bolt upright, squinting through the dark towards the door.

Remus crossed the room quickly, in three long strides, and then stopped short at the end of the bed,
hovering.

“Are you ok?!” Sirius asked, scanning for injuries.

“Yes,” Remus assured him, quickly, “It was fine, it was nothing. We just hunted.”

“Hunted?!”

“Rabbits.” Remus added, licking his lips. He smelled different than usual—less sweetness, less
warmth; more wild and green. “Honestly, it was fine. Easy.”

“I was so worried about you, I didn’t even sleep…” Sirius trailed off, as Remus continued to hover
by the edge of the bed. “Don’t you want to get in?” He pulled back the blankets, confused. Moony
was always exhausted after the transformation.

“Er…” Remus fidgeted, glancing down. “I’m a bit…on edge.”

Sirius blinked sleepily, trying to figure out what that meant. Sensing his confusion, Remus
prompted,

“You know. Like the other day?”

“Oh!” Sirius thought of the swollen magic, buzzing in his veins. He reached out to skim his fingers
along Remus’s arm—sure enough, there was an instant lick of heat down his spine, the same
tingly, electric feeling.

“So you are.” Sirius licked his lips, the combination of magic and lack of sleep making him feel
dizzy and drunk. “Um…”

He reached for Remus’s hips—warm skin, sharp hipbones, and even more of the delicious,
crackling magic. Sirius curled his fingers into the waistband of Moony’s jeans, pulling him closer,
wanting to feel him…

“That’s ok, I can sleep later…”

They did sleep, eventually, once they were both boneless and sweaty and panting. Sirius curled up
in Moony’s arms and didn’t wake until five o’clock in the evening, feeling more well-rested than
he had in ages.

Remus told him about the moon, when they woke up. They sat cross-legged on the mattress, and
he talked about running with the pack, hunting rabbits and howling into the sky. Afterwards, he
said, he’d spoken with Gaius and Livia. They’d told him that Greyback wanted to meet him. He
just needed to spend two more moons with the pack.

Sirius hugged him, tightly, and stroked his hair, and wished desperately that he could ask him not
to go back.

* * *

Sunday 11th February 1979

Second Moon

Everything was perfectly fine.

Over the next month, things went back to normal. They slept tangled in each other’s arms, and ate
breakfast together (when they remembered to buy groceries), and visited their friends. Sirius had
his order missions and his bike, and Remus had the phone (which he used almost exclusively to
call Grant) and his books, and everything was fine. Everything was good.

Except that they were still sleeping poorly, waking each other in the night with their tossing and
turning. Except the full moon drew closer, steadily, and both Moody and Ferox had agreed that
Remus should spend it once more with the werewolves. Except that Sirius would look over at
Remus, sometimes, and find that he was far away—gazing out the window at night, staring up at
the sky. Sometimes, he almost looked wistful. Eager.

Sirius tried to ignore it. Tried to shake off the cold sliver of unease that burrowed into his spine.
Remus didn’t like this mission any more than he did—he was only doing it because Moody had
asked him to, and there was nobody else, and they had all agreed that they would do anything to
help the Order win. It was all for the greater good; really, it was bloody noble of Moony, risking
his life for them. Sirius should have felt proud of him, for his bravery, his determination.

Instead, he just felt sick.

He tried not to show it as he kissed Remus goodbye—it wasn’t like it would do either of them any
good. Moony pulled him in for a hug, and Sirius clutched him so fiercely that his knuckles went
white.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Remus left; the door shut behind him. Sirius was alone.

James and Lily were waiting for him at the Potters’ this time, ushering him into the dining room
for one of Euphemia’s home-cooked meals. They chattered about their days, focusing only on the
most mundane details—Lily’s supervisor had taken to wearing yellow robes, which quite
decidedly did not suit her. Peter had invited James to a Puddlemere match after winning tickets in a
lottery at work. The weather would be getting warmer soon, and they needed to decide what to
plant in the Potters’ front garden this year.

Sirius slept fitfully in his old bedroom, tossing and turning in the large, empty bed. He woke at
dawn and went downstairs, waiting by the back door for Remus to return, staring out the window
at the rising sun.

He didn’t come back.

When Mrs. Potter came down, an hour later, she startled, flicking on the lights.

“Goodness—Sirius!” She chuckled, breathlessly. “You gave me quite a fright!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “Just waiting for Remus…”

“Oh, yes, of course dear.” She began to bustle around the kitchen, and Gully appeared at her side,
helping prepare breakfast. “I’m sure he’s on his way—probably just didn’t have the energy to
apparate, poor love.”

“D’you think we should go and find him?” Sirius started to stand, but Euphemia gestured for him
to sit down.

“Give him a bit of time, dear. Here, help me set the table.”

By the time breakfast was served, however, Sirius wasn’t the only one that was anxious—James
and Lily kept glancing at the clock, and even Mrs. Potter’s cheerful optimism had begun to crack.
She hovered by the window, peering out every few seconds.

Sirius was beginning to feel properly panicky, ready to jump up and insist they go look for him,
when Remus finally turned up. Mrs. Potter leapt to her feet and yanked the door open, exclaiming,

“There you are!”

Remus stumbled inside, eyes a bit glazed. “Sorry.”

“Oh my god, Moony, are you ok?!” Lily rushed over, staring in horror at his face and neck—he
was covered in dried blood, a deep brownish-red. For a moment, Sirius’s heart leapt into his throat
—but then he inhaled deeply, sniffing, and realised that it wasn’t human. That it wasn’t his.

“Shit,” Remus glanced down, as if just now noticing that the blood was there, “It’s not mine, it’s
not—”

James came to stand beside Lily, staring wide-eyed at the mess. Remus stared back at them,
helplessly, steadying himself against the wall.

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius brushed past their friends, taking Remus’s hand gently, “Let’s get you
cleaned up…”

Remus followed him, obediently, up to the bathroom, where he waited as Sirius ran a bath. Once
the tub was full, he stepped aside and waited while Moony stripped, leaving his filthy clothes in a
pile on the floor before sinking into the warm water. It turned red, slowly, as the blood washed
away.

“It’s not human,” Remus murmured, staring down at the water.

“I know,” Sirius told him, “It’s deer, I can smell it.”

They never hunted deer, on the moons. Not with Prongs. But of course, Sirius didn’t say that.

“You can?” Remus blinked up at him, surprised. Sirius nodded.

“I have to concentrate, but yeah. I was talking to Prongs about it, the longer we’re animagi the
more weird things we notice. Hope I don’t go colour blind next, eh?”

Remus tried to laugh, but it came out shaky and stilted. Sirius watched him. He still had that glazed
look in his eye.

“Was it bad?” Sirius asked, softly, after a moment.

Remus stared down at the water, a series of inscrutable emotions flickering across his face. And
then he looked back up at Sirius, helplessly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “It was bad.”

* * *

Tuesday 13th March 1979

Third Moon

“I don’t want to go back to the Potters’ this time.” Remus said, minutes before he was due to leave
for his final moon with the werewolves.

“What?” Sirius asked, not sure that he’d heard correctly. He left the kitchen, where he’d been
washing up the dishes, still wearing the bright yellow marigolds that Remus had bought him (he
was pretty sure that it was supposed to be a joke, but they were actually quite useful). Suds dripped
from the gloves onto the carpet as he stood in the living room, staring.

“I said I don’t want to go back to the Potters’.” Remus repeated, “In the morning. You can stay
there, obviously, but I…I just won’t, ok? I don’t know how safe it is, I don’t want anyone to follow
me.”

Where was this coming from? Sirius continued to stare at him, utterly baffled.

“We’ve been fine so far…”

“I think we’ve been careless.” Remus countered, “I won’t put them in danger again.”

“Ok.” Sirius nodded, carefully, peeling off his gloves. “Where do you want to go, then?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe Cornwall? That castle ruin we visited, do you remember?”

“Of course I remember. Shall I meet you there?”

“Wait for my signal. I want it to be safe.” Remus fidgeted, glancing around the room. Sirius
frowned.
 “Moony, if it’s not safe then I’d rather be there so I can help. I know Prongs and Wormtail and
Evans will too—”

“No.” Remus snapped, voice rising slightly. “No, please.”

“But Moony—”

“Look, I have to go.” Remus brushed past him, shoving out the door before Sirius could say
another word. Sirius followed after him, rushing out onto the landing—but Remus was already
gone.

* * *

Sirius arrived in Cornwall just before dawn. He sat on the crumbling castle wall, staring out
towards the sea, watching the sun rise.

He waited.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "run with the wolf" by rainbow!

 The War: Sunrise
Chapter Summary

healthy coping mechanisms? what's that??

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I can’t stand the rain against my window

Bringing back sweet memories

I can’t stand the rain against my window

Cause he ain’t here with me

When we were together

Everything was so grand

Now that we parted

There’s just one thing

That I just can’t stand

I can’t stand the rain…

Wednesday 14th March 1979

The ruin was empty.

Sirius supposed that was to be expected. It was incredibly early, and spring was still flirting with
winter—in the early mornings, before the sun rose, the air was frigid and sharp. He shivered as he
sat on the crumbling stone wall, facing out towards the sea.

The sky was a flat grey slate, slowly growing lighter. Fog rolled off the water and curled around
Sirius’s arms, in his hair. He watched the sun peek over the horizon, spilling streaks of orange into
the sky, turning the grey a dusty blue.

He waited.

The sun crawled higher, slowly, dragging its body in a familiar arc. The sea below began to glitter,
snatching the light and reflecting it back, hungrily.

He waited.
A pair of intrepid, early-morning hikers crested the hill. They wandered cheerfully through the
ruin, nodding politely to Sirius. He ignored them. Eventually, they left.

He waited.

The sun was now well above the waves, creeping ever upwards. Sirius reached into his pocket and
withdrew a cigarette, snapping his fingers to light it.

He waited.

The smoke was a familiar comfort, filling his lungs until they ached. He exhaled, slowly, and it
twisted into the dissipating fog. When he finished the first cigarette, he smoked another. Then
another.

Remus wasn’t coming.

The realisation crept up on him slowly, inevitably, like the steady rising of the sun. Sirius tried to
push it down, to fight it back—more time, he just needs a little more time. But as the sky grew
lighter, and the day brighter, and the sun higher – as all traces of the moon were erased, Sirius was
forced to confront it.

Remus wasn’t coming back.

The panic started then, like water bursting from a floodgate. It poured through him, an
overwhelming flood, sticky and dizzy and hot. Remus wasn’t coming back.

Sirius stood, heart pounding, hands curling and uncurling into fists. He took a step forward,
swaying, struck with the impotent urge to do something. To do anything.

He’s not—he can’t—he wouldn’t—

Sirius fumbled in his pocket, grasping for the mirror. His fingers were numb from sitting out in the
cold; he hadn’t brought gloves. When he finally managed to get a hold of the little compact, he
whipped it out, speaking into it frantically,

“Prongs? Prongs?! James—where are you—I need—”

“Padfoot?”

James’s face appeared, cheeks flushed, hair wet. He must have been in the shower—he wasn’t
wearing his glasses, and Sirius could hear the hiss of running water in the background.

“James—I—”

“Sirius? What’s wrong, what is it?”

Sirius choked, searching for words, babbling incoherently into the mirror.

“He’s gone—James—he’s gone, Moony is—I’m waiting, I’ve been waiting, it’s been hours and
he’s not here, he’s not here, James, he’s gone, he’s—”

“Ok—ok, hang on, Padfoot, just…breathe, just calm down for a moment. Slow down.”

Sirius tried to comply, sucking in a breath of air that tore, ragged, through his throat.

“Good,” James was saying, voice slightly tinny through the mirror, “Good, that’s it, just breathe,
that’s right…”

Sirius was beginning to regret the cigarettes. He wheezed, trying desperately to breathe around the
lump in his throat, the itch in his chest. Once he had managed to compose himself, he tried again.

“I’ve been waiting, Prongs,” he said, “Where he told me to meet him. But it’s been hours, and he
hasn’t come back, and he’s…he’s…”

“Shit, ok,” the mirror wobbled a bit as James scrambled for something, before shoving his glasses
onto his face. “Ok, alright, that’s…could he just be running late? Last month, you know, it took
him a bit of time to get back to the house…”

“It’s been hours,” Sirius shook his head, “What if he’s hurt, James? What if they’ve—they’ve
—fuck, I can’t—”

“Alright,” James said, “Alright, look, just…here, come back to the house, ok? Come back and
we’ll—we’ll figure out what to do.”

“No, I have to go, I have to find him—”

“Do you even know where he went?”

Sirius fell silent.

“Thought so.” James sighed, “Look, just come here, alright? We’ll figure it out together, I
promise.”

Sirius hesitated. The sun was far overhead now, melting the chill from the air, bright and heavy
and awful.

“I need to find him, James.” Sirius said, words scraping out of his throat.

“We will,” James said, firmly. “We will.”

* * *

Moody did not look happy to see them. Which Sirius supposed made sense—he hadn’t exactly
invited them to visit him at work. But to be fair, Sirius wasn’t all that thrilled about seeing Moody
either—he would much rather be seeing Remus, returning home safely, telling them that
everything was alright. But that wasn’t happening, and right now, as far as Sirius was concerned,
the only person to blame was the Auror standing in front of him.

“And just what the hell are you three doing here?!” He growled, glancing around and casting a
quick silencing spell over his desk, so that they were wrapped in a bubble of quiet.

“Remus didn’t come back.” Sirius said, cutting right to the chase. Moody glared at him, magical
eye swivelling in its socket.

“I know,” he said, gruffly, “He’s on a mission.”

“Yes, but he didn’t come back from that mission.”

Moody’s eye narrowed.

“I’m aware.”

“You’re aware?!”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” He stared hard at the three boys—Peter, shifting anxiously from foot
to foot; James, frowning, glasses slipping down his nose; and Sirius, buzzing with barely stifled
rage, hands clenched into fists.

“What I’m not aware of,” Moody continued, in a low, angry voice, “Is why you three seem to
already be familiar with the nature of Lupin’s mission. I seem to recall telling him that secrecy was
of the utmost importance.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a mystery what sorts of missions you send him on, is it?!” Sirius
snapped. James placed a hand on his arm—Sirius wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be soothing or
restraining.

“Look,” James said, quietly, “We know that he’s been spending the moons with Greyback’s pack.
We just—”

“Not here!” Moody hissed, cutting him off. He scowled at the marauders, glancing once more
around the busy Aurors’ office. His magical eye spun wildly, seemingly without direction. After a
moment, he whispered,

“Right. You three, follow me. And stay quiet, for Merlin’s sake—you never know who might be
listening.”

Sirius gritted his teeth, anger surging—but obeyed, remaining silent as Moody led them out of the
bustling Aurors’ office, into a narrow hallway and then down an even narrower flight of stairs. He
ushered them into what seemed to be a small conference room, shutting the door sharply and
murmuring spells under his breath.

Once Moody had finished, turning around to face them, Sirius was speaking again.

“Where did you send him?”

“What?”

“Where did you send him? We need to go after him, to make sure—”

“Nobody’s going anywhere!” Moody barked, interrupting him. Sirius opened his mouth to speak
again, but the older man held up a hand, stopping him.

“Now you look here, lad,” he growled, expression stormy, “Lupin knew the risks involved when he
accepted this mission. He’s been working undercover, collecting as much information on Greyback
and his pack’s movements as he can. Now, we knew it was a possibility that after three moons with
the pack, Lupin would be…initiated.”

“Initiated?! You mean they’ve fucking kidnapped him?!”

“I mean he’s got what may be our best opportunity in two decades at figuring out where
Greyback’s hiding and what his plans are!”

“They’ve been trying to take him for years—it isn’t safe—”

“Of course it isn’t safe!” Moody shouted, losing his temper, “This is war, boy! You think it’s safe
when I send you out on midnight raids? When Frank and Alice go to scout the location of a death
eater meeting? When I go to hunt down any one of Voldemort’s fucking bastards? How the hell
d’you think I got this?!” He pointed, furiously, at his eye.

Sirius fell silent, shocked. All three boys stared at Moody, taken aback. He had always been a bit
rough around the edges, but none of them had ever heard him shout like that.

After a moment, Moody continued – he was no longer yelling, but his voice was just as rough.

“Every single member of this Order knew what they were getting into when they signed up.
Nobody forced Lupin to take on this mission; he agreed to it, knowing full well what might
happen. It was his decision to make, not yours.”

Sirius drew back, stung. But Moody was still going,

“If Lupin has been initiated into the pack, then he’s in too deep – barrelling in with some half-
cocked plan to try and save him would only put him in even more danger. As long as the
werewolves think he’s interested in joining them, Lupin doesn’t seem to think they’ll hurt him.” He
took a breath, “It’s in our best interest to wait, let Lupin play this how he wants to play it. If he
needs help, I’m sure he’ll find a way to get a message through.”

Sirius scoffed – Remus Lupin, asking for help? Not bloody likely, he thought. Moody looked at
him, sharply.

“You boys need to trust that your friend knows what he’s doing. We wouldn’t have sent him in if
he didn’t.”

All three of them shifted, uncomfortably, under the Auror’s piercing gaze.

“Please,” James said, after a moment, “Can’t you just tell us where he went for the moon? He
could be hurt—if we could just check—”

“Ferox has already gone to do a sweep,” Moody cut him off, “Reckon we’d have heard something
by now, if he’d found Lupin bleeding out in the middle of the woods.”

“But if they took him somewhere else—”

Moody silenced him with a glare.

“Look at it this way,” he said, bluntly, “Either Lupin’s alive and well, with the werewolves—in
which case barging in and blowing his cover would only put him at risk. Or he’s already dead—in
which case none of us can help him.”

And there was nothing more that any of them could really say, to that.

* * *

Saturday 17th March 1979

‘I can’t stand the rain…against my window….bringing back sweet memories…”

“Sirius?” The door to the flat slammed shut. “Siriuuuuuus?”

‘I can’t stand the rain….against my window…cause he ain’t here with me….’

Mary’s head poked around the door, and her eyes locked on him.

“Ah. See you’re still in the same sorry state, then.” She stepped inside the bedroom, wrinkling her
nose. “Why are you listening to this depressing crap?”

“Leave me alone,” Sirius muttered, voice slightly muffled by the blanket he’d pulled up over his
head.

He’d hardly left his bed over the past three days—Moody had side-lined him from guard duty and
patrols, citing his ‘erratic behaviour’ at the Ministry and snapping at him to take some time to ‘pull
himself together.’

Sirius had not pulled himself together. He’d been wearing the same tattered t-shirt for nearly
seventy-two hours and had gotten crumbs all over the sheets from eating in bed. He was becoming
One With The Mattress.

“Gawd, you stink.” Mary ripped back the blanket and grabbed his arm, tugging at him. “C’mon, up
you get. Lily and James are meeting us at the Leaky in an hour.”

“What?!”

“Yup, time to shower.”

He shoved his face into the pillow, grumbling. “I never agreed to go anywhere.”

“Don’t care. You need to get out of this bloody flat.” She continued to pull at his arm, and Sirius
sat up abruptly, shaking her off.

“Fuck off, Macdonald,” he growled, “I’m not leaving!”

She pursed her lips, glaring down at him. “If you don’t get up in ten seconds, I’ll levitate you into
the bathroom myself.”

“Merlin, Mary, I’m not—” he meant to sound angry, but his voice broke halfway through, and by
the time he finished speaking there was a lump in his throat. “—going. I’m not…”

He sucked in a shuddering breath, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Fuck.” Every
time he thought he’d finished crying, the tears crept up on him again.

“I know, love.” Mary softened, sitting beside him. Sirius shook his head.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak normally. “I can’t
stop thinking about—what they might be doing to him.” He looked up, and Mary was smiling—a
very soft, very sad little thing.

“Why the fuck d’you think the rest of us are getting plastered tonight?”

Sirius couldn’t argue with that.

It felt good to shower. The hot water unknotted some of the tension he’d been carrying in his
shoulders, and he relaxed into the steam. His hair was a tangled mess that took forever to sort
through; by the time Sirius was finally ready to leave, he and Mary were already running late.
It was just Prongs and the missus at the pub—Marlene had picked up a night shift at St. Mungo’s
and Peter was getting over a nasty cold. James looked delighted to see Sirius out and about, and he
shook his head wonderingly at Mary as she slid into the seat across from him.

“I dunno how you do it, Macdonald,” he said, “When I went over yesterday he wouldn’t even
speak to me. You’re amazing.”

“She’s rude, is what she is.” Sirius grumbled. Mary stuck her tongue out at him (which only proved
his point).

They didn’t talk about the war. They didn’t talk about why Moody had Lily brewing veritaserum,
or the raid James had gone on with Frank and Alice that week, or the messages Mary had been
running for Dearborn and Shacklebolt. They certainly didn’t talk about Remus.

Instead, they drank. They ordered round after round of firewhisky, until they were all wobbly and
giggly and drunk. Anytime Sirius felt the familiar fear creeping out from the back of his mind, the
thoughts that circled like vultures (if he’s hurt—if he’s trapped—if he’s—if—) , he would take
another swig of his drink, until the alcohol chased all semblance of coherent thought from his
brain.

Eventually, Mary ushered them all out and into the streets of muggle London, where she insisted
they follow her to the pub where she’d gone with a few of the other girls from her typing course.
Unfortunately, inebriated as she was, she kept getting muddled, and the four of them found
themselves wandering aimlessly through the streets, past quiet residential roads and boisterous
rows of clubs and restaurants. Finally, Lily sobered up enough to try and help with the navigation,
and the two girls walked ahead with their arms linked, heads pressed close together as they
squinted at street signs and tried to figure out where the hell they all were.

“How’re you feelin’, Pads?” James slung an arm around his shoulders, sending them both
careening to one side before they managed to regain their balance and right themselves.

“Drunk,” Sirius slurred back, “Miss Moony.”

James patted his shoulder. “Me too mate,” he sighed, “Me too.”

“S’just not fair,” Sirius went on, “S’like…Moody an’ all o’ them…they’re actin’ like…like we
can’t do anything…but…I need to do something…can’t jus’ wait around, Prongs, I’ll go mental…”

“Yeah.” James bobbed his head up and down, drunkenly.

“Jus’ need something to do,” Sirius continued to mumble, “Jus’ wanna do something…”

They were in a more crowded area of the city, where the streets were still lively despite the late
hour. They passed by a few different businesses with their lights still on, laughter and idle chatter
spilling out of doorways—Sirius didn’t turn to see what they were, staying focused on Mary and
Lily ahead of them. Suddenly, James ground to a halt, gripping his arm.

“Padfoot,” he breathed, in a voice that Sirius recognised from school—his ‘I’ve just had the best
idea EVER’ voice. Sirius turned to see what he was looking at; they’d paused in front of a dimly lit
shop, with a fluorescent sign flashing in the window. James turned to him, grinning. “Wanna do
something?”

* * *
 “You two are idiots,” Lily said, shaking her head.

“Shh, don’t talk them out of it!” Mary bounced from foot to foot, grinning madly.

“Don’t worry, Macdonald,” Sirius grinned back at her, “I never listen to Evans.”

“Lilyyyy,” James moaned, “Are you mad at me?”

“No, Potter,” she sighed, exasperated.

“I love youuuuu.”

Lily smiled, grudgingly. “I love you too, you big dolt.”

Watching them, Sirius felt his heart give a sickening twist in his chest. He couldn’t help thinking of
Moony, how badly he wanted him there, how they hadn’t even said a proper goodbye…

Luckily, the artist returned at that moment, snapping gum between her teeth.

“Alright boys, your paperwork’s all in order.” She glanced between the two of them. “Who’s
first?”

Just under two hours later, Sirius stood in front of a full length-mirror, squashed next to James. The
other boy had winced and flinched the entire time, but Sirius had barely felt a thing—it was nothing
compared to the ‘discipline’ that his mother used to inflict. Plus, he was still sort of drunk.

“Ready?” James asked. Sirius nodded, grinning. They had agreed to look together, at the same
time.

“3…2…1!”

They both pulled back their sleeves, staring in the mirror at each other’s arms. Sirius felt a dizzy
surge of love for the boy next to him as he studied the small black pawprint inked onto his
shoulder. And on his own bicep—a set of twisting antlers, curling up onto his shoulder.

“I still think you two are idiots,” Lily said, smiling. Mary squealed and clapped her hands. Sirius
caught James’s eye in the mirror, grinning, and for a moment he forgot the anxiety that had been
plaguing him for the past three days. For a moment – just one fleeting moment – it felt like
everything might turn out all right.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "i can't stand the rain" by ann peebles!

a legit tattoo artist proooooobably would not be tattooing drunk walk-ins, but let's
ignore that for now
 The War: The Raid
Chapter Summary

finally! some action!

Chapter Notes

cw: death (don't WORRY it's an unnamed character shhh calm down)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I can’t seem to face up to the facts

I’m tense and nervous and I can’t relax

I can’t sleep ‘cause my bed’s on fire

Don’t touch me, I’m a real live wire

Pyscho Killer

Qu’est-ce que c’est

Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-far better

Run, run, run, run, run, run, run away

Tuesday 20th March 1979

Solomon Locke was missing.

He had disappeared over the weekend, while on a mission for the Order. Sirius had no idea who
Solomon Locke even was, but apparently he was largely responsible for intelligence-gathering
operations. Sirius was surprised to learn that he’d been working quite closely with Dorcas
Meadowes – her friendly, unobtrusive nature and pureblood pedigree allowed her to blend in well
amongst crowds that the Order suspected might be sympathetic to Voldemort’s cause. But Sirius
lacked the subtlety for those types of missions, and as a result he had never spoken to Locke in his
life; he had only ever seen the man in passing a handful of times at Order meetings.

Now, though, Moody had called for all hands on deck.

“Locke has access to critical Order intelligence,” the gruff Auror told them, eye swivelling to
survey the group as he spoke. “If the death eaters manage to crack him, our entire operation could
be compromised – safehouse location, member identities, supply stores…”

Sirius looked around at the team Moody had gathered as he continued to speak. Frank and Alice,
Dorcas and Emmeline, the Prewett twins, Caradoc Dearborn, himself, and James. And Moody, of
course—all members who had already been sent on raids for the Order; all members who had
already seen combat. Though as Sirius thought back on the handful of skirmishes he and James had
been caught up in over the past few months, he couldn’t help but feel out of his depth. Those had
mostly been small-scale duels, fending off one or two death eaters on guard duty or casting curses
over their shoulders as they sped away from raids. The mission tonight was something entirely
different.

“They don’t know that we know about their little prison,” Moody growled, “Since, of course, the
Malfoys have been keeping their association with Voldemort under wraps.”

There was a collective flinch as he spoke the name—even Sirius winced.

“But we have it on good intelligence that they’ve been keeping a handful of prisoners in the
basement of the family’s estate. They won’t be expecting us to attack the house of a well-known
politician, and that’s what we’re relying on—we take them by surprise, get in and get out quick.”

He turned to James, Sirius, the Prewetts, Emmeline, Alice and Frank. “Your job is to take care of
anyone they have guarding the estate. Make sure the path is clear for our strike force—me,
Dearborn, Meadowes. We need to get into that basement, retrieve Locke, and get out before they
can call for reinforcements. Going in, we’ll have the numbers on our side—cut off their lines of
communication and don’t let anyone slip away. The second they come back with more death
eaters, we pull out and the mission is over.”

They all nodded, solemnly. Moody eyed the group one last time, then clapped his hands together.

“Right, then. Any questions?”

Frank raised his hand. “Sorry—what about the other prisoners?”

The entire group shifted, uncomfortably. It was clearly the question that had been on everyone’s
mind—but nobody wanted to ask it.

“Our only objective is Locke,” Moody responded, bluntly. “We have minutes to pull off this
operation successfully. Regardless of what we find there, we’re leaving once we have Solomon. If
anyone has a problem with that, speak up now—we won’t have time for hemming and hawing once
we’ve got curses flying at our heads.”

Nobody protested, though Alice’s brow knotted as she frowned, and Frank reached out to squeeze
her hand.

“Any other questions?” Moody barked.

There weren’t any.

They were flying to the estate under cover of night, on broomsticks. According to Moody’s
intelligence, Voldemort would be hosting a meeting at a different location, which meant most of
the death eaters would likely be in attendance there. If they got lucky, the few left guarding
Abraxas Malfoy’s estate would be some of the weaker members, low-level grunts who didn’t pose
too much of a threat.

Sirius felt the familiar rush of adrenaline buzzing in his veins as he flew side by side with James.
The weather was warming up as spring took hold, but at night it was still cool, and the air stung
their faces as they swept over the countryside. He breathed deeply, squinting into the night. Sirius
knew he should probably feel afraid, but instead all he felt was a rush of heady, vindictive
excitement—finally, they were actually doing something. After a week of waiting around,
helplessly, plagued by thoughts of all the things that might be happening to Remus, Sirius was
ready to fight something. He was eager for it.

They slowed down as they neared the estate, approaching from the surrounding woodland and
hovering at the edge of the trees.

“Potter,” Moody hissed, “You’re up.”

James nodded, once, before darting off, flying ahead to circle the grounds. He was the fastest of all
of them on a broom, the best suited to reconnaissance—still, Sirius’s heart leapt into his throat as
he watched James zoom away, wishing he could go with him.

He felt as though he was holding his breath until James finally returned, a few minutes later,
breathing heavily. He zipped over to Moody, whispering,

“Two circling the grounds, as far as I can tell. Not sure how many are inside; no lights on the
upper floors, but there’s at least one person in the back left corner of the house. I saw them through
the window.”

Moody nodded, sharply, turning to Caradoc.

“Dearborn?”

The dark-haired Auror had his wand raised, and was mumbling under his breath. Sirius
remembered hearing from someone that Caradoc was one of the Order’s best curse-breakers.

After a moment, he finished whatever spell he was casting and turned to Moody.

“Standard alarm spell, which I’ve managed to suspend—I could only remove it temporarily,
though, without triggering the failsafe built into the enchantment. I’m not sure how long it’ll last—
could be anywhere from thirty to sixty minutes.”

“Anything else?”

Caradoc nodded. “Something I’m not familiar with—some kind of defence mechanism. It’s similar
to a few that I’ve seen before; as far as I can tell it will trigger if any hostile parties enter the
house.”

“Meaning us?”

“Meaning us. I’m not sure exactly what it will trigger, though—it’s not an alarm, it’s something
else. Likely meant to incapacitate intruders.”

“Is it fatal?”

Caradoc hesitated. “…I don’t think so, but—”

Moody cut him off. “How sure are you?”

Another pause. “Ninety percent.”

Moody nodded. “Alright. Everyone gather round.”

They did as he said, ten brooms hovering in a circle.

“Here’s the plan,” Moody said, voice low, “Prewetts—you two take the guards on the grounds.
Potter, Black, I want you backing them up. Longbottoms, Vance—you three are with the retrieval
team.” He turned back to Caradoc, “Will you be able to break the curse if you know what it does?”

“I think so, but Alastor—”

“Good. In that case, I’ll go in first, take the brunt of whatever nasty magic Malfoy’s cooked up.
Dearborn will break the curse, and then it’ll be up to him and Meadowes to retrieve Locke. Vance,
if I’m injured I’ll be counting on you to get me back to the safehouse—we’ve got Euphemia on call
for healing. The Longbottoms will go with Meadowes and Dearborn, cover them in case of—”

“No.”

Frank interrupted, and the entire group turned to stare at him. Moody frowned.

“Something to say, boy?”

Frank nodded, stoically, jaw set. “You’re too important, Moody,” he said, “We need you here. The
Order needs you. And we’ve got no idea what that curse does.” He hesitated, taking a breath; then
said, “I’ll go in first.”

“Frank, no—”

Alice began to protest, but he shot her a look, and she broke off. For a moment, the two of them
stared at each other, locked in some form of silent communication that the rest of them couldn’t
decipher. Eventually, she looked away, and Frank turned back to Moody.

“I’ll go first,” he repeated.

Moody eyed him, warily. “You sure, boy?”

Frank nodded. Moody studied him for a moment longer, then nodded back.

“Alright. Longbottom goes in first, Dearborn breaks the curse. Vance, you’re still on standby to get
Longbottom out if he needs a healer. Longbottom—Alice, that is—you’re with me and Meadowes.
Everyone got it?”

The entire group nodded, murmuring confirmations. Alice looked like she wanted to say
something, but after another meaningful look from Frank she kept quiet, lips twisting into a sour
frown.

Sirius, James, and the Prewetts were up first. They split into two groups—Sirius and Fabian,
Gideon and James. Sirius tailed Fabian closely as they flew towards the estate, splitting off from
the other two to go after the guard at the front of the house.

It was almost too easy. The man noticed them as the drew closer, but instead of apparating away or
even going inside the house, he stood his ground, preparing to fight. Fabian had hit him with a
stunning jinx while he was still raising his wand, then petrificus totalus. The death eater toppled
forward, completely immobilised.

They landed quietly, and Fabian murmured another hex—this one put the man to sleep, and they
rolled his body into the shrubs near the entryway. Then, as Sirius watched, Fabian plucked the
wand out of the man’s paralysed hand, and snapped it clean in two.
Sirius blinked, utterly shocked. Wands were sacred amongst wizards—their destruction was one of
the most severe punishments that the Wizengamot could decree, usually reserved only for those
who had committed crimes worthy of life in Azkaban or expulsion from the magical community
entirely. Sirius had never actually seen a wand destroyed before, and it was unsettling how easily
the thin stick broke over Fabian’s knee. His own wand suddenly felt very fragile in his curled fist.

Fabian looked up at Sirius as he tossed the two severed halves onto the ground, daring him to say
something. Sirius swallowed, and remained silent. From a practical standpoint, destroying the
death eater’s wand made sense—and besides, if the Ministry actually got their shit together and
prosecuted the bastards, all of Voldemort’s followers would likely have their wands snapped,
anyway.

Still, it was jarring.

Fabian raised his own wand, shooting off a flurry of silver sparks. A few moments later, an
identical signal came from the back of the house—it looked like James and Gideon had managed to
subdue their guard, as well. After a minute, Sirius caught sight of the rest of their group, flying
down towards the front entrance.

Moody landed, with the others following close behind him. They left their brooms on the ground
outside—they’d be using apparation to get out, if all went according to plan. Moody glanced at the
snapped wand on the ground and nodded, once.

“Black,” he turned to Sirius, “Back on your broom. I want you and Potter keeping a lookout out
here. Prewett, same for you, but I want you and your brother on the ground.”

“Roger that, sir!” Fabian straightened, saluting. Moody frowned at him, then turned to the rest of
their group.

“Everyone ready?”

Sirius hopped back onto his broom as they nodded, returning to the dark sky. He began to circle the
house, making his way around to the back door where James and Gideon would be waiting, to relay
Moody’s instructions.

He was halfway there when the screaming started.

Sirius recognised Frank’s voice, though he had never heard it like this before—cracked with
agony, brutal and raw. He had to resist the urge to turn around, to fly back towards the front of the
house and rush inside, to see what was happening. Sirius gritted his teeth and kept on course—he
had to trust that Dearborn knew what he was doing, that he’d be able to break the curse, that
Emmeline would get Frank back to Mrs. Potter in time. That Dorcas and Moody and Alice would
be able to handle whatever was waiting—because if there were any death eaters inside the house,
they had certainly been alerted to the Order’s presence now.

James and Gideon were already on their brooms when Sirius reached them, preparing to take flight.
Their death eater was in a similar state to the one Fabian had hexed, though this one’s face was
badly swollen—evidence of a powerful stinging jinx.

“Frank?” Gideon asked as he landed. Sirius nodded. “What happened to him??”

“I don’t know,” Sirius said, helplessly, “I didn’t see—Moody sent me to tell you that he wants me
and James on lookout in the air, you and Fab on the ground.”

Just as he finished speaking, the screams stopped. Sirius hoped that was a good sign—hoped it
meant that Caradoc had been successful in breaking whatever horrible curse the Malfoys had
placed over their house. The silence only lasted for a moment before it was replaced by distant
shouting, the snap and hiss of magic, the sound of curses being cast. Too soon, Sirius thought, the
fighting’s starting too soon. Their entire plan had relied on stealth, on getting in and out of the
house before the death eaters had time to process their presence. Whatever that curse had done to
Frank, it meant that they would no longer be sneaking in—now, they’d have to fight their way
through to Locke.

Sure enough, he and James had just re-mounted their brooms when a flurry of red sparks shot into
the sky from the front of the house—their distress signal. The team inside already needed backup.
Gideon stopped them before they could fly off.

“We’ll go in from the back,” he hissed, gesturing for them to leave their brooms, “If they’ve drawn
all the attention to the front of the house, we might be able to flank them.”

“What about the curse?” James whispered back, abandoning his broom on the ground. It was an
older model borrowed from the Order supply—not his beloved Nimbus. They’d all known going
into this mission that they wouldn’t be leaving the way they came, and had purposely used
broomsticks they could easily part with.

“Caradoc’s broken it,” Gideon said, “Or else they wouldn’t be inside the house, fighting. Now
come on!”

With the defensive spells on the house effectively lifted—at least temporarily—it was all too easy
to slip in through the back door. James and Sirius followed Gideon as they crept through dark
hallways, wands at the ready, drawing closer and closer to the sounds of duelling coming from the
front of the house.

Suddenly, someone rushed towards them. All three boys raised their wands, opening their mouths,
but—

“Dorcas?!”

James recognised her first, throwing out an arm to stop the others from cursing her. She startled at
his voice, then breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Merlin, you scared me—go, quickly, they need you up front!”

“Where are you going?!”

“To get Locke!” She hissed, starting to move past them. But James frowned.

“By yourself? How are you going to get him out??”

“Don’t worry about it, James,” Dorcas responded, hurriedly, voice frayed with nerves, “Just get
over there and help them—there were four death eaters in the house, and Em had to get Frank out
—”

“But if Locke’s injured he might not be able to apparate—you’ll need at least two people to make
sure—”

“I don’t need to get him out!” Dorcas snapped, clearly beside herself. “I just need to obliviate him!”

There was a tense pause. Then,

“What?!” Sirius gaped at her, shocked. They’d all been under the impression that the single goal of
this mission was to rescue Locke, to get him out, because he was too high priority of an Order
member to let the death eaters access his secrets…

Oh. Suddenly, everything made more sense—the emphasis on secrecy, on speed, on getting in and
out as quickly as possible. It would take too much time, too many bodies, to actually break Locke
out of whatever prison they had him in—especially when they had no way of knowing what state
he’d be in, if he’d even be conscious or able to move. But breaking into the prison just to obliviate
him, and then apparating away…

It made sense, in a horrible, numb sort of way. Much easier to erase Solomon’s memories of the
Order secrets than to risk even more lives trying to save him. But it made Sirius’s skin crawl, made
him feel as though there was a stone in the pit of his stomach.

“But you can’t—” James started to protest, and Gideon cut him off.

“Potter’s right,” he said, and for a moment Dorcas looked panicked. But then he continued, “You
still can’t go alone—you need backup, in case there are more guards.” Gid turned to James, who
was staring at him, horrified. “You go with her—watch her back. Sirius, come with me.”

“But—”

“No buts, Potter! We don’t have time to stand around! You go with Dorcas, and you make sure
she’s able to complete the mission the Order gave her. Alright?”

James swallowed, hard. After a brief moment of hesitation, he nodded. “Alright.”

Gideon nodded back. “Good.”

And then they were splitting up, James and Dorcas running back into the shadowy hallways as Gid
and Sirius raced towards the front of the house, where flashes of colourful light burned their
retinas.

The scene was chaotic. Moody, Caradoc, Alice, and Fabian were scattered across the entryway, in
a grand foyer bracketed by two sweeping staircases. Above them, a massive chandelier glittered
and trembled as curses whipped back and forth beneath it. The four Order members were duelling
four death eaters—two men and two women, one of whom looked vaguely familiar. Sirius couldn’t
quite place where he knew her from, but he thought she might have been present for one of his
family’s many dinner parties; it was impossible to remember every single person who attended the
larger events.

Gideon and Sirius burst into the hall, wands raised. Gideon threw a shield charm up in front of
Alice just before a hex could hit her, and Sirius threw a stunning jinx at the man duelling Fabian. It
hit him square in the back, sending him to the ground—in the next second, Fab had him in a full
body bind.

“About time, you two!” Alice shouted, as they moved to flank the remaining three death eaters.

“Gid, so glad you could make it!” Fabian grinned at his brother from across the room, and Gideon
mock-saluted him.

“Exchange your pleasantries later!” Moody barked, “Black—on your left!”

Sirius threw up a shield charm in the nick of time, heart pounding, blood crackling with adrenaline
—electric. He found himself grinning, madly, as he fired off another stunning spell, dodging and
ducking and weaving. The fight was as terrifying as it was thrilling, but Sirius felt a giddy rush of
release; finally, he was actually doing something – something more than sitting around an empty
flat, alone and impotent.

He wasn’t the only one feeling it. Next to him, Gideon was grinning just as fiercely, whooping as
he and Caradoc managed to immobilise a second death eater. A few feet away, Alice was casting in
Irish, using spells that her opponent clearly didn’t recognise and had no idea how to defend against.
For a moment, as the six of them faced down the two remaining death eaters, Sirius felt invincible.

And then one of the death eaters stopped fighting, and threw up a shield charm around the other.
Moody saw it, shouting,

“No—don’t let her—”

But it was too late. The woman—the one Sirius vaguely recognised—apparated away with a little
pop, leaving her partner behind. He was down in an instant, too busy defending her to block the
three different hexes that hit him. He began laughing, a horrible, snarling sound, until Alice
knocked him out with another jinx.

“Quick,” Moody growled, “We’ve got to go—Potter and Meadowes?”

“They went to get—”

Gideon didn’t even have time to finish his answer before the woman suddenly reappeared,
throwing a curse that Alice caught with a shield charm just in time. In the next second, another
death eater appeared, and another—she’d gone for reinforcements.

“Dearborn!” Moody roared, “The signal!”

Caradoc spun around, pointing his wand back towards the dark interior of the house. A patronus
burst from his wand tip, something sharp-beaked, with wings – Sirius thought it might be a hawk,
or an osprey. The patronus soared back into the house as more death eaters arrived, going back the
direction that Sirius and Gideon had come from.

Sirius was beginning to recognise some of the death eaters, now—Goyle, Rosier, Rabastan
Lestrange. The giddy thrill he’d previously felt had disappeared; he was cold with fear, heart
pounding frantically as he continued to dodge and shield and throw out hexes left and right, trying
desperately to keep up with the ever-increasing chaos of the battle. In the middle of the foyer,
Abraxas Malfoy appeared, face twisted with fury as he caught sight of the intruders in his home.

“Alastor, my old friend!” He snarled, “You should have told me you were stopping by for a visit!”

Sirius’s heart leapt into his throat as a flash of green light flew past his face, missing him by
inches. Rabastan Lestrange smiled at him, feral and wild, and raised his wand to cast the curse
again. Sirius dodged away, ducking out of his line of sight.

Somehow, he ended up next to Alice, backed onto one of the staircases. They covered each other,
fending off the three death eaters that circled them, pushing them farther up the stairs. Directly
behind the group of death eaters attacking them, Fabian and Gideon stood back to back, fending
off three death eaters of their own. It was too loud to hear clearly, a cacophony of voices all
shouting over each other, spells flying. But Sirius and Alice both had a clear line of sight on the
twins.

He couldn’t hear it—not for sure. But Sirius saw the jet of green light as it left the end of Gideon’s
wand. He saw it strike, hitting the man in front of him – a dark-haired boy, who couldn’t have been
 much older than Gideon himself. He saw the man fall, eyes suddenly flat and cold. He saw him
die.

“Fall back!” Moody roared, “Fall back now!”

Before Sirius could do anything—before he could even think, Alice had her hand around his arm,
and they were apparating away.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "psycho killer" by talking heads!

fun fact 'solomon locke' was originally gonna be caradoc dearborn but then i realized
mkb addresses his disappearance later in the fic so i had to make up some new random
guy lol

3/27 update - thank you to mrtellmeafuckingsecret + Anythingforourmooney1 for

letting me know that the language is just called "Irish" and not "Gaelic!" that line has
now been changed :) if you guys ever notice any discrepancies like this, please lmk,
it's super helpful! <3
 The War: Numbers
Chapter Summary

some ~serious~ conversations

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Come up on the hills, playing little boy soldiers

Come out on the hills, playing little boy soldiers

Come on outside – I’ll sing you a lullaby

Or tell a tale of how goodness prevailed

We ruled the world, we killed and robbed

The fucking lot – but we don’t feel bad

It was done beneath the flag of democracy

You’ll believe and I do – yes I do, yes I do

Yes I do, yes I do, yes I do

They had to apparate three times, to make sure they weren’t followed or tracked. By the time they
arrived back at the safehouse where they’d all agreed to meet, most of the group was already back
—Sirius felt weak with relief when he saw James and Dorcas, sitting safe and unharmed on one of
the sofas in the living room.

James stood the moment he saw Sirius, crossing the room in two strides and pulling him into a
fierce hug. Sirius hugged him back, tightly, limbs still buzzing with adrenaline, heart still
pounding.

James pulled back, slightly, scanning him. “You’re alright?”

Sirius nodded, and was about to open his mouth to respond when Alice pushed past them, scowling
as she walked into the room. She stormed straight up to Gideon, who was standing beside his
brother, speaking in hushed, furtive voices.

“What the hell was that?!” She spat, looking for a moment as though she might hit him. Gideon
bristled immediately, frowning down at her, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“What?”

“Don’t what me, Prewett. That was the bloody killing curse.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. James cast a confused glance at Sirius, question in his
eyes—but Sirius shook his head slightly, watching Alice and Gideon. Later.

Gid folded his arms. “If you have something to say, just say it, Alice.”

“If I have something to—fuck’s sake, alright! How about this, Gideon: what the hell were you
thinking? That’s dark fucking magic, that is. You don’t come back from that kind o’ shite, once
you start usin’ it.”

“And what would you have had me do, Alice? In case you didn’t notice, we were bloody
outnumbered—it’s not like any of them would’ve thought twice about taking us out!”

“That’s my point, Prewett – what you did back there? It’s just as bad as them.”

Gideon flushed, hands curling into fists, voice rising. “This is war, Alice! It’s a bloody numbers
game—they’re going to keep on killing us, and if we don’t start taking some of them out, then
what the fuck d’you expect to happen? Should we just keep stunning them? Try to kill them with
bloody kindness??”

“Oh, right, because using dark magic to stop people from using dark magic is a really brilliant plan
—”

“That’s enough!” Moody barked, barrelling into the room with Caradoc Dearborn close behind.
Everyone spun around to look at them, and Moody surveyed the space, magic eye whirling.

“Everyone back? Good.” He turned to Alice, “Frank’s upstairs with Effie—he’ll be out of
commission for a few days, but it looks like he should be fine, all things considered.”

Alice stiffened, anger mixing strangely with raw relief on her face. She nodded, once, and Moody
said,

“Go on, girl – I’ll fill you both in on anything there is to know later.”

Alice hesitated, glancing at Gideon. “Alastor—” She began to speak, but Moody cut her off.

“Go,” he ordered, gruffly. She scowled, but obeyed, stalking off towards the hall and disappearing
up the stairs. Once she was gone, Moody turned back to the rest of the group.

“Meadowes,” he said, getting straight to business, “Report.”

Dorcas shook her head, staring down dejectedly. Emmeline, who was sitting next to her on the
sofa, put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“He wasn’t there,” Dorcas said, quietly, “There were—other prisoners. But we couldn’t find
Solomon.”

Next to Sirius, James nodded solemnly, looking troubled.

Moody glanced between the two of them, features darkening. He nodded, once, and a horrible,
despondent silence fell over the room. After all that work—nothing. Locke had never even been
there.

“Do you think…” Fabian hesitated, then asked, “Was it a trap?”

Moody shook his head, frowning. “No,” he said, firmly, “They weren’t expecting us. If we’re
lucky, they won’t know who we were looking for—but I think it’ll be safest to assume, moving
forward, that Locke’s already been compromised.” He nodded to Dorcas, “Meadowes, Dearborn—
I’ll need you two to come with me, we’ll have to draw up a list of any safehouse locations that
Locke knew, and suspend all Order operations from those sites…”

Dorcas and Caradoc nodded as he spoke, standing to follow Moody. Sirius waited, wondering if the
Auror was going to mention what had just happened—what Gideon had done.

He didn’t. Instead, he cast one final, piercing gaze around the room, eyes sweeping over the
gathered faces.

“The rest of you can go,” he said, without further preamble, turning to leave.

Sirius couldn’t help himself. Before he knew it, he was blurting out,

“That’s it?!”

Moody’s magic eye swivelled to focus on him; his regular eye narrowed.

“Something I’m forgetting, Mr. Black?”

“It’s—there’s—we have proof, now, that Abraxas Malfoy is a death eater. James and Dorcas saw
the prisoners in his fucking basement—you duelled him!”

“D’you have a point?”

“Do I—he’s one of the most powerful politicians in the Ministry! We’ve got evidence that he’s
part of a notorious terrorist organisation, surely that’s—”

“And what evidence, exactly, are you referring to?” Moody barked, interrupting him. Sirius
blinked, taken aback.

“James and Dorcas—”

Moody cut him off before he could finish. “Let me make something clear, boy,” he growled, losing
patience, “Nothing we did tonight – not a single part of that operation – was sanctioned by the
Ministry. There isn’t a shred of evidence we could present that would hold any weight in an official
trial before the Wizengamot, and pointing fingers at Abraxas bloody Malfoy would only paint a
bigger target than what we’ve already got on our backs.”

“Then—what—” Sirius spluttered, “You’re all just going to go into work tomorrow and stand in
the elevator together and pretend you don’t know that he’s a fucking death eater?”

“What d’you think we’ve all been doing for the past nine years?” Moody snapped, roughly, “I’ve
made it perfectly clear to every member of this Order that the Ministry is compromised. That’s
truer now than ever before—every day, death eaters worm their way further into our government.
We can’t rely on trials and sanctions from the Wizengamot; we’re on our own out here, boy.”

Sirius stared at the floor, cheeks flushed. He knew the Ministry was compromised—he knew that.
But it still felt unreal that they could find a literal death eater prison in Abraxas Malfoy’s basement
without him suffering a single consequence for what was so obviously an egregious crime.

Sirius hated it.

Moody stared at him for a moment longer, as if daring him to speak again. When Sirius remained
silent, he said, gruffly,
“Anyone got anything else to say? Hmm?”

Nobody spoke.

After a moment, Moody snorted and shook his head. “Meadowes, Dearborn.” He left, and the two
of them followed him out.

* * *

“Was Alice telling the truth?” James asked that night, as they lay side by side on his bed.

Actually, it wasn’t night—dawn was breaking outside, and they’d only just arrived back at the
Potters’ house half an hour ago. The two of them had collapsed on top of James’s bed, staring up at
the ceiling, both utterly exhausted and yet utterly unable to sleep.

“What?”

“Did Gideon really…kill someone?”

“Oh,” Sirius said, quietly, thinking of the man who had crumpled onto the floor of the foyer.
“Yeah.”

James released a breath. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, that’s….fuck. That’s really fucked.”

“I know.”

James sighed, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“I…” His voice cracked; he cleared his throat. “I can’t believe Moody didn’t say anything. To
him.”

Sirius frowned. “What should he have said?”

“I dunno, just…I mean, Alice is right, that’s really dark magic…”

“They were throwing the exact same curses at us.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that…what does that say about us? If we start using the same magic…are we any
different from them?”

Sirius bristled, propping himself up on his elbow. “Of course we’re different – what kind of
question is that?! We aren’t fucking blood supremacists run by a madman who wants to enslave all
other creatures under the rule of a pureblood oligarchy.”

“Exactly!” James insisted, “We shouldn’t be—sinking to their level. The whole point of the Order
is to fight dark wizards. We can’t use dark magic if we’re standing against it.”

“What, so we just let them kill us? You heard Moody—the government isn’t going to do shit. We
can’t send all the death eaters to trial and pack them off to Azkaban. Gideon’s right; it’s a numbers
game, and if they’re killing us and we’re not killing them, then we’ve already lost.”

“Merlin, Sirius! You don’t actually mean that?”

“Of course I do! We signed up for this, Prongs.”

James shook his head, stubbornly. “I signed up to fight dark magic, not to use it.”

Sirius frowned. “None of us want to use dark magic,” he snapped, not entirely sure why he felt so
defensive—maybe because he’d seen the death eater fall, had seen the light drain from his eyes,
and all he’d felt was relief. “But if we need it to win…” He faltered, thinking again of the flash of
green light, the collapsing body. Would I be able to do that? If I had to?

If there was no other choice?

On top of the mattress, James reached out to grip his hand.

“We won’t need to,” he said, firmly. “We can win this war without it, Padfoot. The right way.”

If it was anyone else, Sirius might have scoffed. He might have rolled his eyes, or gotten angry—he
might have demanded to know how the hell there could be a right way to win a war.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was James.

So Sirius believed him.

* * *

INTERN KILLED IN VIOLENT ATTEMPT ON POLITICIAN’S LIFE

21 March 1979 – Senior Minister for the Department of International Magical Cooperation,
Abraxas Malfoy, was the victim of a home invasion late last night that left one dead and several
injured. Investigation is ongoing, but in a statement to reporters earlier today Malfoy revealed that
he believed the intruders to be radical muggle-rights activists.

“It is no coincidence that this attack came just after I announced my support for the Heritage
Party’s newest budget proposal. Instead of sinking money into seeking out magic in muggle
children, this budget would reallocate funds to be used for the real wizards who deserve it, for our
children in need. We waste millions of galleons every year maintaining a network of tracers and
detectors across all of Great Britain on the off-chance that we might discover a handful of muggle
children with some shred of magical ability. That money should be going towards the children of
real wizards, not wasted on muggles.”

When asked what he thought the goals of these attackers was, Malfoy expressed that he believed
the invasion was part of an attempt on his life.

“These are fanatics we’re dealing with,” he told Prophet reporters, “Fanatics who think muggles
are more important than me, or you, or our children. They would have us cower and hide, bury our
society even more deeply under the ground and give control of Great Britain over entirely to
muggles. When they see people like me standing up for wizards, advocating for our community –
they see a threat.”

The intern who lost his life, Yosif Petrokov, was a visiting scholar from Bulgaria and recent
Durmstrang graduate…

* * *

I’ve been holdin’ out so long

I’ve been sleepin’ all alone

Lord, I miss you

I’ve been hanging on the phone

I’ve been sleeping all alone

I want to kiss you sometime…

Wednesday 28th March 1979

Sirius Black was going insane.

It had been two weeks since Remus went missing, and nobody had heard even a whisper to
indicate that he was still alive (he was—he was, he had to be). No note, no patronus, not even a
bloody smoke signal—nothing.

Sirius had cornered Ferox at the next Order meeting and demanded any information the man could
provide—but he’d proved to be entirely unhelpful. All he did was repeat the things that Moody had
already said: Remus was meant to ingratiate himself with the werewolves, the fact that he had
disappeared likely meant he’d been initiated into the pack, trying to go after him would only blow
his cover.

“What sort of initiation?” Sirius asked, “How long will it take? How will he contact you if he needs
help? If he needs to leave?”

Ferox had only hemmed and hawed and repeated the same empty reassurances—Lupin knows what
he’s doing, we just have to trust him, he’ll find a way to let us know if he’s in danger.

And if he can’t? Sirius wanted to ask, If he’s captured, if he’s hurt, if he’s tied up or locked up or
wounded? What the fuck happens then—what happens if it’s already too late?

But he didn’t. He knew he would only get the same tired answers, repeated over and over again.
Just wait, just wait, just wait.

So two weeks passed, and he couldn’t sleep. Every time Sirius closed his eyes, he had nightmares
—horrible dreams, dreams that cracked his ribs and pulped his heart and hollowed him out. In the
dreams, Remus lay beside him, and kissed him, and whispered I’m right here, love. When Sirius
woke up, his chest hurt so badly that he couldn’t breathe.

He replayed their final conversation, over and over again, combing the memory for any hints, any
details that might tell him something new. He thought of the strange, frantic energy with which
Remus had insisted, I don’t want to go back to the Potters’. How he’d said, repeatedly, that he
thought it wasn’t safe. How he’d pushed out the door without saying goodbye, without looking
back. I have to go.

Sirius went on patrols, he delivered messages, he stood guard where Moody told him to. He
worked on his bike and got drunk with Mary and forgot to buy groceries, again. He wandered
through muggle London, going in and out of shops, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut every
time he spotted a tall, lanky frame, a head of sandy curls, a freckled nose.

He couldn’t stand to be alone in the flat. It was too empty; there were too many books. It smelled
too much like Remus, and Sirius couldn’t stomach it—then he noticed the scent fading, and he fell
apart one evening on the carpet, pulling Moony’s jumpers out of the wardrobe and clinging to
them, pressing his face into wool until he choked.

He stayed at the Potters’, for a bit. But that was awful in a different way; Euphemia kept making
him cups of tea, and James plastered on a cheery smile, and they kept exchanging furtive,
concerned glances when they thought Sirius wouldn’t notice. After two days, he thanked Mrs.
Potter for her hospitality and promised to stop by again soon. And he left.

James found him, on one of the bad days (though they were all bad days, really, by that point),
curled up on the sofa next to the overflowing ashtray. He barged into the flat, slamming the door
open – and immediately began to cough. Sirius been chain smoking all day without bothering to
crack a window; it wasn’t like there was anyone else around to complain.

Well – there hadn’t been, until now.

“Bloody hell, Padfoot!”

James stumbled across the carpet, hacking like he was trying to cough up a lung as he wrenched
the living room window open. Sirius blinked, startled by the sudden intrusion.

“James?”

“Fucking reeks in here—Merlin, I dunno how you stand it…”

“What are you doing here?” Sirius frowned, “I thought you were taking Lily out to dinner.”

James spun around, stomping over to the sofa. He stood in front of Sirius and glared down, hands
on his hips.

“Sleeping draught, Pads? Really?”

Oh. Sirius curled up, hugging his knees to his chest defensively. Marlene must’ve talked to Lily.

“She said she wouldn’t tell anyone,” he muttered, resentfully.

James snorted. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“It was a private conversation!”

“Asking our mate if she can smuggle you out bloody sleeping draughts from work is not a private
fucking conversation!”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“Not a big deal?!” James shook his head, incredulous. “What—lying in bed all day, getting drunk
off your arse with Mary, smoking these,” he snatched the pack of cigarettes off the coffee table,
waving them in the air, “Isn’t enough anymore? Now you want to fucking self-medicate with
prescription potions?!”

Sirius scowled, snatching back the fags. “I was just asking her, Potter, Merlin…”

“You’re not the only one who’s worried about him, you know? How d’you think Pete and I feel—
Lily, Mary, Marlene…we all get it, Pads, but we’re not—”

“Oh, fuck off!” Sirius snarled, anger jumping sharp to the front of his tongue, “You don’t get it,
none of you get it—”

“We all love him, Sirius, just because he’s not my bloody boyfriend doesn’t mean I don’t—”

“It’s more than that,” Sirius shouted, and then—fuck, everything was cracking, everything was
spilling out, voice ragged as it ripped its way out of his throat, “It’s not—I can’t do this without
him, James, I don’t know how to—I can’t stop thinking about him. I just keep thinking about him,
all the fucking time, and I can’t stop, and I can’t sleep, and it’s like someone’s punched a fucking
hole through my chest, and I don’t know how to—to—”

He was crying, shoulders shaking, and he buried his head in his hands just so that he wouldn’t have
to look James in the eye.

“I love him so much, Prongs,” he sucked in a breath, hating the way his voice splintered, “It’s
fucking killing me. It’s—it’s like it’s eating me alive, and I don’t know what to do with it when
he’s—”

Sirius broke off, choking on the lump in his throat.

“Padfoot…” James said, gently, and that only made him cry harder. “Pads, that’s not…” He blew
out a breath, sharply. “That isn’t healthy.”

What?

The anger returned, though it did nothing to stop the tears. “Fuck off, Potter.”

“No, I’m sorry, I—I ignored it when we were in school, even with all the fighting, because you
made each other so happy, and it just never really seemed like it was that big of a deal, but…this
isn’t good for you, Sirius.”

Sirius swallowed, finally managing to control his breathing enough to keep his voice steady. His
voice was low, dangerous, trembling with rage.

“What the fuck are you trying to say, James?”

“Look at yourself, Sirius!” James tugged at his hair, equal parts desperate and exasperated,
“Loving someone isn’t supposed to fucking—rot you!”

And in eight years of friendship, Sirius had never hated James. Had never even been angry with
him, not really. James was the only constant in his life; his best friend, his brother, his person. He
always would be.

But in that moment, Sirius couldn’t stop himself from hating him.

Just a little bit.

Just for a second.

He hated him for the pity in his eyes, and the judgment. He hated him for growing up in a home
with Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, for learning love as something warm and soft and gentle.
Sirius hated that James could stand there, and believe it—could preach about how love wasn’t
meant to be ugly. That it wasn’t something with teeth.

Sirius thought of his own life, of his own family. He thought of his mother, eyes wild and far away,
insisting I can still save you as she raised her wand to slice him open. He thought of his father, the
coldness of his eyes that melted just the tiniest bit when he smiled. He thought of his brother,
furious and pale and sunken and shouting at him in empty corridors.

He thought of Moony. You’re magic.

“Get out.” Sirius said. He was shaking.

“Padfoot…”

“Get out James—I mean it, just get the fuck out!”

He had no idea what he looked like—no idea what James saw as he screamed the words. But there
must have been something, because his mouth pressed into a thin line, and he stared down at
Sirius, fists clenched.

“Fine.”

Sirius would regret it, later—telling him to go, watching him leave, not calling him back. But he
had no way of knowing that, at the time. And in that moment, all he knew was that he couldn’t
stand to look at James for another second.

There was only one person Sirius wanted to see. And it was the one person he couldn’t have.

* * *

The call came six hours later. Moody contacted him through the floo network, grizzled face
popping up from the flames with no warning, mad eye swirling in its socket.

Solomon Locke had made contact.

He’d sent a patronus from an Order safe house, just two miles outside of Hogsmeade. Moody was
suspicious, of course, after his prolonged absence. But the barrage of spells testing the
communication—then testing the wards on the house, checking that nothing had been altered or
traced—had all come back clean. As far as anyone could tell, it was really, truly Locke.

The message had been cryptic, saying he’d nearly gotten caught on a mission and had had to go out
of his way to escape and remain hidden. He’d made it to the safe house, but he was injured and in
 need of a healer.

Moody was still suspicious. He wanted to send a team to retrieve Locke, just in case. The Prewett
twins, Dearborn and Fenwick, Sirius and James. They’d be apparating into Hogsmeade, then
making their way to the safe house to investigate. It was all very short notice; Sirius was instructed
to arrive in exactly forty minutes.

Still, he was grateful for something to do. He was grateful for any distraction, those days—
anything to focus on that wasn’t how much time had passed since Remus had left, how long it had
been since that awful sunrise where he never came back.

So Sirius apparated to Hogsmeade, exactly forty minutes later. He was supposed to meet the rest of
the group at the The Hog’s Head; his stomach twisted, slightly, as he thought of seeing James.
Their earlier argument was far too fresh, stinging every time he thought about it. All the tangled
emotions were still there—bitter anger, ragged guilt, horrible, all-consuming helplessness.

Sirius did his best to shove them down. Would James be angry with him? Concerned? Would he
still have that awful pitying look in his eye?

In the end, Sirius didn’t need to worry about it. Because the moment he landed in the alley behind
Honeyduke’s, a hand clapped down on his shoulder, and then everything went black.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "little boy soliders" by the jam; song halfway through is "miss
you" by the rolling stones!

also, neither i nor my amazing proofreader are irish, so if any irish readers have
suggestions/corrections for any spellings/phrasing in alice's lines, feel free to drop a
comment or send me a message on tumblr :)
 The War: Saviour
Chapter Summary

look who's back!

Chapter Notes

cw: side character death(s)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The world lurched and twisted around Sirius as whoever it was that had grabbed him apparated
them, before he could even blink. Sirius stumbled as they landed, dizzy and disoriented—he
reached for his wand, but his fingers had only just brushed it when the spell hit him in the back.

“Expelliarmus!”

It was a familiar voice. Sirius spun around, heart pounding.

“Reg?!”

His brother stood two paces behind him, clutching both their wands. Sirius blinked, shaking his
head.

“What are—where are we? What the fuck are you doing? Give me back my wand!”

Regulus stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

“No.”

Sirius started forward, fists clenched, anger surging – and stopped, as Regulus raised his wand and
pointed it directly at Sirius’s chest.

Suddenly, he realised that he was very alone, without wand or backup, and facing a death eater.
Not his brother—a death eater.

“Reg…” Sirius said, slowly, trying to keep the fear from his voice, “What is this?”

His brother was staring at him, face pale, eyes wild and panicked, as though he were the one
cornered. His fingers trembled, slightly; the wand shook in his hand.

“Reg?”

“Don’t—come any closer!” Regulus’s voice was high, thin and sharp, like a wire drawn taut. His
eyes rolled in his head as he glanced around, skittishly, like he was expecting someone to jump out
and yell boo. Maybe he was.
They were, as far as Sirius could tell, in the middle of nowhere—nondescript woods, at the edge of
the treeline. Sirius could see a pond through the trees, murky with algae; he couldn’t shake the
feeling that it was familiar…

“Are we…” He squinted, trying to make out more of the pond through the foliage, “…is this Uncle
Alphard’s old property?”

Regulus was breathing very quickly. After a moment, he said,

“It was the first place I could think of.”

Right, Sirius thought, Okay. That made it sound like this was—unplanned. Which was probably
good. Reg had never been impulsive; if he wanted to…hurt Sirius, or to capture him, then Sirius
was pretty sure that his brother would have concocted some sort of painstakingly detailed scheme.
He wouldn’t have just apparated him into the middle of nowhere.

Probably.

“Why’ve you brought me here, Reg?”

Across from him, his brother licked his lips. He still had his wand raised, still had it pointed
directly at Sirius’s chest.

“I needed to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?”

“Yes.”

“You could have sent a letter.”

“I don’t know your address.”

Oh. Sirius supposed that was true. They’d made the flat unplottable, after all. Still,

“I’m sure you could have figured something out.”

Regulus glanced around again, anxiously. Sirius stiffened, on edge—what is he waiting for??

“I know you’re in London,” Reg said, “In a flat.” He paused for a moment, hesitating; then, “With
Remus Lupin.”

Sirius’s heart twisted at the mention of Remus. He didn’t let it show; instead, he stared steadily
back at his brother.

“And?”

Regulus’s eyes scanned over him, as if searching for some kind of confirmation. Sirius wasn’t
going to give it to him; he kept his features flat, stony. If Regulus had a question, he was going to
have to ask.

He didn’t. The silence settled between them, heavy and tense. The wand wavered in his brother’s
hand.

Sirius took a step forward.

Immediately, it was back up.

“Don’t move!” Regulus said shrilly, voice rising. Sirius scowled, losing patience.

“Or what?!” He demanded, hands curling once more into fists, “You’ll curse me? Kill me, Reg? If
you’re going to hurt me you’d better get it over with, because I don’t have time for whatever this
is!”

Regulus blinked. “You think…you think I came here to hurt you?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Reg?! You fucking jump me in an alley and drag me here, you
steal my wand—” Something occurred to him, abruptly, and Sirius froze. Then,

“How did you know where I was?”

Regulus stared at him. “What?”

“You’re still at Hogwarts, Reg, so what the fuck were you doing in Hogsmeade on a weeknight?”

“That’s not—I wasn’t—”

Oh no, Sirius thought, cold dread spilling through his veins, No no no no no…

“It’s an ambush,” he heard himself asking, “Isn’t it?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then his brother’s face cracked, and Sirius knew that he was
right.

“I had to get you out,” Regulus whispered.

No, Sirius thought, no no no no no no—

“Give me back my wand, Reg.”

“No.”

“Give me back my fucking wand!”

“No!”

He lunged forward, trying desperately to close the space between them, and Regulus stumbled
back, firing a curse. The ground around Sirius’s feet surged up, like crawling ants, covering his
legs and hardening so suddenly that he nearly pitched forward face-first as he tried to move. He
growled, tugging at his feet—but he was stuck fast, immobile.

“LET ME GO, REG,” He screamed, anger bursting as though from a dam, “LET ME FUCKING
GO—JAMES IS THERE! JAMES IS—” He shouted, incoherently, trying again to free himself.
When it didn’t work, he screamed, rage blistering in his veins. “I’LL KILL YOU, REG, DO YOU
HEAR ME? I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T LET ME GO!”

Regulus was staring at him, eyes wide, lip trembling. His hand was shaking badly now, wand
wobbling in his grasp.

“I had to get you out,” he mumbled, feverishly, “I had to get you out, I’m trying to save you—”

“Save me?!” Sirius laughed, and Regulus flinched like he’d been slapped. “If you wanted to save
me so badly then you should’ve told the Order that this was a trap! The rest of my fucking
teammates are still going in there—what about them, Reg?! James is in there, I’ve got to—”

Something snapped in his brother’s eyes.

“You can’t save everyone!”

Regulus’s entire body was shaking, now, face twisted in fury—or pain. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure
that he could tell the difference, anymore.

“Yes, I can,” he snarled, stubbornly. The earth around his legs was beginning to shift slightly as the
magic wore off—he could feel it crumbling and cracking. He didn’t look down; he kept his eyes
locked on his brother’s.

“You can’t,” Regulus insisted, pleading, “You can’t, Sirius, I promise you – you can’t. You have to
choose, sometimes you have to—you have to let go—”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Sirius sneered, “Is that what helps you sleep at night, with that
fucking mark on your arm?”

“I didn’t want this—”

“But you took it anyway!”

“Because I didn’t want to die! You have no idea, Sirius, no idea how powerful he is – you can’t kill
him, you can’t—”

“Then I’ll fucking die trying, Reg!”

Regulus shook his head, tears glittering like stars in his eyes.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice choked, “Tell me you don’t mean that.”

“Of course I mean it, Reg,” Sirius shifted, slightly, careful not to draw attention to his legs, “Why
the fuck do you think I joined the Order? I’m not giving up—not until Voldemort’s dead and every
one of his fucking death eaters is behind bars.”

“You can’t kill him,” Regulus whispered, and for a moment Sirius wondered if his brother was
even talking to him. His eyes were far away, hazy and clouded.

It was all the opportunity that Sirius needed. He lunged forward, dirt cracking and splitting from
around his legs. In the course of their argument, Reg had lowered his wand; it was hovering near
his hip, no longer pointed at Sirius. He startled, trying to raise it—but he was too slow.

They collided, Sirius tackling him before he could fire another curse, sending them both tumbling
backwards onto the ground. Regulus’s wand flew from his hand, landing a few feet away, and
Sirius gripped his other wrist, wrenching his own wand free from his brother’s grasp.

He drew back, pointing the wand at Reggie’s throat. His brother lay, sprawled in the leaves and the
dirt, staring up at him with eyes that begged. Sirius could feel his ribs through his robes, rising and
falling rapidly with each panting breath. He was so fucking thin – breakable, entire body just
waiting to crack.

“Please,” Regulus said.

“If he dies,” Sirius hissed, “I will never forgive you.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

The safe house was on fire when he arrived.

Sirius stared at it, bile creeping up the back of his throat.

No, he thought, helplessly, no no no no no…

“James?!” He stumbled forward just as the windows shattered, and found himself reeling back
from the splintering glass and searing heat. “James?!”

“Sirius?!”

The relief nearly knocked him off his feet. James sprinted towards him from the other side of the
house, and they collided, hugging each other fiercely.

“James—what—”

“Sirius—where were you?!”

They broke apart, and Sirius shook his head, mind scrambling.

“Death eater,” he said, “Jumped me in Hogsmeade, before I could even—what happened? Where
are the others?!”

“It was an ambush—a fucking ambush, we have no idea how they got past the wards—how they
sent Solomon’s bloody patronus—”

“Potter! Is that Black?” Caradoc Dearborn was striding towards them, sweat dripping down his
face. “Get out of here—the Ministry will be coming soon—go, now.”

“But what about—”

“Now.”

James reached out to grip his arm, eyes wide and panicked. Sirius clasped his shoulder, and their
eyes met. Understanding passed between them, wordless. They apparated together.

Three times. When they finally collapsed on the Potters’ front lawn, they were exhausted, panting
and sweating, covered in soot and dirt.

“The others—” Sirius choked out, when he could breathe again, “What—?”

“Dearborn got me and Benjy out,” James told him, in a horrible, ragged voice, “But there were so
many of them—Gid and Fab, they…they stayed back to hold them off, and—”

James broke off, voice choked with tears. Sirius shook his head, a horrible numbness spreading
through him.

“No.”
“There were too many of them—they were surrounded, at least five death eaters, and then—
somebody cast the fiendfyre and it—it just swallowed them, Sirius, they were just—”

No. No—that couldn’t be possible. Gideon and Fabian were some of the Order’s best soldiers; they
were fearless, and powerful, and so full of life. They had been fighting this war since they left
Hogwarts—they had survived so much. They were so bright.

James wept, and Sirius held him.

Time passed, and kept on passing.

* * *

Saturday 31st March 1979

There weren’t any bodies to bury. The fiendfyre had seen to that. By the time they’d managed to
extinguish it, the house had been reduced almost entirely to ash. The Ministry gave two urns full of
it to the boys’ mother, once they had finished their investigation. She buried them, just to have
something to fold back into the earth. Who knew if the ashes in each jar actually contained any of
what had once been her sons—it had all been mixed together, making it impossible to tell.

Their sister cried the whole way through the funeral, silent tears streaming down her face. She
clutched a pair of squirming, red-haired twins on her lap, holding onto them even when they began
to fuss and cry. Next to her, her husband tried to corral a toddler and two young children, who
fidgeted and sniffled and glanced nervously at their teary-eyed mother.

There was a plethora of speakers—old Hogwarts classmates and Order members and family and
friends. Sirius listened to them talk, recounting pranks and missions and memories, moments of
bravery and kindness, of hopes and dreams. Fabian wanted to study magical linguistics in Italy
when the war was over. Gideon wanted to travel as an alchemist’s apprentice, collecting rare
potions ingredients from every corner of the world. Sirius hadn’t known that—they’d never
discussed what they would do, afterwards.

They’d always thought that there would be more time.

Sirius found Alice, standing off to the side at the reception. He stood beside her, staring down at
one of the many framed photographs littering the room. It was from the twins’ last year at
Hogwarts; they stood on Platform 9 and ¾, clearly waiting for their mother to take the picture. At
the last moment, Gideon pulled a face, and Fabian laughed, head thrown back, shoulders shaking.

“Bastards still owe me a drink,” Alice said, sniffing and rubbing the back of her hand across her
nose. “Lost a bet. They were s’posed to take me’n Frank out to the Leaky, last night.”

Sirius didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.

He went home with the Potters, after the funeral, and crawled into James’s bed without a word.
They lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Outside, the moon was waxing.

“I’m sorry,” James said, after a few minutes of silence.

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“For…the things I said about you and Moony. The other day. It—it wasn’t my place to judge.”

Sirius swallowed, feeling his throat close up. With everything that had happened, he’d hardly
thought of the argument—there hadn’t been time. Some small part of him had been relieved, by
that. As awful as it was to feel relief about anything right now.

“Can we not talk about Moony?” He asked quietly, stumbling over the name a bit. “Just—not right
now. Please.”

James nodded, slowly, crinkling the sheets.

“Okay.”

But it was too late—the silence was no longer comfortable. It was now tense, heavy, loaded—
weighed down by everything that Sirius couldn’t bring himself to think about. To say.

“Hey, do you remember that time we bet Gid and Fab that we could find more gnomes in my
mum’s garden than they could?”

Sirius smiled, slowly, recalling the memory. It had been after an early-morning mission, when the
four of them had returned to the Potters’ to eat the breakfast Euphemia cooked.

“Yeah, and Fab said we were just trying to trick them into helping with your chores, but—”

“Gideon said, ‘the Prewetts never turn down a fair bet…’”

“And then—”

“The gnomes started chasing him—”

They lay side by side for a long time, smiling and laughing and holding every good memory they
had of Gideon and Fabian Prewett there, in the space between them.

* * *

Thursday 12th April 1979

The loss of the Prewetts hit the Order hard. It was more than just their skill, their duelling abilities
and their aptitude for dangerous work—everyone had liked the boys. It was impossible not to; even
at the worst of times, Fabian and Gideon could light up a room, with Fab’s biting wit and Gid’s
contagious laughter. Losing them was the slow sweep of a cloud over the sun—everything felt a bit
dimmer, a bit colder. A little less hopeful.

It also meant more work for those left to pick up the slack. Sirius and James were sent on more
missions as the Order scrambled to divide the crucial work that the Prewetts had done amongst
various less-experienced members who couldn’t quite compare to Gid and Fab.

But Sirius didn’t mind. He was happy for any distraction, anything that absorbed his mind and sent
adrenaline rushing through his blood. Anything that stopped him thinking.

Because Remus was still gone. And there were still no messages, no signs of where he might be.
And every day, the tiny, frightened voice in the back of Sirius’s mind grew a little bit louder.

He’s not coming back.

He did his best to pull himself together. James had taken Gid and Fab’s loss particularly hard;
though he never came out and said it, Sirius could tell that he felt like he should have done more,
that he shouldn’t have allowed Dearborn to drag him out. As if having one more person would
have made any difference once the death eaters decided to cast fiendfyre and apparate.

To make matters worse, both Fleamont and Euphemia were doing poorly; whether it was all the
stress of the war or age or some combination of the two, their condition had been steadily
deteriorating. When James wasn’t on Order missions he spent most of his time at home, doing his
best to help around the house and care for them even as they insisted on continuing their own work
for Dumbledore. Sirius didn’t want to give his friend anything more to worry about—and besides,
it was easier to pull himself out of bed, to shower and dress and feed himself, when there was
another person who needed him. Especially if that person was James.

So Sirius drifted through two more weeks, going on missions and eating dinner at the Potters’ and
meeting up at the Leaky Cauldron with Lily and James and Peter on weekends. He spent as little
time as possible alone; when he wasn’t at the Potters’ he was bothering Mary, or going down to St.
Mungo’s to see Lily and Marlene, or—when all of his friends were busy—working on his bike in
the garage.

Sometimes James would stop by and help him, brainstorming possible spell combinations that
might work to get her flying. It made Sirius feel like they were back in the library at Hogwarts,
researching for their next big prank. Eventually, he even gave into James’s pressuring about
decorating the tank. They owled Peter and told him to bring over a handle of firewhisky, and the
three of them got roaring drunk and painted a lion, which they had to beg Lily to fix the next
morning once they had sobered up.

But at night, Sirius would go back to the empty flat and lie in the bed that was too big for one body
and try desperately to fight off the creeping thoughts that grew like mould in the back of his mind
—thoughts about how quickly and violently Fabian and Gideon were taken. How easy it was, to
snuff out a life like a candle. How Remus had been gone for weeks, and for all Sirius knew he
could be…could be…

He never let himself finish that thought. But it crouched, waiting, biding its time and licking its
teeth.

One month after Remus disappeared, Sirius dreamt he was drowning. The water filled his mouth,
his nose, his ears. His lungs burned, begging for air, and he was choking, choking, choking—

He came awake gasping, coughing and shaking. The dim light of morning was just beginning to
filter through the curtains; Sirius buried his head in his hands and breathed.

He was about to stand up when the room exploded with light, silver and ghostly and shimmering.
Sirius fell back against the headboard, startled—and then realised what it was: a patronus.

A wolf.

He reached out, grasping at it desperately—but the ghostly figure slipped through his fingers,
dissipating and reforming.

“Remus,” he breathed, “Remus—”

The wolf opened its jaw.

Castle. Tomorrow. Dawn.

* * *

Patronus messages were no longer trustworthy, after what had happened with Locke. They still
didn’t know for sure how the death eaters had managed to send his message—whether they had
access to some dark magic the Order wasn’t aware of that allowed them to copy patronuses, or
(what Moody thought was more likely) whether Locke had sent it while acting under the imperius
curse. Either way, they were no longer supposed to respond to patronus messages immediately
without taking steps to verify who had sent them—and when the message contained sensitive
information, they were supposed to inform the Order right away.

Sirius didn’t care. This was Moony—he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him that he couldn’t go.

So he didn’t tell anyone. Not even James. Sirius knew it was dangerous, and reckless, and quite
likely stupid.

He just didn’t care.

He arrived at the ruin in Cornwall hours before dawn, sitting on the crumbling stone walls and
staring up at the full moon.

Come back to me, he thought, over and over again, like a mantra. Come back to me, come back to
me, come back to me.

Dawn broke slowly, excruciatingly, light bleeding bit by bit into the sky. Sirius stood, pacing,
shoulders tense, every nerve in his body standing on end. He hovered like a ghost in the centre of
the ruin, waiting with his wand drawn. And then—

CRACK

It came from somewhere outside the ruin, over the side of the hill. Sirius ran towards it, heart
beating hard enough to bruise, and—

There.

There.

“Fuck!”

“Moony?!”

It was Remus, Remus, crumpled on the ground, covered in blood. He rolled over as Sirius sprinted
towards him, eyes closing.

“Sirius!”
 It’s him, it’s him, it’s him

Sirius collapsed on the ground beside him, ripping his cloak off and wrapping it around

Remus Remus Remus Remus

and clutching him, crushing him to his chest, gripping him so hard he thought his fingers might
break.

“You came back!” He rambled, frantically, “You came back!”

I’m never letting you go again, never never never

“Of course I did…” Remus mumbled, groggy.

“Are you bleeding?!” Sirius ran his hands over him, checking for injuries—Merlin, he was so thin,
bones sharp through his skin—

“Not my blood…” Remus murmured. And then his eyes fluttered closed, and he went limp in
Sirius’s arms.

Chapter End Notes

after reading the comments on yesterday's chapter, i would like to formally apologize
for making u all angry at james on his birthday lol
 The War: Moony's Story
Chapter Summary

the reunion

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

James was furious with him. He shouted through the mirror, bright spots of red colouring his
cheeks.

“—any idea how fucking dangerous this is?! Why didn’t you tell me—we’re supposed to report
any suspicious patronus messages—”

“I know, I know!” Sirius shouted back, cutting him off, frantic, “But he’s here now, and he’s hurt
—please, James, I need your help!”

So he came. Of course he came—it was James. Apparation was out of the question, with the state
Remus was in, so they rented a small room above the local pub and levitated the unconscious boy
up the stairs, into bed. He was breathing steadily, and Sirius held onto that fact, watching his chest
rise and fall under the thin blankets.

“Sirius,” James said, urgently, once they’d gotten Remus into bed, “We need to vet him, it isn’t
safe—”

“It’s Moony, James! He’s hurt!”

“We don’t know that! Patronuses aren’t enough, anymore—we thought it was going to be Solomon
waiting for us in that bloody safe house, and look what happened there!”

“This is different.”

“Is it? Listen—there was an attack last night, Padfoot, my parents only just found out about it this
morning—it was werewolves, and they went after Andromdeda.”

Sirius felt cold.

“…what?”

“We don’t know what happened yet, exactly, but they found a body—”

“Is she okay? James—is she—”

“No, no, Andromeda’s fine, everyone’s fine. No one was hurt. They think the body was one of the
werewolves.”

“What? But then—then it’s alright—”

“We still don’t know what happened, Padfoot. We have no idea where Remus was, if he was—”
“Don’t.”

Sirius glared at James, stifling the fury that crawled up his spine. James stared back, stubbornly,
jaw set.

“Padfoot…”

“Don’t, James. Just…don’t. It’s Remus. It’s Moony.”

James stared at him, eyes hard, looking as though he was trying to decide whether or not to argue.
After a moment, he bit out,

“Fine. But I’m contacting Moody.”

“Fine.” Sirius replied, stonily, “Get him a bloody healer, too, while you’re at it.”

“Fine.”

James shook his head and left, going out into the hallway to make his calls. Sirius cleaned the
blood off of Remus, trying to swallow his anger.

Once he was done, he joined James in the hallway. They regarded each other, warily.

“Marlene’s here,” James told him, after a minute. “Should I let her up? Did you ask him any
questions?!”

“Yeah, send her up. He’s not awake…” Sirius crossed his arms, defensively, “But it’s definitely
him. Has to be.”

“You’re sure?!”

Sirius felt a sharp burst of anger—it was Moony. It had to be.

“The first thing he said when he landed was ‘fuck,’ I’m pretty certain.”

“Fair,” James said, still sounding sceptical. He dropped his voice to a whisper, “Padfoot…all that
blood. And with the attack last night—”

“Let’s just see what he has to say, before we jump to any conclusions, shall we?! Send Marlene
up.”

“But if it’s not safe—”

“Then I’ll stay in the bloody room! Can we please just get someone to look at him, for fuck’s
sake?! He hasn’t even got a wand!”

“Ok, ok…” James sighed, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He went to fetch
Marlene, and Sirius returned to the little room. When he entered, Remus was awake, struggling to
sit up.

“Padfoot, I sweat it’s me, it’s Moony!” He spoke frantically, words tripping over each other, “I
helped you make the marauders map, and we put rose hips in Snivellus’s bed, and we went skating
on the lake at Christmas and I hated it but you were really good, and…and…”

Sirius’s heart twisted. He heard us—he heard James.

“Shh, Moony,” he hurried over, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing Remus back down,
gently, “Lie down for fuck’s sake, Godric knows what you broke apparating like that you silly
sod…”

“You know it’s me?!” Remus asked, desperately, eyes wide and searching.

“Of course I do,” Sirius assured him, “I’d know you anywhere. Look, sorry about Prongs, he’s just
on edge. Things have just been a bit…”

“All right, all right, give him some room!”

Marlene bustled in, dressed in her green healer’s robes and clutching a leather bag. She shoved
Sirius to the side, taking his spot on the bed and placing a hand against Moony’s forehead.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she smiled down at him, “Where have you been, eh? You’ve had us all
worried sick.”

“Hi Marlene,” Remus smiled back at her, “Did you qualify as a Healer while I was gone?!”

“Hardly,” she chuckled, “Still very much a novice. But I’m the best the Order could do at short
notice, so…” She stood back up, getting down to business. “Right. What’s the damage?”

“Hurt my ankle,” Remus mumbled, pulling back the blanket.

Sirius stifled a gasp—‘hurt’ was an understatement. It was awful, swollen up to twice the size and
mottled with horrible dark bruises.

But Marlene was unphased. “Easy enough,” she said lightly, tapping her wand against it. There was
a tiny, sickening pop—and then suddenly, the bruising was gone, and the swelling had gone down,
and the ankle looked normal again. “You’ll still need to rest,” Marlene told him, sternly.

“You’re a legend, Marls,” Remus said, sounding relieved—and then abruptly began to cough, a
horrible, hacking thing that made it sound as though he had knives lodged in his chest.

What did they do to you? Sirius thought, horrified and helpless, Where have you been?

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, wiping tears from his eyes once he’d gotten his breath back, “Got a bit
of a cough.”

Marlene frowned, pulling down the sheets to press an ear against Remus’s chest—his ribs were
stark through his skin, his shoulders bony, his clavicle jutting from below his neck. He looked like
he’d hardly eaten the entire month he was away—Sirius wanted to cry.

“‘Bit of a cough,’ my arse.” Marlene chastised, withdrawing, “You’ve got a stonking great chest
infection, is what.”

She began to dig in her bag, rummaging through little jars of ointment and potion bottles, “I’ll have
to ask someone at St. Mungo’s what’s best for that, I haven’t done infections yet…now…Madam
Pomfrey asked me to make sure you got this, it’s her own sleeping draught. I’m working on one
myself, but hers will be stronger…”

“Don’t give it to him yet!” James rushed back into the room, arms raised as if to stop her. They all
turned to him, and he withdrew a bit, mumbling sheepishly, “Er…sorry. It’s just that I’ve finally
got hold of Mad-Eye and he’s on his way…”
“It’s fine,” Remus said, as Sirius tried to keep the scowl off his face. Marlene didn’t look
particularly pleased either—she set the bottle down sharply on the little bedside table.

“One of you make sure he drinks the whole thing as soon as possible, ok?” She said, firmly, giving
them both a stern gaze that was eerily reminiscent of Madam Pomfrey. “I have to go to work before
I’m missed.”

Marlene turned back to Remus, squeezing his hand once. “So happy to have you back, darling.”

Remus smiled up at her, looking much more relaxed as he settled back onto the pillows. Marlene
left, and then it was just the three of them, standing silently in the small room.

“Hi Prongs,” Remus said, after a moment.

“Hiya Moony,” James smiled, weakly, “You alright?”

“Felt worse.”

James huffed a laugh, nodding.

“Where are we, anyway?” Remus asked, glancing around the room.

“Cornwall,” Sirius told him, “Remember the pub near the castle? Rented a room. You were…when
you got here, I didn’t want to move you. Seemed like the best place. Out of the way.”

“Does anyone else know—”

“No,” James said, quickly, “Only us, Marlene, and Moody. It’s been…things have been hard, and
with the attack last night, we thought—”

“Attack?!” Panic bled into Remus’s eyes, and he pushed himself up again, asking, “Shit, what
happened?! Did anyone…was anyone…”

“Not on our side,” Sirius assured him. Remus slumped a bit, still looking troubled.

“Moony,” James said, slowly, “Last night, were you there—?”

The door burst open, and Alastor Moody barged into the room, frowning severely. Sirius and
James hurriedly backed away as he approached the bed, magic eye scanning rapidly over Remus.
The frail boy looked up at him, anxiously, swallowing hard.

“Lupin,” Moody said, gruffly. “You made it back, then.”

“Yeah.”

The next second, Moody had his wand in Remus’s face.

“Oi!” Sirius moved forward, instinctively, but James stopped him.

Moody was studying Remus, magic eye still whirring.

“Mother’s maiden name?”

“J-Jenkins!” Remus sputtered, blanching. Moody nodded, satisfied, and let his wand drop back to
his side.
“No offence,” he grunted, glancing over at Sirius, “Protocol.”

“Right.” Remus croaked.

“How are you? Been seen to?”

“Marlene was here a minute ago,” James said, “She’ll be back later.”

“No one else, do you hear?” Moody looked at each of them, sternly, “Not until I say so. We need to
limit his exposure for now, until the furore’s died down.” He conjured a chair, settling down
beside the bed. “Potter, Black, you can go.”

“No,” Sirius said, stubbornly, “I’m not going anywhere.” He raised his chin slightly, daring the
Auror to disagree with him.

Moody narrowed his eye for a moment, considering. But then he just grunted, “Fine. But keep your
mouth shut. I don’t want to hear a peep, got it?”

“I um. I’d better go.” James mumbled, looking away, “Sorry Moony, I need to get home…”

“Of course,” Remus blinked, nodding.

James put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, leaning in to murmur,

“Will you fill me in? Later?”

Their eyes met, and Sirius frowned—he was still angry, still frustrated with the way James had
acted. But it was Prongs.

So Sirius nodded, once, and James squeezed his shoulder, with a small, apologetic smile. As he
left, Remus began to cough again.

Sirius hurried over as the door swung shut, passing Moony a glass of water.

“This can’t take too long,” he said, turning to Mad-Eye, “He’s supposed to rest, after a full moon,
Marlene said—”

“Not a peep, Black.” Moody ordered, magical eye turning to stare Sirius down even as he
continued to face Remus.

Sirius scowled, crossing his arms. But he fell silent.

“I was there, last night.” Remus spoke up, setting the glass of water down. “I was at the Tonks
house, I know what happened – well, most of it – was anyone…did anyone…?”

“One body recovered,” Moody told him. “One of Greyback’s.”

“Gaius,” Remus said. His voice sounded hollow.

“Let’s not start there,” Moody said, leaning forward a bit, “I want to start at the beginning. Where
have you been for the past month? Leave nothing out.”

Remus took a breath, and began to speak.

The werewolves had kidnapped him, he said. They’d jumped him after the third full moon, while
he was still transforming back. They’d tied him up and brought him to Greyback’s hideout, where
they’d locked him in a cell. Sirius felt his hands curling into fists as he thought of Moony, alone
and cold, trapped in the dark.

After a week and a half, he told them, Greyback had summoned him. Sirius sucked in a breath as
Remus spoke about their conversation, about the things Greyback had said—how he viewed
himself as a benevolent father, how deeply he hated wizards, why he turned children. ‘Get ‘em
young, grow ‘em strong.’

Sirius felt sick.

Remus told them that Greyback was working for Voldemort, terrorising the older pureblood
families to keep them in line. He told them that Greyback was promising his followers that there
would be a better future for werewolves, once the war was won—though Sirius didn’t see how
anyone could be stupid enough to believe that.

“You were imprisoned the whole time?” Moody asked, once Remus had finished recounting his
conversation with Greyback. Remus hesitated.

“I…no.” He swallowed, looking down at his hands. “They broke my wand, but…I could have left
any time.”

Oh, Sirius thought, feeling as though someone had just stuck a knife into his chest.

“I didn’t because I thought…well, I knew it was only a matter of time before they planned an
attack, and I wanted to learn as much as I could.”

But you could have come back, Sirius thought, pathetically, I was waiting for you.

“And the attack?” Moody asked.

“Right, yeah.” Remus blew out a breath. “I had to go with them, because Cas—one of the other
werewolves, he was planning to break from the pack. He wanted to be peaceful, to get away from
Greyback. He was my ally.”

Your ally? Sirius thought, trying desperately to read Moony’s face, They locked you in a cage!

“So I helped him, and he helped me. He led the others away, and I stayed back to stop anyone from
trying to attack the house.”

“While you were a wolf?”

“Yes. I can think better, when there are other wolves there. I tried to warn Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, I
howled, so they’d know they were in danger.”

“Ah,” Moody nodded, “So that was you. Ted said something about that.”

“You’ve seen them? Are they ok?!”

“Shaken up, but no harm done,” Moody waved a hand. “How many of Greyback’s pack have
defected?”

“I don’t know. At least half? Maybe there are only four or five left who are loyal.”

“Good to know. Can you give me names?”

“They didn’t use any names.”

Sirius blinked. What about Livia? Castor? Hadn’t Remus called the dead one Gaius?

“Right.” Moody said slowly, nodding. He studied Remus for a moment longer, with that strange,
piercing gaze. Finally, he stood. “Lie low for a bit, eh? I’ll be in touch.” He turned around,
vanishing the chair.

“Wait!” Remus stretched out a hand, as if to stop him. Moody turned around, brow furrowed,
curious.

Remus hesitated—then said, stiffly,

“The body. Gaius. That was me.” He looked away. “I killed him.”

Sirius thought of the blood, covering his neck and chest. His hands. Moony…

Mad-Eye looked at him, appraisingly. “While you were a wolf?”

“Yeah.”

“And he was a wolf? Trying to attack a young family?”

“Yeah, but—”

“This is a war, Lupin. Get some rest. Don’t dwell on it.”

The Auror left, and they were alone. Sirius stared at Remus, waiting for him to look up—but he
didn’t. He just continued to stare down at the bed, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, shoulders
tense.

Finally, Sirius spoke.

“Got your patronus. Bloody hell, where did you learn to do that?”

“Oh,” Remus shrugged, still not meeting his eye, “Yeah, I dunno, I’d seen Ferox do it once.”

“Without your wand?”

“I didn’t need it, not always…”

“Oh.”

They lapsed into silence, and Sirius wanted to scream. Look at me, he thought, desperately, Look at
me, please, just look at me.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I missed you so fucking much!”

The words burst out of him, forcefully, fervent and ragged. Remus finally looked up at him, and he
had to blink away the tears swimming in his eyes to see clearly.

“I missed you too!”

Sirius rushed towards him, unthinking—but then his eyes snagged on the fragile bones of Moony’s
shoulders, and he hesitated.

“Can I…is it ok?”

Remus nodded, stretching out his arms, and then they were together, arms wrapped around each
other, and Sirius felt like he was falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispered, pressing his lips into Sirius’s hair, “I’m so, so sorry I was gone so
long.”

Why? The word scrambled up his throat, Why didn’t you come back? The second you could—why
didn’t you come back?

He swallowed it as he pulled back, rubbing tears from his eyes. Remus had already told them why
he stayed. And if he hadn’t—if he hadn’t been there last night, then Andromeda and Ted and
Dora…

“You’d better have this potion,” Sirius said, passing over the bottle from the bedside table.

“Thanks,” Remus breathed. Sirius watched as he chugged it.

“Shall I let you rest?”

Remus shook his head, quickly. “No, please stay? Will you lie here with me, for a bit?”

“There’s not much room…”

“Calling me fat?” Remus grinned at him, scooting over and pulling back the covers. Sirius smiled
back, weakly, and lay down beside him.

They faced each other. Sirius wrapped an arm around Moony’s shoulder, carefully.

“Does James hate me?” Remus asked, quietly.

“What?” Sirius blinked, surprised. “No, of course not. He’s got a lot on his mind. His parents aren’t
well.”

“Oh no, what’s wrong?!”

“I think they’re just old.” Sirius sighed. “The war…it’s been so much harder, lately.”

“Please tell me.”

“You should sleep.”

“Please?”

Sirius swallowed, thinking of everything that had happened—the absolute shitshow at Malfoy’s
estate, Frank’s screaming, the death eater’s blank eyes as Gid killed him, Alice’s furious shouting,
Regulus’s voice as he’d whispered, Please. James, running towards him, smelling of soot.

“We lost the Prewetts,” Sirius heard himself say, “Gid and Fab.”

“No!”

“It was awful. Five Death Eaters. Five.”

“I can’t believe it. Is Molly ok?”

Sirius thought of Gid and Fab’s sister, round face streaked with tears, clutching two squirming
 babies in her arms as she watched them bury what was left of her younger brothers.

“I don’t think any of us are.”

“Oh Sirius.” Remus hugged him, tightly, mumbling into his hair, “I wish I could have been with
you…”

“I thought…” Sirius breathed, unsteady—and then stopped himself, shaking his head. “No, never
mind, it’s over now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

“I’m here,” Remus repeated, voice growing groggy as the sleeping draught took hold. Sirius
reached up a hand, stroking his fingers gently through the messy, familiar curls.

“Remus…”

“Mm,” Remus murmured, nestling further into the pillows, “Please call me Moony? No one has for
so long.”

“Moony.” Sirius kissed his cheek, softly, heart aching. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Remus murmured, smiling. And then he was asleep.

Chapter End Notes

drinking strawberry milk tonight <3 hope ur all doing well i feel like this was a happier
chapter?? maybe?? right??
 The War: Late Spring 1979
Chapter Summary

please sir...just a crumb of therapy...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom

Well, who am I to keep you down?

It’s only right that you should play the way you feel it

But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness

Like a heartbeat drives you mad

In the stillness of remembering what you had

And what you lost

And what you had

And what you lost

They spent the next two nights in the room above the pub, following Moody’s instructions to “lie
low.” The first evening, Marlene returned to check on Remus and bring him a potion for his chest
infection. She instructed him, sternly, to rest, but by the next morning Remus insisted that he
would go mad if he had to stay cooped up in the little room, so they ventured out and caught the
bus down to the beach.

It was the off season, still too cold for swimming, and the beach was nearly empty—just a few
other people walking along the shoreline off in the distance. So Sirius and Remus held hands as
they walked, slowly, over the damp sand, listening to the shush of the waves against the shore.
Remus tilted his head towards the sky, breathing deeply and smiling.

“When we get home,” Sirius said, cheerfully, “We’ll go to Ollivander’s to get you a new wand.”

“Great.” Remus replied, looking out towards the sea.

“That’s if Mary’ll hold off on your welcome home party,” Sirius nudged him, “She was going
bonkers worrying. I think she must still have a thing for you.”

“Ha.” Remus smiled, distractedly.

“And Lily, obviously. She really wants to tell you something, but she said to wait until we’re all in
the same room.”
“Mm.”

“Can’t wait for everything to be back to normal. Back to being marauders, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“D’you remember what sort of wand Lyall had? Maybe you can get the same one again.”

“Nope.”

“Moony?”

“Mm?”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius fell silent, not sure what else to say. Ever since Moody had left, Remus had been quiet and
withdrawn, staring off into space or out the window with a faraway look in his eyes. Sirius didn’t
know what to make of it—he had missed Remus so much, and now he finally had him back, and
yet…it felt as if part of Moony was still missing, locked away behind another one of his
impenetrable walls.

Remus must have sensed his discomfort, because after a few minutes of walking in silence he said,
lightly,

“So nice to be outside.”

Sirius looked up, throwing a smile back onto his face.

“Are you sure you’re Moony?!” He teased, squinting up at Remus, “ My Moony hates going
outside…”

Instantly, Remus’s face darkened. “Well spend a week locked in a dungeon and tell me how you
feel about fresh air,” he muttered, glancing away.

Sirius stared at him, shocked, completely at a loss for how to respond. Remus caught sight of his
expression, and immediately looked guilty.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, reaching out to hold hands again. “I didn’t mean that.”

It wasn’t the first time it had happened—Moony had certainly snapped at him plenty before, often
at things that seemed inconsequential or entirely random to Sirius. But it seemed like it had been
happening more, since he’d gotten back.

“It’s ok,” Sirius said, swallowing, “I shouldn’t make fun of you. After everything.”

“No, I don’t want…you shouldn’t have to treat me like I’m fragile, or something. I just need to get
over it, it’s my fault.”

Sirius thought about that, trying to choose his words carefully. He didn’t want Remus to feel like
he had to diminish what he went through, or minimise it—to ignore it, the way he so often ignored
his own pain. But he didn’t want him to hide behind it, either; he didn’t want it to always be a wall
between them.
“You don’t have to ‘get over it.’” Sirius said, slowly. “But it might help to talk.”

“About what?”

“What happened, in the pack.”

“I’ve talked about that already; I’ve told Moody everything. You were there.”

“Remus,” Sirius said, trying hard not to lose his patience, “Come on. You didn’t tell him
everything. I know you.”

“Everything important to the war effort,” Remus insisted, stubbornly.

“So nothing else happened then?!” Sirius asked, frustrated, gesturing without thinking as he spoke,
“They just locked you up, then let you go, and it was all fine??”

“Obviously not.” Remus crossed his arms, defensively. “But no one wants to hear about things like
that.”

“Maybe I want to hear.”

“Here we go.” Remus tutted, rolling his eyes as though Sirius was the one acting childish. “Well
then? What do you want to hear?!”

“Why did you go in the first place? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

“I knew it.” Remus scowled, accusatory, “You’re angry with me!”

“I’m not, I’m just…”

“That’s what you meant, wasn’t it?! The night I got back!”

“What are you talking about?!”

“You know! ‘You came back’ that’s what you said! You thought I wasn’t going to! You thought
I’d left for good!” Remus was shouting now, features screwed up with rage.

“Of course I didn’t!” Sirius yelled back, months of frustration and fear and loneliness finally
erupting, “I just…I just didn’t know what to think! Do you know what it was like for me?? You
just disappeared, and no one would let me look for you, and fucking Ferox wouldn’t tell me
anything, and James was a mess with his parents getting sick, and the fucking Prewetts…” He
broke off, voice catching in his chest.

“Oh poor you!” Remus snarled, “Jesus, I thought you’d got over this spoilt brat routine by now!
We’re not twelve anymore Black!”

Sirius released a breath, as though he’d been sucker punched, mouth falling open. But Remus was
still going, eyes ablaze as he shouted,

“I’m sorry if I’m not like you, I don’t want to whinge about every unpleasant thing that happens to
me!”

Well, Sirius thought, gathering himself, If he won’t whinge, maybe he’ll fucking shout. He took a
breath, matching Remus’s volume as he yelled,

“Like what?!” He clenched his fists, heart pounding, “Go on, if I’m so selfish and terrible, please
enlighten me on the true nature of noble suffering, Remus, I know that’s your speciality!”

“Oh up yours!”

“Well? Why didn’t you come back?!”

“Because they were fucking with my head!” Remus was nearly screaming now, voice ragged as
the words spilled out of him,

“Because I never felt like that before – they were my family, and we were all the same, we were all
at home there, and it was…it felt like the only place in the world I was meant to be! All that, it was
all that except…” He was crying, now, tears dripping down his cheeks, “Except he was there, that
fucking…that monster. He was so evil, so…and I was scared, and I wanted to come home, to you, I
did, but I couldn’t just leave them with a man like that. And they could…they could do things I
didn’t know I could do, they taught me…And I just didn’t know who I was anymore.”

Remus took a deep, shuddering breath, scrubbing the tears from his face. He faced Sirius, eye to
eye, and he no longer looked angry. Now, he looked afraid.

“I don’t know who I am.”

They stared at each other. Remus caught his breath, face blotchy and red from crying. Sirius
watched him, trying to process all of the things that he’d said.

After a few minutes of quiet, Sirius stuck his hands in his pockets and squinted around at the empty
sand, the distant waves. He smiled, dryly.

“Why is it always this beach, eh?”

“What?” Remus asked, brow furrowed. Sirius turned back to him, allowing the smile to grow.

“Why is this the beach where we have all the big revelations?”

“Maybe we’re just dramatic.”

“How very dare you!” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-affronted, and Remus laughed.

“Well?” Sirius asked, cheekily, “Feel better?”

“Yeah.” Remus nodded—then frowned. “Oi, wait a minute, did you just deliberately try to piss me
off??”

“No…” Sirius sniffed, looking away, “Not at first…”

“Dickhead.”

“It worked.”

Remus shook his head, smiling grudgingly, and Sirius reached out to hold his hand again as they
continued walking up the beach. Eventually, they came to the spot where they had all gone
camping, nearly two years ago now. It was empty, abandoned, and Sirius felt a pang in his chest as
he realised how much time had passed.

“Think we’ll ever come back here?” Remus asked, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep his
coat from flapping in the breeze.
“I hope so,” Sirius said, a bit wistfully, “It’s my patronus thought, this place.”

“Is it?” Remus turned to look at him.

“Haven’t had any better summers yet.”

“Fair point.”

“Oi, look!” Sirius caught sight of a large stick, over near a group of rocks. He jogged over, picking
it up and turning back to Remus with a playful grin. “Want to play fetch?”

Remus shook his head, laughing.

“Go on, then.”

Sirius double-checked to make sure that they were alone, and then—satisfied that the beach was
empty—transformed into Padfoot. It was nice, for a bit, allowing the dog to take over. All the
messy emotions faded, overtaken by the incandescent joy of running and jumping and fetching,
splashing in the waves and barking at Moony until he leaned down and scratched Padfoot’s ears.
By the time Sirius changed back and they headed back to the pub, they were both exhausted, and
fell asleep side by side on the bus.

Sirius didn’t bring up what Remus had said on the beach as they ate dinner, wanting to bask a little
longer in the simple happiness of being together again. Moony ate like he was starving—which,
considering the state he was in, may not have been far from the truth.

That night, though, as they crawled into bed together, Sirius couldn’t stop thinking about it. The
fear in Remus’s eyes, his tear-streaked face, his broken voice as he’d said, I don’t know who I am.
Sirius reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, and Remus wrapped an arm around his waist, and
they settled together on the narrow bed.

“I know who you are.” Sirius whispered, into the darkness of the room.

“Hm?” Remus murmured, sleepily, face pressed into Sirius’s hair. Sirius grasped his hand, gently,
pulling it to his mouth so that he could kiss the scarred fingers.

“You said you don’t know who you are any more. But I do. You’re my Moony. Always will be.
Ok?”

“Ok, Padfoot.”

Sirius fell asleep to the sound of Remus’s breathing. For the first time in a month, he didn’t dream.

* * *

Moody gave them the all-clear the next morning, letting them know that they could return to their
flat. But he warned Remus to keep a low profile until further notice – which essentially boiled
down to “don’t leave for any reason.” No Order meetings, no missions – Moody even told him not
to visit the Potters’. As far as anyone should be aware, Remus Lupin was still missing.

“I bet he just wants to wait for the next full moon to get the all-clear,” Sirius assured him, when he
saw the dismayed look on Moony’s face. “Anyway, you deserve a break.” Privately, the idea of
knowing exactly where Remus was at all times – safe, in their flat – sounded like a relief to Sirius,
but he wasn’t about to tell Remus that.

The other boy shrugged, muttering gruffly, “Served my purpose now, I s’pose. They don’t know
what to do with me.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Sirius snapped, frowning. Was it so hard to believe that other
people might actually be concerned about his safety?

The flat was sparkling clean when they apparated back—in the last week before Remus returned,
Sirius had taken up stress-cleaning, to great effect. Remus seemed a bit surprised by this; to be fair,
it was probably tidier than it had ever been when they both actually lived in it.

Moody had given them stern instructions not to tell anyone that Remus was back, which they both
intended to follow. After, of course, James told Lily and Peter, and Marlene told Mary. Everyone
came over on their first evening back, with James and Lily arriving first. Fortunately, Lily had
thought ahead enough to bring two huge bags of food—both the cupboards and fridge were entirely
bare.

“Been eating at the Potters’.” Sirius explained, sheepishly.

Lily and Remus headed into the kitchen to see to the food, while Sirius and James remained in the
living room, settling down on the sofa.

“Should probably give them a moment,” James mumbled, sitting, “Lily’s been a wreck. She cried
nearly all day when I told her he’s back—wanted to apparate to Cornwall, I had to talk her out of
it.”

“Yeah, well,” Sirius smiled, tightly. “Glad she’s excited to see him.”

“Padfoot, c’mon…” James gave him a pleading look. “Don’t be like that. I know I was…well, I
know I was sort of a dick, but…I’d do it again. We have to follow the protocols, when you told me
you’d run off after a patronus message I thought—” He broke off, tugging anxiously at his hair,
and Sirius suddenly felt guilty for his brusque demeanour.

“I know,” he said, softening, reaching out to place a hand on James’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re
right, it was reckless, I just…I had to go, Prongs. I had to.”

James smiled at him, looking very tired. “I’m just happy that everything—that it all worked out
okay.”

Sirius nodded, smiling back. After a moment, James straightened, slapping him on the back.

“Come on—we’re supposed to be celebrating! I brought a bottle of firewhisky, it’s in one of Lily’s
bags…”

And just like that, the tension was gone. Sirius could never hold a grudge – not against James. He
followed the other boy into the kitchen, where a teary-eyed Lily was shoving food into Remus’s
hands and instructing him on where to put it.

“No, stick that one in the fridge…that one, not this one….”

Marlene and Peter arrived shortly after, both coming from work. Peter gave Remus a hug, and
Marlene dragged him into the bedroom to check on his ankle and chest. They returned after a few
minutes, and she declared that he was doing much better, to Sirius’s relief.
Mary started to cry the moment she arrived, tackling Remus and flinging her arms around him.

“You absolute bastard!” She mumbled, clinging to him, “I could kill you!”

“Missed you too.” Remus said, smiling.

It had been ages since all of them were together, and for a few blissful hours Sirius almost felt like
they were back in the Gryffindor common room. They laughed and chattered and drank,
congratulating Peter on his promotion at the Ministry and discussing Lily and Marlene’s
workplace drama from St. Mungo’s. The food Lily brought slowly disappeared, as did the booze.
Once the firewhisky was gone, James had the idea to summon beers over to the window from
neighbouring flats. Peter and Sirius thought this was brilliant; Lily and Marlene did not.

Sirius was hanging halfway out the window, laughing as Lily tried to tug James back inside, when
Remus suddenly asked,

“What’s your news?”

“Oh!” Lily turned around, quickly. She had mentioned something that she needed to tell everyone,
but had been insisting that she wanted to wait until they were all together. James turned around,
too, and the couple exchanged a look.

“Everyone,” James said, drawing their attention, “Um. Lily and I have something to—”

“Oh Christ!” Mary yelped, sitting up from where she had been lounging in the armchair, “Lily, I
thought you were on the pill!”

“Mary!” Lily’s face turned as red as her hair, “Not that!”

“Phew!” Mary settled back, laughing, “Because we’re not even twenty yet, we’re much too young
to be thinking about—”

“We’re getting married!” Lily interrupted her, words spilling out in a rush.

The room went silent.

Sirius spun around so quickly that he smacked his head against the window frame, yanking himself
back inside. He looked at James, trying to figure out if he was joking—but he was staring down at
Lily with pure adoration in his eyes, smiling like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup.

“You what?!” Sirius demanded, trying to process what they were saying. Surely he’d misheard,
right?!

But James only grinned. “Yep,” he said, in a dreamy sort of voice, “She asked – and who was I to
refuse?”

“You asked?” Marlene nudged Lily, smiling, “Bloody feminist hero, Evans.”

“It was a bit more mutual than that,” Lily said, face still flushed, “We were just talking, and—”

“But we only just left school.” Sirius interrupted. They couldn’t be serious!

“A year ago,” Peter pointed out, patronisingly. Sirius felt a kick of irritation; he crossed his arms
defensively, buckling down,

“You don’t even live together.”

This was insane—it was utterly bonkers! Why was everybody acting like it was normal?! They
were all still teenagers, for Merlin’s sake!

“I’m going to move in with James’s family for a bit,” Lily said, shrinking back from the bite in
Sirius’s tone.

“Yeah, you know how much they love having her around,” James said, staring stonily from where
he still had his arms wrapped around Lily. “She’s been amazing while they’ve not been well.”

“Have you really thought about this though?!”

“I’m sure they have, Black, chill out.” Mary said, keeping her voice light. She hopped to her feet,
“Shall I pop out and see if we can get some cheap fizz? This deserves a toast!”

What?!

“Yeah!” Marlene stood up as well, hugging Lily and giving James a kiss on the cheek,
“Congratulations you two!”

What?!?!

“Congratulations!” Peter agreed, swaying slightly as he lifted his beer can.

WHAT?!?!

“Have you all gone mental?!” Sirius’s voice rose, so that he was nearly shouting. He opened his
mouth to continue, but before he could say anything else Remus stood up.

“Padfoot,” he said, in a voice that brooked no argument, “No.”

Sirius turned to him, furious, fingers digging into his arms where he had them folded. He glanced
around the room at their friends’ faces—they were all staring at him, shocked and reproachful.
Sirius tossed his hair out of his face, anger searing in his veins, and stormed out of the room,
slamming the bedroom door behind him.

What the fuck were they all thinking?! They were bloody nineteen, they were supposed to be
mucking about and getting drunk and playing quidditch and laughing at stupid jokes, not getting
bloody married!

The door swung open, and Remus walked in. Sirius turned on him immediately, picking back up
right where he’d left off.

“You can’t possibly tell me that you think this is a good idea!” He spat, agitated and pacing as
Remus shut the door behind him, “Prongs is being ridiculous! We’re too young, there’s a bloody
war on, his mum and dad are ill, and he wants to have a fucking wedding?!”

“I think those all sound like good enough reasons to have a fucking wedding, actually.” Remus said
calmly, sitting down on the bed.

“You’re joking! We’re kids!”

Remus shrugged. “They’re in love.”

Sirius laughed, sharp and bitter. “Oh, and you’re going to start waxing lyrical about love, are you
Moony?!”
“Watch it.” Remus stood, features hardening, glaring down at Sirius. “I don’t know why you’re
being such a tosser to James and Lily, but I’m not going to sit here and have you fling bitchy little
comments at me.”

Sirius opened his mouth, a whole host of responses ready on his tongue, when the door burst open
and James barged in, red-faced and fuming.

“You dick!” He shouted, “What the fuck are you playing at?! Moony, don’t defend him!”

“I’m not!” Remus frowned, stepping back as though to give James a clearer path, “I was saying the
same!”

“Well?!” James demanded, turning back to Sirius, “Want to explain yourself?!”

“No, I want you to explain yourself!” Sirius shouted back, “What the fuck?! You’re getting
married, just like that? I know you’ve had this mad thing for Evans since you were twelve, but
bloody hell! What’s the rush?!”

“It’s not a ‘mad thing’!” James yelled, furiously, “I love her! I’ve been in love with her forever, as
you well know!”

“So you have to get married all of a sudden?!”

“I want to get married, and it’s not sudden! We’ve been talking about it for ages.”

“First I’ve heard of it!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to tell you everything! I didn’t want to say anything until Moony was
back.”

Sirius decided to try a different tack.

“What about your parents?! What do they think??”

“They’re thrilled, actually! They love Lily! And I thought you did too! You’re my best friend, I
thought you’d be supportive.”

“Oh!” Sirius scoffed, anger surging, “Because you’ve always been so supportive of my
relationships!”

James faltered at that, eyes flicking briefly towards Remus, and Sirius felt a vindictive thrill at the
guilt that clouded his face.

“You know that’s not…” James broke off, jaw clenching, clearly frustrated. Remus, sensing the
tension, moved quietly to the door, sliding out and shutting it behind him with a wary glance.

“Not what?” Sirius demanded, the moment he was gone. James lowered his voice.

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it?? I’m sad that my boyfriend’s been fucking kidnapped by a bunch of psycho werewolves,
and you feel the need to host an intervention, but getting married in the middle of a fucking war
—that’s okay?!”

“The war doesn’t have anything to do with it!”

“Bullshit! That’s fucking bullshit, James, don’t act like you’d be doing this if things were normal.”

“I’m doing this because I love her!”

“What, and you’re not gonna love her a year from now? Two years? What’s the fucking rush,
James??”

“What the hell are you talking about? Why would we wait, we both want this—”

“Because!” Sirius burst out, voice caught somewhere between desperate and angry, “We’re
supposed to have more time!”

James stared at him, brow furrowed, something like pity bleeding into his eyes.

“Mate…”

“No, don’t—” Sirius sat, heavily, on the bed, feeling very abruptly drained of the furious energy
that had set him alight just a moment ago.

“It’s not supposed to be like this, Prongs,” he said, burying his head in his hands, “We’re supposed
to be kids, and…we’re supposed to have fun, we’re supposed to keep…” He shook his head, trying
to swallow the lump in his throat. “Get married when you’re…twenty-five, or something, like a
normal person, just not—not now. Why does it have to be now?”

“Padfoot…” James sighed, heavily, sitting beside him. For a moment, they were quiet. Then,

“I don’t think my parents are getting better.”

Sirius released a breath. “They’re in their sixties, Prongs. I’ve had great-aunts nearly twice that
age!”

“Yeah, but…” James took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s this war. It’s
fucking…draining them, Padfoot. They’ve been doing this since before I was born. And I just…”
He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling and smiling, sadly. “I want them to be at my
wedding.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say to that. He hated how exhausted James sounded, the horrible
practicality of his resignation.

When Sirius didn’t respond, James continued talking, leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“And…after everything that happened with Gid and Fab, I just—don’t want to take anything for
granted.” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “So yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe it is the war.
But…I love her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, so…I just figured, why wait?”

Sirius scuffed his toe along the floor.

“Hate this bloody war,” he muttered.

“Me too, mate.” James sighed, “Me too.”

Sirius looked up, finally, meeting the other boy’s gaze.

“…Have I ruined my shot at being best man?”

James laughed, sounding relieved, and pulled him into a hug.

 “Of course not, you silly sod.”

When they returned to the living room, Mary had procured a bottle of babycham and poured
everyone a glass. Sirius kissed Lily’s cheek, smiling apologetically, and they all toasted together,
eyes bright, cheeks flushed.

But Sirius was still subdued, unable to stop the melancholy from creeping in as he thought back on
the things James had said. The others picked up on his mood, and within the next hour everyone
was heading out the door – Marlene to stay over at Mary’s in Croydon, Peter returning home with
James and Lily. Sirius and Remus smiled and waved and said their goodbyes, but once the door
shut they fell silent.

Sirius knew that Remus was probably still frustrated with him for the way he’d acted. Now that the
anger had faded, he knew he had caused a scene – that he had ruined what Lily and James had
been looking forward to as a joyful announcement. So he tidied up in silence, locking himself in the
bathroom to brush his teeth, splashing water on his face.

Remus was still in the living room when he finished; he was smoking a cigarette, Sirius could
smell it. So he went to bed alone, curling up under the covers without bothering to turn out the
lights. He heard Remus go into the bathroom a few minutes later; then, a few minutes after that,
the door opened, and footsteps padded into the bedroom.

Sirius braced himself, slightly, curling up tighter as Remus slid into bed. He didn’t think he could
take another fight—not right now.

But Moony didn’t say anything, just lay down next to him and began to stroking his hair, gently.
Sirius relaxed into the touch, feeling another lump form in his throat.

“All right?” Remus whispered.

Sirius nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He reached out, wrapping his arms around Moony’s
waist – after so long apart, they were finally together again, in their own flat, in their own bed.

“Love you,” Remus said, softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Sirius squeezed him tighter, pressing his head to Moony’s chest and falling asleep to the sound of
his heartbeat.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "dreams" by fleetwood mac!

 The War: Summer 1979
Chapter Summary

looks like i'm goin' for a swim...

Chapter Notes

cw: unnamed character death AND side character death (double whammy)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I will be king

And you

You will be queen

Though nothing will drive them away

We can beat them, just for one day

We can be heroes, just for one day

Sirius was determined to be the best man ever. The best best man ever, that is. He felt properly
penitent about the way he’d acted when James and Lily announced their engagement, and as the
preparations got underway he jumped to do everything the couple asked of him—and then some.
After all, there was plenty to do.

The wedding was set for late September, which meant they only had a few months to prepare
(something that would be unthinkable in the Black household, where weddings were an event that
took at minimum a full year of planning). Fortunately, James and Lily wanted to keep things
relatively small, mostly close friends and family, and they already had the venue figured out: the
gardens on the Potters’ estate if the weather was nice, indoors if it wasn’t.

Sirius got to work right away, ordering new dress robes for the groomsmen from Madam Malkin’s,
picking up the rings from the jeweller, and making sure James understood that he had access to the
entire record collection for the reception, and not just Aladdin Sane. Sirius even offered to hand-
write all of the invitations—though it meant revealing his talent for calligraphy to Lily, and
suffering through the hour of teasing that she and Remus put him through afterwards. Still, she
happily took him up on the offer, which resulted in an afternoon spent hunched over the dining
table for four hours giving himself carpal tunnel.

“Fifty-eight!” Sirius crowed, finishing the final invitation and setting his quill down with a flourish.
“Well done.” Remus looked over from where he was reading the newspaper, smirking, “Ahh, look
at your pretty handwriting! So dainty!”

“Better than your chicken-scratch!” Sirius retorted, blowing on the ink to dry it.

Remus chuckled. “Just don’t tell anyone you did them, or you’ll start getting requests.”

“Do you really think they’re that good?” Sirius frowned, holding up one of the cream-coloured
cards to inspect his penmanship.

“They’re gorgeous. Really.” When he looked back down, Remus was watching him, with a small
smile on his face.

“Well, this is the only time I’m doing it,” Sirius declared, stacking the cards neatly, “This is the
one and only wedding I will ever support.”

“What if Mary got married? Or Pete?”

“I’d show up and get drunk, but secretly I would hate every minute.”

“Very reasonable,” Remus said, still smiling.

“Another thing you can blame the noble and most ancient house of cack for,” Sirius shook his
head. “Do you know how many engagement dinners and weddings I’ve been to? Ugh.” He
shuddered, remembering the last wedding he’d been to—Bellatrix’s. “So I’m sorry, Moony, but
you’ll never make an honest man of me.”

“Oh, and I was just about to propose,” Remus stretched, standing, “Tea?”

“Please.” Sirius began to massage his sore hand, twisting his wrist.

Remus withdrew his wand as he disappeared into the kitchen, likely planning to use it to boil the
water faster (the lazy bastard was never willing to wait and allow the tea to brew properly). It was a
new wand, picked up from Ollivander’s the day Moody had given Remus the all-clear to finally
leave the flat again.

Sirius had stood in the shop with him, secretly very curious as he watched Ollivander measure
Remus and mutter to himself and shove box after box into his hands, instructing him to cast this or
that spell. Sirius had never actually told his friends that he didn’t get his wand from Ollivander’s
like most of their classmates—that it was a family heirloom, passed down from Black heir to Black
heir. It was ironic, he supposed, that it had ended up with him—probably made his mother furious
that he’d run off with it.

But Sirius tried not to think too much about that. It didn’t matter where it came from; it was his
wand, now.

“It would really piss them off, though,” Remus shouted from inside the kitchen, breaking Sirius out
of his thoughts.

“What? Who?”

“Your family,” Remus called back, “If you married a bloke. A half-blood, werewolf, bloke.”

Sirius laughed. “Don’t forget poor!” He shook his head, chuckling. “Merlin, just imagine sending
my mother an invitation to that!”
“Imagine sending anyone an invitation to that,” Remus replied, with a smile in his voice, “Christ, I
can already hear James making horrible puns about the honey moon.” He returned with two mugs
of tea, passing one to Sirius, who shook his head ruefully.

“I’ve already been engaged once, I really don’t fancy doing it again.”

Remus grinned. “Oh yeah, you’re welcome for that.”

* * *

And you, you can be mean

And I, I’ll drink all the time

‘Cause we’re lovers, and that is a fact

Yes we’re lovers, and that is that

Though nothing will keep us together

We could steal time just for one day

We can be heroes forever and ever

What d’you say?

In the end, they all seemed to find themselves needing the distraction of wedding planning—
clinging to the promise of happiness to come, as the summer spread grimly before them. Things
seemed to get worse every day, the slow spiral of more failed missions, more violent attacks. More
deaths.

Benjy Fenwick was next to go after the Prewetts. He had been working with Moody for years, and
was one of the Order’s best soldiers—but the war finally caught up to him. As with the Prewetts,
there was no body to bury—only scraps, bits of raw and bloodied meat that they found at the site of
the explosion.

It had been some sort of internal combustion charm, as far as Caradoc could tell, but it was like
nothing he’d ever seen before. That was happening more often, too—the death eaters using new
curses and amalgamations of dark magic that the Order’s researchers found themselves frantically
trying to decipher. It happened again with Darius Barebones, another long-time Order member. He
was found flayed alive in his office.

Aside from all the new and frankly horrifying uses that the death eaters found for magic, the Order
also had to contend with the ongoing tug-of-war for control of the Ministry. Though the Order
hadn’t been named a terrorist organisation the way the Death Eaters had, the Ministry had still
begun to pull away from any official association with them as Abraxas Malfoy and his cohort
worked harder than ever to spin the story that their operations were the work of violent “muggle-
rights” radicals, so that any support the Order might have found began to dwindle rapidly.

This meant an increase in missions for all remaining Order members, as their numbers began to
steadily—and horrifyingly—decrease. Sirius, James, Lily, and Peter all saw more and more raids,
and even Remus was finally allowed to come out of hiding after two full moons without so much
as a peep from Greyback. Moody and Ferox considered the werewolves’ disappearance a much-
needed victory, and Remus was welcomed back as a hero at the next Order meeting for his role in
splitting the pack. Dumbledore even sought him out personally, shaking his hand and saying,
“You’ve done us all so proud, Mr. Lupin.”

Sirius was happy for Remus—of course he was. He’d been going stir-crazy all cooped up in the
flat, and he deserved the recognition after all he’d gone through. But it was also one more thing to
worry about, and Sirius hated watching Remus walk out the door again, not knowing when or if he
would return.

It was a small comfort that most of the missions Moony was sent on were lower-priority—standing
guard, conducting surveillance, running messages. Still, even these once-innocuous tasks became
more and more dangerous, as evidenced by one evening in early July when Remus and Mary
apparated, suddenly, into the flat’s living room, exhausted and shaken. They’d nearly been
cornered by six death eaters while out on surveillance, watching the bar where Caradoc Dearborn
had last been seen (another loss—he’d gone missing inexplicably, and they were all hoping
desperately that he would return.)

(He never did.)

And on top of worrying about Moony, and James, and the rest of their friends, and the Potters’
failing health, and all of the Order’s new safety protocols – Sirius had his own, more personal
concerns as June slipped into July.

He tried not to think about it. He really did. He threw himself into Order missions, and wedding
planning, and working on his bike. He spent time with his friends and cleaned the flat and went to
meetings and missions and meetings. Still, despite every distraction, the thought remained, stuck
fast in the back of his mind.

Regulus would leave Hogwarts, soon.

Had already left Hogwarts, once July rolled around.

And that meant…

It meant…

Sirius didn’t want to think about what it meant. But he couldn’t stop himself—not entirely. He
couldn’t stop his heart from jumping every time he was sent on a raid. Couldn’t stop himself from
wondering exactly who was behind those masks. Couldn’t stop the fear that sat like a chip of ice in
his heart, every time he heard about a successful mission, every time an Order member said,
gleefully, ‘We took ‘em out!’

Took who out? He had to resist the urge to ask, Who was it? Did you see their faces?

Did you hurt him?

Is he okay?

Sirius stifled it, forcing the questions down. He still got wary looks, sometimes, when people heard
his last name—he could only imagine what everyone would think if he started inquiring after a
death eater’s health. Even if that death eater was his—
Stop it.

Maybe it was foolish of him, to think that simply ignoring it would make the problem go away. But
Sirius was loyal to the Order, he was, and he’d promised that he would do anything to win the war.
He’d sworn himself to their cause.

So he told himself that it was enough. He told himself, repeatedly, that he only had one brother—
just one, and it certainly wasn’t Regulus.

And he believed it.

He told himself that he believed it.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter. Sirius was on another raid-turned-skirmish, had just stormed a
supply stronghold where the death eaters were keeping a stock of illegal potions supplies, most of
it used to brew poisons. The small building was more heavily guarded than they’d expected, and
Sirius found himself dodging curses as fast as he could cast them, side by side with James and
Emmeline Vance, battling back three death eaters as they tried to get into the storeroom.

They had managed to take down one of them, gaining the upper hand, and Sirius pointed his wand
towards the storeroom, preparing to cast the blasting curse that they’d planned to use to destroy the
illicit potion ingredients. He opened his mouth to say it, and—

And—

There was somebody inside. Another death eater, barely visible in the shadows, shoving
ingredients hurriedly into a bag—presumably to make some sort of escape with anything too rare
to replace. And Sirius was going to cast the curse, he was going to, except their hood had fallen
back, and in the flashing light of all the back-and-forth curses, he could see a spill of black curls…

“What are you waiting for, Black?!” Emmeline shouted, flinging up a shield charm as the death
eater she was duelling tried to corner her, “Cast it!”

He was going to—he was going to—he just needed the death eater to turn around, to see if he could
tell—

“Cast it, Sirius!”

But he was frozen.

In the next moment, Emmeline stunned her death eater with such force that she sent him crashing
backwards through a window. She spun towards the storeroom, wand raised, blonde hair whipping
around her head.

“Wait—”

“CONFRINGO MAXIMA!”

The room exploded, a wave of force that sent them all flying back. James was on his feet first,
petrifying the final death eater guard and checking to make sure that Sirius and Emmeline were
okay. Sirius stumbled over to the wreckage of what had once been the storeroom, staring
frantically down at the body of the death eater inside. His mask had cracked. His face was a
bloodied mess.

It wasn’t Regulus.
“What the fuck, Black?!” Emmeline stormed over to him, furious and beautiful, like some sort of
ancient goddess of vengeance. “What was that?!”

“There was someone inside,” Sirius said, redundantly—they were standing over the body. James
joined them, looking between Sirius and the dark-haired man, a horrible sort of understanding
washing over his features.

“And??” Emmeline asked, raising her chin, as though daring him to say something about her
decision to cast the spell anyway.

It remained a common source of discord in the Order—whether or not to kill. Many believed that it
was antithetical to the organisation’s mission, to the values on which it had been founded, to the
commitment that they had all made to protect and preserve life. But others insisted, bluntly, that
this was war—what the fuck did anyone expect?

“Nothing,” Sirius muttered, turning away. Emmeline had made the right call—he knew that.
Whatever this death eater had been trying to escape with was clearly important to Voldemort’s
plans; destroying it was in the Order’s best interest. He felt a horrible, creeping shame as he
thought of how he’d choked, how he’d hovered in the doorway, arrested by all the feelings that
he’d spent months trying to suppress.

Emmeline snorted, shaking her head. “I’ll be reporting this to Moody, you know. I’ll have to.”

“Em, c’mon,” James said, placating, “Sirius was probably just trying to think of a different spell, he
didn’t want to kill him—”

“And you think I did?!” Emmeline shrieked, bright spots of red colouring her cheeks, “You think I
like having to live with this?” She turned back to Sirius, scowling. “I know you’re probably related
to half of these fucking death eaters, but you shouldn’t come on these missions if you’re just going
to freeze up and force everyone around you to do the dirty work.”

“Oi—”

James started to reply, but before he could get two words in Emmeline apparated away with a loud
CRACK—no doubt heading back to their meeting spot to report what had happened to Moody.

“Can’t bloody believe her!” James fumed, staring at the spot where Emmeline had stood just
seconds before, “I ought to—”

“Stop,” Sirius interrupted him, “She’s right.”

“Padfoot…”

“She’s right,” he repeated, firmly, finally tearing his gaze away from the body to look James in the
eye. “It won’t happen again.”

* * *

“Oh, thank god you’re here!” Lily burst into their flat, red-faced and panting, with a frantic look in
her eyes. It was late August, just a few weeks out from the wedding, and between that and the way
things were going with the war this sort of panicked state was becoming more and more common.
“What’s the matter?!” Remus asked, brow furrowing in concern as he stood.

“Not you,” Lily shooed him away, approaching Sirius, “I need you!”

“What’s up?” Sirius frowned, confused—he could think of very few things for which he would be
more helpful to Lily than Remus. Except, maybe – “Is it Prongs?”

“Yes, the bastard.”

Ah. Sirius smirked.

“Look, if this is about the stag do…”

“Oh, I don’t care what you lot get up to,” she shook her head, impatiently, “This is much, much
more important.”

“I’ll put the kettle on, then…” Remus mumbled, darting away into the kitchen. Sirius turned back
to Lily.

“So, what is it then?”

She hesitated a moment, frowning. Then,

“I can’t dance.”

“What?!” He tutted, sceptically, “I’ve seen you dance.”

“Yeah, I can shake my hips to pop music, but I’m talking about proper dancing. With steps, and
James leading, and counting ‘one two three,’ the whole shebang!”

Sirius couldn’t help it—he started laughing.

“It’s going to be that sort of wedding? Prongs practically promised me there would be modern
music!”

“There will be!” Lily huffed, snippily, “But…well, it’s traditional to have a first dance, and I think
his mum would like to see it. I agreed to do it ages ago; I thought ‘fine, we’ll just stick on
something soppy and just sort of cling on to each other for a few minutes,’ but that wanker just
casually mentioned the fact that he’s been ballroom dancing since he could walk!”

Sirius grinned,

“Yep, sounds about right. Look, Evans, you’re the one bonkers enough to marry a pureblood,
you’ve made your bed now.”

“But you have to help me!”

“Ohhhh no…”

Remus returned at that moment, holding a tray with three mugs of tea and wearing a shit-eating
grin.

“Go on,” he urged, smirking, “I’d love to see this.”

“Absolutely not.” Sirius insisted, crossing his arms. “Get Pete to do it! He’s a pureblood too!”
“He’s too short,” Lily insisted, “And…well I don’t want to be mean, but he’s very clumsy, and I
don’t want him stepping on my feet while I’m breaking in my wedding shoes. They’re white satin.
Please, Sirius? I’m a fast learner, I swear, you just need to get me through one dance.”

“Moony!” Sirius appealed to Remus, who was settling onto the sofa beside him, “Save me!”

“I think you should do it,” said Remus (the traitorous bastard), “For James.”

“Yes!” Lily agreed, nodding frantically, “For James!”

Sirius could see how this was going, and he finally relented—one of them he could argue with, but
when Lily and Remus teamed up there was absolutely no swaying them.

“He doesn’t deserve me,” Sirius muttered, slumping. “Fine. One lesson. A waltz is easy enough.
Moony, go away.”

“Absolutely not.” Remus leaned back, getting comfortable with his tea, “I’ve never seen you waltz
before, and I’m not going to miss it.”

Sirius shot him a glare, middle finger raised, before finally acquiescing and turning to Lily.

“Right,” he sniffed, standing, “Give me your hands…”

On principle, Sirius tried to avoid any reminders of his pureblood past. He downplayed his accent,
he never spoke French or Latin, he swapped out the perfectly tailored robes for ripped-up jeans and
leather jackets. He listened to rock music, he swore, he smoked cigarettes. But of course, he
couldn’t escape his past completely—and if he was going to teach Lily to waltz, he was going to do
it right.

So Sirius stood up straight, chin held high, the impeccable posture his mother had drilled into him
from the time he could walk. He stepped lightly, gracefully, guiding Lily along with a steady hand.
All the while, he was acutely aware of Remus’s eyes, following them.

Lily wasn’t lying about being a fast learner—she picked up on the steps quickly, and pretty soon
they were gliding across the room, perfectly in sync. Despite himself, Sirius found a smile creeping
across his face as he lifted his arm to twirl her, and Lily giggled, smiling back.

After two hours, they were both satisfied that she would be able to hold her own during a Proper
Pureblood Wedding Dance.

“Thank you so much!” Lily said, effusively grateful, “I have to get back, or he’ll wonder where I
am, but I seriously owe you one, Black.”

“Oh, just your first born will do.” Sirius smirked, waving her off.

Lily plucked her bag from the floor, gave them both a quick kiss on the cheek, and left through the
fireplace. Sirius waited a moment before turning back to Remus, bracing himself.

“Go on then, take the piss…”

“Never,” Remus stood, smiling, and walked over to him, “I love how fancy you are.”

He pulled Sirius in for a kiss—sweet, at first, but then Sirius parted his lips slightly, and Remus’s
tongue was there, and—

Oh. Sirius thought, Blimey, alright…

Since Remus had returned, there hadn’t been much time for…this. When they weren’t out all day
on missions, they were exhausted, or snapping at each other, or getting ready to go to another
funeral. It turned out that fighting a war could have quite the drastic impact on a bloke’s sex drive.

Now, though…Remus’s hands were at his hips, long fingers slipping past the waistband of his
jeans, and Sirius found himself grinning into the kiss as the familiar curl of heat ran down his
spine, making him shiver.

Remus pulled back, and he was grinning, too.

“Wanna dance?”

* * *

I wish you could swim

Like the dolphins

Like dolphins can swim

Though nothing, nothing will keep us together

We can beat them, forever and ever

Oh we can be heroes, just for one day

Three days later, on the Sunday following Lily’s impromptu dance lessons, Sirius and Remus found
themselves with a rare free day—no missions, no meetings, no wedding planning or frantic brides-
to-be bursting into their flat. So they decided to do the one thing they had both been wanting to do
for ages: they slept in.

It was a lie-in the likes of which they hadn’t had since Hogwarts, and it was nearly noon by the
time Sirius finally dragged himself out of bed to let in the disgruntled post owl – it had been
pecking at furiously at the window for fifteen minutes.

The flustered bird hooted resentfully, flapping around the room and dropping the Daily Prophet
onto Moony’s legs while Sirius dug around in the bedside table until he found a knut to give it.
Beneath the covers, Remus groaned and rolled over, nestling further into the pillows.

“Shall I do breakfast?” Sirius asked, plucking the paper off the blankets. “Breakfast in bed?”

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Remus said, smiling as he opened his eyes and stretched.
Sirius smiled back, picking up the paper and glancing down at the headlines.

BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD

His heart stopped.

 Remus was saying something, but Sirius couldn’t hear it—couldn’t hear anything but the sound of
his own blood, rushing in his ears as his heart struggled to restart itself. He stared down at the
words, willing them to change—surely it wasn’t right, surely he’d misread—

BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD

“Remus!” He choked out, grasping blindly for Moony’s arm. He shoved the paper into the other
boy’s face, needing him to check—to see—to say it was wrong, that Sirius had read it wrong—

“Eh?” Remus squinted down at the paper, scratching his head, “That’s mental, you’re not—”

He broke off, abruptly, looking up with a horrible pity in his eyes. And Sirius knew, then, that it
wasn’t wrong—that he hadn’t misread, that it was true, the words right there in black and white:

BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD

I will be king

And you

You will be queen

Though nothing will drive them away

We can be heroes, just for one day

We can be us, just for one day…

Chapter End Notes

the first line is cheeeeeessyyyy whatever it's fine

song is "heroes" by bowie!

(don't think about the "i will be king and you will be queen" line as a chess metaphor
in the context of the black brothers' relationship in which sirius is the king that
ultimately is the only piece that matters and needs to survive while the queen can be
sacrificed if it means winning the game....don't do it)
 The War: Dulce et Decorum est
Chapter Summary

goodnight sweet prince :'(

Chapter Notes

cw: death of a sibling

See the end of the chapter for more notes

BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD

Regulus Arcturus Black II, only child of Orion and Walpurga Black, has today been confirmed
dead in a statement issued from the Black family home in Islington. Born in 1961, the heir to the
Black house and fortune was eighteen years old. He had recently completed his education at
Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he distinguished himself as an impeccable
student and gifted quidditch player.

Regulus is survived by his parents and his cousins who will attend a private memorial service later
in the week. The family have requested privacy.

It couldn’t be right. It couldn’t, it couldn’t, it couldn’t…

Regulus Arcturus Black II, only child of Orion and Walpurga Black, has today been confirmed
dead…

It just didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense, no sense at all, so it couldn’t be true—it
couldn’t—

Regulus Arcturus Black II, only child of Orion and Walpurga Black, has today been confirmed
dead…

Confirmed by who? Confirmed how—by what? It couldn’t be true, because Sirius would have
known—he’d have known if his brother was dead. He’d have felt it, somehow—something would
have changed, or shifted; things wouldn’t just be the same. So it couldn’t be true, because it wasn’t
possible, because Reg was his stupid, infuriating, cry baby, death eater fucking brother, and Sirius
hated him, and he hated Sirius—they hated each other, and they were fighting on opposite sides of
a war, they were fighting and Reg was alive and Sirius was angry with him and he was angry with
Sirius and they were both alive to be angry with each other. And Reg couldn’t be dead, because
Sirius was still angry with him. They were still fighting.

He was aware, vaguely, of Remus moving around him, bustling in and out of the room, making tea,
holding out a bottle of whisky that Sirius shook his head at, numbly. Remus was saying things,
speaking to him, but the words didn’t penetrate—all Sirius could do was stare down at the paper,
at the horrible, printed words:

BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD.

But Reg had just finished school. He’d just finished school, so he couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t even
twenty, so he couldn’t be dead. It was still summer, and he loved summer, so he couldn’t be dead.
Reg wouldn’t do that—he wouldn’t die in the summer, when the sun set so late and they could
watch it, in the evening, lying in the grass while the sky turned pink and then orange and then
black, while the stars rose, while Sirius pointed up at the constellations back before they were
fighting, before Hogwarts, when he still liked astronomy, when he still spent hours memorising
charts of stars so that his mother would smile at him.

That one’s me, he whispered, pointing, And that one’s you.

And Regulus smiled up at him—they were lying in the grass, and he was smiling—they were lying
in the dirt, and he was crying, and his eyes were wide and scared, and he was saying Please.

I’m trying to save you.

Sirius gripped the paper until his knuckles turned white, until his hands shook. You bastard, he
thought, staring down his brother’s name, printed neatly in black and white, You bastard, you
bastard, you stupid, selfish bastard.

I didn’t need you to save me—I needed you to save yourself.

James was there, suddenly—when did James get there? He sat on the bed, wrapping an arm around
Sirius’s shoulders, and Sirius blinked, coming back to himself.

“Sirius?” James said, quietly, “Padfoot? Remus called me—I saw the paper…”

The paper. The paper in his hands.

BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD.

Sirius watched his fingers loosen, and it was like watching a portrait move—he couldn’t feel it. He
couldn’t feel it as his hands uncurled, as the newspaper slipped from his grasp, as it fell to the floor.

BLACK HEIR CONFIRMED DEAD.

James was still speaking, murmuring into his ear. “He made his choice a long time ago—”

—the only real difference between you and me, Sirius, is that you got a choice—

“—you mustn’t blame yourself—”

—this was meant to be yours, Sirius—

“—you mustn’t let this—”

“It doesn’t say what happened.” Sirius said, abruptly. “Does anyone know? Your dad, or Moody?
Was there an attack last night, or—?”

He needed to know—he needed to know. Eighteen-year-olds didn’t just die; he needed to know
how it happened. Was it fast? Was he scared? Was there pain? Did he know it was coming—did he
try to stop it—did he—

James shook his head, mouth twisting.

“No, nothing that would suggest…but of course, we could have missed something. There’s
evidence that he – that Voldemort’s been killing death eaters. To um. To keep them in line. Some
of them are having doubts, you know.”

Was that it? Was that really it? After everything—after all his talk about lost causes, about winning
and losing—had he really been killed by his own side?

Sirius straightened up, shrugging James off. A horrible, writhing anger had settled into the pit of
his stomach, gnashing its teeth.

How could he? After all that—after everything—he couldn’t even stay alive? He couldn’t even
fucking live?

“Well then.” Sirius muttered, voice flat, “Got what he deserved, didn’t he.”

James looked away, glancing at Remus before turning back with a wary look in his eyes.

“Mate,” he said, slowly, “He was your brother, it’s ok if—”

“No.” Sirius cut him off, shoving to his feet, “He wasn’t my brother. They’re not my family. That
was always made very clear.”

“But you—”

“He was my enemy. He’d have killed every one of us without a second thought. So I’m glad he’s
gone. One less Death Eater. Good. Brilliant.” He stared down both Remus and James, daring either
of them to say something.

They didn’t.

Sirius turned away, heading for the door. “I’m going to take a shower.”

In the bathroom, the water hissed, steaming and scorching his skin. Sirius stood under it, gritting
his teeth against the sting of the heat, letting it run into his face. He shut his eyes, breathing.

Regulus Arcturus Black II, only child of Orion and Walpurga Black, has today been confirmed
dead…

It didn’t matter.

Regulus Arcturus Black II has today been confirmed dead.

It didn’t matter.
Regulus is dead.

It didn’t matter, because Sirius had already lost his brother.

Reg is dead.

It didn’t matter, because Regulus was already dead—had been dead since he got that fucking snake
tattooed on his arm.

Reggie is—

Sirius choked, leaning an arm against the wall, pressing his forehead to the tile. And it was just the
shower, just the water running down his face, stinging his eyes, dripping salty from his chin. Just
the shower, and nothing else—he was breathing, he was fine, he wasn’t shaking, wasn’t
shuddering, wasn’t falling apart.

I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.

Sirius stood beneath the water until he could no longer feel it, until he’d gone numb. He stepped
out, dripping, onto the tile floor, and wrapped a towel around his waist. His chest was a hollow
cage, scraped clean from the inside out.

When he walked back into the living room James was still there, sitting awkwardly on the sofa. He
and Remus both turned, immediately, worried gazes settling on Sirius like they were waiting for
him to break.

“I think I’ll work on the bike, today.” He told them, looking everywhere but their eyes, “Go home,
Potter, I’m fine.” He retreated into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with their pity still
beetling over his skin.

He could hear them speaking outside the door as he got dressed, voices muffled by the walls and
the space. Sirius yanked on a t-shirt, roughly, wet hair scattering droplets on the fabric. He hated
this—hated their useless fucking pity, the wary look in their eyes. He didn’t care—he was loyal to
the Order. One more dead death eater—so what? It was cause for a fucking celebration, if
anything. Regulus had made his choice a long time ago, and Sirius had accepted that, had—had
given up on him—

Abandoned him.

Fuck—

The grief took him again, like a knife in the throat, like he couldn’t breathe, like he was trying to
swallow his own blood. Sirius clutched his jeans in his fists, shaking, and waited for it to pass.

I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine

James and Remus were still talking, hushed voices floating down the hall.

“Plenty of people….untrustworthy….name…”

He couldn’t let them see him like this.

Sirius straightened. He pulled on his jeans. He dried his hair. He stared at the mirror over the
dresser and untwisted his face, set his mouth straight, flattened his eyes. He waited until James’s
voice was gone before returning.
Remus was alone in the living room, staring at the fireplace. He turned when Sirius walked in.

“Were you talking about me?” Sirius asked. His voice was very steady, if a bit hollow.

“Of course we were,” Remus said, bluntly, “We’re worried about you.”

“What did Prongs say?”

“That I’m not to let you out of my sight.”

Sirius looked away. “You’ll have to come to the garage, then.”

“Fine,” Remus said, easily, “Lead the way.”

Sirius didn’t protest—he didn’t have the energy for a fight. Instead, he walked silently down to the
garage, Remus following along behind him. Sirius was pretty sure that Moony hadn’t entered the
space since they first moved in, when they’d stored a couple boxes of things that wouldn’t fit in the
flat. He glanced around, moving over to lean against the wall, eyeing the bike that was propped in
the middle of the space warily.

Sirius began to polish her, trying to ignore it as Remus watched over his shoulder. He’d had to do
an enlarging spell on the body to prepare the bike for flight—which seemed counterintuitive at
first, but had miraculously worked. Sirius checked over the enchantments and oiled a few places,
going through his usual maintenance routine.

“When do you think it’ll be finished?” Remus asked, after several minutes of uncomfortable
silence. “Ready to ride?”

“Last week,” Sirius muttered, without looking at him.

“You what?”

“It’s done. Engine runs, flying function works. I’m finished. I think so, anyway, haven’t taken it
out yet.”

“Why not?”

Sirius shrugged, not sure what he was supposed to say—because he’d been stuck running missions
all hours of the day? Because by the time he arrived home, he didn’t have any energy to do
anything except collapse in bed, trying to remember what it was like to not feel so bloody
exhausted all the time?

“Let’s go, then.” Remus said.

Sirius blinked, not sure if he’d heard correctly.

“Go? Go where?”

“Anywhere you like,” Remus shrugged, “Let’s take it for a spin.”

Sirius stared at him, taken aback.

“Really? You’ll come with me?”

“Well, I’m hardly going to let you fly off on that death trap alone, am I?” Remus smiled, playfully,
“What sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t follow you into the jaws of certain doom?”
For a moment, Sirius felt a smile nudging at his lips.

“Ok, then,” he stood, “Let’s do it.”

Sirius swung a leg over the bike, gesturing for Remus to sit down behind him. The taller boy
moved gingerly, climbing onto the leather seat as though he was worried it might bite him. He
wrapped his arms around Sirius’s waist, squeezing tightly, and began to take a series of deep
breaths. Sirius found himself laughing, despite everything, half-expecting Remus to change his
mind and climb off – they could hardly get him to hover a broom more than three feet above the
ground!

“Moony, are you sure you want to do this? I can feel your heart pounding!”

“Absolutely,” Remus insisted, voice gone a bit high as he pressed in even closer to Sirius, “I’m sure
I’ve faced worse than your driving.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Sirius grinned, revving the engine and revelling in the feel of it as the bike
sprang to life, growling.

He navigated out of the garage slowly, letting the wheels crawl across the pavement as he lifted a
hand to point his wand back at the door and close it. They rolled carefully down the little back
street until they reached the main road, where Sirius pressed his foot down, and then they started to
really ride.

“Here we go!” He shouted over the roar of the engine. Remus’s curls tickled his neck as he buried
his face in Sirius’s shoulder, and the bike steadily picked up speed, wind blasting their faces as
they zipped down the road. Once they were going fast enough, Sirius flicked one of the enchanted
switches that he’d added, and the wheels lifted smoothly off the ground as the magic took hold.

Behind him, Remus slipped back a bit, whimpering, “Christ…” His hold around Sirius’s waist
tightened.

The buildings of London looked like toys beneath them, tiny people the size of ants bustling
through the streets. Sirius felt adrenaline thrumming through his veins—how long had it been since
he had last flown?

“We did it, Moony!” He called, glancing over his shoulder at the other boy—Remus had his eyes
screwed shut, curls whipping in the wind as he hung on for dear life. Sirius laughed.

“Open your eyes, you big wuss!”

“Oh my god…” Remus moaned from behind him. Sirius cheered.

“Isn’t it amazing?!” He shouted, giddy. Ahead of them, the clouds were like castles, the sky an
endless blue sea. The wind stung his face, and the sun shone bright, like something he could touch.

“‘mazing,” Remus shouted back, and Sirius cheered again, lifting his hands from the handlebars
for just a moment, stretching out his fingers like he could catch the wind.

They flew over London for nearly an hour, passing skyscrapers and great domed cathedrals,
following the sinuous path of the Thames. Everything looked different from above, but Sirius still
managed to find the familiar park—a patch of green below. He began to slow, allowing the bike to
lose altitude.

“Where are we?” Remus asked, as they descended.

“Islington.”

“What?! Sirius!”

“Calm down,” Sirius rolled his eyes, aiming for an empty stretch of grass in the large park.

The landing needed some work. They hit the ground hard, skidding through the grass, and Remus
went flying with a startled shout. He landed in a tangled pile of limbs a few feet away.

“Bugger,” Sirius cut the engine and leapt off the bike, hurrying over, “I’ll get better at that bit –
you ok?” He offered a hand.

“Fine, I think,” Remus frowned, brushing dirt off his clothes. “Where are we?”

“Highbury Fields,” Sirius told him, casting a quick obfuscate on the bike and trying a few spells to
fix the great muddy track marks he’d left on the lawn. “I used to come here a lot before I left
home.”

“Oh, right,” Remus nodded. “With Reg?”

“Sometimes,” Sirius said, casually. “Our governess brought us.”

Remus looked around the park, taking in the pond, the neat flowerbeds, the line of trees off to one
side.

“It’s nice. Pretty. Want to show me around?”

So he did. They walked through the park, and Sirius talked – pointing out trees he had climbed, the
pond where he’d learned to skip stones, the bridge where he always hid during hide and seek. As
he spoke, he tucked all of it carefully away, piece by piece, the child he had once been kicking and
screaming somewhere deep inside his chest as he smothered it.

They stopped in front of the war memorial. It was a familiar thing – the long, white plinth, the
green-grey statue. The sculpture was a woman, tall and commanding, dressed in flowing robes. She
held aloft a laurel crown, triumphant, though her features were joyless. At her feet lay the
abandoned weapons and crumpled uniforms of fallen soldiers.

“I did my first magic here,” Sirius said, smiling as the memory surfaced, “When I was four.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“Set fire to her head,” he nodded up at the impassive carved face, “Always been a rebel.”

“Amazing,” Remus chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Douceline – our governess – went mad trying to put it out. But we kept laughing, me and
Reggie, and every time she extinguished it I just did it again, because it made him so happy.”

He could remember that laugh, so clearly. Reggie’s chubby toddler hands, clapping together, eyes
bright as he giggled. For so many years, that smile had meant everything to him—for so long, he’d
wanted nothing more than to make his little brother happy.

Sirius allowed the pain to swell, sharp and hot, twisting around the happy memory like thorns
around a vine. Remus reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, and they stood together, silently.

Sirius tucked the memory away, with all the others. The pain subsided, a sweet relief—it would be
 far, far too much to allow himself to go on feeling it. So he shut the door in the back of his mind,
and he locked it, and when he looked back up again at the statue he felt nothing—no happiness. No
anger. No grief.

“Come on.” He said to Remus, turning away. “I’m ready to go home, now.”

When he left the park, he no longer had a brother. It was almost as if Reggie had never existed.

Chapter End Notes

this chapter has a oneshot from another character's perspective that goes with it! you
can read it here

also i KNOW this park scene could potentially conflict with the whole the-house-
moved thing that i wrote back in like...summer 1994? 1995? the reason i initially was
like "lol the house moved" was because i realized that it was supposed to be a
townhouse and i'd written it like it had a big sprawling yard so i was like hm...
anyway there are bound to be some inconsistencies throughout this fic bc i am writing
it at breakneck speed and then reading back over and editing like a starving feral dog
consuming its own vomit off the ground so :) let's all just pretend that somehow both
the house with the big sprawling yard and the townhouse were somehow near this park
idk what islington's like i've never set foot in the uk <3
 The War: Autumn 1979
Chapter Summary

deerly beloved, we are gathered here today...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

You thrill me, you delight me

You please me, you excite me

You’re something I’d been pleading for

I love you, I adore you

I’ve laid my life before you

I’ll have you want me more and more

And finally it seems my lonely days are through

I’ve been waiting for you

Friday 7th September 1979

“Uuurrgh, bugger!” Remus grimaced, one arm hanging limp at his side as he cradled his shoulder.

Padfoot bounded over, tongue lolling, tasting the early-morning dew in the air. He transformed
back when he reached Moony, asking,

“What’s up?”

“Dislocated.” The other boy winced, looking a bit peaky, “Have you got my wand?”

“Yeah, hang on…”

“All right, Moony?” James called out, striding out of the thicket with Peter at his heels. “That was
great!”

“Yeah, great…” Remus murmured, frowning a bit as he took his wand from Sirius’s outstretched
hand and pointed it at his shoulder, muttering the spell under his breath. The bone slid back into
place with a nauseating click, and Remus flinched, blanching.

With his arm no longer hanging uselessly at his side, Remus stood carefully, pulling on the clothes
that they’d stashed under a bush the previous night.
“Ok?” Sirius asked, watching him carefully, “You look a bit shaky.”

“Just hurts a bit,” Remus assured him, tugging on a jumper while trying not to raise his arm too
much. “Can I side-along with you to get back?”

“Of course. Oi, Prongs,” Sirius elbowed James, wiggling his eyebrows, “Bloody good stag do, eh?
Eh?? Stag do?!”

“Yes, Padfoot, very funny,” James rolled his eyes, “Just as funny as the last hundred times.”

“I’m wasted on you lot,” Sirius shook his head, sighing.

“Less than twenty-four hours to go!” Peter yawned, “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” James replied, yawning back. “Shall we?”

The Potters’ was already bustling with activity when they apparated back, and they had to weave
around the busy house elves as they walked into the kitchen – Fleamont and Euphemia had hired
four extra elves to help Gully prepare for the feast the next day. The boys made their way over to
the kitchen table, where Mrs. Potter sat next to Lily in her dressing gown and slippers. The two
women smiled at them, and Lily hopped up to give James a kiss,

“Morning darling – I just stayed long enough to see you, but I’ll be off now. How are you,
Remus?”

Remus only nodded, blinking as though he were fighting to keep his eyelids from slipping shut.
Lily shook her head,

“Go to bed, the lot of you, you all need your beauty sleep. James, I’ve left you a list of things you
need to get sorted this afternoon – give me a ring when it’s all finished or I’ll never sleep. Sirius,
did he give you the rings? Oh no, silly me, I’ve got them, here you go…Remus, will you make
sure he doesn’t lose them? Pete, your mum popped round and I said you’d gone out with the lads
and were sleeping off a hangover, so better if you don’t go home. I’m sending Mary over this
evening with the buttonholes for you all, and the ties if Madam Malkin hurries up and gets them
finished…oooh, do you all have shoes?!”

“Merlin Evans,” Sirius said, around a yawn, “Anyone would think you’re getting married
tomorrow.”

She made a face, sticking her tongue out at him – then kissed James, hugged Remus, and swept out
the door, curtain of red hair swinging behind her.

“Go to bed, boys!” She shouted over her shoulder, “See you at the top of the aisle, Potter!”

Sirius shook his head, grinning, as Remus moved over to squint down at the list—at least fifteen
inches of parchment, full of Lily’s small, neat handwriting. James went to his mother, smiling and
leaning down to peck her cheek.

“Alright, mum?”

She looked just as exhausted as them, deep bags under her eyes, skin pale, hair brittle and frizzy.
But her face still lit up as she looked up at her son, beaming,

“Fine, fine,” she waved a hand, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen, “There’s so much to do!”
“Leave it for now,” James said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and helping her stand,
“Let’s all go to bed…”

“That Lily,” Mrs. Potter chuckled, moving slowly up the stairs, “She’s a force to be reckoned
with.”

“Too right.” They all nodded, agreeing.

The moment they reached their room, Remus collapsed on top of the bed, still fully dressed.

“Moony,” Sirius bent to pull off his boots, yawning, “Don’t conk out until you’ve had your potion,
McKinnon’s orders.”

“Mmmph.” Remus groaned, but rolled over and scrabbled for the little bottle on the bedside table.
Sirius stripped off his jacket and kicked off his jeans, crawling into bed in his t-shirt and boxers as
Remus chugged it.

“Whose idea was it to have a wedding right after a full moon?!” He muttered, yawning again as he
curled up next to Moony.

“I told you all to just leave me to it,” Remus mumbled sleepily, throwing an arm over his face.

“And miss the chance to make ‘stag do’ puns for the rest of the week? No chance.”

Remus chuckled at that, and the smile was still playing at the corner of his lips as he drifted off to
sleep moments later.

* * *

They slept until midday, when James finally pulled everyone out of bed and gathered them all
downstairs to review Lily’s list. Sirius quickly realised that there would be no more rest for the
next twenty-four hours—he wondered if they’d even be able to sleep that night, with the amount of
things Lily wanted them to do.

First up was decorating the quidditch hoops in the back garden. Remus squinted up at the goals,
frowning, as Peter levitated a crate of white flowers into the yard.

“Why are we doing this?”

“So they look nice,” James said, trusty Nimbus in hand, “It’s the only way Lily would get married
under them.”

Remus blinked, brow furrowing.

“You’re getting married under your old quidditch hoops?!”

“I know!” James sighed, smiling up at the towering posts, “Brilliant, isn’t it?!”

“Err…”

“Moony,” Sirius jumped in, before Remus could say anything, “You and Pete work on the growing
charm down here, Prongs and I will fly up and do the hoops.”
Actually, it was a good spot of fun, zipping around on their brooms together. Sirius and James went
flying almost every evening now on the motorbike—Prongs was almost as enamoured with her as
Sirius—but it was different on brooms, like they were back at Hogwarts again. They even made a
sort of game of it, tossing flowers to each other through the hoops and racing to see who could
work the fastest, using an accelerated-growth charm to create floral vines that wrapped all the way
around the goal posts. After that, they added more flowers to the trees bordering the garden, and
then summoned all the chairs from the Potters’ attic (positioning themselves carefully when they
cast the spell, to ensure that they didn’t break any windows by sending chairs flying through them).

With the garden mostly set up, Mrs. Potter recruited Sirius and Peter to assist with gathering and
moving all the crockery for the reception, sending James and Remus off to ‘sort out the ballroom.’

Sirius levitated stack after stack of dishware, plates and cups and bowls, setting everything down
wherever Mrs. Potter instructed and then returning to fetch another load. Peter walked along beside
him, and after the third back and forth he grumbled under his breath,

“Don’t see why they couldn’t hire more house elves to do all of this…s’not like they don’t have the
money…”

“Ah, cheer up, Pete!” Sirius nudged him, and Peter’s levitated stack of dishes wobbled
precariously, “It’s more fun this way, isn’t it? Got to make sure that everything’s done perfectly
right for our Mrs. Prongs…”

The other boy grunted, still looking a bit grumpy.

“Hey, d’you wanna hear the new draft of my best man speech?”

“What?”

“I’ve got it up to fourteen deer puns, now—low hanging fruit, honestly, when the word ‘deerly’ is
right there…”

“Oh,” Peter’s face darkened, marginally, “Your best man speech. Right.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, beginning to get fed up with the other boy’s prickly tone.

“What are you, jealous?” He snorted, keeping his voice light, teasing, “Come on, you and Moony
both hate giving speeches—I’m sure if there was a ceremonial best-man chess game, James
would’ve picked you.”

“I’m not jealous,” Peter muttered, frowning, “Besides, we all knew he was going to pick you.”

Which, alright—Sirius supposed that if he was being honest, he knew that was true. But really, it
wasn’t as though it were a big deal—he and James had always been close in a way that the other
marauders weren’t; it was just how things were. They’d all accepted that long ago, so he didn’t
know why Peter was getting snippy about it now.

“Merlin, Wormy, it was a joke,” Sirius sighed, rolling his eyes. When the other boy didn’t respond,
he decided to just let the whole thing go—Pete was probably only tired. He had been angling for
some new promotion at the Ministry, spending long hours in the office when he wasn’t on
missions for the Order, and the gruelling schedule had made him even more of a downer than usual
—plus, after the full moon, none of them were ever at their most chipper and cheerful.

“Oh, thank you loves,” Mrs. Potter said, hurrying over when the two of them returned with their
last load of crockery, “Here, you can set everything down over this way…”
By the time Mary came over that evening to deliver the buttonholes, the marauders were all utterly
knackered, slumped on the sofas in the living room and clutching cups of tea like a bunch of
zombies.

“Ugh, do you have anything stronger?” Mary groaned, throwing herself down next to Remus. “I’ve
been running interference on the Petunia situation all day—I swear to god that I am this close to
hexing her mouth shut permanently.” She pinched her thumb and forefinger together, so that they
were nearly touching. Sirius laughed.

“Is Lily alright?” James sat up a bit, frowning, “Petunia’s not being too awful, is she? I told Lily
we didn’t have to invite her, but you know how she gets…”

Mary waved a hand. “It’s fine, me and Marlene have it handled. We’ll be damned before we let ol’
Tuney ruin this Most Joyous of Occasions.”

“Thanks, Mary,” James smiled, relieved, and stood to rummage in the liquor cabinet, “I dunno
what we’d do without you.” He pulled out a bottle of brandy. “Is this more what you had in mind?”

“Oooh, yes, give it here!” Mary wiggled her fingers, smiling, and James laughed. She summoned a
few glasses, pouring one for herself and one for Remus. Sirius accepted the offered drink, as well,
but James shook his head.

“None for me, thanks.” He settled back into his seat, sighing dreamily. “I already feel drunk just
thinking about tomorrow…”

“Ugh, don’t get him started,” Remus groaned, “He’s been saying sappy shit like that all day…”

Mary laughed, raising her glass.

“To sappy shit!”

* * *

Saturday 8th September 1979

“I think I might be sick,” Peter said, pacing back and forth across the floor, “Oh, Merlin…I can’t
believe this is really happening…”

“Calm down, Wormtail!” Sirius laughed, adjusting his dress robes, “Anyone would think that
you’re the one getting married!”

“I can’t help it! I feel like I’ve swallowed a cage full of billywigs!” He turned to James, chewing
nervously on his nails. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“I’m brilliant,” James said, staring out the window into the garden, which was filling up quickly
with guests. He’d been smiling all morning like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup.

“Come on, then,” Sirius threw an arm around his shoulders, “Everyone dressed? Prongs has got a
very important appointment to keep, if I’m not mistaken…”
The wedding was perfect. Everything went beautifully—even the weather was magnificent, sunny
and clear and unusually warm for September. Mr. and Mrs. Potter looked healthier than they had in
months, glowing with joy and clad in matching gold and red dress robes – they never missed a
chance to showcase their Gryffindor pride. Marlene and Mary were resplendent in the lavender
dresses they had picked out with Lily, hair full of delicate white flowers that matched the lace
pattern of the wedding dress.

Lily, of course, was the most beautiful of all. Even Sirius found himself momentarily breathless
when she stepped down the aisle, red hair swathed in a gauzy white veil, smiling and pink-cheeked,
green eyes sparkling. When Sirius glanced over at James, he saw that the other boy was completely
riveted, staring at Lily as if the rest of the world had fallen away. His eyes were suspiciously shiny,
and he blinked rapidly, seemingly unwilling to look away from Lily long enough to remove his
glasses and wipe at them. By the time the two of them had finished reading their vows, James
wasn’t the only one teary-eyed—quite a few members of the audience could be seen sniffling and
dabbing handkerchiefs at the corners of their eyes, even as they smiled.

The reception was just as joyful as the ceremony; for a few hours, it felt as though the war had
faded away. Everyone talked and mingled freely, sipping champagne and enjoying the feast that
Gully and his helpers had spent days preparing.

The Potters’ house was busier than Sirius had seen it since their Hogwarts-leavers party over a year
ago. Most of the Order members were there—Moody, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Shacklebolt. Sirius
spotted Leo Ferox talking to Remus and Mary, and he spent some time chatting with Alice and
Frank, who had just returned from their own honeymoon. There were also an abundance of
Weasleys; Sirius was pretty sure that he counted at least twenty of the red-haired heads, including
Molly’s five boisterous little boys, who ran around beneath the quidditch hoops insisting that they
be allowed to borrow brooms and play a game.

At dinner, Sirius stood to read his best man speech, complete with a grand total of fifteen deer puns
that had James in stitches and everyone else confused as to why he was laughing so hard. A few
other people stood up to give toasts as well—Mr. Potter, Frank Longbottom, Mary. As the plates
were cleared away, Gully levitated out the enormous thirteen-tiered wedding cake, and everyone
cheered as Lily and James stood to cut it.

Afterwards, the music started up, and the newlywed couple stepped into the centre of the floor for
their first dance. Mrs. Potter watched with her hands clasped together, misty-eyed, as James and
Lily waltzed across the room, looking for all the world as if they’d been ballroom dancing together
for years. Sirius watched anxiously, counting under his breath,

“One two three, one two three…straighten that back, Evans! Good girl…”

The moment they were done the turntable was switched over to modern music, and Sirius laughed
as Andromeda hurried over and pulled him onto the dancefloor.

“Loved the speech!” She said, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the music. Sirius grinned
at her as they spun across the room.

“Thanks!”

After a few songs, they took a breather near the punch table, sipping their drinks while they caught
their breath.

“Never would’ve expected the two of us to end up at another wedding together, eh?” Andromeda
nudged him, playfully, and Sirius shot her a wry smile.
“This one is much better than Bella’s, trust me.”

Andromeda laughed, a little sadly, and Sirius remembered that she hadn’t been invited to that one
—of course. It was after she had stopped talking to her sisters. Or after they’d stopped talking to
her—Sirius never really got the full details on what exactly went down between the three of them
after Andromeda eloped with Ted.

“Where’s Dora?” He asked, changing the subject. Andromeda smiled.

“Ted’s off wrangling her—she’s joined forces with one of the Weasley boys; I’m pretty sure she’ll
have red hair for the next month, now. Once she gets an idea in her head, it’s impossible to get it
out…”

Sirius laughed, shaking his head, and she laughed with him. They stared out at the crowded
dancefloor together, and after a moment his cousin sighed.

“I never did get a chance to thank Remus for what he did,” she said, quietly, “You know, if he
hadn’t been there, then Dora…”

Sirius reached out, squeezing her arm. “It’s over now,” he said, firmly, “He knows you’re
grateful.”

“Still, he’s here tonight—remind me to find him, at some point.”

Sirius waved a hand towards the tables that remained scattered at the edges of the room. “Probably
still over there, somewhere—Moony doesn’t dance.”

“Moony.” Andromeda shook her head, smiling fondly. “Forgot you lot called him that.” She
glanced at Sirius, with a sly smile. “And everything’s going…alright, with the two of you?”

He’d never actually told Andromeda—not directly. But he hadn’t really tried to hide things, either,
and she knew the two of them lived together…Sirius wasn’t really surprised that she’d managed to
put two and two together.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, searching across the room until his eyes landed on Remus—he was still at the
table, sitting next to Mary and laughing at whatever she was saying. “Things are alright.”

“Good,” she nodded, studying his face. “And…you’re doing okay? After—I mean, we haven’t
really had a chance to talk since…”

Sirius stiffened, realising immediately what Andromeda was getting at.

“I’m great,” he said quickly, plastering on a smile. “Never better.”

His cousin was opening her mouth to respond, but Sirius was faster, shouting out to Yasmin and
Marlene as they swept into view.

“Oi, Yaz! You’ve got two left feet—c’mere, let me show you how it’s done…”

The two girls laughed, stumbling over – Marlene was not particularly coordinated in her heels.

“You’re on, Black,” Yasmin said, grinning like he’d just challenged her to a broom race instead of
asking her to dance. Marlene blew them both a kiss and wandered over in the direction of Remus
and Mary, and Sirius began to swing back across the dancefloor wildly with Yasmin as they
competed to see who should lead.
 The festivities continued on until late into the night – it was the first time in ages that Sirius had
seen so many happy people all together in one room, and nobody seemed in any particular hurry to
leave. Sirius danced with just about every partner he could find—Yaz, Marlene, Mary, Alice, even
Dorcas Meadowes, after they’d both had a few glasses of champagne. By the time he collapsed
back into the empty seat next to Remus, he was sweating slightly, breathless and exhausted and
grinning from ear to ear.

“Alright, Moony?” He asked, pointing his wand at an empty glass to fill it with water. When he
looked up, Remus was watching him with a small, distracted smile on his face, eyes bright.
Beneath the table, he reached out to squeeze Sirius’s knee.

“Yeah,” he said, still smiling, “I’m alright.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "i've been waiting for you" by abba!

 The War: Winter 1979
Chapter Summary

what is HE doing here

Chapter Notes

cw: animal cruelty + death in this one -- it's a darker chapter overall, sorry guys

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Some may say

I’m wishing my days away

No way

And if it’s the price I pay

Some say

Tomorrow’s another day

You stay

I may as well play…

Friday 23rd November 1979

In the future, Sirius would look back on that wedding as one of the only bright spots in what soon
became a very long and very dark year. When he found himself exhausted, so run-down he could
hardly stand; when he lay awake at night, worry chewing through him from the inside out; when
he looked around at the haggard faces of his friends, and found himself forgetting what real
happiness even looked like on their features—that was when he would think of Lily, beaming as
she walked down the aisle, and James staring back at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes. Sirius
would think of Mary, laughing and spinning in her lavender dress; Marlene, giggling at something
Yaz had said; Peter, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed as he raised his champagne to toast. He would
think of Remus, with that soft, unguarded smile, reaching out to squeeze his knee under the table.

He would forget most it, of course, in the years to come. That slow corrosion, memories rusting
and crumbling when he wasn’t strong enough to lock them away. He would forget the colour of
the flowers, and the taste of the champagne. He would forget the flavour of the cake and the songs
that they had danced to and the sound of Marlene’s laugh and whether or not Yaz had a dimple on
her left cheek. Eventually, he would forget so much of it that he would find himself wondering, at
times, if it had ever really happened—if it all hadn’t just been some cruel dream.

But he would remember the happiness. Through everything, he would cling to it, until it haunted
him like a ghost.

* * *

Winter crept up around them, sucking any lingering warmth from the air and turning the world
grey and cold. Sirius and James found themselves increasingly on the front lines of Order missions,
sent out on raids or caught in skirmishes, until duelling began to feel as automatic as flying a
broomstick. They often worked with Emmeline, who conducted their missions with a sort of
ruthless efficiency and had taken up Caradoc’s mantle as resident curse-breaker, spending hours
poring over tomes on magical theory when she wasn’t on missions. It was a far cry from the prissy,
rather vapid girl that Sirius remembered dating at Hogwarts—but then he would recall the curse
she’d laid on him when he broke up with her, and wonder if this fervent, somewhat vengeful
determination had always been there, and he had simply never noticed it before.

Dorcas Meadowes was another surprise; they were paired with her often, as well. As time wore on,
she became an even more invaluable member of Dumbledore’s intelligence-gathering program, and
proved to be incredibly brave and clever even when under immense pressure. The more missions
they went on together, the more it baffled Sirius that she had spent nearly a year in that strange on-
again-off-again relationship with Peter, of all people.

Not that Pete wasn’t stepping up to the plate, as well. With his job at the Ministry, he didn’t spend
nearly as much time on Order missions as James and Sirius – but he still helped out quite a bit, and
it wasn’t uncommon for the three of them to find themselves sent out together. Lily was in a
similar position; her apprenticeship as a potion-maker meant that Moody and Dumbledore had her
assigned to more behind-the-scenes missions brewing mysterious concoctions, though she was still
called up every so often when they needed extra wands for a raid or an assignment that required
more in-depth potions knowledge.

Remus, unsurprisingly, became one of the Order’s best researchers – Sirius would often arrive back
at the flat to find him with his nose stuck in a book, scouring the pages to try and identify whatever
new dark magic the death eaters had started using, or else working with Alice to create new spells
that the Order could use against them. He was called out often to help set up barriers and alarm
spells at safe houses, especially approaching the full moons, when his magic was stronger.

Outside of Order missions, Remus began to spend more time with Marlene. She would come over
every few days after her shift at St. Mungo’s ended, and the two of them would sit at the kitchen
table with a pen and paper while Marlene asked questions about what it was like to be a werewolf,
taking pages of notes. Apparently, she had become a sort of advocate for werewolf rights, and was
determined to reform the current standards for lycanthropic healthcare. It was a complete one-
eighty from her views at Hogwarts, and Sirius wasn’t quite sure what to make of it at first—but
Remus seemed to appreciate the effort, and Marlene used the meetings to refill the poultice she had
created for his hip, so Sirius figured he could hardly begrudge her curiosity.

Usually, though, he tried to stay out of the way of their meetings. Remus still didn’t seem entirely
comfortable going into detail about his condition, and ever since everything that had happened with
Greyback the previous spring, Sirius tried to avoid any more werewolf discussion than was
absolutely necessary.

It wasn’t Moony’s fault, of course. Sirius loved him—loved all of him, loved every shape he took.
But he couldn’t forget the distance, the barrier between them when Remus had finally come back.
He still saw it, sometimes—when he’d catch Remus staring out the window, turned towards the
moon with a faraway look in his eyes. Or when they’d pass some kid roughing it on the streets,
down on his luck, and something would flicker in Moony’s gaze, as though he were seeing
someone else. Or when they’d apparate to one of the sprawling forests for the moon, and Remus
would sigh, quietly, like he was coming home.

Sirius hated it. Maybe it wasn’t fair of him, but he did. In those tiny moments where he noticed
Remus slipping, briefly, away, he wanted nothing more than to grab him, to shake him, to cling to
him. You’re not theirs, some small, possessive voice in the back of his mind would scream, You’re
not theirs. You’re mine.

It might have been better, if they weren’t both so busy. The drastic difference in the nature of their
Order missions meant that, as the months wore on, they hardly ever saw each other—Sirius would
be sent off for some late night guard duty, only to come home in the morning just as Remus was
leaving for an early rendezvous with Alice to look over an ancient runic manuscript. Or he’d wake
at the crack of dawn to find that Remus had been out all night helping set up the enchantments on a
new safe house, and was just arriving home to pass out in bed.

When they did manage to find a few spare hours together, they didn’t talk about the war. They
didn’t talk about the latest deaths, or the newest attacks, or the daily headlines about radicals and
terrorists and violence. Instead, they talked about what takeaway to order for dinner, or whose turn
it was to do the laundry, or the new album Andromeda had sent Sirius for his birthday. They sat on
the sofa and ate curry and read books and listened to music, and pretended that they were both
thinking about anything other than the stupid, unending, soul-sucking war.

So when Marlene stopped by the flat one dreary afternoon in November to talk werewolves with
Remus, Sirius quietly excused himself and headed down to the garage, shoulders hunched against
the chill.

He flicked on the light as he walked in, casting a heating charm on the floor to stave off the chill.
The bike needed more regular maintenance with the strain she took from flying, so Sirius settled
cross-legged in front of her, waving his wand at the radio to turn it on before sticking it behind his
ear and getting to work.

He was singing along under his breath to the Stranglers song that came on – “And it sounds like an
empty house, standing still…” – wrench in hand, when the shuffle of footsteps came from outside
the open door.

“Hello.”

Sirius glanced up, blinking. Remus stood in the doorway, scarf wrapped around his neck, hands
shoved into his coat pockets.

“Hello, what are you doing here?”

“Marlene left.” Remus hovered, awkwardly, “Thought I’d just pop down and see what you’re up
to.”

“Same old. Just tinkering.” Sirius waved the wrench in his hand.
“Oh, ok.”

“…sit down for a bit, if you like. I’m nearly finished.” Sirius flapped a hand towards the little stool
sitting in the corner.

“Only if I’m not in your way.”

“Don’t be silly.” Sirius smiled at him, encouragingly, and Remus finally sat, propping his elbows
on his knees and a hand under his chin.

Sirius continued to work, radio playing quietly in the background, as Remus watched. It was nice
—peaceful. The garage had become a sort of oasis throughout the past few difficult months, a
place where Sirius could lose himself in the familiar smell of motor oil and the simple problem-
solving of muggle mechanics.

“How are you?” Remus asked, suddenly, after a few minutes of contented silence.

“Eh?” Sirius had his wand stuck between his teeth, now—he had to speak around it. “Fine.”

“No, I mean really.” Remus prompted, “Are you ok? Just in general? Don’t feel like I’ve asked
much lately.”

Sirius turned to look at him, setting down his wand. Remus was frowning slightly, face serious—
what had brought this on??

“I’m fine, Remus,” Sirius repeated, “Don’t worry.”

The other boy stuck his tongue out, serious gaze replaced with a smirk. “But I love worrying.”

Sirius huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to the bike. “How are you?”

“Good.” Remus replied, automatically. Then, “Well, you know. As good as it’s possible to be, right
now.”

“Mm. Do you fancy a takeaway for dinner? I don’t want to cook.”

“Yeah, ok.”

They fell silent, again. Sirius squinted at the engine, trying to decide if it needed another round of
spellwork before flying again.

“What are these?”

When he looked up, Remus was picking at the tape on the stack of cardboard boxes to his left.
Sirius grabbed an old dishcloth, looking back down at his hands as he wiped them, and said
carefully,

“Oh…those are the boxes from Gethin.”

“What?” Remus stood, abruptly. Sirius bit his lip.

“I know you said to get rid of the stuff your mum left you, but…well you weren’t in any state to
talk about it after the funeral, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you regretting it. So James and I
went to collect them, and I’ve just had it all here.”

“I can’t believe you.” Remus shook his head, staring at the stack of boxes.
“Moony, I’m sorry,” Sirius stood up, quickly, fiddling nervously with the dishcloth, “It wasn’t
meant to be a secret or anything, I swear! It’s just that after your mum passed away it was one
disaster after the other, so it sort of slipped my mind…and you can still get rid of them, if you want
to, I haven’t looked.”

When Remus turned, he was smiling. “Sirius,” he said, fondly, “I mean I can’t believe you. You’re
amazing. Thank you.”

“Oh.” Sirius ducked his head, relieved, “That’s good. Because you had so little time with her, I
thought you’d want something to remember her by. Do you want to look now?”

Remus paused, considering. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Not just yet. Maybe on a rainy day.”

Remus helped him tidy up a bit before the two of them walked back to the flat, ducking into a pie
shop along the way. Remus offered to carry the paper bag, and Sirius let him—the wind had
kicked up, stinging their faces, and he had forgotten his gloves.

“Seriously,” Remus said, as they plodded upstairs to the flat, “Thank you so much for the boxes.
I’d have forgotten all about them.”

“S’ok,” Sirius muttered, shrugging, “I know if I had anything of Reg’s…”

No.

He broke off, abruptly.

Don’t think about that.

He tensed, waiting for Remus to say something—to respond, taking this as an opportunity to talk
about—

No. Stop it, stop it—

Sirius focused very hard on unlocking the door, trying desperately to strangle his stampeding
thoughts. Mercifully, Remus kept quiet, perhaps sensing the tension. As they entered the flat,
Sirius took the first opportunity to change the subject, proclaiming loudly,

“Bloody hell, Moony, it’s freezing in here!”

“Sorry!” Remus grinned, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sirius got to work lighting a fire, and Remus went to fetch plates from the kitchen. They ate on the
sofa, side by side, with the new album from the Police spinning on the record player—Andromeda
had sent it for Sirius’s birthday.

After they were done eating, Sirius curled into Remus’s side, resting his head on the taller boy’s
shoulder. Remus wrapped an arm around him, levitating the plates into the kitchen. They sat, for a
while, warm and quiet and sleepy, listening to the bouncy guitar riffs.

‘We could be together, walking on…walking on the moon…’

“How’s Marls?” Sirius asked, stifling a yawn.

“Yeah, fine. A bit down.”

“Down?”

“She’s just having a hard time with the war,” Remus said, hesitating for a moment before adding,
“I think we all are, aren’t we?”

Sirius swallowed, thinking about late-night missions and flashing curses and Emmeline shouting
frantically for a healer – about the dark circles growing under James’s eyes, and Mrs. Potter’s
weak cough that never seemed to go away, and the horrible, inescapable weight of exhaustion that
seemed to drag at his every step.

“Yeah,” he breathed, words barely a whisper, “We are.”

* * *

Friday 21st December 1979

In early December, both Fleamont and Euphemia were hospitalised at St. Mungo’s. Dragon pox –
it may as well have been a death sentence. James could barely get the words out—he called Sirius
through the mirror the second he received the diagnosis, choking on his own tears. Lily had to take
the little compact, gently, from his hand, and Sirius felt his heart turn to ice as he listened to her
murmur the words.

The second she was gone, Sirius stood and walked to the bathroom, locking himself inside. He
stayed for two hours, curled up in the tub, trying to hold himself together as he thought of Mr.
Potter’s kind smile, and Mrs. Potter’s hugs, and the way they’d taken him in when he had nowhere
else to go. How Mr. Potter called him ‘son’ and Mrs. Potter always kissed his forehead before she
went up to bed, and how they’d given him a family—a real family—for the first time in his life.

Because dragon pox was highly contagious, there was no easy way to visit them at the hospital; the
Potters were kept in a separate ward, and any visitors had to sign a stack of liability forms and
submit to a series of immunising and protective spells before entering, then undergo a complete
check-up before leaving. The entire process took at least an hour.

Still, James went nearly every day, spending any free moment that he had at the hospital. He had to
pick up most of the work that Fleamont had been doing, and was up late most nights trying to sort
through everything in his father’s study – between that, the hospital visits, and his missions for the
Order, Sirius had never seen James more exhausted in his life. Even at Hogwarts, when he’d stay
up until one in the morning working on a prank or revising for exams and then get up at the crack
of dawn for quidditch, Prongs had always been infallibly cheerful and lively.

Now, though, James developed permanent dark circles under his eyes, and when he didn’t think
anyone was looking Sirius would sometimes catch him staring blankly into the distance with a sort
of hopeless resignation that looked entirely wrong on his face. It made Sirius’s skin crawl—out of
all of them, Prongs was supposed to be the optimist. But Sirius supposed that it was difficult to be
optimistic when your parents were in the hospital and there was nothing you could do but watch
them waste away, little by little, day by day.

All things considered, nobody was particularly cheery as the Christmas season rolled around.
Spending it at the Potters’ was out of the question, of course, and it hadn’t felt right to try and
make any other plans—there just didn’t seem to be very much to celebrate. And besides, the Order
certainly wasn’t giving them any days off.

On the Friday before Christmas, Sirius and James were sent all the way to West Cork on a mission.
Alice had received a tip off from some old friends there about rumours of a black magic ritual, and
since she hadn’t been able to go herself, the task fell to the two of them. Normally, the Order might
send a larger team for something like this, but with numbers rapidly dwindling everyone had been
spread a bit thin. Moody gave Sirius and James strict instructions that the mission was meant to be
reconnaissance only, and not to engage if they encountered a gathering of death eaters—there was
no telling if the Order would be able to send backup across the distance in time. Knowing this,
Sirius left the compact mirror with Remus – just in case.

“How are your mum and dad?” Sirius asked, as he and James made their way to the portkey. The
other boy shrugged, smiling sadly.

“About as well as can be expected, I s’pose. Mum wants us to stop by for a bit on Christmas, if we
can. I told her we’ll try…”

“Of course we can!” Sirius nodded, earnestly. He had visited Mr. and Mrs. Potter a handful of
times with James, but he hadn’t been going nearly as often as the other boy. It made him feel guilty
—he thought of the Potters as his parents, yet at the same time he knew that he would never have
the sort of claim James had to them…Sirius felt a bit iffy about what was appropriate, what sort of
grief he was entitled to.

“Ok,” James nodded, looking down at his feet, “I wasn’t sure if Moony would want to, y’know,
after everything with his mum…”

Sirius winced, slightly—he hadn’t even thought of that. Remus had already spent so much time in
hospitals…

“I’ll talk to him,” he said, “See how he feels. I’m sure he’ll want to be there—you know we’re both
here for you, Prongs, if there’s anything—anything at all that you need.”

“Alright,” James nodded, chewing on his lip, “Because…I don’t want him to feel like he has to,
but…it would be nice. To have everyone there—just for a bit.” He chuckled, weakly, “I mean, so
long as Moody doesn’t have some new crisis to throw at us.”

Sirius reached out, briefly, to squeeze his friend’s shoulder. “We’ll be there, then.” He said, with
what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “I promise.”

The portkey was a pile of old newspapers, left in a heap on the side of an empty road. It brought
them to the side of another empty road, somewhere between the villages of Glandore and Leap,
which twisted off into the distant, rolling hills.

“Better get a move on,” James said, wrapping his scarf a bit more tightly around his neck, “Lots of
ground to cover, eh?”

They spent the better part of the day trekking through the hills, following the small map that Alice
had given them. It was enchanted—a joint effort from both Alice and Remus—to highlight areas
where there had been a recent increase in dark magic; they appeared as small grey splotches of ink,
bruising the landscape. The darkest section was a few kilometres southeast of where the portkey
had dropped them, which meant an hours-long hike that might have been lovely in July or August,
but was absolutely miserable in the middle of winter.
It was an unusually cold day, and the brisk wind whipped at their hair and faces, stinging their
cheeks. Sirius hunched his shoulders against the cold, grumbling and complaining most of the way.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered, as they drew closer to the dark area on the map, “It’s too open—not
enough cover.”

James nodded, agreeing. There were a few scattered patches of trees along the path that they were
following, but for the most part it was wide open plains, rolling hills. It was probably beautiful in
the summer—lush and green. But under the dreary grey December sky, everything took on a sort
of faded quality, the bare tree branches like gnarled fingers.

They paused just outside a small church with faded, whitewashed walls. James frowned down at
the map, and Sirius glanced around, shivering. They had just reached the edge of the darkest grey
spot, but Sirius wouldn’t have needed the map to know it; there was a palpable difference in the
air, a chill that went deeper than the stinging wind.

“I’ll change into Padfoot,” he said, unconsciously lowering his voice, “See if I can smell
anything.”

James nodded, reluctantly. “Alright, but come straight back if you do—I don’t like the feel of this.”

Padfoot had hardly gone another twenty metres down the road when he caught the scent—dark
magic, thick in the air, bitter on the back of his tongue. He growled, instinctively, hackles raised,
before getting control of himself and skirting over to some bushes, pausing to sniff the air.

There were people. A group of them—Padfoot couldn’t tell how many; the scent was faint,
smothered by magic. At least three, maybe more. And something else, too, something animal and
familiar…something that carried a different magical scent, pure and strong and heady. It was ripe
with fear—prey.

Padfoot returned to James, and when he transformed back they spent a few minutes whispering
furtively, trying to figure out what the hell they were supposed to do next.

“We can’t just leave,” Sirius hissed, trying to ignore the awful chill of dark magic in the air, “They
sent us here to figure out what’s going on—we have to get closer.”

“They told us not to engage! Moody’s instructions were very clear—”

“So we don’t engage, then! Look—we’ll just…watch. Find a spot to spy from—it’ll be like any
other stakeout.”

“What spot?” James waved his arms, gesturing to the unconcealed hills. Sirius huffed, running a
hand through his hair. He wished they’d brought the invisibility cloak with them—but James had
given it to Lily; she was on reconnaissance somewhere with Edgar Bones.

“We’ll follow the treeline,” Sirius insisted, “I’ll change into Padfoot, you can use a concealment
charm. We’ll stay out of sight. Stick around ‘til they finish whatever it is they’re doing, then
investigate—see if they leave anything behind, if we can figure out why they’re all the way out
here.”

James considered this, taking off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he
sighed.

“Fine,” he gave Sirius a stern look, “But if things even start to go south—if they even start to look
like they might go south—we pull out. Ok?”
Sirius nodded. “Ok.”

They stuck close to the sparse trees, making their way slowly towards the source of the magic.
They stopped once they reached a copse that jutted a bit further down the hill, where they were
concealed by the underbrush but had a clear enough view to see out.

“Alice marked that on the map,” James breathed, “The Druid’s Altar.”

They were staring at an ancient circle of upright stones—slate grey, rough-hewn, spotted with
lichen; the remnants of some long-abandoned ritual site.

But it wasn’t abandoned now. A circle of figures in black robes stood, one in front of each stone,
arms lifted as they cast some unfamiliar spell that stung Padfoot’s nose with the burn of its
darkness. There was something in the centre of the circle, some large, writhing animal that Padfoot
couldn’t quite make out—but he could smell it, the scent strangely familiar, as if he’d come across
it only briefly before…

“What are they doing…?” James muttered under his breath, squinting through the trees. The sun
was setting quickly, casting long shadows over the ground, making it even more difficult to see.

And then the screaming began.

It was horrible – a ragged, inhuman shriek, shrill and grating, pure agony. James flinched away,
instinctively, and Padfoot flattened his ears, whimpering.

“Fuck—” James hissed, recoiling, “Fuck—what the fuck is that?”

Padfoot growled, low in his throat. He could smell blood, now, tainted with magic. Every one of
his instincts screamed at him to run.

He didn’t. They waited, silent and tense, in their hiding spot, listening and watching and holding
their breath. The screams went on and on, endlessly, jagged and sharp and so full of pain that
Padfoot wanted to chew his own ears off.

Eventually, they faded. The awful piercing shrieks died out, quieting into a rhythmic, whinnying
whimper.

“Merlin,” James whispered, horrified, “Is that—was that a fucking horse? What the hell are they
doing to it?”

In the end, they didn’t have to wait much longer to find out.

As night fell around them, the ritual drew to a close. Padfoot could hear the faint sounds of what
sounded like some sort of argument—angry voices, brief bursts of shouting. He tried, again, to sniff
out how many death eaters there were, but everything was still too clouded by the stench of dark
magic.

As they watched, the dark-robed figures began to apparate, one by one. Sirius waited until they had
left to change back, and then he and James spent another hour crouched amongst the trees, waiting
to ensure that no one was coming back. Once they were certain the coast was clear, they made their
way slowly down the hill, wands raised.

They reached the stones, and Sirius felt his stomach turn.

Whatever they’d been trying to accomplish with their ritual, it had clearly gone wrong—it only
took one look at the ground in front of them for Sirius and James to know that. There was no way
that this…that anything about this could possibly be right.

There were runes, burned into the grass around the edges of the circle—Sirius wished Alice was
with them, or Emmeline, or Remus. He didn’t have a clue what any of them meant. Each symbol
was connected by a single, interweaving line that looped between the stones in strange and
unfathomable pattern, eventually twisting inwards to create some sort of criss-crossed circle in the
centre.

In the middle of it all, there was a unicorn. A real unicorn—Sirius had never seen one so close
before. He’d only ever caught a glimpse once, on a full moon, running through the Forbidden
Forest as Padfoot. The strange, vaguely familiar scent suddenly made sense.

“It’s still alive,” James said, faintly, sounding equal parts revolted and disbelieving.

“Fuck,” Sirius breathed, as panic began to bubble up in his chest, “Fuck—James, what is that?”

There was something moving, something crawling under its skin. They watched the flesh distort,
ripple, expand and contract as…something twisted beneath it, like it was trying to escape. It glowed
faintly, a bright orange light, and every time it pressed close to the surface of the skin Sirius could
see organs and veins, lit from within, like shadow puppets against a wall. The unicorn was panting,
flank heaving, breathing in rapid gasps.

“I…” James shook his head, as the blood drained from his face, “I think it’s…magic.”

Sirius turned, and threw up into the grass.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck—”

The flesh on the beast’s forehead was writhing—a second horn burst through the surface of the
skin, blood spattering, and then retracted. Two more sprang up in its place, like knives stabbing
outwards, quickly withdrawn—for a moment the unicorn’s brow was smooth, as its horn melted
back into its skin, and then a new one burst out, and another—

“James what—what—”

“It’s…” James swallowed, hard, staring down at the animal. “It’s like they’ve…corrupted its
magic, somehow. I’ve—I remember reading about something like this, with obscurials; magic can
be turned in on itself, like a…a parasite, but…” He shook his head, “That’s only…that’s just with
wizards. Wizards who try to suppress their magic. This…shouldn’t be possible.”

“Why would they do this??” Sirius tugged at his hair, voice edging towards hysteria, “What’s the
fucking—point?!”

“It can make magic stronger,” James said, flatly. The unicorn’s eyes were rolling in its head, mouth
foaming. “It’s why obscurials never live very long. The magic starts to feed on them, and it gets
too strong, and it kills them.” He took a shaky breath. “We need to get a good look at these runes.
We can give the memory to Dumbledore—someone’ll need to translate them, to figure out exactly
what they were trying to do. I think this was an experiment.”

“Okay,” Sirius took a breath, “Okay, and then we need to get the fuck out of here.”

They walked around the circle, mapping out each symbol, committing them to memory. The
second it was done, Sirius turned around.
“Let’s go.”

“Wait!” James placed a hand on his arm.

“What is it?”

When he looked back, James was staring down at the unicorn, face twisted with pity.

“We can’t leave it like that.”

“We can’t…” Sirius shook his head, wand gripped in his fist. “We can’t kill a unicorn, James.
That’s—it would curse us.”

“If we just—” James gestured, helplessly, to the runes. “If we break the enchantment…that…that
should…”

“We don’t know what’ll happen if we break it, James. This is runic magic—neither of us know
what we’re fucking around with here.”

The other boy’s face hardened. “We have to try.” Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but James cut
him off before he could speak. “It’s suffering, Padfoot. Look at it.”

Sirius did. It was a mistake—the unicorn’s eyes had focused, as though it knew, somehow, what
they were talking about. They were far too intelligent, those eyes. Begging.

“…fine. But I’m apparating us out the second anything goes wrong.”

“Of course.” James nodded.

For a moment, they stared at each other, eyes locked. Then James turned to the runes, wand raised,
and Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder—just in case.

“Ready?”

Sirius nodded.

James waved his wand. “Finite.”

The line connecting the two runes in front of him severed. Instantly, the entire configuration burst
into flames, disappearing as they burned. The fire ate its way to the centre of the circle—the
unicorn screamed, one final, ghastly cry—

And then it was gone. Obliterated—nothing but an explosion of fire and ash, which fell like snow
around them, covering their clothes, their hair, their skin. Sirius shuddered, stumbling backwards,
choking.

“Fuck!” He yelped, losing his grip on James’s shoulder. He flailed out, eyes squeezed shut against
the soot; the moment he had Prongs back in his grasp, they were apparating away.

* * *

They decided to wait until the next morning to report back on what they’d found, agreeing that
they were both too exhausted to relive the memory that night. Sirius called Remus, though, on
James’s mirror, aware of the fact that he’d been gone all day without so much as a word—knowing
Moony, he was probably going mental worrying about it. Sirius knew that he would be, if the
positions were reversed.

He began to speak the moment Remus’s face appeared in the glass, reassuring him that everything
was fine.

“All’s well. Both ended up covered in ash, though – don’t ask – going to wash off at Prongs’ then
have something to eat – be a while yet.”

“As long as you’re ok!” Remus said, leaning in close, half-whispering.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Sirius said, trying to make his voice sound less hollow. Then he registered the
whispering, and Moony’s flushed cheeks, and the sort of glazed look in his eyes.

“Where are you? At home?”

Remus glanced away, guiltily. “Pub.”

“With Mary?”

“No, with…um. With Grant. He’s celebrating the end of exams.”

“Oh,” Sirius said, voice cold, “Celebrating.”

“I got invited out, that’s all.” Remus said, defensively, “I was going mad in the flat by myself.”

Right. Of course. While Sirius was out crouching in bushes and watching a fucking unicorn get
tortured to death, Remus was having a really difficult time sitting on their sofa, in their cosy flat
full of books and records and the new tea Sirius had just bought for him last week.

“Ok, Moony,” he said, biting back the anger that crept up his throat—he was too tired for a fight.
“Have fun.”

He slammed the compact shut, scowling, and James eyed him warily.

“…do you want to—”

“No,” Sirius snapped, shoving the mirror back into James’s hands, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

James frowned, but didn’t ask again.

He stayed in the shower for a long while, watching the water run black with soot—then grey, then
clear again. Eventually, James came to bang on the door, shouting that if he wanted any dinner
he’d better come downstairs now, because he wasn’t about to make Gully stay up all night.

They ate quietly, both too tired to say much. Fortunately, Lily was there to fill the silence with
chatter about her day at work—James had told her about what happened while Sirius was in the
shower, and every so often she would reach out to squeeze his hand or smooth back a lock of hair.
Watching them, Sirius felt a horrible longing for Remus—but then he thought of Remus with
Grant, out at a pub, celebrating, and the anger rose like bile. It was exhausting; by the time he
returned to the flat, he wanted nothing more than to lie down and pass out just so that he could stop
bloody thinking.

Unfortunately, life had other plans. Sirius unlocked the door, quietly, a few hours later, assuming
that Remus was probably in bed by now – it was the middle of the night.

Remus was not in bed. He was in the armchair, unlit cigarette dangling forgotten between his
fingers, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a small, private smile. Across from him,
Grant lolled across the sofa, smiling back with the sort of tender reverence that was usually
reserved for description in sappy poetry, through the overuse of celestial metaphors—like staring
into the sun, like his eyes held all the stars in the sky, etcetera, etcetera.

Grant sat up, quickly, the moment Sirius entered, with a guilty flush creeping over his face. Sirius
glanced between the two of them, warily.

“…hello.”

“Hiya mate!” Grant chirped, over-loud and too enthusiastic, bumping into the coffee table as he
stood and extended a hand. There was an empty bottle of whiskey on top of it—great. They were
both drunk.

Sirius shook his hand, because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Grant’s celebrating the end of his exams,” Remus said, with a sheepish smile, eyes darting back
and forth between the two of them.

“Oh,” Sirius said, flatly, “Congratulations.”

“Cheers!” Grant slurred, “‘ave a drink? Oh bugger, we’ve ‘ad it all…”

“It’s fine.” Sirius crossed his arms, anger simmering in his chest. He raised a brow, haughty and
judgmental, eyeing the empty bottle. “I’m going to bed.”

He turned without another word, walking down the hall and shutting the door to the bedroom
behind him.

Fuck.

He leaned against the door for a moment, breathing.

What the fuck?!

The anger snarled and paced—Sirius didn’t have the energy for it. So he shoved it down,
struggling to lock it away. He just wanted to sleep, to close his eyes, to succumb to a few blissful
hours of unconsciousness.

The door opened, and Remus slipped in. Sirius ignored him, yanking off his shirt – which still
smelt of ash, even after the scourgify he’d used.

“How’d the mission go?” Remus asked, shutting the door and sitting down at the end of the bed,
“Is James—”

No. No, fuck that—Sirius couldn’t just act like things were normal. The anger burst out, blood hot
in his veins, as he hissed,

“A muggle in the flat, Remus?! Did you even think about the danger?!”

“What danger?” Remus asked, dopily, voice thick through the haze of alcohol.

“There’s a war on! This place is supposed to be a safe house, it’s supposed to be locked down
tighter than Gringotts!”

“Funny.” Remus said, coldly, “I thought it was supposed to be our home.”

Sirius bit his tongue, glaring down at his hands as he tied the string on his pyjama bottoms. Our
home, he thought, furiously, Ours. Not his.

Remus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, he lives in Brighton; I couldn’t have just
abandoned him at a train station, he was plastered.”

“So the solution was to get even more plastered?”

Remus frowned, jaw set. “Sonoro Quiescis.” He dropped his wand on the bed after casting the
silencing charm, and stretched out his arms, challenging. “If you want a fight, let’s go, I’m more
than happy to oblige.”

Of course. Because that was the only way Remus bloody Lupin could ever deal with anything—by
shutting down or blowing up.

“I don’t want to fight,” Sirius said, through gritted teeth, “I want to sleep.”

“Ok, fine.” Remus turned away, as if he couldn’t care less, tugging off his jumper and shirt and
beginning to change for bed. Sirius crawled under the duvet, glaring at him.

“Can’t believe you just went out to get pissed.”

“It’s Christmas.” Remus scowled, “Sorry if I wanted to squeeze a tiny bit of joy out of the season.”

“You couldn’t wait, could you? The second I left the house you had to—”

“You’re always leaving! Am I supposed to sit around worrying myself sick all night?! I still exist
when you’re not here, you know, I still need to talk to people sometimes.”

“Ha!” The laugh was hurled, like a knife, “You want someone to pour your heart out to, all of a
sudden? That’s rich.”

“Go fuck yourself!” Remus shouted, hands balling up into fists.

“Go and fuck your muggle!” Sirius shouted back, voice catching slightly on the lump in his throat,
“That’s obviously what he’s here for!”

Remus recoiled, shocked, and stared down at Sirius as if he couldn’t believe his ears—which was
ridiculous, and completely unfair, because anyone with eyes could have seen the way Grant was
looking at him. The way they were looking at each other.

After a moment, Remus shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. His fists uncurled; his shoulders
slumped.

“Grant’s on the couch because he’s my friend and I didn’t want any harm to come to him.” He
said, firmly. “And I’m in here with you, because there’s nobody else I’d rather be in a room with.
Even when you’re being a massive tosser.”

Sirius hated the warmth that spread through him with the words. He was angry, and Remus was a
prick, and he didn’t want to forgive him just yet. But he didn’t know what else to say—how to put
into words the writhing mess of emotion in his chest. So he just lay back, arms crossed petulantly,
staring up at the ceiling.
 “You’re a massive tosser.”

Remus laughed, quietly, pulling on his pyjama shirt and crawling into bed.

“I’m your massive tosser,” He was smirking, voice low, peeling back the duvet slowly. Sirius
watched him, the hungry burn of his eyes, those long fingers reaching for the string of his pyjama
bottoms. He pulled them down gently, licking his lips. “Let me make it up to you?”

And Remus was still drunk, and Sirius was still angry, and Grant was still there, in their flat,
separated only by thin walls and silencing spells. But Sirius was so tired, and it was so much easier
to lie back and let the rising heat curl through him, slow and sweet like honey.

So he nodded, and arched his back, and took whatever Remus would give him.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "walking on the moon" by the police; "duchess" by the
stranglers is the song sirius is singing in the garage :)
 The War: Spring & Summer 1980
Chapter Summary

the ciiiiiircle of liiiiiife

Chapter Notes

cw: death of parents

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The future is but a question mark

Hangs above my head there in the dark

Can’t see for the brightness is staring me blind

God bid yesterday goodbye

Bring on the night

I couldn’t stand another hour of daylight

Bring on the night

I couldn’t stand another hour of daylight

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter did not live to see 1980. They passed away just a few days shy of
the new year, within hours of each other.

James was out on a mission with Frank when it happened. He didn’t get to say goodbye.

Sirius cried for hours when he first heard the news, unable to do anything but repeat, desperately,
over and over,

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

A world without the Potters just didn’t make sense. They had always been there, even when no one
else was—offering their home and their time and their endless supply of love to any who needed it.
Sirius sobbed until his throat was raw, his eyes stinging and red. Remus held him, stroking his hair.

He pulled himself together, after that. He had to for James, who floated through his own home like
a ghost, staring blankly at walls, crying quiet tears. They had all known this was coming—but that
didn’t make it any easier. James Potter was not built for helpless grief; Sirius had never seen him
shoulder a weight he couldn’t carry. But now, as the house filled with mourners and old friends and
Order members seeking to share their condolences, Sirius was forced to watch his best friend
shrink. It was like watching the sun die.

“The very best of wizard kind,” Dumbledore said, in the speech that he gave at the funeral, “A
beacon of understanding, tolerance, good humour and community – all those values we hold most
dear.”

James spoke, too, shuffling the muggle notecards that Lily had given him anxiously, staring down
at his hands.

“When I was five,” he said, in a shaky voice, “I decided that I was going to be a quidditch player.”
He glanced up, smiling weakly. “It’s…every kid’s pipe dream, I know. I mean, who doesn’t want
to be a quidditch player when they’re five?” There was some scattered chuckling from the gathered
crowd, and he went on,

“Looking back on it, any practical person might have written it off. Maybe bought their kid a toy
broomstick and waited a few years—I mean, most kids don’t always want to do what they say they
want to do when they’re five, y’know?” He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. “But not my parents. My
mum started bringing home quidditch magazines, and listened to me natter on about it for…well,
for my whole life, really. And my dad—”

He broke off, for a moment, to suck in a breath. Lily was standing beside him, and she reached out
to take his hand.

“…my dad’s the one who taught me how to fly.” James rubbed at his eyes again, knocking his
glasses askew so that they sat tilted on his nose. “He would come home every day from work, and
take me out to the backyard, and show me how to balance, and how to turn, and how to grip a
broom correctly. Everything…”

Another pause; another breath.

“A lot of you know my dad from work, in one way or another. But something—something you
might not know about him is that…that…” His voice cracked, thick with grief, but he soldiered on,
“My dad was afraid of heights.”

James was crying now, reaching up to wipe the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.
“He was afraid of heights, and I—I didn’t even know it, not until last year. When he…when he was
in school, he failed his flying class, because…he couldn’t even make it off the ground.”

Lily had an arm wrapped around his shoulders, now, which were shaking as he cried. James took
off his glasses, pressing one hand to his face. His voice came out muffled as he said,

“I never knew, because—because he did it for me. He taught me to fly, even though he…because
I…because he knew it was my dream. And they wanted me to have that, and I…” He managed to
compose himself, a bit, straightening slightly and scrubbing the tears from his face. “What I’m
trying to say is, I wouldn’t be the man I am today if not for them. If not for everything they did for
me. And…I’m going to work, every day, to make their dream a reality – to make the wizarding
world a better place, a place where everyone is equal, and respected, and welcomed. That’s…that
was all they wanted. They dedicated their lives to it, and I know…if they could see you all here,
now, see everyone whose lives they’ve touched—I know they’d be so happy. So happy.”

Sirius, Remus, and Peter formed a protective barrier around him at the reception, and in the weeks
that followed—insulating him from the various wizards who dropped by, offering food and flowers
and endless, useless condolences. Lily took care of all the paperwork, anything financial or legal,
spending hours poring over reference books on wizarding property law. Alice and Molly came by
periodically to help her, and to assist with packing up anything that needed to be put away in the
house.

For the next month, Sirius found himself spending more time at the Potters’ than at his own flat.
He practically moved back into his old bedroom, just to make sure that there was someone there to
spend the nights with James. The other boy had begun to have trouble sleeping, and Sirius would
frequently wake in the middle of the night to find Prongs downstairs, sitting in the living room with
a cup of tea, frowning down at some bit of paperwork or a coded message from one of their Order
contacts.

On those nights, Sirius would haul him off the sofa and shove him onto the back of his bike, and
the two of them would fly over London, letting the freezing night air bite at their faces. They’d
carry on until their noses had gone numb, or until they caught sight of the sun rising over the
Thames—only then would Sirius turn around, and fly them back to the house, where they could
collapse for a few hours of dreamless sleep before waking up and getting back to work.

Of course, this arrangement meant that he was seeing less and less of Remus as the weeks went by.
If they weren’t out on Order missions, one of them was always at the Potters—usually Sirius, but
Remus stayed over, too, when Sirius couldn’t. And Peter stayed when neither of them could go;
between the three of them and Lily, they made sure James was never alone.

When Sirius and Remus did find themselves together at the flat, in those rare early mornings or
fleeting hours at night, there was never much time for talking. Usually, they both needed sleep, or
else they’d end up sitting quietly on the sofa, drinking tea or eating takeaway or staring out the
window. Sometimes, Sirius would lean against Remus’s shoulder, and Moony would wrap an arm
around him, and they would do nothing but sit and breathe together. Other times, Remus would
curl up with a book on the sofa, and Sirius would go to bed, and in the morning one of them would
already be gone.

All in all, it was not a particularly jolly holiday season. In fact, things only seemed to get more
bleak throughout the month of January, as the weather got colder and the weeks dragged by, and it
wasn’t until early February that any of them finally found something to celebrate.

It was a rare Sunday afternoon where none of them had been sent on any missions, and there were
no pressing crises to take care of. Remus was preoccupied studying counter curses, and James
called Sirius on the mirror to ask if he’d bring the motorbike around. Sirius, of course, was happy
to oblige; they spent the afternoon soaring out in the country, over rolling hills and the bare
branches of trees.

It had snowed the previous night, and once they got far enough from the village and its
surrounding homes the entire world turned to a smooth, white canvas, interrupted only by stray
animal prints. Sirius landed the bike on top of a particularly tall hill, kicking up powdery snow as
he shut off the engine and stood. It was eerily quiet, sound muffled by the thick blanket of snow
surrounding them.

“Feels like we’re in the middle of the ocean, or something,” he mused, dropping his voice
unintentionally to match the hushed atmosphere. James laughed, breath clouding in front of his
face.

“Yeah…” he smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets. For a moment, they were both quiet.

“…how are you doing?”

“Hmm?”

“Y’know,” Sirius shrugged, nudging the toe of his boot into the snow, “With everything.”

“Oh. Um…better, I think. I still miss them, every day, but it’s…it’s gotten easier.” He shook his
head, glancing away, “Less…sharp? If that makes sense. I used to wake up every morning, and
there would be a second where I’d forget that they were gone, and I’d think I was going to go
downstairs and find my mum in the kitchen making breakfast or my dad sitting at the table reading
his newspaper, and then it would all come crashing back and I just…” He swallowed, taking a deep
breath.

“I think that’s why I’ve been…having trouble sleeping. It was that one second, every morning, and
I just—” Another pause; another deep breath. “…but I’m starting to accept it, now. Instead of…I
dunno, fighting it. And you’ve all—you’ve all helped so much, Sirius, you have no idea…”

“Come on, cut it out,” Sirius knocked their shoulders together, swallowing the lump in his own
throat, “Gonna make me cry, Prongs, merlin…”

James laughed, shakily. “Sorry, sorry,” he caught Sirius’s eye, smiling. “It’s just…I’m so grateful I
have you, Pads. Seriously.”

“…Siriusly?”

“Ugh, never mind, I take it back.”

Sirius threw back his head, laughing, and James smiled grudgingly, reaching up to swipe at his
misty eyes. Once he was done cackling, Sirius threw an arm around James’s shoulders.

“Come on, shall we head back? Bloody freezing out here…”

“Oh.” James grabbed his arm, stopping him as he began to turn back to the motorbike, “Actually…
I have something I need to tell you.”

Sirius’s heart dropped. These days, the words ‘I have something I need to tell you’ were usually
followed by the last thing any of them wanted to hear—news of another failed mission, another
attack, another death. James must have felt him stiffen, because he squeezed his arm, comfortingly.

“Don’t worry, it’s…good.”

“Ok,” Sirius turned back, warily, “What is it?”

James hesitated, looking down at the snow.

“…Prongs? You’re killing me here.”

“Sorry, sorry, just erm…trying to figure out how to say it…”

“Merlin’s sake, James, just spit it out!”

“Fine—Lily’s pregnant!”

Sirius blinked.

“…what?”

“She’s pregnant,” James repeated, eyes scanning Sirius’s face anxiously.

“….you’re sure?”

James nodded.

“Like…a hundred percent sure?”

Another nod.

“Prongs, that’s…” Sirius shook his head, features twisting, “That’s amazing!” He smiled so hard
he thought his face might crack, heart swooping with joy. “You promise you aren’t just taking the
piss?”

James grinned back, looking relieved. “I promise.”

“Merlin’s beard!”

“I know.”

“I mean, that’s….c’mere!” Sirius pulled him into another hug, laughing, and James hugged him
back tightly. When they broke apart, they were both smiling.

“Blimey!” Sirius shook his head, “You’re gonna be a dad!”

Something flickered in James’s eyes. “Yeah,” he turned away, staring back out at the snowy
countryside, “I know.”

“...Er…how are you feeling? About it? I mean—are you excited, or…?”

“Yeah!” James turned back to him, quickly, “No, yeah, of course! Of course I’m excited, yeah, it’s
just…” He swallowed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair—a nervous habit. “It was a
bit…unexpected. And I’m thrilled, really, don’t get me wrong—this is what I’ve always wanted,
Pads. Always. But…” He hesitated, then sighed. “It’s sort of bloody terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Terrifying?”

James nodded, face creasing into a worried frown. “What if I get it wrong?” He said, quietly,
words coming faster and faster as he continued to speak, “It’s so much sooner than I expected, and
I don’t know if I’m ready—if I know how to…I dunno, not fuck it up. And I already love the kid
so much, but now it’s one more thing to worry about, because I can’t stop thinking that I don’t have
the first idea how I’m meant to raise a child, especially not in the middle of a bloody war, because I
—I still feel like a kid, sometimes, and I just…really, really wish that my parents were here.”

His voice broke, near the end, shoulders slumping, head turned away.

“Hey,” Sirius reached out, gripping his arm, “Hey, Prongs—look at me. Come on…”

James took a shuddering breath and turned to him, rubbing at his eyes.

“You’re going to be the best dad in the world, mate,” Sirius told him, firmly, “I mean—hell, you’ve
basically had seven years of parenting experience, after Hogwarts! We were all right little shits.”

James laughed, and Sirius smiled.

“I mean it, Prongs,” he said, “I can’t think of anyone who would make a better dad than you. And
you’ll have Lily, and all of us—it’s not like you’re going to be doing this alone. We’ll all figure it
out together, ok?”
James’s answering smile was still a bit wobbly, but his eyes were bright.

“Ok, Padfoot.” He nodded, “Thank you. Really, just…thank you.”

Sirius gave his shoulder one last squeeze. “Anytime.” He clapped James on the back, turning
towards the motorbike, “Now come on—I’m freezing my bollocks off!”

He flew at breakneck speed back to the house, landing on the Potters’ back patio and bursting
through the door.

“Mrs. Prongs!” Sirius made a beeline for Lily, scooping her into his arms and kissing the top of her
head, “Bloody brilliant!”

Remus was there, sitting at the kitchen table—Lily must have called him over to share the news.
He stood to greet James, grinning broadly and shaking his head in amazement.

“A kid!” He reached out to shake James’s hand, “You’re having a fucking kid!”

James laughed, wrapping both of his hands around Remus’s,

“Too bloody right, Moony.”

“Sit down!” Sirius said, breaking away from Lily and ushering her into a chair, “Merlin, Moony,
what sort of gentleman are you, letting Lily do all the work in her condition?!”

“Oi,” Remus protested, “I laid the table…”

“Honestly, I’m fine,” Lily smiled, amused, “But if you boys want to serve dinner, be my guest.
Lamb’s in the oven, James, it should be done by now.”

There ensued a great deal of scrambling about and banging pots and pans around in the kitchen,
gathering plates of food as James cracked open a bottle of champagne and poured a mug of
butterbeer for Lily. Sirius whistled ‘Kooks’ as he searched for a serving spoon, and Remus watched
him, smiling and shaking his head fondly.

When Peter arrived, Lily and James broke the news all over again, which led to another round of
congratulations and toasts. They ate dinner together, all five of them, for the first time in months,
and Sirius could do nothing but grin like a lunatic as he stared around the cosy table at his friends.

“How did it even happen?!” Peter marvelled, shaking his head as he finished off his plate.

“Well, Wormtail,” Sirius leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, “When a witch
and a wizard love each other very much…”

“Shuddup,” Peter kicked his shin under the table, laughing, “You know what I meant…”

“It just happened,” James said, cheeks pink, “We might have got a little bit careless around
Halloween…”

“James!” Lily tutted, giving him a playful slap on the arm, “No need for detail, I’m sure Moony
doesn’t want to hear all that.”

“Why me?” Remus looked up from where he’d been inhaling the last of the Yorkshire pudding.

“Oh well…you know, I just know you prefer to be discreet about…um…” Lily trailed off, biting
her lip sheepishly. Remus frowned at her, folding his arms with mock-offence.
“You all think I’m a prude!”

The overdone indignance with which he said it had them all in stitches, and Sirius wiped a tear
from the corner of his eye as he leaned over to pat Remus’s shoulder,

“Don’t worry, Moony – they just don’t know you like I know you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Peter began to ask, but Remus quickly interrupted him before
Sirius could reply.

“Have you got any ideas for a name, yet?”

“No, not really,” Lily said, stifling her giggles, “A family name would be nice, but—”

“Whatever you do,” Sirius interjected, “Call the poor kid something normal. No constellations, for
Godric’s sake.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Remus cheered, raising his glass and downing the rest of its contents.

“When will you know what it is?” Peter leaned forward, curious.

“We’re not calling it Peter,” James teased.

“Bagsy godfather!” Sirius crowed, rocking forward in his chair. Peter’s mouth fell open.

“You can’t bagsy godfather!”

“Just did.” Sirius leaned back again, smirking.

* * *

Things were different, after that. The war had dragged on for so long, and there had been so many
losses—so many deaths, so many disappearances. Fatigue and stress were wearing at them all, a
steady corrosion, chipping and eroding. But suddenly, there was a reminder of what they were all
fighting for: Sirius faced the future with a renewed determination. They had to win—they would
win. He wasn’t about to let James and Lily’s child grow up in the middle of a war.

And it wasn’t just baby Prongs that they were fighting for. Arthur and Molly had their sixth son in
March, another red-haired little boy, and Alice announced at the next Order meeting that she and
Frank were expecting some time in the summer, same as James and Lily.

“Imagine that!” Mary smiled, helping clear away some of the empty mugs left scattered around
after the meeting had ended, “Their kids are all going to grow up together, and go to Hogwarts
together…it’s sort of nice, isn’t it?”

Sirius thought that ‘sort of nice’ was an understatement—it was brilliant. Like they were
witnessing the start of a brand new generation of marauders—he could hardly contain his
excitement. He spent loads of time over at the Potters, flipping through parenting books so that he
could report back to Lily; he asked Andromeda question after question about raising a baby, until
she nearly got sick of it (‘Merlin, Sirius, anyone would think that you’re the one having a bloody
kid!’); he went on impromptu shopping sprees anytime he had a free hour and too much nervous
energy, picking up odds and ends for little Prongs.
“It’s going to be so much fun, Moony!” he gushed one afternoon in May, as he was returning from
another one of these shopping sprees, “Imagine them all on brooms! The Order of the Phoenix
Quidditch team!”

“Er…how old do you need to be to ride a broom?” Remus frowned warily, narrowing his eyes at
the packages. Sirius laughed.

“These are mostly books and clothes,” he promised, setting the various bags and boxes down on
the counter, “And some toys, just little things…”

“This kid is going to be so spoilt…” Remus shook his head, smiling.

“Good,” Sirius smiled back, poking his tongue out. “Doesn’t do anyone any good to be brought up
joyless, does it, Moony?” He raised an eyebrow, challenging, and Remus looked down sheepishly,
holding up his hands in surrender. Sirius was mostly joking, but still—Remus didn’t bring it up
again, after that.

* * *

Of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. There was still a war on, after all—there were still
death eaters to fight and missions to complete and muggles to save. They were all still exhausted,
and frightened, and trying desperately to ignore the Order’s dwindling numbers. When they were
together, Sirius and Remus still didn’t know how to talk about it—though they tried, sometimes.
When they could.

In June, after the full moon, Remus was called away by Moody and Ferox for a private meeting
(which meant werewolves, of course). Sirius had to leave early in the morning for a surveillance
assignment, and he tried not to agonise over the situation too much as he sat in a dingy café across
from a shop that the Order suspected was a front for another underground potion-smuggling
operation linked to the death eaters. Surely, he told himself, Moody and Ferox would never send
Remus into the sort of assignment that could end up the same as last time…right?

Despite his best efforts to reassure himself, Sirius was wound tight with nerves by the time he got
back to the flat. Remus was gone, which meant he was still out at the meeting, and Sirius spent a
solid twenty minutes pacing across the living room and chewing his nails before he finally forced
himself to sit down and take a few deep breaths.

He was about to go down to the garage to work on his bike when the front door suddenly slammed
open, banging into the wall.

“Fucking hell!” Sirius leapt to his feet, startled and buzzing with nerves—but it was just Remus.

“Sorry.” The other boy winced, sheepishly, “Didn’t know you were in.”

“What happened?”

Moony’s face darkened, and he scowled, muttering,

“Bloody Moody! Bloody Ferox!” He winced again as he yanked off his jacket, and Sirius eyed the
stiffness in his shoulders—he’d been having trouble with his back since the moon.
“Does your back still hurt?” Sirius frowned, sitting back down and drawing his knees up onto the
sofa so that Remus could sit in front of him, “Come here.”

Moony settled onto the floor, and Sirius got to work massaging out the knots and coiled tension.
Remus sighed, gratefully, letting his eyes slide shut.

“What happened?” Sirius asked, quietly, “They’re not…you don’t have to go again, do you?”

“No,” Remus sighed again, although this time it was more exasperated than relieved, “No, just…I
dunno, do you ever feel like everyone thinks you’re just some idiotic kid who doesn’t know
anything?”

“No one thinks that,” Sirius assured him, rubbing the juncture between shoulder and neck.

“I know you lot don’t, but…ugh. They just don’t listen to me. I know more about the werewolves
than anyone in the Order. I’m Greyback’s prodigal son, for god’s sake!”

“Don’t say that.” Sirius froze, abruptly, then leaned forward to wrap his arms around Moony’s
waist and pull him for a hug. He leaned his cheek against the top of Remus’s head, curls tickling
his jaw. “If Moody and Ferox keep you away from that monster then good.”

He hated the way that Remus talked about them, sometimes. The way he’d call them family—even
if he was just referencing Greyback’s twisted preaching. It felt too familiar, and Sirius couldn’t
bring himself to think about why. You can leave your family, he wanted to say, They aren’t what
makes you who you are.

But he didn’t. Instead he just sat, and held Moony tight, and hoped that it would be enough to make
him understand.

* * *

Will you stay in our lovers’ story?

If you stay, you won’t be sorry

‘cuz we believe in you

Soon you’ll grow, so take a chance

On a couple of kooks, hung up on romancing…

31st July 1980

“Remus, wake up!” Sirius gripped his shoulder, shaking as hard as he could.

“Piss off.” Remus groaned, pulling the blanket over his head, “S’the middle of the night.”

“Who cares?! Come on, it’s time! Baby Prongs is on his way – or her way…their way!”
“What?!” Remus ripped the covers off and sat up, eyes wide, “Fuck!”

“That’s the spirit!” Sirius grinned, giddily, “Get dressed!”

Remus clambered to his feet and began to scramble about in the room, searching for a pair of
trousers. Sirius chuckled and left him to it, heading into the living room to ready the floo. Remus
followed a minute later, rubbing his forehead and grumbling—Sirius supposed the blooming bruise
explained what had sounded like banging on the dresser.

“Silly sod,” he shook his head, smiling, “Lucky Marlene’ll be there, eh?”

“I have a feeling she’ll be busy…”

Sirius strolled into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder, preparing to leave. He had just
lifted his hand to throw it down when his eyes caught on Remus’s shirt—he could see the tag
sticking up at the neck.

“Moony, your shirt’s on inside out.” He said, lips quirking up. “Potter Manor.”

He threw the floo powder down, and the green flames surrounded him—the next moment, he was
walking into the Potters’ living room, where Mary, Peter, and Arthur Weasley were already
waiting.

“Sirius!” Mary rushed over and pulled him into a hug, “Can you believe it?! I can’t believe it!”

Sirius grinned, and was about to respond when green flames erupted once more from the living
room fireplace. Remus stepped out, and Mary’s attention snapped to him.

“Remus!” She hugged him, too, and then glanced down at his chest. “Your shirt’s inside out.”

“Any news?” Remus asked, glancing down distractedly at his shirt before looking back up again.

“James sent a patronus for Marlene about two hours ago – she was staying at mine to be closer to
St. Mungo’s, so I came too. They’ve been upstairs ever since, I asked if there was anything I could
do, but you know what Marls is like when she’s got a job to do…”

“James is up there too?” Remus cast a wary glance up at the ceiling.

“D’you think they need anything?” Sirius asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet and moving
closer to the stairs—he had so much nervous energy, he just wanted to do something, to make
himself useful.

(A baby! James was having a baby!!)

(Well—technically, Lily was the one having it, but still—a baby!!)

“Ms. McKinnon will have it all under control,” Arthur reassured them, “James won’t be doing
anything more useful than holding Lily’s hand, I promise you. Sit down lads, I’m afraid we’re all
in for a very long wait.”

They attempted to follow his advice, as Arthur was the only one of them with any experience in the
matter. But nobody seemed able to keep still – Peter kept bouncing his leg, Remus kept tapping his
fingers, and Mary hopped to her feet after two minutes of silence to open the curtains. It was the
middle of summer, and the sun was already shining brightly outside despite the early hour.

“Tea, anyone?” Remus asked. He eyed Peter, who was now slumped on the sofa with his eyes half-
closed, still jiggling his leg, “Or coffee maybe?”

“Good man, Moony,” Sirius stood up, “I’ll help.”

Fortunately, Gully had already laid out everything for tea—which was good, because Sirius didn’t
think he had the presence of mind to remember which cabinets held the mugs and which drawers
held the spoons. Remus and Sirius busied themselves preparing the coffee, quietly, exchanging
excited glances.

They had just finished preparing the trays when a door banged open upstairs, and hurried footsteps
rushed onto the landing.

“Padfoot?!” James shouted, and Sirius nearly dropped his tray.

“Prongs?!” He shoved the tea back onto the table, dashing into the hallway and craning his neck as
he leaned over the stair banister. Remus followed after him, and Peter scurried out as well.

James stared down at them, teary-eyed and glowing with joy.

“It’s a boy!”

Harry. Little Harry Potter. That was his name—Marlene told them when she wandered down,
collapsing onto the sofa and holding a cup of tea in both hands.

“Lightning-fast delivery,” she told them, with an exhausted smile, “Twenty minutes active labour!”

“Maybe he’ll be a chaser, like James!” Peter grinned.

“Is Lily ok?” Mary sat beside Marlene on the sofa, leaning her head against the other girl’s
shoulder.

“Of course she is,” Marlene shook her head fondly, “Nothing stops Evans.”

“I’ll be off, then,” Arthur announced, pulling on his cloak, “I’ve been away from Molly and the
boys too long already – I’ll let Dumbledore know the good news, of course.”

They bid him farewell, and as he disappeared into the fireplace Sirius stood, too, wandering back
over to the staircase.

“Sirius, love,” Marlene said firmly, “Give them a bit of time alone, eh? Family time.”

“Oh, ok.” He turned back to face the room, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, lost in
thought.

A kid. James and Lily had a kid. Sirius couldn’t wait to meet him—to see him—to hold him. His
heart was twisting in his chest, full of joy and fear and hope. He had never known it was possible,
to feel such an intense love for a person you had never met.

“Harry Potter,” he murmured, staring off into space.

“It’s a nice name, I think.” Mary smiled, then glanced at Marlene, “Better than Neville, eh?”

Marlene giggled, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh, don’t, I could barely keep a straight face
when Frank told me.”

Remus stood from his spot in an armchair and moved over to stand next to Sirius, twisting their
 fingers together.

“You’re a godfather,” he whispered, eyes brighter than they’d been in ages. Sirius gazed at him,
struck once more by how beautiful happiness looked when it was painted across his face.

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding, “…blimey, I really hope I don’t balls it up.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "bring on the night" by the police; song partway through is
"kooks" by bowie!

looked up harry potter's birth chart just for fun...that boy was doomed from the start
 The War: Autumn & Winter 1980
Chapter Summary

69 lol

Chapter Notes

cw: minor character death, references to alcohol dependency

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I sat down to my supper, ‘twas a bottle of red whisky

I said my prayers and went to bed, that’s the last they saw of me

Don’t murder me, I beg of you, don’t murder me

Please, don’t murder me

When I awoke, the Dire Wolf, six hundred pounds of sin

Was grinning at my window, all I said was come on in

Don’t murder me, I beg of you, don’t murder me

Please, don’t murder me

Wednesday 3rd September 1980

Seagulls screeched overhead, dipping and soaring in the grey sky. Sirius turned up the collar of his
leather jacket against the cool breeze that came in off the sea, bringing the smell of salt and brine
with it.

“We should come back here next summer,” he said, kicking up sand as he walked, “When it isn’t
so bloody dreary out.”

Lily smiled. “That would be nice,” she squinted up at the clouds, “We could start teaching Harry to
swim…”

Sirius grinned, imagining little Harry paddling about in the foam. They could build sandcastles,
and chase seagulls, and sit around a campfire at night to roast marshmallows…

It was a lovely little fantasy, and he clung to it as he and Lily skulked around Broadstairs,
searching for any signs of the illegal merperson poaching ring that the death eaters were
supposedly running. Apparently, the aquatic beings had petitioned Dumbledore—and therefore the
Order—for help, insisting that Voldemort’s followers along the southern coast were picking off
lone merpeople and dragging them out of the water, carting them off for some unknown purpose.

It was just one more atrocity in the string of long, unfathomable crimes that Voldemort’s followers
continued to commit. More and more often, it seemed that the Order was left scratching its head,
wondering what the purpose was behind the death eaters’ actions as they continued to experiment
with increasingly obscure forms of dark magic. Nobody had a clue as to what Voldemort could
possibly want with merpeople—though Sirius wondered if it had anything to with the unicorn he
and James had found all those months ago; if the death eaters were continuing to conduct similar
experiments on magical creatures.

Things were only made more confusing by the increasing insistence on secrecy within the Order
itself. As the violence worsened and more of their number were caught in the crossfire, Moody and
Dumbledore began to institute new precautionary protocols, instructing everyone to avoid sharing
the details of their missions even with other Order members. It was bleakly practical; if anyone was
captured, they needed to limit the access to crucial information that the death eaters could obtain
from a single person. As the months wore on, Sirius began to suspect that Dumbledore was likely
the only member in the entire Order who actually knew for certain what everyone was up to.

In the end, their trip to Broadstairs didn’t turn up anything useful, and Sirius and Lily returned to
the Potters’ house disheartened and with aching feet from hours of walking. Peter and Remus were
already there, Peter bouncing little Harry on his lap and Remus curled in the armchair with a book.
James was napping on the sofa, glasses askew.

“Hello!” Peter said, brightly. There was an open bottle of firewhisky on the table, already a quarter
gone—Pete was still bright-eyed, but when they entered Remus looked up with the slow smile that
Sirius had come to recognise meant he’d already had a few.

“Hello!” Lily chirped, scooping Harry out of Peter’s arms. He watched as she cuddled her son,
cooing. After a moment, Pete reached for the bottle, refilling his glass. Sirius moved over to
Remus, sitting down on the arm of the chair and wrapping an arm over his shoulders. Moony shut
his book, quickly, setting it face-down on the side table.

“What’s the occasion?” Sirius asked, gesturing to the bottle – he kept his voice light, teasing. Peter
shrugged.

“Long day at work,” he said, “Figured we could all use a drink, thought I’d bring something over.
Hey—how’d the mission go? Find anything in Broadstairs?”

Lily sighed, stroking Harry’s head. He burbled happily, drooling onto her shirt.

“Nothing useful,” she said, exchanging a glance with Sirius. “How about you, Remus? How was
your meeting?”

“Hm? Oh—er, yeah. Good. It was fine.” He reached for the bottle of whiskey to refill his glass,
too, and Sirius frowned as he watched him.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started to notice the drinking—maybe a few months ago. At first, he
hadn’t thought anything of it; didn’t they all need a nightcap sometimes, after the gruelling
missions and long days? But over time, he’d realised that it was only getting more and more
frequent. Sirius would arrive home from a mission and find Remus alone in the flat, knocking back
gin with his dinner like it was water, kissing him goodnight with the alcohol still on his breath.
He wished Peter hadn’t brought the whiskey.

“D’you want some?” Remus asked, when he noticed Sirius staring. Sirius shook his head, smiling
tightly. On the sofa, James began to stir.

“Hnnggh?” He groaned, groggily, hair sticking out haphazardly as he rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“Lily?” He smiled, sleepily, “You’re back?”

“Hello, love.” She sat next to him on the sofa, cuddling into his arm with Harry still on her lap,
“Tired?”

“Bloody exhausted.” He yawned, then smiled down fondly at Harry. “This little rascal’s been a
handful today.” He leaned over to tickle under Harry’s chin, and the little boy laughed, delighted.
When James looked back up, he caught sight of the open whiskey bottle.

“Oi—thought we were waiting for Lily and Padfoot to get back before we started?”

“Oh, sorry…” Peter shrugged, sheepishly, “Remus didn’t want to wait…”

Remus stiffened, slightly, and glanced away guiltily as he lifted his glass and took another swig.
For a moment, an awkward silence stretched across the room. Then,

“No worries!” James said, brightly, “Oi, pour me a glass, would you Pete? Lily—d’you want
some?”

She shook her head, standing. “I’m knackered—think I’ll just put Harry to bed and then pass out
myself.” She pressed a kiss to the top of James’s head, then turned to smile at the rest of them.
“Don’t stay up too late, boys!”

They murmured their goodnights, and she disappeared up the stairs with a squirming Harry. James
accepted a glass from Peter, sipping the drink slowly. Remus reached out for the bottle again, to
refill his own cup.

Sirius squeezed his shoulder, gently, murmuring, “Hey—d’you want to maybe slow down a bit
there? Give Prongs a chance to catch up…”

He kept his voice low, but Peter still overheard.

“Fat chance of that!” He chuckled, “Moony’s already on his fourth! At this rate, he’ll finish half
the bottle himself…”

Remus stiffened, abruptly, shooting a glare at Peter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The smaller boy frowned, glancing nervously at the rest of them. “…nothing, just…I mean, you’ve
always had a higher tolerance…”

Sirius winced, hoping that Moony would let it go—but it was too late; his shoulders were already
tensed, defensively, and he had the mean glint in his eye that meant something bad was coming.

“Well, sorry I’m not a bloody lightweight like you, Wormtail—s’not my fault that I’ve actually
grown since the age of fourteen.”

Peter shrank back, face creasing with hurt. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant!” Remus snapped, rising to his feet. His brow was furrowed, fists
clenched—it was becoming a more familiar expression, as the stress of the war grated on him;
outbursts like these seemed to grow more and more frequent. Especially when he’d been drinking.

The three others stared at Moony as he stood, breathing heavily. After a moment, James began to
say,

“Mate…”

Remus deflated, abruptly, and the outburst was over just as quickly as it had begun.

“Sorry…” He muttered, “M’just…” He glanced around at their wary faces, self-consciously.

“Gonna head back to the flat.”

“Remus—” Sirius stretched out a hand, but Moony shrugged him off, disappearing into the
fireplace without another word. As the burst of green flames faded, Peter shook his head.

“Sorry,” he said, slumping back into his chair with a deep sigh, “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, Wormy,” James assured him, replacing the lid on the bottle of whiskey, “Think we’re
all just stretched a bit thin…”

Peter nodded, morosely. “Honestly,” he said, “After all these years, I keep thinking I know what to
expect from him, and then it’s like all of a sudden he’s a different person sometimes…” He looked
up, and caught Sirius’s eye, smiling weakly. “But I suppose that’s just me, eh?”

Sirius swallowed, looking away. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “S’pose…”

* * *

Friday 24th October 1980

It was easy to write off little spats like that, in those days. As James had pointed out, they were all
stretched thin, and nobody was quite themselves. Still, something about Peter’s words stuck with
Sirius, burrowing into the back of his mind:

I keep thinking I know what to expect from him, and then it’s like all of a sudden he’s a different
person…

It grew worse as September bled into October, and Remus slipped further and further away. While
Sirius was sent out on missions, Moony holed up in their flat, working on some sort of top-secret
assignment that involved copious amounts of research. Whenever Sirius came home, he always had
his nose stuck in a book, pen in hand, scribbling notes. The moment Sirius stepped through the
door, Remus would wave his wand, casting obfuscate over everything. Sirius never said anything
about it, smiling past gritted teeth—but the curiosity ate at him. What are you doing? What are you
looking for?

Why are you hiding it from me?

The only time things ever felt halfway normal was when they were at the Potters, spending time
with baby Harry. Remus and Sirius practically lived there half the time, moving back into Sirius’s
old room, and Peter dropped by every evening after work. The five of them had become a small
family, with baby Harry at the middle of it all.

Sirius had never thought of himself as someone that was particularly fond of babies—they were
messy, and always crying, and they couldn’t fly brooms or tell jokes or do any of the things that
really made people interesting.

But little Harry was different. From the moment Sirius first held him back in July, staring into
those big green eyes, he had been utterly besotted with his godson. He spent nearly every free hour
he had at the Potters’, cuddling and playing with Harry, giving James and Lily a much-needed
break from their parenting duties—raising a child was quite a lot to take care of, especially on top
of fighting a war.

“Say Padfoot, Harry, go on!” Sirius bounced the child on his lap one evening, cooing down at him,
“Pah-d-foo-t…”

“They don’t talk until they’re at least one,” Remus said, from his perch on the arm of the sofa, “I
looked it up.”

“Normal kids don’t,” Sirius corrected, tossing his hair out of his eyes and wiggling Harry’s little
wrists, “But Harry Potter is no ordinary baby, he’s clearly very advanced for his age. Come on,
Harry, say Pad-foot…”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Lily chuckled, “James’s mum told me he didn’t speak until eighteen
months.”

“Oi,” James’s voice could be heard, shouting indignantly from Fleamont’s old study, “I was an
extremely thoughtful child, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, what changed?” Sirius yelled back, sticking his tongue out at baby Harry.

“You’re hogging him, Padfoot!” Peter pouted, stretching out his arms, “Come on, I haven’t had a
cuddle yet.”

“Not my fault he likes me best,” Sirius said lightly, making another face at Harry. The little boy
laughed, waving his chubby fists in the air.

“I’ll give you a cuddle, Pete,” Remus teased.

“Lily, tell him!” Peter crossed his arms, frowning.

“Honestly! I’ve got one son and that’s plenty,” she shook her head, standing, “No fighting while
mummy and daddy are out, ok boys?” Lily gave them all a stern look, brows raised.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Molly.”

“Right, I’m ready,” James announced, striding down the stairs in his travelling cloak. Lily smiled
at him, pulling her own cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders.

“Let’s go then.”

They all fell quiet as a tense silence permeated the room—even baby Harry stopped giggling, as
though he could sense what was happening.
After a moment, Lily tutted,

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic, you lot. It’s a standard mission, we’ve done a hundred of these.”
She moved over to Sirius, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her son’s fuzzy head. “Bye bye
Harry, mummy and daddy love you so much. We’ll see you soon.”

James didn’t say anything, though Sirius managed to catch his eye – they stared at each other, for a
moment. Come back, be safe, come back.

“Are you sure you can’t tell us where—” Peter began to ask, but James cut him off.

“Sorry, Wormy. Moody’s orders.” He held his hands up, placating, “You know how it is.”

Peter nodded, deflating slightly. Sirius looked down at Harry, wrapping his arms around the boy.
The Order had been getting stricter with its secrecy, both Dumbledore and Moody insisting that
every mission assignment should be shared on a need-to-know basis only. Sirius hated it—they all
did.

“Come on,” Lily urged, tugging on James’s arm, “Back before morning, we hope!” They
disappeared down the hallway, and a few seconds later the door slammed shut.

Harry began to wail.

“Oh, bugger,” Sirius winced, leaning away slightly from the screaming child, “Er…have him now
if you like, Pete?”

* * *

The sun had long set by the time they managed to calm Harry down, night creeping up around
them. It was nearly midnight when Sirius finally got him to sleep, and he slumped to the floor of
the nursery, exhausted.

“Definitely couldn’t do this full time,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Jesus, I swear the kid’s possessed.” Remus muttered, wincing as he rubbed at his temples. Sirius
looked up, remembering that it was the day after a full moon—Remus should have already gone to
sleep, Marlene had told him to get plenty of rest.

“Shit, you should go to bed,” Sirius peered up at Moony’s haggard face, frowning, “You must be
exhausted.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Remus brushed him off, “Actually, I wasn’t going to stay…you know, I’ve got that
work to do.”

“Oh, that.” Sirius’s heart sank, and he tried to stifle the twist of resentment that curled through his
chest. They left Harry behind in the nursery, sleeping soundly in his red and gold cot.

On the landing, Remus reached out to touch his arm, gently,

“You ought to go to bed.”

Sirius wasn’t sure what it was—the soft way he spoke, the tender look in his eyes, the warmth of
his hand—but suddenly, he felt overwhelmed with a horrible, aching longing. They had both been
so busy, lately, hiding things from each other, not talking about their assignments, and he just…he
missed Remus.

“Moony, don’t go.” He reached out desperately, grabbing the taller boy’s arm.

“Eh? I’m only going to the flat…”

“Please?” Sirius clutched him tighter, “Just take the night off, just stay here with me?”

“Pete’s here…” Remus hedged, glancing towards the stairs. The other boy had passed out on the
sofa, and they could hear his snoring.

“But I want you,” Sirius insisted, pathetically.

Remus turned back to him, and for a moment his face twisted, and that tender expression returned
to his eyes—burning, as if it were almost painful. He wrapped his arms around Sirius, tightly,
pulling him to his chest and kissing his hair.

“Ok then,” he said, quietly, “I’ll stay.”

Sirius hugged him back, relief flooding through him. He went to take a shower, and when he
returned to bed Remus was there, waiting. Sirius crawled in next to him, curling up in his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “For staying.”

Remus held him a little tighter, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Of course,” he mumbled, sleepily. The words struck Sirius, for some reason—maybe because
there had been so many nights when he hadn’t stayed, when they’d fallen asleep in separate beds,
in separate houses, if they even slept at all. And it meant something—it meant something that
Remus was still here, and Sirius wanted him to know that it meant something, wanted to know that
he was still there, that Moony was still his…

But he didn’t know how to say any of that, couldn’t even being to put it into words. So instead he
twisted, pushing Remus onto his back, leaning up to kiss his neck, his jaw, his shoulders.

You’re still mine, Sirius thought, desperately, running his hands over Remus’s arms, under his
pyjama shirt, You’re still here, and you’re still mine.

* * *

Friday 21st November 1980

Sirius didn’t celebrate his twenty-first birthday. There was no time for a party, and besides—
nobody was really in a celebratory mood. Hagrid baked a cake, which was kind of him, and they
ate it at an Order safe house after a meeting. But for the first time in his life, Sirius’s smile felt
forced as he listened to his friends singing Happy Birthday, and he blew out the candles quickly,
without making a wish.
(It was too dangerous, those days—wishing. It seemed the more hope you had, the more you ended
up hurting when the next mission failed, or the next disappearance was announced, or the next
body was discovered.)

“It’s a big deal for muggles, twenty-one.” Remus said, as they went to bed that night. “That’s when
they come of age.”

“Why?” Sirius asked, around a yawn, “Muggles can’t do magic.”

“No, I know, it’s just an old-fashioned thing,” Remus flicked off the lamp on the bedside table.
“You get the key to your front door or something like that.”

“Daft muggles.” Sirius muttered, closing his eyes, “I feel old.”

“Well you’re not,” Remus tutted, lying beside him, “I’m the one going grey. Twenty-one is young.
Really really young.”

Sirius sighed, deeply.

“Doesn’t feel it.”

It was coming up on a year since the Potters’ deaths, and Sirius had been in a melancholy mood,
thinking about it. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly after that—one moment they’d
been kids, with Euphemia Potter cooking them dinner and kissing them goodnight, and the next
they’d had a kid of their own to look after. It still didn’t feel real sometimes.

Sirius’s mood had not been helped by his most recent mission with Frank Longbottom, where
they’d been sent to pick up a batch of veritaserum from one of their brewers and had found
themselves in the middle of a skirmish with two death eaters who had apparently been monitoring
the meeting spot. They had narrowly escaped, stumbling into one of their safe houses, breathless
and panting and empty-handed.

“Fuck—” Frank had gasped, clutching at a long cut on his torso, “Shit…”

“I’ll call James,” Sirius said, fumbling for the mirror in his pocket, “He’s at home with Harry, he
can get Marlene—”

“No!” Frank said, sharply, “Elms is the designated healer for this mission—he’s the only one who
knows about that meeting spot.”

“So?” Sirius asked, unsnapping the compact, “It’s been compromised now—best to get a healer as
soon as possible, that cut is bleeding badly—”

“No.” Frank grasped his wrist, stopping him. Sirius looked up at him, shocked—what was the big
deal?

Frank grimaced, glancing around nervously. “Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “We have to stick
to protocol, alright?”

“But you’re bleeding…”

“I’ll survive until Elms gets here, it’s fine.”

“It’s not! You’re hurt, you need a healer—”

“Sirius,” Frank said, firmly, fingers digging into his wrist. “You can’t.”
“Why the hell not?!”

“Because!” The older boy snapped, voice rising—then he took a breath, purposely lowering it
again. “Look, this isn’t…we don’t know this for sure, alright? But Alice and I think…” He licked
his lips, glancing around once more, as though to ensure that they were alone. “We think…that
Dumbledore might think…that there’s a spy.”

Sirius blinked.

“A spy?”

“In the Order,” Frank said. “He hasn’t—we don’t know for sure, but with all the new protocols…
and there have been so many locations compromised, recently, it’s the only thing that makes
sense…”

“Oh.” Sirius said, flatly, dazed.

“So we need to follow protocol, d’you understand?” Frank insisted, scanning his face, “We have to.
For everyone’s safety.”

“Right,” Sirius had nodded, twisting his hand from Frank’s grasp, “I’ll…go get Elms then.”

He’d tried not to think too much about it, after that. After all, it wasn’t like anything was confirmed
—it was just a theory that Frank and Alice had. Still, despite his best efforts, the idea continued to
swirl around his head: a spy in the Order.

If it was true, the consequences would be devastating.

Near the end of the month, Remus received a new assignment from Moody—a slip of paper, with a
pair of coordinates and instructions to meet Ferox there on the 21st of November.

“Tell him no,” Sirius said, frustrated, “Bloody Moody, he knows that’s the night before the full
moon! You shouldn’t be out running his errands when you’re not well.”

“Jesus, you make me sound like an invalid,” Remus shrugged him off, “I’m sure there’s a good
reason for it. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Send a patronus, if anything happens?” Sirius begged, when it became clear that he wasn’t going
to dissuade Remus from going. “I don’t care about protocol, just say you’ll let me know?”

“It will be fine.” Remus told him, firmly.

Sirius watched him walk out the door, helpless to do anything but wait for him to return.

* * *

Saturday 22nd November

Sirius pressed Remus for information the moment he got back, refusing to relent until he finally
told him why he’d been called away—Ferox thought they’d located Greyback and Livia, his most
loyal acolyte. The two had been spotted by muggles, and Ferox had wanted Remus to confirm it by
scent. The old Care of Magical Creatures professor planned to confront the werewolves once the
full moon was over, and Remus had got it into his head that he’d be going with him.

“I’m coming too, then.” Sirius insisted, after a solid hour of trying to talk Moony out of the idea.

The other boy scowled. “No, you’re bloody not.”

“Am too. Sorry Moony, but there is absolutely no way I’m losing you to that monster a second
time.”

“You didn’t lose me last time, you big drama queen, it was a mission,” Remus rolled his eyes,
“Anyway, I can’t put you in that sort of danger.”

“I’m in danger every day,” Sirius replied, flippantly. “If it’s right after the full moon, you’ll need
my help apparating.”

“I’ve done that before,” Remus shot back, “It’s hard, but I’ll manage. Anyway, this isn’t a normal
mission, you wouldn’t just be backup, you’d be leverage against me. He knows who you are. He
knows what you mean to me.”

“He made you tell him?!”

“Sort of. I told you they can read minds.”

“That bastard.” Sirius growled, hands curling into fists, “I’m definitely coming with you.”

They argued about it a bit longer, but in the end they were both forced to accept that neither could
stop the other from going—and if Remus was going, then Sirius wasn’t letting him out of his sight.

They spent the full moon in the Lake District; they’d used that spot before, and knew that it would
be safe (at least, as safe as anywhere could be, those days). It was just the two of them; James
hadn’t been able to join for a full moon since Harry was born, and Peter had been working later and
later hours at the Ministry. But that was alright—Padfoot knew how to handle the wolf, and they
spent the night running through the woods, careless and wild and free.

There were no serious injuries, but the transformation was just as painful as ever, and Remus
groaned as his bones ground back into place.

“Urrrgh!”

“I’ve got you, Moony,” Sirius murmured, wrapping a cloak around his shoulders. Remus opened
his eyes, breathing hard, forcing himself to his feet.

“Wand,” he rasped, stretching out a hand. Sirius passed it to him. “We’ve got to go, now.” Moony
muttered frantically, leaning heavily on Sirius as he yanked his clothes back on.

“We’re going, just take a breath,” Sirius soothed him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“Hold on to me, I’ll apparate us…”

He took them to the spot that Remus indicated: a misty, boggy stretch of land in Galloway, gauzy
with fog and still tinged grey in the weak light of dawn. Ferox was there, waiting near the
crumbling stone of a dark castle ruin.

“All right, lads,” he nodded at them, briskly.

“Have you seen anything?” Remus demanded, voice hushed.

“Heard a bit of noise; must have been them turning back.” Ferox scanned Remus, taking in his
pallid face. “You ok, our kid? Looking a bit green about the gills.”

“Fine,” Remus said, quickly, “Fine. We should go in now.”

“Right you are. Wands out.” Ferox strode towards the ruin, “Pity we couldn’t get ‘em when they
were wolves, eh?” He smirked, darkly, “Those pelts fetch a few bob on the black market.”

What the fuck? Sirius bristled, outraged—had Ferox forgotten who the hell he was talking to?

Sirius reached out to grab Moony’s hand, giving it a little squeeze as he said coldly, “Don’t say shit
like that, it’s disgusting.”

Ferox blinked at him, surprised—then glanced over at Remus, suddenly looking guilty.

“Sorry lad, didn’t mean anything by it.”

They didn’t speak again as they made their way towards the castle, trying to move as quietly as
possible. They had just begun to creep along the wall when Remus gasped, sharply.

“He knows we’re here.” Remus whispered, gritting his teeth, “Be careful!”

Ferox nodded, touching a hand to his brow in some sort of salute. Then he turned the corner,
slipping into the ruin. Remus followed after, with Sirius close behind. As they stepped through the
crumbling archway, Ferox raised his wand, opening his mouth to cast a spell—but the werewolves
were too fast.

Sirius rounded the corner just in time to see the rock slam into Ferox’s head; he crumpled to the
ground in a heap, blood streaming from his hairline where the stone had hit him.

“No!” Remus shouted—and before Sirius even realised what was happening, he had been tackled
to the ground. He rolled in the dirt, struggling with the woman on top of him—she was more
animal than human, wrapped in filthy, matted furs, with spiralling lines covering every inch of her
skin and a feral gleam in her eye. She ripped the wand from his hand with incredible strength,
pinning him.

“Oooooh, who’s this then, brother? Pretty, pretty boy…” The woman straddled him, holding his
wrists above his head in an iron grip. Sirius’s heart pounded with fear, instincts screaming at him to
run. This must be Livia.

“Let him go!” Remus growled, face twisted with fury, wand raised. But before he could move, a
hulking beast of a man had come up behind him—all rolling muscle and dark, wiry hair. Greyback.
The monster wrenched Remus’s arm, twisting it, and a sickening snap rang out in the empty air.
Remus screamed in agony, dropping his wand.

“Remus!” Sirius cried, desperately. No no no no no—

Greyback laughed, a horrible, grating sound. He released Remus, shoving him forward roughly,
and the boy stumbled, cradling his broken arm.

“Welcome back, cub,” Greyback grinned, revealing a row of sharp, bloodied teeth, “How I’ve
missed you…”
“Fuck you,” Remus panted, scanning the ground frantically for his wand.

“Now now,” Greyback purred, watching with sadistic amusement as Remus turned to face him,
“You should be on your hands and knees after what you did to me.”

“Kill him, father!” Livia shrieked, madly, “Kill the traitor Remus Lupin, just as he killed my
brother Gaius! Then I can have the pretty one!”

Sirius struggled against her, and she ran a sharp, yellow nail over his face, grinning hungrily.

“She’s full of bright ideas, my beautiful girl,” Greyback said, fondly.

“Go on then!” Remus snarled, clearly struggling to speak through the pain, “Kill me. Then what?”

“Then what?!” Greyback growled, “Then I rip apart your little human pet, that’s what. Then I tear
him limb from fucking limb – but not before I’ve had my fun with him…”

“You’re disgusting!” Remus screamed, furious, “You’re filth! You’re nothing! You talk about
freedom, but you don’t have the first clue what it is! You’re nothing but a bully! Voldemort’s
lapdog!”

“Kill him!” Livia screeched, and Sirius’s heart leapt into his throat—Greyback was staring at
Remus with pure, unbridled rage, murderous fury in his yellow eyes—and Remus was just standing
there, waiting—Sirius had to do something, anything—

Without another thought, he shifted, shedding human skin for claws and fur.

“What?! Argh!”

Livia’s grip loosened in shock, and Padfoot wriggled out from under her, barking and growling. He
was so angry—he wanted to hurt, wanted to bite—

“Father!” Livia screamed, “Help m—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish. There was a flash of purple light, and a gash tore across her throat,
skin splitting easy as butter under a knife. Blood spurted, hot and heady; Padfoot could taste it in
the air. She lifted a hand uselessly to her throat, eyes wide.

Greyback roared, some combination of rage and anguish in his voice, but there was nothing he
could do. Ferox was on his feet, now, wand pointed directly at the werewolf, ready to cast the
same curse again.

“You’re a dead man.” Greyback hissed, staring straight at Ferox. And then he was gone,
disapparating with a loud CRACK.

“Bugger!” Ferox cursed, losing his balance slightly as he stumbled forward.

Sirius had already transformed back. He stared down at Livia, whose eyes had gone dull in the
early morning light. Her blood soaked into her fur cloak, staining it.

Remus joined him, standing at his side. He asked, quietly,

“Ok?”

Sirius nodded, numb, adrenaline fading slowly from his veins. “You?”
 “Think so.”

Ferox came to stand beside them, scowling and pressing a hand to his bleeding head.

“Merlin, what a mess.” He grumbled. “At least we got the bitch.”

“Her name’s Livia,” Remus snapped.

Ferox stared at him, blinking, and Sirius turned to stare, too. As they watched, Remus knelt. Very
carefully, and very gently, he closed the dead woman’s eyes, face twisted with something like
sorrow.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "dire wolf" by grateful dead!

we're in the home stretch now guys <3 this fic will be done by the end of the
month...pencilling in an emotional crisis on my calendar
 The War: Winter 1980 & Spring 1981
Chapter Summary

absence makes the heart grow fonder ig

Chapter Notes

cw: side character death, unnamed character death, brief reference to alcohol
dependency

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Bell bottom blues, you made me cry

I don’t want to lose this feeling

And if I could choose a place to die

It would be in your arms

Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?

Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?

I’d gladly do it because

I don’t want to fade away

Give me one more day, please

I don’t want to fade away

In your heart I want to stay

Sirius insisted that they go straight home once it had been established that there was no longer any
imminent danger. Ferox called Moody to the scene, and after a brief conversation he dismissed
them, with a promise to follow up later. Remus remained quiet throughout it all, dead on his feet,
eyes skittering over Livia’s body and then away.

Once they were back in the flat, Marlene came over to fix Remus’s broken arm. Sirius hovered in
the doorway, watching them.

“Thanks, Marls,” Remus gave her a tired smile, “I can do dislocations no problem, but broken
bones…”

“You really shouldn’t be doing spells on yourself, Remus,” she told him, frowning, “You know
you can always contact me, if you need to.”

“I know.”

She gave him a sleeping draught before she left, along with some more of her own pain-relief
ointment, and strict instructions to stay in bed for at least forty-eight hours. Sirius thanked her as
she left, promising to make sure Remus took care of himself. When he returned to the bedroom, the
potion bottle was empty, and Remus was asleep.

Moody and Ferox stopped by the flat an hour later to take Sirius’s report. There wasn’t much left to
tell; it seemed that Ferox had already caught Moody up to speed. Still, Sirius recounted what had
happened, pointedly avoiding any mention of his transformation into a dog—he glanced at Ferox as
he skimmed over that detail, but the man’s face revealed nothing.

Moody left first, disappearing through the floo to return to the Ministry. When Ferox moved to
follow him, Sirius reached out to stop him, saying quickly,

“Wait!”

The older man turned, raising a brow expectantly. Sirius shifted, uncomfortable.

“Did you…tell him?”

Ferox gave him a scrutinising look.

“Am I correct in assuming that you’re referring to your miraculous ability to transform into a giant
dog?”

Sirius nodded, tersely. Ferox sighed.

“No. I did not tell Alastor that you’re an unregistered animagus—I assumed that if it was a secret,
then you had good reason for keeping it.” He frowned, sternly, “But I have to say, lad – a skill like
that could be of great use to the Order. You might consider making…certain people aware of it, if
you truly want to help.”

Sirius bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I want to help.”

Ferox raised his hands, placating. “I never said you didn’t!” He cleared his throat, “Only…there’s
not much use in hiding it, is there?”

“Everyone who needs to know already does,” Sirius said, coldly. He understood what Ferox was
getting at, but he couldn’t risk sharing the secret—what if Moody or Dumbledore tried to forbid
him from accompanying Remus on full moons? The more Sirius heard any of the adults in the
Order talk about werewolves, the more he realised how little any of them understood—how little
any of them wanted to understand.

“Right then.” Ferox said, attempting a friendly smile, “I’ll be off. Are you heading home, too?”

Sirius blinked.

“I live here.”

Ferox’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought this was Lupin’s flat.”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, slowly, “It is.” He watched the other man’s face, waiting for him to put the
pieces together.
“Ah,” he nodded, still wearing that forced, friendly smile, “Close quarters. You two must be good
friends.”

Sirius felt a sharp surge of frustrated anger—it was clearly a one-bedroom flat. What did Ferox
think, that they took turns on the sofa??

“We aren’t friends.” He bit out, folding his arms against his chest. Ferox blinked, then glanced
away.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat, “Right. Er…” There was a rather awkward pause, which stretched on
for a few seconds. Finally, Ferox looked back up, smiling tightly. “I’d better head out—it’s off to a
safe house, for me!” He chuckled, a small, forced laugh, “Take care, Sirius.”

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered, watching him disappear into the fireplace, “You too.”

* * *

Remus woke up the next day, in the middle of the afternoon. Sirius was sitting in the living room,
working on a crossword, when he heard a ragged shout coming from down the hall.

“He’s going to kill Ferox!”

He leapt to his feet immediately, hurrying into the bedroom.

“What?”

“We need to find Greyback!” Remus said, clambering out of bed, “He said he’d kill Ferox!”

“Moony, it’s all taken care of,” Sirius rushed to assure him, grasping his shoulders, smoothing
hands down his arms, “Ferox is going to move to a safe house, he’ll up his security and be extra
vigilant, don’t worry.”

“It won’t be enough,” Remus insisted, shrugging him off, “Moody and Ferox, they don’t treat
Greyback like a proper threat – look at what happened! He’s more dangerous than they think, and
now he’s angry…”

“I’m sure Moody knows that, even if Ferox is a bit cavalier about it.” Sirius tried, again, to calm
him down. “How are you feeling? I’ll put the kettle on, why don’t you have a bath? You’ll feel
better…”

Remus acquiesced, and Sirius made them both tea as he soaked in the tub. Afterwards, he wasn’t
quite so frantic—but he was still just as insistent that he had to check on Ferox, pointing out all the
work he’d done on shielding charms for the Order.

Finally, Sirius caved and contacted Moody through the fireplace. The familiar grizzled face
hovered in the flames, magical eye sending off sparks as it swirled.

“All in hand, Lupin,” he said, shortly, “You can stand down.”

“But Mad-Eye,” Remus begged, kneeling in front of the hearth, “Greyback will find him, I know
he will, he’ll be able to follow the scent – if you just tell me where he is, then I can—”
“Classified information.” Moody cut him off, frowning. “Every precaution has been taken. You
can trust that the Auror’s office can cope with a lone werewolf.”

Remus’s face hardened, the way it did when he was settling in for a fight—but before he could say
anything, Moody excused himself. “No time for this, Lupin, it’s been a busy week. Get some rest.”
And with that, his face disappeared from the flames.

Remus groaned, frustrated, and smacked a closed fist against the rug.

“See?” Sirius said, trying to stifle his own frustration, “Moody’s got it all sorted.”

“But I need to be sure,” Remus insisted, knees clicking as he stood, “They don’t understand, not
really, not like…”

“Not like you do?”

“Exactly!”

“Remus,” Sirius said, sternly, thinking of his conversation with Frank, “You need to be careful
with that kind of talk. I think…I think you ought to put a lid on the werewolf stuff, for a bit.”

“What?” Remus stared at him, taken aback. “‘The werewolf stuff’?! What’s that supposed to
mean? I am a werewolf.”

“I know,” Sirius winced—he hadn’t meant for it to come out like that. “But you’re a wizard too,
and you’re on our side. It just might be a good idea to focus on something else, you don’t want
anyone in the Order to get the wrong end of the stick…”

Remus’s mouth fell open; he gaped at Sirius, utterly affronted.

“The wrong end of the stick…?”

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Sirius scrambled to explain, speaking carefully, “I’m only warning
you – things are bad enough already, no one trusts anyone. Frank told me Dumbledore thinks
there’s a spy in the Order, and if you keep bringing up how chummy you are with dark creatures
then—”

“I am not ‘chummy’ with dark creatures!” Remus yelled, scowling, “How can you…unless you’re
saying I’m a dark creature too?!”

“Of course I’m not!” Sirius scowled back—it was like Remus was purposely misinterpreting what
he was saying. Sirius understood how the bloody Blacks thought, but he didn’t exactly go around
telling everyone how familiar he was with death eater thinking.

“It’s just…you know how much prejudice there is, and it’s not going to do you any favours to
broadcast this weird connection you have with them. I saw Livia, I saw Greyback, you’re nothing
like them. Don’t let people think you are.”

“Has somebody said something?” Remus demanded, “Was it Danny, or—”

“No, it’s not…it’s…” Sirius hesitated, thinking guiltily of some of the whispers he’d heard at
Order meetings. “Well, after you spent all that time with them, people have raised concerns, that’s
all. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“No, I can’t! I was only with the pack because Dumbledore ordered it! Just like I’ve always done
everything Dumbledore’s told me to!”

“I know that…” Sirius mumbled, glancing away. He didn’t know how to explain to Remus what it
looked like, from the outside; the secrecy, the way he sympathised with the werewolves, how he
sometimes acted like he wanted to protect them…

Remus’s hands curled into fists.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, in a low, dangerous voice. Sirius looked up at him, quickly.

“Of course I do!” Of course, of course— “It’s just…” He swallowed, fiddling with his hair,
“You’ve always been good at keeping secrets, Moony…”

He couldn’t meet Remus’s eye as he said it. He wasn’t even sure why he said it, only that—it had
been eating at him, the way they were hiding everything, and he needed to…acknowledge it,
needed Moony to say something, to say that he wasn’t keeping secrets from him. That they were
past that, now.

But he didn’t. Instead, Remus said, in a clipped, icy voice,

“Fine. If that’s how you feel.”

He turned and stormed out of the flat. Sirius watched him leave.

Look back, he thought, as Remus shoved the door open, Turn around, look back.

He didn’t. The door slammed shut behind him.

Remus was gone for a long time. Sirius sat on the sofa, waiting for him to return, staring blankly at
the wall. By the time he finally came back, the sun had set, and it was dark outside. Moony
stumbled into the flat, reeking of cheap gin. Their eyes met, and Sirius felt as though his heart were
trying to eat itself.

He went to the kitchen, and made a strong pot of tea. They drank it in silence, and after that they
never talked about the ‘werewolf stuff’ again.

* * *

On the morning after the December full moon, Sirius and Remus apparated back to the flat and
collapsed into bed, where they remained until mid-afternoon.

When they woke, Leo Ferox was dead.

It was front page news, splashed across the headlines of the Daily Prophet: WEREWOLVES
STRIKE AGAIN – WIZARD FOUND DISEMBOWELED, PARTIALLY EATEN IN HIS HOME.
There hadn’t even been enough of the body left intact to identify; they’d had to rely on dental
records, according to Moody.

Sirius felt dreadful. Remus had been right, all along—they shouldn’t have doubted him, should
have fought harder to get Moody to listen. The guilt was a sticky, horrible thing that tangled
everything he wanted to say in his throat.
Remus didn’t speak when he heard the news, just stared out the window, chain-smoking, with a
murderous fury in his eyes. After an hour of silence, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned
with a handle of vodka. Sirius didn’t say anything when he twisted the cap off and began to drink
straight from the bottle.

Two days after the announcement of Ferox’s death, a known werewolf, Theodora Lupa, was
brutally attacked. She was registered, and had been locked away at the Ministry for the entirety of
the full moon – but that didn’t matter to the wizards who showed up at her door, angry and
frightened and hungry for vengeance, spurred on by the flood of newspaper articles and op-eds
about the failures of the registry, the danger of werewolves, the need for stricter laws and harsher
punishments.

The death eaters, of course, took full advantage of the opportunity to continue pushing their blood
purity agenda. Word began to spread that Voldemort himself intended to ‘do everything in his
power to protect real wizards where the Ministry had failed,’ offering a reward for any information
about the whereabouts of dangerous ‘half-breeds.’

Moody contacted them two hours after Theodora’s attack, with grim news: Remus would have to
go into hiding. Even though he wasn’t registered, and his name shouldn’t be publicly available,
there were still enough people who knew of his lycanthropy to put him at risk. Both he and Danny
would need to remain sequestered in a safe house, under multiple layers of protective charms, until
the furore surrounding Ferox’s death had settled down.

“I’ll miss Harry’s first Christmas.” Remus mumbled, staring down morosely at his suitcase as he
packed.

“James and Lily will understand.” Sirius assured him, chewing anxiously on his nails, “We all just
want you safe.” He hadn’t been able to let Moony out of his sight since they’d heard about
Theodora—the thought of anyone finding him, hurting him…

“I know.” Remus said, quietly.

They kissed, once, at the door. And then Moony was gone.

* * *

Harry’s first Christmas was a quiet affair. No Christmas Eve or Boxing Day parties—everyone in
the Order had been instructed to keep a low profile over the holidays, to avoid unnecessary travel
or large gatherings. So it was just Lily, James, Peter and Sirius at the Potters’, opening presents
around the tree and eating dinner at the cosy kitchen table.

If it weren’t for baby Harry, Sirius had a feeling that the whole thing would have been a rather
gloomy affair. It was James’s first Christmas without his parents, and he was clearly missing them
more than usual; Sirius often caught him staring off into space, eyes unfocused and far away. Peter
was just as tense as usual—as things had worsened with the war he’d become quite jumpy, and had
a tendency to startle at any loud sounds or sudden noises. Sirius was missing Remus terribly,
unable to stop wondering where he was or how he was doing, and Lily was just trying her best to
hold all of them together.

That night, after Lily and Harry had gone to bed and Peter had returned home, Sirius sat with James
in the living room, working their way slowly through a bottle of firewhiskey. The fire crackled in
the grate, snapping and popping every so often, sending sparks whirling into the air before they
fizzled out and died.

“Wish Moony was here,” James mumbled, staring into the flames. He smiled, vaguely,
“Remember that first Christmas that he came to visit, when he taught us how to make snow
angels?”

Sirius smiled, too, around the burn of the whiskey. “Yeah.”

“Never had a clue what he was talking about half the time, when we were kids.” James chuckled,
shaking his head. Sirius grunted in agreement.

“But you always seemed to get him…” James picked up the bottle, refilling his glass, “Dunno what
it was about you two…s’like you’d spend half the time arguing, and the other half reading each
other’s minds.”

Sirius snorted. “Right. Wish I could read Moony’s mind—make everything easier…”

His voice came out bitter, darker than he’d intended, and James glanced at him, brow furrowing.
Sirius looked away. After a moment, the other boy asked, slowly,

“Is…everything ok?”

Sirius swallowed, and opened his mouth to say Yeah, of course, everything’s fine. But nothing
came out—instead, he found himself shrugging, helplessly. James moved to sit beside him on the
sofa, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and Sirius sagged into him.

“I miss him, Prongs.”

“I know,” James murmured, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “I do, too.”

“No, it’s not…” Sirius paused, scrubbing a hand across his face. Fuck—he really didn’t want to
cry. “I just…I feel so far away from him, sometimes. All the time. It’s like even when we’re in the
same room, he’s not really there—or maybe I’m not there, I dunno…”

“It’s just the war,” James said, soothingly, “I don’t think any of us have quite been ourselves,
lately…”

“Is it?” Sirius asked, weakly. Tears stung his eyes, despite his best efforts.

“Of course,” James rubbed his back, “You love each other, don’t you?”

Sirius swallowed. “Sometimes I think that’s the problem,” he croaked, “Like I’m…suffocating
him, or I’m suffocating myself, and…I just…I feel like I could love him better, if I loved him
less.”

James was quiet for what felt like a long time, as Sirius struggled to get his breathing under control.
Finally, he said softly,

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“…no?”

“No.” James said, firmly, “I think love’s the most important thing we’ve got, these days.” He
smiled at Sirius, the ghost of that old, infallible optimism in his eyes. “So let’s hold onto it,
alright?”

Sirius nodded, slowly. “Alright.”

* * *

On New Year’s Eve, Sirius spent the night fighting for his life. As the clock ticked closer to
midnight, he was dodging curses, colourful flashes of light zipping past his head and bursting into
showers of sparks on the wall behind him.

“On your left!” He shouted, and Emmeline threw up a shield charm just in time, blocking the
unforgivable that a death eater had sent straight towards her. She flashed him a wild grin, eyes
alight with the fire of battle. Sirius had never seen anyone take to war like Emmeline Vance—she
seemed to come alive when she was fighting, electric and unstoppable. He was very glad that they
were on the same side.

They were in the midst of a full-fledged battle, the likes of which Sirius hadn’t seen in months—
the war against the death eaters was the sort that was usually fought in small skirmishes, sneak
attacks and underground raids. But the Order had received a tip off about a larger gathering of
Voldemort’s followers on New Year’s Eve, presumably in preparation for another dark magic
ritual. Dumbledore had determined that it might be their best chance to deal a crippling blow to
Voldemort’s forces, and Moody had gathered all the soldiers he could.

For once, everything had gone exactly according to plan. They were actually winning—they had
successfully managed to close off any routes of communication, so the death eaters hadn’t been
able to call for any backup, and the Order was picking them off one by one. It was exhilarating to
feel like they were finally making progress.

The battle was winding down; there were only a few death eaters left standing. Across the room,
James had just subdued one of the black-robed figures with a stunning charm – Sirius caught his
eye, and they grinned at each other, lost for a moment in the excitement and adrenaline,
triumphant.

And then Sirius saw it—the man climbing slowly to his feet, a few paces behind James, wand
aimed directly at his back. He’d been stunned, but the spell must have worn off, and in the chaos
no one had thought to use a body-bind to prevent him from getting back up.

“James—” Sirius began to move forward, but it was already too late; he’d never make it in time.
“Prongs—”

A flash of green light—and then—

The death eater fell. James spun around, staggering back, eyes darting from the body on the ground
up to the person who had cast the spell.

It was Peter.

He stood trembling, white-faced, wand shaking in his hand. He wasn’t looking at the body of the
man he’d killed. He was looking at James.

Around them, the battle was ending. They had won.

“James!” Sirius rushed forward, pulling the other boy into his arms. “Prongs!” He leaned back,
hands on James’s shoulders, scanning him. “Are you alright?!”

James nodded, shakily. “I’m fine—Wormtail got him. I’m ok.”

Sirius hugged him again, burying his face in James’s tangled hair, heart pounding with fear and
adrenaline.

Behind them, Peter watched the two friends embrace. After a moment, he lowered his wand.

* * *

It took a full two weeks before Moody finally let Remus and Danny out of hiding. Sirius had had
enough after the first five days—he threatened to use every curse he could think of if Moody didn’t
at least tell him where Remus was being kept. But the Auror refused to crack, brushing him off and
insisting that both Remus and Danny were safest if only Moody and Dumbledore knew where they
were hiding.

After the scare during the battle on New Year’s, though, Sirius didn’t think he could survive
another week—they had all been shaken up by James’s close call, and Sirius had never been more
grateful for Peter. He’d had no idea that the nervous boy had it in him to go so far protecting a
friend, but he was just glad that he did.

James, on the other hand, was a bit more conflicted about it—though he never said anything
outright, Sirius could tell that he was uncomfortable with the idea that Peter had actually killed
someone to save him. And Sirius supposed that was fair—a stunning spell likely would have been
just as effective. But he tried not to think too much into it; he was just happy that James was safe.

The entire situation just made him miss Remus more, though—when they returned home that
night, Sirius wanted nothing more than to crawl into Moony’s arms and know what he was safe.
He resolved to confront Moody at their next Order meeting and demand that he be allowed to see
his boyfriend, without taking no for an answer.

But Moody was nowhere to be found when they arrived at the meeting, and Sirius was forced to
find a seat in the crowded kitchen of the safe house where it was being hosted. He waited,
anxiously, scanning the faces around him, searching for the swirling mad eye.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Sirius was just turning to look when Marlene leapt out of her seat,
rushing forward.

“DANNY!”

She threw herself into her brother’s arms, and he laughed as he hugged her back,

“All right, sis?”

Behind the siblings, a lanky frame hovered, sandy head of curls ducked shyly as he stepped out of
the way.

“Remus?”
Sirius stood without realising it, twisting and squeezing through the press of bodies as though
drawn by some invisible, magnetic force. His heart thumped, painfully, in his chest. Moony moony
moony…

They were standing in front of each other, face to face. Sirius looked up, and Remus was staring
down at him with so much love that it took his breath away.

“Hi.”

Sirius smiled, helplessly, and then stepped forward, placing a hand on Remus’s shoulder to push
him away from the prying eyes of the room. In the safety of the dark hallway, he reached up to
cradle the taller boy’s face, fingers singing with the familiar heat of Moony’s skin. He tangled
them in the tawny curls, pulling him down, and then they were kissing – for a fleeting moment,
everything was perfect.

* * *

Spring 1981

After that, everything was better. The fighting, the distance—it was all forgotten, subsumed by the
crushing need to be together, the apologies that were spoken and whispered and kissed into bare
skin. It still wasn’t safe for Remus to leave the flat, so they spent hours alone there together, more
often than not in each other’s arms.

Sirius still had missions to go on, of course, and he stopped by the Potters’ a few times a week to
check in on Lily and James and baby Harry. But he always returned to the flat as soon as he could,
where Remus would be waiting with a cup of tea or a plate of beans on toast, a cigarette and a glass
of whiskey and a record already on the turntable. Cocooned in Moony’s arms, Sirius felt as though
the rest of the world couldn’t touch him—they’d even severed the floo connection, as an extra
precaution.

Sirius worried, sometimes, about leaving Remus cooped up alone in the flat, aware of how things
had ended up before when Moony felt stifled. But he still had his books to keep busy, and the
telephone, and the rest of their friends. Mary was especially helpful, going over at least twice a
week and insisting that she was grateful for the break from her noisy family.

There was still distance, of course. And secrets. Remus continued to obfuscate his books whenever
Sirius stepped through the door, and Sirius found himself sharing fewer and fewer details about his
missions. But that was just the nature of the war—everyone was a bit further away from each
other. Sirius convinced himself that it didn’t matter, that Moony was still his Moony, that there was
nothing to worry about.

And so into that spring, their little flat became a sort of oasis, an island of calm in the storm of the
war that surrounded them. Sirius fell asleep each night with his head nestled against Moony’s
chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. He woke in the morning to soft kisses
pressed into his neck, lazy sunshine and steaming pots of tea. Impossibly, he was happy.

But of course, it was never meant to last.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "bell bottom blues" by derek & the dominos (so fucking good
please listen to it)!

also i am generally very open minded about food but personally?? if i came home and
the love of my life offered me a plate of beans on toast they would simply no longer be
the love of my life :/ i am so sorry british people this is a cultural barrier i will just
never get past
 The War: Triage
Chapter Summary

dw guys james is just resting his eyes <3

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

London calling to the imitation zone

Forget it, brother, you can go it alone

London calling to the zombies of death

Quit holding out and draw another breath

London calling and I don’t want to shout

But while we were talking, I saw you nodding out

London calling, see we ain’t got no high

Except for that one with the yellowy eye

The ice age is coming, the sun’s zooming in

Engines stop running, the wheat is growing thin

A nuclear era, but I have no fear

‘Cause London is drowning

I, I live by the river

Spring 1981

It was a routine mission. Standard; just a simple patrol of Diagon Alley. James, Sirius, and Lily
were all assigned together, a tidy group of three, more than enough people for the job—Sirius had
even thought that it was an abundance of caution, that they would’ve been perfectly alright with
just two. They’d checked in with Kingsley Shacklebolt before they left, and were on their way to
meet Dorcas Meadowes after finishing up. It was an easy job, the safest assignment any of them
had had in months.

The death eaters came out of nowhere, bleeding like smoke from the shadows, surrounding them—
and then suddenly curses were flying, light flashing, and Sirius was throwing up shield charms and
shooting out hexes and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Where had they come
from?!

Everyone was shouting, and Sirius was twisting frantically, trying to cover himself while
simultaneously searching for Lily and James in the chaos. The three of them managed to group
together, covering each other’s blind spots, fighting as they had so many times—but this time there
was no backup coming, no chance to even send out a distress signal. If they lowered their wands
for so much as a second, they risked death.

Sirius managed to hit the death eater in front of him with a blasting curse, cracking the mask right
off his head. He was shocked to see Barty Crouch’s sneering face, and for a moment his head
swam with déjà vu—memories of Reg, walking through the corridors at Hogwarts with Barty by
his side, the two of them always together—

The weaselly boy waved his wand, a sharp, jerking motion—a jet of green light burst forth, and
Sirius was too slow, his concentration lapsed for one crucial second—but James was there,
dropping his own shield just in time to deflect the curse, and then he staggered back—Lily was
screaming, arm stretched out—Sirius!

He reached out blindly, grabbing her hand, and then he was sucked away.

The three of them landed, gasping, on the beach in Broadstairs, and James collapsed immediately,
knees buckling as he slumped to the sand. Sirius caught him, staggering under the boy’s full
weight, and Lily hurried to grab his other side. They each dragged an arm over one shoulder,
preparing to apparate again.

By the time they made it to the flat, James was fully unconscious, and they had to drag his limp
body through the door.

“Help!” Lily shouted, weakly, as Sirius kicked the door shut behind them. Remus and Mary rushed
over—she must have been visiting, that night—and stared in shock at the scene before them.

“Christ!” Remus hurried to help, manoeuvring James over to the sofa, “What happened?!”

“Remus,” Mary said tremulously, wand raised, “The questions…”

“Right, fuck, ok, um…” Remus’s eyes darted frantically between Sirius, Lily, and James’s sweat-
soaked face. They finally settled on Lily as he stammered, “What did…um…Who…?”

“Lily,” Mary cut in, abruptly, “Who was your first kiss?”

“Dirk Cresswell.” Lily replied, without hesitation. Sirius and Remus both blinked at her, surprised
—but of course, there was no time to process this revelation.

“Sirius,” Suddenly Mary’s wand was in his face, “Same question.”

“I don’t know!” Sirius said, desperately, tugging James’s robes away to see his chest—he was hurt,
they needed to know where—to see—he was so pale, but there was no blood— “One of you go and
get McKinnon!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Mary demanded, voice hardening, “Answer the bloody
question, Black!”

“I can’t, I really don’t know! It was some muggle girl in a cinema! Moony, tell her!”

“He’s telling the truth,” Remus croaked, horrified gaze still locked on James, “He is, we got into a
fight over it. I punched him.”

“Punched you back,” Sirius mumbled, attempting to cast a diagnostic spell over James—but he was
no good, he couldn’t remember how to do it properly. “Get Marlene?! Please!”

“I’ll do it,” Mary said, hurrying out of the room without another word. They heard the front door
slam, and then the tell-tale CRACK of apparation.

Lily returned, suddenly, from the bathroom, where she’d gone to fetch a damp flannel. She fell to
her knees on the carpet, pressing it to her husband’s forehead, whispering feverishly as she stroked
his hair,

“Don’t you dare, Potter, don’t you bloody dare…”

“What happened?” Remus asked, “An attack?”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from James—he was so pale, skin gone waxy
in the lamplight. “Ambush. Six death eaters. Someone must have known we’d be there, someone
must have told…”

“Sirius!” Lily yelped, “Look!”

She had managed to undo the buttons on James’s shirt, and his chest was marred with twisting
green lines, branching like lightning beneath his skin. His chest rose and fell, breaths rapid and
shallow.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius breathed, and then somehow he was on his knees beside Lily, “Did you hear
what the curse was?”

She shook her head, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. Now there was a rasping noise in
James’s throat, brow furrowing slightly as he struggled to breathe.

No, Sirius thought, desperately, No no no no no. This couldn’t be happening—it couldn’t, James
couldn’t go dying on them because he’d promised—he’d promised—

“Firewhisky,” Remus said, out of nowhere, “I’ve got a bottle somewhere.”

Anger burst through the fear—how could Moony be talking about drinking, at a time like this?!
Their friend was bloody—was—

“Not now, Moony!” He snarled, whipping around to glare at Remus. The taller boy drew back, as
though slapped,

“I meant for Prongs! It might help the shock.”

“Try it!” Lily managed to choke through her tears, peeling back the flannel to place a hand against
James’s forehead. He was burning up, sweat beading on his face and neck even as he lay
unconscious. “Try anything!”

Remus dashed away, and Sirius could hear him fumbling about in the kitchen. Before he could
return, the door slammed open again, and Mary swept in with Marlene.

“Out of my way, please!” Marlene commanded, voice steady and full of authority. Sirius scrambled
to his feet, moving to give her room to work. Lily stood, too, and he wrapped his arms around her,
holding her as she sobbed. Remus returned from the kitchen, hovering in the doorway with a bottle
of firewhisky clutched in his fist. Sirius had no idea where he’d hidden it—he hadn’t even realised
they had any liquor left in the flat.

But there was no time to think about that now. James was growing paler by the second, skin waxy
and ashen.

“Marls,” Sirius begged, uselessly, “Please…please…”

“I’m doing my best, Black!” Marlene snapped, and he caught a flash of panic in her eyes as she
began to rifle through her bag.

No no no no no…

Mary stood against the door, coat still on. “Is there someone else I can get?” She asked, voice
trembling, “Tell me, I’ll go anywhere.”

“I don’t know,” Marlene muttered, hands shaking as she moved her wand over James’s prone form.
“There’s no one safe at St. Mungo’s, and I don’t know if anyone else in the Order is…Emmeline,
maybe, but she’s in Hungary or somewhere…”

“You can do it though, Marls?” Lily asked, brokenly, “You can heal him?”

“I don’t know, I…What was the curse?”

“We don’t know,” Sirius told her, “It was wordless.”

“What about a bezoar?” Mary suggested.

“That’s for poison,” Sirius replied, “He was cursed.”

“Yeah, but still, isn’t it worth a try?”

“I don’t have one anyway!” Marlene burst out, and suddenly she was crying, shoulders shaking as
she held her hands over James’s body.

His breathing was slowing, growing weaker and fainter—it was wrong, all wrong, and Sirius felt
his own throat closing up, suffocating him—

“Can you describe the curse?” Remus asked, again.

“It was wordless!” Sirius snapped—they had already been over this!

“No, but could you describe it?” Remus insisted, “A light? Colour? A smell?”

“I’m not like you, Remus, I’m not…” Sirius trailed off, tugging fingers through his hair as he tried
desperately to remember. It had all happened so fast…

“Blue.” Lily said, suddenly, “There was a blue light, wasn’t there Sirius?”

“Yeah!” He straightened, as the memory snapped back into place, “It was blue, and kind of…
Jagged? Short, like a dart.”

“Yes,” Lily lifted a hand to wipe the tears from her face, turning to Remus, “It was like arrows
being fired at us; blue arrows.”

“Ok,” Remus nodded, brow furrowed in thought. “Ok, so…blue…er…”

“Remus!” Mary exclaimed, “Blue, isn’t that explosive charms?”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded, eagerly—but then his face fell. “But he hasn’t…” He turned to James,
voice fading, as they all thought the same thing: whatever the curse had been, it hadn't caused any
sort of explosion.

“Maybe they combined it with something?” Lily suggested, voice growing steadier as she wrapped
her arms around herself, “Magical alchemy, you boys do that all the time.”

“Or it could have been a mistake,” Sirius added, mind spinning as he finally began to piece
everything together, “That happens all the time too.”

“Yeah!” Remus nodded again, “The death eater might have just really wanted to use a lot of force,
that can come out explosive sometimes…oh! Did you have shield charms up?”

“We did,” Lily told him, frowning, “But James – his had just dropped, just for a split second, he
was trying to…” She glanced away, voice trailing off.

“He was trying to protect me.” Sirius said, with a horrible, sickening twist of guilt. “Last thing he
did was disarm that fucking Crouch kid, he was about to get me with an unforgivable.”

For a moment, the room went completely silent; then Remus began to speak again.

“Ok,” he mumbled, speaking rapidly, “Ok, so what if whoever hit James was just a bit slow? Tried
to get through the shield charm just the second it went down.”

“That makes sense,” Lily cried, hope bleeding bright across her face, “That accounts for the short
bursts!”

“Ok, great!” Remus turned back to Marlene, who stared up at him with wide, helpless eyes.

“What do I do, Remus?” She asked, in a tiny voice – and Sirius’s heart crumpled in his chest as he
watched the light turn to panic in Moony’s eyes.

“I…how would that hit him?” Remus asked – the panic was bleeding into his voice, now, “What
would it do?! Think!”

“I’m trying!” Marlene sobbed, trembling.

He’s going to die, Sirius thought, numbly, as he watched Marlene sit frozen over James’s body,
He’s going to die, and then he’ll be gone, forever, and there will be no more James in the world…

The pain of that thought alone was enough to turn him inside out.

“Marls,” Mary said, striding across the room and kneeling next to her friend. She wrapped her arms
around Marlene’s shoulders, hugging her tightly, stroking her hair. “Sweetheart,” she murmured,
soothingly, “You can do this. You’re the cleverest person I know. If anyone knows what to do, it’s
you. Ok?”

The words seemed to steady Marlene. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, and when she
opened them the panic was gone, replaced by fiery determination.

“Right.” She looked down at James, mumbling to herself, “It would have been hard, right in the
chest…it would have…yes! Yes, it does make sense!”

Marlene began to move her wand, muttering to herself as lavender-coloured light pooled slowly
over James’s limp body, sinking slowly into his skin.

It was as though the entire room was holding its breath—nobody spoke, nobody so much as moved
while they all watched Marlene work. Lily gripped Sirius’s hand with all her strength, crushing his
fingers, but he could hardly feel it. All he could do was watch, and wait, and hope and hope and
hope.

Please, he begged silently, desperately, Not James. Please please please…

Mary remained kneeling in front of the couch, silent and stiff; Remus continued to hover, whiskey
bottle clutched uselessly in his fist. The only sound was Marlene’s steady murmuring, a tuneless
song, so low that Sirius couldn’t even make out the words.

At first, he couldn’t tell if it was working—James was still pale, still sweating, still very much
unconscious. But then his breathing began to steady, and a tiny hint of colour began to return to his
cheeks.

“It’s working!” Remus cried, tilting his head as though he were listening for something, “You’re
doing it, Marlene!”

“Oh thank you,” Lily dropped her head into her hands, voice muffled, “Thank you, thank you…”

Marlene finished casting her spell and felt for James’s pulse. She released a heavy sigh, nodding,
shoulders slumping in relief.

“Stable,” she confirmed. Then, glancing towards Moony, “Might as well give him a bit of that
whisky, Remus.”

Once they’d managed to pour a mouthful of the liquor down his throat, Marlene administered a
strengthening potion. James was breathing evenly, at that point, the horrible rasping noise
completely gone. Sirius sagged against the mantle, feeling as though he’d just had all the wind
knocked out of him. His heart was still hammering with adrenaline.

Marlene didn’t want anybody moving James until he was conscious again.

“He can stay here,” Remus offered, immediately, “Of course he can. It’s safe, isn’t it, Padfoot?”

Something about the question struck him, dislodging a dark thought from the back of his mind. It’s
safe, isn’t it?

Remus frowned at him. “Padfoot?”

“Yeah…” Sirius replied, hesitant, “But we thought Diagon Alley was safe enough.”

“Well, he’s here now,” Lily said firmly, “He’s staying. I have to go home – Peter’s looking after
Harry, he must be so worried! I’ll be right back…”

“Someone should go and get Dumbledore.” Sirius said, trying to strangle the horrible thought that
was continuing to unfurl behind his skull.

Who knew—who knew? Me, Lily, James, Dorcas, Shacklebolt, Dumbledore, Moody, Remus—

He’d told Remus. He’d told Remus because Remus had asked him to, had insisted that he would be
out of his mind with worry if he didn’t at least know where to find them, in case anything went
wrong.
In case anything went wrong…

“What for?” Mary asked, blinking.

“Just…” Sirius swallowed, eyes darting towards Remus, then away. “He ought to know we were
attacked. He ought to know somebody told the death eaters where we’d be.”

“Sirius!” Mary gaped in shock, “Are you saying…someone in the Order?!”

Sirius nodded, once. Remus took a step forward.

“I’ll go!” He turned, setting down the bottle of whiskey, and—

“No!” Sirius said, quickly, “You can’t, you…you need to stay here. It’s not safe for werewolves.”

“It doesn’t seem to be safe for anyone!” Marlene pointed out, getting to her feet. “You go, Sirius,
since it’s so important. Remus, Mary and I can stay and look after James.”

Sirius’s eyes darted, instinctively, to James, then skittered over towards Remus. He stopped them
before they could meet the other boy’s searching gaze.

“Ok,” he swallowed, “I’ll be really quick.” And without another word, he had rushed out the door.

* * *

The halls of Hogwarts were dark. They were familiar, and yet not—McGonagall led Sirius to
Dumbledore’s office, as though he might lose his way.

“I apologise for the shock, Mr. Black,” she spoke as she walked, without turning around, “Updated
security measures, and all that.”

“Er…no worries,” Sirius assured her, rubbing at his shoulder. The moment he’d set foot in the
castle, one of the statues had jumped off its pedestal and twisted his arms behind his back,
restraining him until McGonagall arrived to see what was causing the disturbance.

They passed by the staircase to Gryffindor Tower, and Sirius felt a sharp pang of longing in his
chest. He couldn’t help remembering his last day at Hogwarts, how happy and carefree they’d all
been as they laughed at the Slytherins struggling to get their trunks down from over the lake…If
only he could go back in time, somehow, and start over, Sirius was sure that he’d do things
differently. That if he’d just had some warning, a bit more time to prepare, then he never would
have let things get so bad. Somehow, he would have stopped it.

When he entered Dumbledore’s office, the headmaster was wide awake despite the late hour. He
sat at his desk, scanning a letter from behind familiar half-moon spectacles; as Sirius entered, he
folded the paper and set it down.

“Mr. Black,” he said, politely, “How can I be of service?”

Sirius didn’t bother wasting time with pleasantries—he cut right to the chase.

“I need you to come back to the flat.”

“The flat?”

“My flat. Mine and Remus’s—our apartment. Something’s happened.”

“Oh?”

“James was hurt. The mission—somebody must’ve told, must’ve tipped off the death eaters,
because they knew where we were.” The words all came out in a rush, and Sirius forced himself to
take a breath before saying, “There’s a spy.”

Dumbledore was on his feet immediately. “I suspected as much…” He muttered, half to himself.
And then his gaze sharpened, and he turned to Sirius.

“Let us leave at once, then.”

When they arrived back at the flat, Lily was already back. She knelt next to James, smoothing the
hair back from his sweat-dampened forehead. Beside her, Mary cradled a sleeping Harry, and
Remus and Marlene hovered over the makeshift bed they had set up for James on the sofa. None of
them seemed inclined to leave anytime soon.

James was still unconscious, but most of the colour had returned to his face, and his chest rose and
fell steadily beneath the blankets. Dumbledore’s eyes swept over the scene, appraising, taking
everything in.

“I need to know everything,” he said, blue eyes sharp and cold as ice.

Sirius and Lily began to talk at once, starting at the beginning of the night. The assignment had
been routine; they’d finished their sweep of Diagon Alley and even had time to do an additional
sweep of Knockturn alley. Everything had been quiet, not a hint of danger.

So they’d left, in high spirits, exiting through the Leaky Cauldron. It was so nice outside that
they’d decided to walk to their check-in point with Dorcas, which was only fifteen minutes away
on Tottenham Court Road. Halfway there, they’d been surrounded.

“You couldn’t have been followed?” Dumbledore pressed, frowning severely as he listened to them
recount the story. Both Sirius and Lily shook their heads.

“We made sure,” Lily told him, “They weren’t behind us, they were ahead – they were waiting for
us.”

“Shit,” Sirius said, as a thought suddenly occurred to him, “Someone ought to tell Dorcas…after
James got…we had to get out fast, there wasn’t time.”

“It would not have mattered,” Dumbledore said, gravely, “Dorcas Meadowes is dead.”

A horrible, cold silence settled over the room, as they all processed this news. Sirius thought of
Dorcas’s gentle smile, her kind eyes and her quiet laugh.

In Mary’s arms, Harry stirred and began to cry. Lily stood immediately, taking her son and
clutching him to her chest, pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head.

Sirius opened his mouth.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He asked, meeting Dumbledore’s piercing gaze, “There’s a spy in the Order.”
Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "london calling" by the clash!

also there is another oneshot that goes with this chapter! you can read it here :) it
follows emmeline and her relationship with dorcas leading up to the events of this
chapter -- so technically it comes before this one, chronologically.
 The War: Summer 1981
Chapter Summary

fun chapter tonight guys :) haha so much fun :) i'm so glad we're all here having fun
together :)))

Chapter Notes

cw: ~important~ character death (y'all know who it is), brief reference to alcohol
dependency, angst and suffering, yada yada...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light

And if you don’t love me now

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

You would never break the chain

Monday 1st June 1981

“Thank you for meeting me,” Dumbledore said, from across the little table. They were in a muggle
café, and he had replaced his normal wizard’s robes with a ridiculous assortment of clothing—a
garish, brightly patterned Hawaiian button-down, a studded leather belt, and a pair of bell-bottom
jeans embroidered with daisies. Sirius blinked in shock.

“Er…of course,” He said, sitting down hastily, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. They
were getting a few strange looks from some of the muggles at the next table over, but Dumbledore
simply smiled placidly and waved his wand, and suddenly everyone in the café seemed intent on
ignoring them.

“Sorry, sir, but…why are we meeting here, exactly?” Sirius asked, still unable to shake the tension
that crept across his shoulders. It had only been two days since the attack, and while James had
been well enough to move back to the Potters’ when he woke up the previous morning, Sirius
didn’t like leaving his side—he was eager to get back. Still, when Dumbledore asked you to meet
him somewhere, you went.

“Ah, that would be because Marjorie makes the best lemonade this side of the Thames,”
Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. He nodded to two glasses on the table in front of him, which did
indeed appear to be filled with lemonade. Sirius stared at them for a moment, then looked back up.

“Sir, you told Lily to be ready to leave if you contacted her—is that was this is about?”

“She told you that, did she?”

“What? Yes, I mean—was she not supposed to?”

Dumbledore sipped his lemonade, thoughtfully, studying Sirius’s face. “She trusts you, then.”

“I—yes, of course.” Sirius shifted, uncomfortably. He had the distinct feeling that he was being
given some sort of test, without any time to prepare.

“And you trust her?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Who else do you trust, Mr. Black?”

“…what?”

Dumbledore leaned forward, placid smile replaced with an intense, burning gaze. “It is a simple
question, Sirius. Who else do you trust?”

Sirius stared at him, trying to figure out what he was meant to say. “I…I’m not sure I…
understand…”

“Hmm.” Dumbledore sat back, peering over his spectacles. “You are incredibly close with young
Mr. Lupin, are you not?”

Sirius’s chest felt tight.

“…Yes.”

“And you trust him?”

“O–of course I do.”

“You trusted him enough to tell him that you were going to be in Diagon Alley, two nights ago?”

There it was. Sirius stiffened. After a moment, he asked again,

“What is this about, headmaster?” The title slipped out by accident—perhaps because Sirius was
suddenly feeling very young, as though he were eleven years old all over again, seated in one of the
high-backed chairs in Dumbledore’s office at Hogwarts and waiting to receive a lecture.

“I am going to tell you the exact number of people who knew about the checkpoint where you
were to meet Ms. Meadowes,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward, hands folded on top of the
Formica table, “Those people were yourself, the young Mr. and Mrs. Potter, Dorcas Meadowes,
Alastor Moody…and me.”

Sirius felt cold.

“There was also Shacklebolt—”

“Kingsley,” Dumbledore interrupted him, “Knew only the location where he was to meet you at
the beginning of your assignment. He had no knowledge of the route you would take to rendezvous
with Ms. Meadowes. I have already questioned him extensively on the matter.”

“Then—someone that Dorcas—”

“Unfortunately, I cannot speak with Dorcas.”

Dumbledore was watching his face, very solemnly. Sirius shook his head.

“That doesn’t mean…” He swallowed, “Information gets out all the time—someone might have
overheard something, or—”

“That is true,” Dumbledore acceded, “But I believe it was you yourself who insisted that this was
the work of a spy.”

It was true. It was horrible, because Sirius knew it was true—but he’d told himself that there must
have been more people involved, that Dorcas had let something slip, or Kingsley—maybe one of
Moody’s many communications had been intercepted by someone at the Ministry, or—or
anything. Anything but the most obvious answer.

“I will ask you again: did you tell Remus Lupin the details of your location on that night?”

Sirius stared across the table at Dumbledore, helplessly. “It wasn’t him.”

The older man sighed, deeply, something like pity flashing across his face.

“I suppose that gives me my answer, then.”

“It wasn’t him.”

Dumbledore gazed at him, blue eyes an implacable sea. After a moment, he tilted his head, a slight
concession.

“Perhaps not. But I fear that I may have…miscalculated. You see, I now have a list of seven people
who knew of your whereabouts that night. Of those seven people, only two have had access to
information that, if…interpreted in a specific way…may have given them cause to target your
group. Of those two people, one is myself. Can you guess who the other one is?”

“The research,” Sirius breathed, as the pieces began to click, sickeningly, into place, “But—he said
that was an assignment from you—”

“And it was.” Dumbledore said, calmly, “Which is why I fear that I may have miscalculated.”

Sirius took a breath, trying to process what Dumbledore was saying.

“But Remus would never—he’d never hurt us.”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said, in a gentle, chiding voice, “I would expect you to know, better than
anyone, that the people we love are oftentimes capable of hurting us very much.”

Sirius didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Instead, he sat, feeling as though someone
had just knocked all the breath from his lungs. The horrible thought coalesced, finally, in his mind,
the nagging fear that he had been trying his best to smother:
Remus is the spy.

But no—no—it couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t, it couldn’t it couldn’t it couldn’t…

He was pulled from the spiral of his own horrified thoughts by Dumbledore, who stretched a hand
across the table and placed it gently on his arm. Sirius stared up at him like a drowning man,
desperate for anything to cling to. Dumbledore smiled, sadly.

“I would not jump to any conclusions,” he said, words even and slow, “But I would caution you,
Sirius, to be very, very careful with who you trust.”

* * *

Monday 8th June 1981

James insisted on going to the next Order meeting, though he was still very weak. They huddled
around him, protectively, once they’d reached the small cottage in the Peak District. Sirius was
acutely aware of the stares and whispers from the older Order members, who had by now heard the
story of James’s miraculous brush with death. They watched the marauders with wary eyes, looks
on their faces that said What makes you so special? What allowed a group of six kids to cheat
death?

At the end of the meeting, Dumbledore asked Lily and James to remain behind and speak with him
once everyone else had gone. Sirius had been expecting something like this since his own meeting
with Dumbledore a week before—but he felt a kick of panic as James promptly turned and asked
him, Peter, and Remus to stay as well.

“Are you sure?” Sirius whispered, frowning, “After everything that’s happened…?”

“—After everything that’s happened, I want my best friends nearby.” James said, stubbornly. Sirius
folded his arms, frowning, but he knew better than to argue.

He hadn’t told James about his conversation with Dumbledore. He hadn’t told James because he
knew James would want to talk to Remus, would go to him immediately, would either warn him or
confront him. Sirius knew, better than anyone, that James Potter’s greatest weakness was the
unwavering trust he placed in his friends. In fifth year, he had been unable to even entertain the
idea that Sirius might be a bad person, despite all evidence to the contrary – despite all the damage
that he’d done. James had changed since then, of course. But he hadn’t changed that much.

So Sirius said nothing, and James sat down in an armchair, jaw set. His face had had a sunken look
about it since he’d woken up from the attack, the light in his eyes a bit dimmer even after he’d
regained health. The war had aged him, perhaps more than any of them, though of course none of
them would admit that. Lily leaned over to spread a blanket across his lap, and he shoved it away,
grimacing.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, “Leave me be!”

“There’s no need to be like that!” Lily huffed, hurt and irritated. She had new worry lines carved
into her face, and the same sunken look about the eyes. The two of them never used to snap at each
other, before.

Harry seemed to sense the tension, and he began to fuss, flailing his little arms and screwing up his
face. Lily hadn’t let the boy out of her sight since the night James was attacked – they went
everywhere as a family, now.

“Shh,” Lily bounced the toddler on her hip, “Quiet now, Mummy and Daddy are busy…”

“Give him here,” Sirius offered, reaching out, “We’ll have a little play, won’t we Harry?” He
tickled under Harry’s chin, and the little boy began to giggle.

He still couldn’t say ‘Padfoot,’ though ‘Da-da,’ ‘Ma-ma,’ and ‘No!’ were now all standard parts of
his ever-increasing vocabulary (along with ‘bike!’, much to Sirius’s delight). But Harry still
recognised him immediately; Sirius spent most of his free time playing with the kid.

He sat on the floor with his legs splayed out, plopping Harry between them, and pulled a little toy
train from his jacket pocket. Harry began to clap his hands and burble happily at once, reaching for
the train and drooling as he began to push it awkwardly over the lumpy rug. Sirius grinned,
watching him.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. Sirius remained focused on Harry,
watching the little boy bang the train against the floor as Dumbledore said,

“We have reason to believe that Voldemort’s focus has changed.”

Now he looked up.

“We’ve received some information that the Dark Lord has become aware of a prophecy that was
made early last year, which seemed to refer directly to him.”

“A prophecy?” Peter asked, anxiously, “What prophecy? What did it say?”

“It is better that we share only the most pertinent details,” Dumbledore said, with a severe frown,
“Particularly in mixed company.”

Sirius felt as though ice were crawling through his veins. The rest of his friends reacted with shock,
glancing at each other incredulously. Sirius looked away.

“So he’s changed his focus,” James prompted, breaking the tense silence that had fallen, “What
does he want now?”

“In short, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said, bluntly, “He wants you. Or rather, your son.”

Sirius had moved before he realised it, reaching out instinctively to bundle Harry into his arms. He
clutched the boy to his chest and stood, heart pounding.

“What?!”

“I am sorry,” Dumbledore continued, evenly, “But I have it on very good authority—”

“Whose authority?” Lily demanded, voice cracking.

“That I cannot say. I will not place anyone else in danger.”

“There’s a spy, then,” Peter mumbled, face gone very pale, “On their side, I mean?”
Dumbledore continued to watch them all, calmly. “I cannot say.”

“Well you’d better say something useful!” James was practically shouting, features twisted in
horrified rage, “What do you mean my son?! How can Voldemort even know about Harry?!”

“We can’t trust anybody.” Sirius mumbled, half to himself. This was what Dumbledore had been
getting at, that day in the café.

James gave him a disbelieving look, but Sirius ignored it. He felt as though he’d just been plunged
underwater and was struggling to kick his way back to the surface, lungs screaming for air.

“But why Harry?!” Lily asked, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Voldemort believes that Harry will one day grow up to defeat him.”

“Is that what the prophecy said?”

Dumbledore tilted his chin, appearing to consider the question.

“It is what Voldemort believes,” He said, finally, “And that is the same thing.”

“You’ll have to hide,” Sirius turned to James, finding that his voice worked again, “All three of
you. There have to be more charms – stronger magic we haven’t tried yet – we’ll send you to
bloody Timbuktu if we have to!”

“Padfoot,” James said, frowning at him, “Calm down.”

“I will not!” Sirius was shouting, now, clinging to Harry so tightly that the boy began to cry. He
forced himself to take a breath, releasing the child as Lily reached for him. Sirius passed the boy
off to his mother, watching as she nuzzled his fuzzy little head and whispered soothingly to calm
him down.

“Sirius is right,” Dumbledore said, unfazed by the outburst of emotion, “You will have to hide.
Plans are already in motion.”

“How soon can we go?” James leaned forward, “Today?”

“Soon.” Dumbledore told him, “I will come for you.”

“Ok.” James ran a hand through his hair. “Ok. Right. Good.”

“You will all remain vigilant, I trust.” Dumbledore addressed the room, turning to gaze at each of
them in turn. The old wizard’s eyes met Sirius’s, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw a
flash of that same pity from the café—but then it was gone, and he was turning to look at Remus.

“And none of you will share this information with anyone outside of this room.”

They all nodded, solemnly, and Sirius felt a horrible, sick weight begin to settle in the pit of his
stomach.

He wants Harry.

Dumbledore left, and they followed him out of the cottage, hovering in the honey-gold light of the
setting sun.

Voldemort wants Harry, and he’ll kill Lily and James to get him.
It was unthinkable—impossible. It simply could not be allowed to happen. Everything would
break, if they died – the whole world would shatter, Sirius was sure of it. Everything left would be
wrong.

“You’d better all come over for dinner,” James told them, smiling weakly. “Just in case we don’t
get another chance.”

For some reason, Sirius heard his brother’s voice, breaking through the impenetrable barrier he had
constructed in his mind for the first time in years.

You can’t save everyone!

He hadn’t understood what Reg meant, at the time. Wasn’t that the point of fighting—to save
everyone? Why else go to war?

But now, as he sat at the Potters’ dining room table, staring down at the staggering feast that Gully
had managed to prepare on such short notice, Sirius thought he understood.

James raised his glass to toast.

“To our friends,” he said, pointedly, looking at Sirius, “Who’ve always been there for us, through
thick and thin – Lily, Harry and I love you all so much.”

I’m going to save you, Sirius thought, as the alcohol burned in his chest, I’m not going to let you
die.

Regulus had spoken to him about choices, that day—the last day Sirius had ever seen him. You
have to choose, sometimes, he’d said, You have to let go…

Across the table, Remus’s hands trembled while he drained his glass. He excused himself,
immediately after, disappearing downstairs.

By the time he returned, Sirius had made his choice.

* * *

Wednesday 10th June 1981 (Midnight)

“It has to be Pete.”

James blinked, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What? But we already agreed—I already told Dumbledore—”

“I know!” Sirius tugged his fingers through his hair, agitated, “I know, it’s just…”

He stared, frantically, at the runes painted on the ground. They were standing at the edge of the
property—a small, cosy cottage, tucked away in the sleepy village of Godric’s Hollow. The
groundwork had already been laid; all that was left was to cast the spell.
The fidelius charm.

That was Dumbledore’s solution. They would store the secret of James and Lily’s location inside
the soul of one trusted person, the secret-keeper. That secret-keeper would be the only person in
the world capable of telling anyone where the Potters were hiding—the information could not be
tortured, coerced, or bewitched out of them. It was, seemingly, a fool-proof plan.

Unless the secret-keeper died.

Dumbledore had offered to take on the perilous role, but of course, there was no one that James
and Lily trusted more than their friends. And Sirius hadn’t thought twice about saying yes when
James asked him if he would be willing—he didn’t care if it put him in danger, if it made him
Voldemort’s biggest target. He would do anything for the Potters, anything to keep baby Harry
safe.

So it had all been laid out. The plan was in place. The only people in the world who knew about it
were Dumbledore, Sirius, James, and Lily. Dumbledore had come to the cottage that night to help
prepare the spell, and everything had gone smoothly—all that was left was for James to cast it, to
give his secret to Sirius.

And then Dumbledore had left. And on his way out, he’d taken Sirius aside, drawing him into the
kitchen of the cottage as James and Lily went to put Harry to bed.

“You are absolutely certain of your decision?” Dumbledore had asked, searching his face with
those piercing blue eyes.

“Yes.” Sirius said, firmly.

“You understand the danger?”

“Yes.”

“And you accept this risk?”

“Yes.”

“And you can tell me, with certainty, that there is not a single soul on earth with whom you would
ever want to share this secret, until the day Voldemort is defeated?”

“Y—”

Something about the way Dumbledore was looking at him, the knowing gleam in his eye, made
Sirius falter. Just for a moment.

Not a single soul on earth with whom you would ever want to share this secret…

Sirius thought of Remus, left alone at their flat. Remus, with his curls spilled across the pillowcase
like honey, his face so peaceful in sleep, so heartrendingly beautiful.

“Yes.” He insisted, after a moment. Dumbledore was looking straight through him, as though he
could see every thought in Sirius’s mind.

But he only nodded, once, and said quietly,

“Much more hangs in the balance tonight than just your friends’ lives. I urge you to remember this,
Sirius – the entire wizarding world may very well rest on the shoulders of the young boy who is
currently asleep upstairs. Do you understand?”

Sirius swallowed.

“I understand,” he said, hoarsely.

Dumbledore nodded once more, and was gone.

“Sirius?” James asked, snapping him out of his thoughts, “It’s just what?”

Sirius blinked at him, mind spinning.

“No one—no one will ever suspect Peter,” he said, beginning to pace, “It’s perfect! Not even
Dumbledore will know. They’ll all be watching me, so Wormtail’ll be perfectly safe—and he—
there’s not a soul on earth he would ever want to tell the secret to, not if it meant hurting you. And I
can stay in the circle while the spell’s cast, so I’ll still know where you are—I just won’t be able to
tell anyone, even if I wanted, and—”

“Hang on, just—slow down a second.” James reached out to grab Sirius’s arm, stopping his frantic
pacing. “Padfoot…what’s going on?”

“It’s better this way,” Sirius insisted, desperately, “Safer—can’t you see? A decoy, that’s what we
need…”

James frowned. “I haven’t even asked Peter, we don’t know that he’d be willing…”

“He killed for you, Prongs, I’m sure he’d be willing to die as well.”

James flinched, recoiling slightly, and Sirius cursed himself for allowing the words to slip out
unfiltered.

“Sorry—sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, nobody’s going to die, it’s just…he’d do anything for you,
James. We both would.”

But James was studying him, now, eyes flickering over his face. After a moment, he said slowly,

“…what did you mean when you said that you won’t be able to tell…even if you wanted?”

Sirius’s breathing was shallow, his palms sweaty.

“…Padfoot? Is there someone that—”

“Dumbledore thinks Remus is the spy.”

Sirius blurted the words in one long rush, tripping over his tongue. James stared at him.

“…What?”

There was a lump in Sirius’s throat; he tried to swallow it. James shook his head, disbelieving.

“He…but then…he couldn’t…” His brow furrowed, suddenly, as though something had just
occurred to him. “But…you don’t believe that, right?”

Sirius looked down, shame a sticky tangle in his gut.

“Padfoot? You don’t actually—this is Moony we’re talking about, you can’t possibly believe that
he would ever…”

“The—” Sirius’s voice broke; he had to clear his throat before continuing, “The evidence all…it all
makes sense, James, Dumbledore basically told me—”

“No, I’m sorry—no, it doesn’t bloody make sense, this is Moony we’re talking about. Our Moony.
I can’t believe you would even entertain the idea—”

“You think I want to?!” Sirius snapped, anger surging at the accusatory tone of James’s voice,
“You think it doesn’t fucking kill me, laying it all out, trying to find any other conclusion to come
to?! You think I haven’t been—been ignoring the signs for months, trying to act like I didn’t see it
—”

“Didn’t see what?!”

“—that he’s leaving me!” The words came out cracked, jagged. “He’s leaving me—he’s so far
away, all the time, and there’s nothing I can—it’s like it’s happening all over again, like I’m
watching while he just—he just—”

“Sirius.” James said, quietly. When Sirius finally met his eye again, there was a horrible
understanding there. He spoke softly, gently, and still the words felt like knives as he said,

“He’s not Regulus.”

Sirius released a breath. His vision had gone blurry—when he reached up to rub at his eyes, he
realised that he was crying.

“I know that,” he muttered, and James gave him a searching look.

“Do you?”

“Yes. I’m not—I don’t want it to be true, James. I don’t—I don’t believe it, I can’t believe it, but I
have to, because if there’s even a chance—” He broke off to take a deep, shuddering breath. “If
there’s even a chance…I can’t risk it.”

“Padfoot…”

“No, I’m not—this isn’t just about us anymore, James. It isn’t just about you. Are you willing to
risk Lily’s life? Harry’s?”

Sirius hated himself for saying it, hated the way it made James’s face crumple, twisting in pain. He
hated himself for reaching out, for grasping at the moment of vulnerability, for digging his heels
in. Years later, when he looked back on that night, he would only hate himself more.

“Maybe Dumbledore’s wrong. Maybe it’s not Moony. I hope it’s not, James, you have no idea…
but we can’t assume the best. We have to assume the worst. We have to prepare for the worst.
That’s how we get through this—that’s how we keep Harry safe.”

James looked down, shoulders slumping, and Sirius knew he had him.

“Alright,” he said, in a hollow, defeated voice, “I’ll call Wormtail.”

* * *
Remus was awake when he got home. The kitchen light was on, and the tell-tale scent of cigarette
smoke wafted into the hallway.

“Moony?”

“In here.”

“Oh, hello,” Sirius said, a bit breathlessly. He’d flown back on his bike, letting the wind whip
against his cheeks and in his hair. “All right?”

“Where have you been? I was worried!”

“Sorry.” He moved to sit with Remus at the kitchen table, pulling out a cigarette from the open
pack. A strange sense of calm had settled over him once the fidelius charm was cast. Peter had said
yes immediately, as Sirius had known he would, and Sirius had remained within the confines of the
spell as it was cast to ensure that he would retain the knowledge of James and Lily’s location. But
he would never be able to share the secret, even if he wanted to. He felt as though an enormous
burden had been lifted off his chest.

The Potters were safe.

“It happened,” he told Remus, who was watching him, expectantly, “They’re hidden.”

“Lily and James?” Remus frowned, narrowing his eyes, “How?”

Sirius watched him, carefully, studying his reaction—each miniscule expression, every tiny flicker
of his eyes.

“Dumbledore sorted it all.”

“Is it safe? I gave James a whole scroll of security charms to use, did he—”

“They won’t need any of that,” Sirius said, dismissively, “Dumbledore came up with something
better.”

“What?”

“The fidelius charm.”

“The…” Remus trailed off, brow furrowing, deep in thought. It was such a familiar expression—
for a moment, Sirius’s heart gave a little twist.

I already want to tell him, he thought, and in that moment he knew he had made the right choice.

“Well, that’ll do it, I suppose.” Remus said, still frowning, “But wouldn’t they need someone to put
the secret in?...is it Dumbledore?”

It was a perfectly normal question to ask. Perfectly innocuous. And a reasonable conclusion to
draw—it didn’t necessarily mean anything.

(Why do you want to know?)

It was time for the moment of truth.

“He volunteered,” Sirius replied, carefully, “But in the end, we thought it was better if it was one
of us.”

“One of us…?” Cold horror poured like water over Remus’s face, and he shook his head, eyes
widening. “No.”

As Sirius watched, the fear was replaced with rage, a horrible, dark fire that made the gold in his
eyes jump like sparks. “No,” he repeated, voice rising, “It’s too dangerous!”

“Moony…” Sirius began to speak, but Remus cut him off.

“Don’t you ‘Moony’ me!” He stood, abruptly, beginning to pace around the kitchen. “It’s stupid!
It’s the stupidest idea you’ve ever had!”

“It’s not my idea—”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t volunteer!” Remus really was shouting now, shaking with fury, “Don’t
tell me you didn’t jump at the chance!”

“To help my best friends?!” Sirius shouted back, his own anger rising like a blade to meet
Remus’s, “To help Harry?! Of course I did!”

“Find someone else!” Remus insisted, “Anyone! I’ll do it!”

“You can’t,” Sirius said, as the dread began to settle into his skin, “It has to be me, you know it
does.”

“No!”

“You can’t just keep saying ‘no.’ It’s done. It’s dealt with.”

For a moment, he thought Remus might punch him. Moony’s hands were curled into fists, knuckles
white, skin stretched taut over bone. But instead he collapsed back into his chair, burying his head
in his hands.

“You bastard.”

“It’s going to be ok,” Sirius tried, reaching out to touch him, “I’ve made sure.” But Remus smacked
his hands away.

“You just did it?! Without even telling me?”

“I’m telling you now!”

Remus looked up, glaring at him with unbridled rage on his face. It was the kind of burning anger
that Sirius hadn’t seen directed towards him since he was sixteen, hovering in the middle of their
dorm room at Hogwarts, trying to apologise for the worst mistake of his life. Remus was staring at
him like he’d betrayed him.

After a moment he stood, silently, and walked out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

Sirius slumped against the wall, shaking.

It’s him, whispered that tiny, insistent voice in the back of his mind, All along, it’s been him.
 * * *

Friday 24th July 1981

The weeks that followed were some of the worst of Sirius’s life. To the rest of the Order, James
and Lily had vanished into thin air—Dumbledore gave some excuse at the next meeting about
Lily’s blood status as explanation for why they’d gone into hiding, and nobody seemed inclined to
question him. Still, Sirius felt like he was holding his breath every time Remus spoke to him,
waiting for Moony to ask something – anything – about where they were hiding.

He never did.

Part of Sirius wanted to cling to this fact—because surely, surely if Moony was the spy he would
ask, wouldn’t he? He must know that Sirius was aching to tell him, was wishing so desperately that
they could just put all the secrets and lies behind them. Surely, if Remus wasn’t asking, if he
wasn’t trying to coax the secret out…then maybe he wasn’t…?

But Sirius couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Not for a second. Not with everything that was at
stake.

“It’s awful, not trusting anyone, isn’t it?” Peter asked, glumly, as they left that Order meeting.

“Yeah.” Remus sighed.

“It’s necessary,” Sirius said, through gritted teeth, “And if I knew who the spy was, I’d kill them
myself. I wouldn’t even need magic.”

Peter and Remus both turned to stare at him, taken aback.

“Sirius,” Remus spoke gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, “We can’t start acting like death
eaters – James wouldn’t want—”

“James doesn’t want his child to be murdered by a lunatic on a power trip!” Sirius snapped,
flinching away, “You’ve gone soft, Moony.”

Remus gave him a look so unguarded, so saturated with hurt, that Sirius nearly broke down on the
pavement.

It would be easier, perhaps, if the creeping revelation of Moony’s betrayal had been enough to
change his feelings. Sirius knew, logically, that it should change things—he could line up every
piece of evidence, obsess over and over again about each little detail, every tiny incriminating fact
that all added up to the same conclusion. If he truly believed that Remus could be the spy, then he
should have hated him—should have despised him, should have wanted nothing more than to see
him suffer.

But he didn’t.

He still loved him.

On the worst nights, when Remus passed out drunk in their bed, and Sirius smoothed the curls back
from his sweat-dampened forehead, he thought to himself that Moony could stick a thousand
knives into his back, and he would probably love him still. Because trying not to love him was like
trying to hold his breath—eventually, Sirius’s lungs would start burning, body screaming for air,
and he would open his mouth, and it would all flood back in.

In the end, the only person Sirius managed to hate was himself, for loving Remus even as it killed
him, bit by bit, every day.

In the week before Harry’s first birthday, they were having a good day—or what passed for a good
day at that point, which meant neither of them shouting at each other, and no passive-aggressive
sniping, and no liquor before sunset for Remus. Sirius had gone out to buy Harry a birthday
present, and when he returned with a broomstick Moony shook his head fondly, suppressing a
smile as he groaned,

“Sirius!”

“Oh come on, Moony, it’s only little!”

“He’s a baby!”

“Got to train him young if he’s ever going to play for England!”

Remus laughed, and the sound sent the same happy warmth spreading through Sirius’s chest as it
had since they were eleven. He sat on the floor and wrapped the toy, smiling to himself, picturing
chubby little Harry zipping around the cottage. Though he still knew the location of James and
Lily’s home, they had all determined that it would be best he didn’t visit unless absolutely
necessary – but Sirius thought his godson’s first birthday warranted a necessity. And he needed to
see James—Sirius was going mental without him.

He had just put the finishing touches on the wrapping when there was a sudden flash of light,
startling him so badly that he nearly fell backwards onto the carpet. Sirius whipped out his wand,
leaping to his feet as a gigantic silver lioness burst into their flat.

“Fucking hell!” He stumbled back from the snarling patronus, shocked.

The majestic animal opened its mouth and screamed.

Mary.

“Help!” Her voice was ragged, choked with tears, “Hollyhock House!”

And then it was gone.

“That’s the McKinnon’s address.” Remus said, faintly, moving towards the door. He began to tug
on his shoes.

“Where are you going?” Sirius demanded, heart beating like a fist against his ribcage.

“To help Mary!” Remus replied, voice strained, “Come on!”

“Moony, no,” Sirius tugged a hand through his hair, “We can’t, we have to follow protocol, contact
Moody, or Arthur, or Frank, or—”

“Fuck protocol!” Remus yelled, standing, “It’s Mary! She asked for help and I’m going. Stay here
if you want.” His voice left no room for argument.

So they went.
 Sirius had never actually seen Marlene’s home before. It was very pretty, like something out of a
storybook; a Tudor style cottage with a bright, floral garden, pansies and geraniums lining the path
up to the door. From over the yellow thatched roof, the tops of quidditch hoops were just barely
visible.

Above those, high in the sky, was the dark mark. Mary stood at the end of the path, staring up at
the all-too familiar snake and the grinning black skull.

“No!” Remus gasped, rushing forward. Mary turned around, eyes shimmering with tears, and said
in small, hollow voice,

“They’re all dead.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius heard himself asking, past the roaring in his ears, raising his wand as he
moved forward.

“Yes.” Mary said, trembling, “Yes, they’re all lined up very neatly.”

Sirius felt cold. “What?”

“Lined up…in a row…” She murmured, swaying. Remus wrapped his arms around her, as though
to steady her, and she leaned into him, shaking with silent sobs.

“Stay with her,” Sirius said, moving up the path to the door. It was unlocked, hinges creaking as he
pushed it open.

It had been an execution. That much was clear. It was something they had seen before, in the Order
—a particularly cruel use of the death curse, in which death eaters would gather a family together
in one room, line them up, and go down the row one by one. Moody thought it might be a sort of
initiation, a way for the younger death eaters to prove themselves. As Sirius stared down at the
neat row of bodies, he found himself thinking of Reg.

It was impossible to say who had died first. At one end lay an older man and woman—Marlene’s
mum and stepdad, who Sirius had never met. In the centre was Danny, ruddy cheeks now stark and
pale. And beside him…

Marlene’s blond hair spilled like water across the hardwood floor, head tilted slightly to the side.
Yasmin lay next to her, that sharp smile now slack. Their fingers were still twined together, though
their eyes were empty, already filmed over with death.

Sirius went back down the path.

“I’m going to get Moody,” he said, numbly. Remus was still holding Mary. Mary was still crying.
“I’ll be back as soon as possible, ok?...don’t go in there.”

And then he was apparating, world sucked away into a spiral of colour.

Chapter End Notes

i promise i had this song picked before i watched ofmd but now that i've watched ofmd
the worms in my brain just vibrate every time they hear it <3
also i am posting this chapter and fleeing the scene like a scooby-doo villain in a
poorly made mask to get drunk immediately but happy friday hopefully this doesn't
ruin ur weekend hahahahaha
(the laugh should be read as both evil and devious btw)
 The War: Autumn 1981
Chapter Summary

sirius goes to visit his friends :)

Chapter Notes

cw: side character death(s), substance abuse (unhealthy coping mechanisms yay), main
character deaths...kinda? (they are, in fact, dead, but there's no Big Moment til next
chapter)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When routine bites hard

And ambitions are low

And resentment rides high

But emotions won’t grow

And we’re changing our ways

Taking different roads

Then love

Love will tear us apart again

Love

Love will tear us apart again

There was an investigation, of course. Despite months of incompetence when it came to handling
death eater attacks, the Ministry still had to keep up appearances, to ensure the wizarding world
still thought it was good for something. The Order conducted its own inquiry into the McKinnons’
deaths, and both had the exact same results:

Nothing.

There wasn’t a single feasible lead to follow up on who had slaughtered the family, or why—
nothing beyond the dark mark left over their home. Speculation ran rampant at the next Order
meeting—why had the McKinnons been targeted? Why their entire family? Was it because Danny
was a werewolf? Because Marlene had healed James Potter, who Voldemort wanted dead? Was it
simply because they were members of the Order?
They weren’t the only ones speculating. Danny’s lingering celebrity from his time with the
Cannons was enough to make the murders front page news. The Daily Prophet slapped a huge
picture of him on the front page, from his time as a pro-quidditch player – billowing robes,
triumphant smile, unscarred face. There was a smaller picture of Marlene in her healer uniform,
with the misspelt caption: Promising young Healer, Mylene McKinnon. There was nothing about
Yasmin.

“Remember in third year,” Sirius said, after the funeral was over, “We all thought you two fancied
each other.”

“Yeah.” Remus replied, in a flat, dead voice.

“She was a better beater than me.” Sirius swallowed, feeling very numb. “Wish I’d told her.”

“She knew,” Remus said, with a flicker of humour in his eyes. Sirius tried to smile at that, but
found he wasn’t able.

Mary disappeared for a long while, after the funeral. Out of all of them, she was the most
connected to the muggle world, and she retreated into it upon the death of her best friend. Sirius
tried to reach out to her a few times, but he got the distinct impression that she wanted to be left
alone; that she resented any reminder of the Order, or of magic, or the war. He supposed he
couldn’t blame her.

* * *

September swept them into her arms soon enough, greeting them with the burnt colours of the
changing leaves and the biting kiss of cold autumn breezes. Sirius found himself thinking, as he
often did around this time of year, about Hogwarts. He remembered days spent traipsing through
the corridors with his friends, passing notes in class, mucking about in the Gryffindor common
room. They had all been so young then, so full of life and hope. And now, suddenly, he’d blinked,
and four years had passed since he last set foot on the Hogwarts Express.

It felt like fifty.

Long gone were the days of easy closeness they had all shared at school. Now, as time dragged by
in a haze of meetings and missions and late nights with little sleep, Sirius began to feel as though
he’d been cast adrift, floating slowly further and further away from everyone that he knew.
Marlene was gone; Mary had cocooned herself in the mundanities of the muggle world. Peter was
always busy with work; Lily and James were hidden away. And Remus…

Remus was the worst of them all.

Because Remus was still trying. Merlin knew where he found the energy, but he was still reaching
out, over and over – soft smiles, tentative jokes, gentle touches that broke Sirius’s heart. Despite
the distance of an entire war between them, sending them spiralling in different directions, focused
on different jobs, Remus remained an anchor, keeping him steady.

Dragging him down.

Because Sirius couldn’t let himself…risk it. Every time he looked at Remus, he saw the ghost of
what might be, a spectre that haunted the space between them:
Traitor.

Sirius knew that it would kill him, if it was true. It would destroy him completely, would leave
nothing behind. So he had to brace himself—to build walls of his own, protective barriers around
his heart. He was a knight of old, preparing to face a dragon, desperately layering on pieces of
armour. And Remus, beautiful and sweet and cruel, was trying just as desperately to take them off.

“Miss you,” he said, quietly, one evening in mid-September. The words burrowed into Sirius’s
heart, gnawing.

“I’m right here,” he replied. They were sitting across the table, eating a dinner that neither of them
had any particular appetite for.

After a moment, because he was weak, and needed to give Remus—something, Sirius said, “It’ll
all be over soon. We have to trust Dumbledore, that’s all.”

Remus stared at him like he was breaking his heart.

“But you’re the only one I trust.”

Sirius stared back, searching for something to say—anything. The silence grew between them, a
heavy weight.

Eventually, Sirius stood. He scraped his plate into the bin, then dropped it in the sink, muttering,

“Got to go. Moody wants me to check in.” He swallowed, turning away, “Be back late, don’t stay
up waiting.”

He left.

The resentment began to grow, after that. The anger, which sat like a familiar cloak over Remus’s
skin. Sirius felt it in the sharp words, the twisted sneers, the burning eyes. Remus wasn’t stupid; he
could tell that Sirius was pulling away. He began to act as though the distance were Sirius’s fault
alone—as though it wasn’t something the two of them had built, together, brick by brick. After all,
if Sirius had learnt anything about walls, it had all been from Remus.

By early October, they may as well have been strangers. They hardly spoke; hardly touched;
hardly even saw each other. It might have been easier, that way, if not for the love that continued to
sit like a tumour in Sirius’s chest—begging him to break down, to go to Moony, to apologise and
kiss him and make everything the way it once was.

Sirius knew that was impossible. But he was beginning to understand that it was just as impossible
to stop wanting it. He could no more stop himself loving Remus than he could stop his heart from
beating.

So they continued to haunt each other, and September gave way to October, and the nights grew
darker, the mornings colder. At their first Order meeting of the month, Moody pulled Remus aside
to talk. Sirius waited, though he could already guess what it would be about.

“The werewolves,” Remus told him, when they returned back to the flat, “They want me to recruit
them.”

“Oh.” Sirius said, hollowly. He had figured as much.

“I told Mad-Eye not to expect much,” Remus muttered, frowning as he pulled out his cigarettes,
“S’not like the Order’s ever stuck their necks out for werewolves.”

(Of course, if he’s the traitor, he wouldn’t want us to expect much…)

“They protected you and Danny,” Sirius said, bristling at the bite in Remus’s tone, “When…
everything happened last winter.”

(Is that what Dumbledore’s playing at? Some sort of – loyalty test?)

Remus snorted. “Yeah, because we’re useful. They never gave a shit about any of the others—
about the laws, the bloody registry…”

(Does he just want Remus out of the way?)

“I think Moody and Dumbledore have got their hands a bit full with stopping Voldemort from
killing all of us,” Sirius snapped.

Remus fell silent, glaring darkly out the window at the setting sun as he smoked his cigarette.

They didn’t talk about it again until the day Remus was set to leave. The tall boy hovered
awkwardly in the living room as Sirius studied the blueprints to an old quill-making factory that
was being used as a new death-eater base, according to their latest information.

“You’ll be glad to have a few weeks off, eh?” Remus said, light-hearted tone betrayed slightly by
the strain in his voice.

“Hm?” Sirius glanced up, irritated by the interruption—he and Emmeline were supposed to be
taking a team to raid the factory that night, and he needed to make sure he had the layout
memorised. “What did you say?”

“I said you’ll be glad to be rid of me, for a bit.” Remus repeated, “Have me out of the way.”

Sirius looked up at him, at a complete loss for how to respond. There was something expectant in
Remus’s gaze, something searching – but whatever it was he was looking for, Sirius could only
begin to guess.

“Why would you say it like that?” He asked.

Remus frowned. “Like what? I just meant…you know, you can have some time to think.”

Sirius felt a surge of anger—whatever weird passive-aggressive bullshit Remus was playing at, he
didn’t have the energy for it.

“There’s no time to think,” he snapped, “Not until the war’s over.” He turned back to the
blueprints, muttering, “It’ll be the same whether you’re here or not.”

For a moment, Remus was silent. Then he reached down, snatching his wand and his cigarettes off
the table.

“Fine, then. I guess I’ll see you later.”

For the rest of his life, Sirius would wonder what might have happened if he’d stopped him. If he’d
abandoned the blueprints, if he’d stood and grabbed Moony’s hand – if he’d told him to wait, and
that he was sorry, and that they could talk about it—could fight about it, could scream about it,
could do anything besides orbit each other like distant planets.
But he didn’t. He stared down at the papers spread in front of him, and listened to the door slam,
and didn’t move for a very, very long time.

* * *

Tuesday 20th October 1981

“He’s not back, then?” Mary asked, as Sirius sat down next to her. He grunted and shook his head.

“Nope.”

Mary had already started – there was a half-empty glass in front of her, filled with something clear
and slightly fizzy. Sirius waved down the bartender and ordered one of the same.

“How long did he say he would be away?”

Sirius shrugged, wishing she would drop it. “He didn’t.”

Mary frowned, studying his face. “And you’re…okay with that?”

The bartender returned, pushing the glass into Sirius’s waiting hand. He took a sip—the drink was
crisp, piney, and very alcoholic. Gin and tonic; he should have guessed.

“Not like I had much of a choice.”

Mary shook her head, looking almost disappointed. But what else was Sirius supposed to say?

No, Mary, I’m not okay with it, and it’s driving me fucking insane because I have no idea where he
is or what he’s doing or who he’s with, and he knows what that does to me and he left anyway, and
I told him it didn’t matter even though it was a lie and now I’m worried I’ve ruined everything and
I can’t trust him but I can’t stop trusting him and every time I even think about talking about it I
feel as though someone’s trying to rip my spine out through my throat.

He couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say any of it—Mary had enough to deal with without Sirius
vomiting all of his emotions at her feet.

“How are you doing?” He asked, changing the subject, “Have you been…I mean, are you
feeling…?”

Mary smiled, sadly, and took a long sip of her drink.

“Oh, you know,” she waved a hand, “I’ve been…getting out of the house, a bit more. Went down
to the shops with mum the other day. My family…they know I’ve lost a…friend. I don’t know
how I’d keep going if I didn’t have them.”

Sirius nodded. “Good,” he sipped his own drink, “I’m glad. That you have them, I mean.”

Mary sighed. “God, so am I. Only thing that makes me feel halfway bloody normal anymore is
playing with my little sister.”
Sirius smiled, tightly. Younger siblings were not a topic that he particularly wanted to broach—not
when his own little brother’s words continued to haunt him, an echo in the back of his mind.

You can’t save everyone…

Sirius drowned that thought with another swallow of gin.

He and Mary drank together often, that October. They invited Peter, when they could, but he
always seemed to be busy with work, and so usually it was just the two of them in whatever grimy
muggle pub Mary managed to find. Once, they went out to a club with Emmeline, who got so
pissed that she tried to kiss Mary and then started to shout at her, furiously, without making any
sense:

“How could you, how could you, you were supposed to wait…”

It was clear that she’d mistaken Mary for someone else, although who, Sirius had no idea.
Caradoc? Benjy? Any one of the many dead? They had all lost someone, at that point.

Remus didn’t try to contact him. Not once; no letter, no postcard, no patronus. Nothing. He simply
disappeared off to wherever Moody had sent him – somewhere in Europe, though he was cagey
about the details (as always). The more time passed, the more Sirius felt that old, familiar fear
creeping back in – the one that paralysed him, that made him want to lie in bed all day. On their
night out, Emmeline offered to get him some dreamless sleep potions; she knew an underground
brewer, she said, who was trustworthy enough. Sirius thought about her offer, though he tried not
to.

He didn’t take her up on it. Instead, he forced the fear back with Mary, with alcohol, with endless
fucking missions that never seemed to do any good. He stifled it with anger, until it turned to
seething poison in his blood, acid that stung anytime he began to think of Remus. He told himself
that Remus didn’t deserve his worry, his fear, his concern. He reminded himself that it was Remus
who had left, Remus who had walked out the door without looking back. He watched the moon
wane.

Sirius made it through two weeks that way. Halfway through the third, he broke down and reached
out to Emmeline. He asked her for dreamless sleep.

She delivered.

* * *

Saturday 31st October 1981

On Friday, October 30th, Sirius slept through the night for the first time in three months. He did not
dream. He did not stir. He did not wake until mid-afternoon the next day, with sunlight pouring
through the window to sting his eyes.

The phone was ringing. That was odd. Nobody ever called on the muggle phone; Remus only ever
used it to talk to Grant.
Sirius rolled over, shoving his face into the pillow. If Grant was trying to reach Remus, he’d realise
soon enough that no one was going to answer.

The phone continued to ring, shrilly, grating against Sirius’s ears. He groaned, pressing the pillow
over his face, trying to block out the sound. With each consecutive, piercing shriek, his frustration
grew, a knot of anger coiling in his chest.

Finally, it stopped. Sirius sighed and rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting to get out of
bed just yet.

The phone began to ring again.

Sirius growled, clambering out of bed and stumbling into the living room in his pyjamas, yanking
the phone from its stand with such force that he nearly knocked it off the little side table.

“What?!”

“Oh, for god’s sake, finally!” Snapped the voice on the other end. It was high and shrill; a woman.
Definitely not Grant. “Is Lily Ev—Potter there?”

Sirius blinked, shocked silent. After a moment, he managed to choke out,

“Who is this??”

An exasperated huff from the other end of the line. “This is Petunia Dursley, I’m trying to reach
my sister, Lily. She gave me this number for emergencies.”

Petunia?! Why the hell was Lily’s sister trying to reach her?

Sirius cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but Lily isn’t here right now. I can…er…take a message?”

“Take a message?!” Petunia shrieked, voice climbing ever higher, “Take a message?! I’ve been
trying to reach her for four bloody days. Where the hell is she?!”

“I already told you,” Sirius said, gritting his teeth, “Lily isn’t here right now. Do you want to leave
a message or not?”

Petunia laughed, bitter and breathless. “Fine,” she said, voice cracking slightly, “If you would
please be so kind as to tell my dearest sister that our parents’ funeral will be tomorrow at 2 o’clock,
I would be eternally grateful!”

And with that, she promptly hung up.

* * *

Sirius had to recruit Mary to help call Petunia back—his hands were shaking, and he didn’t know
what number to dial, and he had no idea how to go about looking it up. When the two of them
finally managed to get a hold of Lily’s sister again, she confirmed the news: Mr. and Mrs. Evans
had died four nights before. Car crash.

“I can’t believe it…” Mary murmured, after she’d hung up the phone, “I just can’t believe it…”
Sirius understood how she felt. They had spent so long fighting a war, surrounded by violence and
magic, that it felt almost unreal to remember that death was something outside of the battleground,
too—something that happened every day, in many ways, and often had nothing to do with magic at
all.

“Oh, Lily…” Mary buried her head in her hands, helplessly, whispering, “She’ll be devastated.”

Sirius swallowed. He had only ever met Lily’s parents once, at her and James’s wedding, but they
had both seemed like incredibly kind people, and it had been clear that they loved their daughter
very much. Mary was right; Lily would be heartbroken. And going to the funeral would be out of
the question…

“Someone’ll have to tell her,” he said, staring blankly at the wall. “She deserves to know.”

Mary sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. “Should we call Dumbledore?” She asked, “Who else knows
where they’re hiding? Moody?”

Of course. As far as the Order knew, Dumbledore was the only person aware of the Potters’
location. And as far as Dumbledore knew, it was only Sirius…

“I’ll contact Dumbledore,” he said, standing, “You should probably head home. I’ve got guard
duty with Arthur in an hour…”

“Alright.” Mary stood, too, still sniffling. Without any warning, she suddenly flung herself at
Sirius, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back immediately, squeezing her close to his
chest. She was shaking.

“Sirius?” She asked, voice slightly muffled where she had her head buried in his pyjama shirt,
“Will you ask Dumbledore if we can see them?”

“Mary…”

“Please?” She looked up, beseeching, “Just ask? I know it’s dangerous, but…please just ask,
alright?”

Sirius sighed, deeply. “Alright,” he said quietly, “I will.” The lie left a sour taste in his mouth.

Mary buried her head in his shirt once more, mumbling into his shoulder in a very small voice,

“I miss them.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Sirius’s eyes; he blinked them away.

“I know,” he said, softly, “I miss them too.”

* * *

He really did have guard duty with Arthur. An evening shift, standing watch outside one of the
Order’s more crucial supply stores. It was a quiet few hours, which was good, because Sirius’s
mind was far away—still full of the news about the Evanses, spinning rapidly as he tried to figure
out how he was supposed to tell Lily.
 He would go in person, he decided. Lily deserved that much. Even if it was dangerous—she
shouldn’t have to find out that her parents had died through a letter. Or a tiny face in James’s
compact mirror. And it had been so long since he’d seen them, or little Harry…

Night had already fallen by the time Sirius mounted his motorbike and took off from the garage,
and the autumn wind stung his face. His mind was still spinning as he approached Godric’s
Hollow, scrambling for the right words to say.

And then he saw the house.

Half the roof was missing, blown off in what looked like some sort of explosion. He could see
scattered debris through the gaping hole left behind, and the yellow walls of Harry’s nursery.

Harry.

Sirius could hear the boy wailing as he drew closer, and for a moment relief flooded through his
chest. When he landed the bike, roughly, in the front yard, Hagrid was there, cradling a screaming
Harry in one gigantic hand.

“Hagrid?!”

“Sirius?!”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same,” Hagrid was staring at the house, with a glassy look in his eye. There
were bits of splintered wood stuck in his wiry hair, and he was covered in dust. “Did Dumbledore
send you?”

“Dum—what? Where are James and Lily?”

The older man turned to look at him, finally, features crumpling. Sirius shook his head.

“No.”

“They’re….”

“No.”

Sirius ran, chest heaving, lungs burning, as Harry screamed behind him, and Hagrid shouted,

“Wait, don’ go—”

Sirius shoved open the door.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "love will tear us apart" by joy division (yay 80s music)!

do the deaths of lily's parents feel kinda rushed? probably. that's because they were :)
they needed to die but i couldn't really find a good place to stick them earlier where it
feasibly would have gone unmentioned from remus's perspective so...here we are!
poor petunia sheesh :/ but at least lily didn't have to deal with it...right?
does sirius going to see james + lily to tell them that lily's parents are dead match what
jkr wrote? no. do i care? also no. it fits the mkb canon <3
 The War: The Rat
Chapter Summary

nooo little german boy don't go into ur best friend's house....

Chapter Notes

cw: major character death!! we all knew this was coming and you've had 24 hours to
prepare since yesterday so...yeah. here we go, guys

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Okay, so your heart is broken

You sit around mopin’

Cryin’ and cryin’

You say you’re even thinkin’ about dyin’?

Well, before you do anything rash

Dig this

Everybody plays the fool sometimes

There’s no exception to the rule

(Listen, baby) It may be factual, may be cruel

(I ain’t lyin’) Everybody plays the fool

Sirius opened the door, and James was dead.

The world stopped, shattered, and rearranged itself, trying desperately to accommodate this fact. It
came back together disjointed, made all of sharp pieces, an inescapable cage in which Sirius found
himself trapped.

That was James, there, on the floor. That was James, with his glasses askew, and his hair tangled,
and his eyes open. That was James, unbreathing, unseeing, unfeeling. There wasn’t a single spark
of life left in him. He was a body on the carpet.

It’s not real, Sirius thought, as he stepped into the house, This is a dream. He could smell
something burning in the kitchen, cloying and sweet. Lily must have been baking.

I’m going to wake up.

In the living room, there was a seemingly random collection of objects. A broom, a watering can,
Harry’s stuffed dog – which for some reason had been enchanted, five times larger, the size of a
real animal. James’s wand was on the sofa, next to a polaroid picture. He hadn’t even had time to
grab it.

Any second now, I’ll wake up.

The stairs groaned underfoot, old and creaking. Sirius felt the bite of the cold night air through the
gaping maw of the wreckage. Lily was there, in Harry’s destroyed nursey, curled next to the crib.
Her cheeks were stained with tears that had already dried.

I’ll wake up, and it’ll be over, because this is a dream.

She was dressed in a checked blue pinafore, hair braided. Our Halloween costume, Sirius thought,
numbly, the memory resurfacing from so many months ago – back in early spring, when things had
still been…before everything had…

“It’s perfect!” Sirius cried, drunkenly, trying to push himself up off the sofa. After a moment, he
gave up and settled back into Remus’s arms, insisting, “I’d be Toto, obviously, and Lily would be
Dorothy. Prongs can be the Scarecrow, since he hasn’t got a brain—”

“Oi!” James protested, narrowing his eyes from across the room. He was sitting on the floor in
front of Lily’s armchair, and she ran her fingers through his hair, giggling.

“—Wormy’s the cowardly lion, Remus is the tin man. Done. Halloween’s sorted.”

“Yes, but remind me why we would be wearing these costumes?” Remus drawled, smiling as he
took a lazy sip of firewhisky. Sirius smacked his arm, playfully.

“Where’s your Halloween spirit?!”

“Padfoot, it’s March.”

“See, this is why you’re the tin man – no heart, bloody cold-blooded bastard…” Sirius grumbled,
poking him in the chest. But Remus just laughed, fingers catching around his wrist, drawing
Sirius’s hand up to his mouth to press a gentle kiss against his palm.

Sirius stumbled back, out of the nursery, back towards the stairs. There was a dull roaring
beginning in his ears, behind his skull.

Wake up, he thought, desperately, wake up wake up wake up—

“I’m your cold-blooded bastard,” Remus murmured into his neck.

“Ugh,” James groaned, dramatically, “Get a room, you two!”

Wake up, wake up, you have to wake up—

“Oh, leave them be,” Lily scolded him, gently, “I think we’re all entitled to a little sappiness, these
days.”

“James—”

Sirius stumbled on the last stair, knees buckling, landing hard on his wrists as he collapsed to the
floor.

“James, please—”

His voice was twisting, cracking, suffocating him—he couldn’t breathe; he was choking; dying—

“James, James, fuck please James—”

He had curled into a ball on the carpet, and James was right there, he was right there and he
wasn’t, he wasn’t and he never would be and he was gone, he was gone, he was gone—

Outside, Harry wailed, a piercing shriek. Something snapped in Sirius’s chest.

Harry.

He stood. He walked back through the living room. He stepped past James’s body. He left the
house behind.

Hagrid’s face was pale beneath his bushy beard as he watched Sirius come back down the path.

“I told yeh not ter go in there,” he said, gruffly, “It’s—” His voice cut off into a choked sob, which
sounded like a bellowing foghorn in the empty night air.

“Give him to me,” Sirius said, stretching out his arms for Harry, “Give him here.” The child
squirmed, still screaming in Hagrid’s arms. He recognised Sirius—he reached out with chubby
little fists.

“I can’t.”

“I’m his godfather, Hagrid, give him to me.”

“I can’t.” Hagrid reached up, wiping the tears roughly from his face, “Dumbledore’s orders. I’m to
take him to Lily’s family, somethin’ about a blood pact…”

“What?”

Hagrid shook his head, helplessly. “It’s the safest place for him—Dumbledore said. If whoever did
this is still out there…”

Whoever did this.

It hit Sirius like a wall of bricks, knocking the wind from him. He hadn’t even thought—hadn’t
had time to process, to consider it, but now that the thought occurred to him…

There were only two people alive who knew of James and Lily’s location. Himself, and…
“The rat,” Sirius breathed.

“What?”

“The rat.” He was snarling, now, every emotion suddenly subsumed in the flood of rage that
overwhelmed him. His mind began to work very quickly, thoughts spinning in a whirlwind of
anger and vengeance and determination, as everything focused to one sharp point:

Peter Pettigrew.

Peter Pettigrew had killed Lily and James.

“Take my bike,” he said, shoving the keys into Hagrid’s fumbling fingers, “It’s enchanted, it’ll
grow to fit you. Button on the left’s for flight. Get Harry somewhere safe.”

“I—we—well, wait a minute, where’re yeh goin’?!”

Sirius turned out towards the night, which lay like a black curtain across the world.

“I’m going to kill the rat.”

* * *

Peter had been sloppy.

He was frightened, probably. Panicking. He had tried to cover his tracks, but between Padfoot’s
nose and Sirius’s magic, it was a somewhat pathetic attempt. Sirius cornered him on a muggle
road, and Peter tried to run. He made it to the middle of the street before Sirius disarmed him,
pointing his own wand directly at Wormtail’s face. They stood, two paces of distance between
them, panting.

It was late, but it was also Halloween. There were a few bars along the road that still had patrons,
and scattered muggles in the street that paused to squint curiously at the disturbance.

Sirius didn’t care.

“You rat,” he shouted, voice ragged, “You filthy fucking rat!”

“Sirius,” Peter was breathing hard, eyes wild and panicked, “Padfoot, please, let’s not make a sc—”

“FUCK YOU!” Sirius roared, “You don’t get to call me that!”

Peter took a step back, eyes darting about frantically, scanning the growing crowd of muggles, the
street, the alleyways branching off. Looking for some way to escape.

“Don’t you dare move,” Sirius growled, “I’m warning you, Pettigrew. You take another step and
you’re fucking dead.”

“We can talk about this—”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Sirius willed his hand to stop shaking. Peter was staring up at him,
wide-eyed—and it was Peter, it was Pete, it was Wormy. He’d loved James, adored him—he’d
been their friend.

“How could you? How could you?!”

“Sirius, let’s just—”

“NO! You answer me, Peter, right now! How the fuck could you do this?! You coward, you
fucking—pathetic excuse for a—"

“He was going to die for them!” Peter shouted, voice strangled, “James—he was—”

“So what?!” Sirius screamed, “So what—you had to kill him?! You wanted him to die for you?!”

The words were—they hadn’t been serious. Just a knife, something to throw, something meant to
hurt. But there was a strange, triumphant flash in Peter’s eyes, a stiffening of his jaw. Sirius stared
at him, horrified and bewildered. He began to wonder if he had ever really known Peter, at all.

When Pete didn’t answer – only stared at him, eyes wide, shoulders tense – Sirius began to crack.

“He trusted you!” He managed to choke out, “I trusted you!”

Peter’s face changed entirely, pleading expression morphing into something cold and ugly as a
cruel sneer crawled across his lips.

“You trusted me?” He asked, eyes burning with a crazed, manic light, “You trusted me?” A peal of
shrill laughter jumped from his lips, jarring; unhinged. “No, Sirius,” Peter spat, “You just didn’t
trust yourself.”

Sirius felt cold. Something inside his chest cracked, and for a moment he felt as though he were
floating—untethered, body separated from its soul. But then Peter moved—there was a flash of
silver in his hand, and Sirius screamed,

“Don’t—”

But it was just a knife. A knife that Peter brought down on his own hand, slicing through his right
index finger. He screamed as blood spurted, but then met Sirius’s eye, teeth bared in a feral grin.

He’s insane, Sirius thought, numbly, It’s the only explanation.

And then the world exploded.

* * *

In hindsight, it was so obvious. How many times had they used that exact time-delay spell to set
off dung bombs in the Hogwarts dungeons? And the way Peter had tried to run, luring him right
into the middle of a still-crowded street…

Sirius came to in a pile of rubble, chunks of wood and stone, shattered glass from decimated
windows. He had thrown up a shield charm in the nick of time, but it hadn’t been enough to stop
him getting knocked back, slamming his head against the pavement. He felt woozy, dizzy. When
he touched his fingers to his scalp, they came back bloody.
 The rat.

He could see the limp bodies of some of the muggle witnesses, sprawled a few feet away. Two of
them—no, three—no, more…Someone was screaming.

Sirius began to laugh.

It was all so—horrible. So perfect. But that was Peter, wasn’t it? Look away for one moment, and
he’d have your king in check.

He knew I’d underestimate him, Sirius thought, laughter bubbling from his lips like acid, He knew
I’d track him down.

He knew I’d hesitate.

Well, no more. Sirius would hunt him down again; he’d find the rat and trap him, and next time he
wouldn’t hesitate. The next time he saw Peter, he’d kill—

“DROP YOUR WAND!”

Sirius squinted, blinking through the haze in his eyes. There was a man in front of him, wearing
familiar robes.

Auror.

As he blinked, two more appeared, apparating onto the ruined street. They had him surrounded,
wands pointed directly at his chest.

As they closed in on him, Sirius laughed.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "everybody plays the fool" by the main ingredient!
personally, i like to listen to it and imagine a movie montage of sirius finding james
and lily's bodies and then going after peter -- i love it when something really dramatic
is happening in a movie or tv show and there's like a happy song playing over it lmao

also! my account of halloween 1981 doesn't perfectly match the jkr canon. there is a
simple reason for this, and it's that i like my version better :)

also x2! there's a oneshot for this chapter :) if you want to know how james and lily's
halloween went, you can read about it here

edit 4/11/22 - i forgot to mention this initially, but the lovely reader closetfascination
pointed it out in the comments and sent me a message over on tumblr, so i've already
addressed it there -- the way that jkr wrote the fidelius charm creates a giant fucking
plot hole, because as long as peter is alive literally no one except himself and sirius
(who was within the confines of the spell when it was cast, allowing him to remember
the secret) should be able to find the house, so dumbledore would have had no way of
knowing what had happened and wouldn't have sent hagrid, etc etc. for the purposes of
this fic, we're amending that and saying the charm remains intact as long as the secret
keeper is alive OR until the person whose secret it is dies, which means that once
james died the charm was broken, dumbledore suddenly remembered the secret, and
that's how he realized something had happened. bye-bye plot hole <3
 Guilty
Chapter Summary

i know this is a fun little fanfiction but i'm taking the opportunity to beg anyone and
everyone to please please read about prison abolition especially ESPECIALLY if
you've grown up in the united states we have all been so brainwashed to think that
prison is an inevitable and necessary part of life when it's really just a tool of state-
sanctioned violence :/ linking some resources in the notes at the end of this chapter <3

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time

‘Til touchdown brings me ‘round again to find

I’m not the man they think I am at home

Oh no, no, no

I’m a rocket man

Rocket man, burning out his fuse up here alone

“Sirius Black,” the voice echoed in his ears, overloud, booming, “According to the Emergency
Order on the Capture and Detention of Death Eaters, section 14c—is he awake? Excuse me—has
anyone checked that he’s awake?”

“The spell’s been lifted, sir, he should be fully conscious.”

Sirius blinked, squinting into the dim room, groggy and confused. He tried to move, to lift a hand
and rub at his eyes—he couldn’t. When he looked down, he realised that he was strapped to a
wooden chair, arms and legs firmly restrained. He jerked against the straps, but it was no use; he
was completely immobilised.

Panic struck him, like an arrow through the heart.

“Ah, good, he’s awake.” The man speaking cleared his throat, then went on, “Pursuant to section
14c—”

“Where am I?” Sirius croaked, interrupting. He stared around, helplessly—he was in some sort of
circular room, surrounded by mostly-empty stands. There was a podium, directly in front of him;
he had to crane his neck upwards to see who was speaking.

It was a man, some politician that Sirius only vaguely recognised—he was wearing the robes for
the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with some sort of shiny gold badge pinned to the
front. There were a few wizards scattered in the stands behind him, half-shadowed, faces that
swam before his eyes.

It was all coming back—James—Lily—Harry—Peter—

“Instruct the defendant not to interrupt, please.”

Sirius realised, suddenly, that there was another man standing behind him, off to the side—
considerably younger, but wearing the same Department of Magical Law Enforcement Robes.
There was a scroll hovering in front of him, a quill moving rapidly across the parchment. Sirius
twisted, trying to see.

The young man stepped forward, nervously, and leaned down a bit.

“Er…you’re not supposed to interrupt.”

“Where’s Peter?” Sirius asked, desperately, “Peter Pettigrew—you have to find him—”

“Mr. Black!” Barked the man on the podium, sharply— Bartemius Crouch, that’s who it was. “Mr.
Pettigrew is dead, as you very well know!” Barty Crouch Sr., Head of the Department of Magical
Law Enforcement—he oversaw all wizarding trials.

“He’s not—” Sirius jerked against the restraints, adrenaline crackling like lightning under his skin,
“He’s not—you have to find him—the rat, find the rat—”

“There, you see?” Crouch turned to address the wizards arrayed behind him, “The man is clearly
insane. If the witness testimony wasn’t enough…”

“Is this a trial?” Sirius asked, frantically, “Witnesses—there were witnesses? They’ll tell you—did
they see—the rat—”

“There were numerous muggle witnesses,” Crouch said, coldly, “All of whom had to be obliviated,
after they testified about your brutal murder of the late Mr. Pettigrew. Along, I might add, with
multiple muggles!”

“No,” Sirius begged, voice cracking, “You don’t understand—it was the rat, the rat—”

“This evidence,” Crouch spoke over him, “In addition to the testimony of Albus Dumbledore, are
more than enough to confirm that you are responsible for the deaths of Lily and James Potter—”

“NO!” Sirius was screaming now, throat raw, “I would never—you don’t understand—it was
Peter, it was him, the rat—”

“Mr. Black!” Barty Crouch shouted, voice echoing through the empty chamber, “If you do not
stop interrupting, I will be forced to silence you!”

“Please,” Sirius begged, choking, “Please, just listen—”

“SILENCIO!”

His voice was gone. He was thirteen, and his mother was standing in front of him, sneering, wand
pointed at his face, and he couldn’t speak—he couldn’t breathe—

“There, now.” Crouch tucked his wand back into the sleeve of his robes, clearing his throat,
“Where were we?” He shuffled some papers, squinting down through black-rimmed spectacles.
“Ah, yes.” He raised his voice,
“In light of the irrefutable evidence and pursuant to section 14c of the Emergency Order on the
Capture and Detention of Death Eaters, the defendant, Sirius Orion Black III, is hereby declared
mentally unfit to stand trial, and is thusly subject to expedited sentencing by the Wizengamot. The
defendant is entitled to the opportunity to bear witness before the Wizengamot before sentencing is
passed.” He glanced up, over the top of his spectacles, at Sirius. “Now, Mr. Black, you may
speak.”

A wave of his wand, and Sirius had his voice back—he gasped, coughing, trying instinctively
(though uselessly) to press a hand to his throat.

“Well?” Crouch asked, impatiently, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Sirius opened his mouth, desperate, preparing to tell them everything, but—

Remus.

It was illegal to be an unregistered animagus. If Sirius told them, if he tried to explain, there would
be an investigation. A thorough investigation. An investigation that would uncover when they’d
all become animagi, and how, and why…

A memory, from their last year at Hogwarts: lying in bed, watching Moony’s face, eyes burning
with passion and determination as he said, I still won’t be able to enter any of the Ministry training
programmes without registering as a werewolf – and I’m not going to do that, not ever…

Sirius had nearly exposed Moony’s secret once, five years ago, and it had been the worst mistake
of his life. He couldn’t do that again, not to Remus, Remus who was—

Not the spy.

Sirius sucked in a breath, fingers digging into the arms of the chair. He’d been wrong—so wrong,
because Remus wasn’t the spy, had never been the spy, and that meant…

“It’s all my fault,” Sirius gasped, eyes swimming with tears, “Oh, Merlin, it’s all my fault…”

“Well, then.” Bartemius Crouch spoke, and Sirius remembered where he was, “There you have it.”

“No—no, I didn’t—”

“Sirius Black,” Crouch spoke over him, and Sirius flinched as the voice echoed against his ears,
“The Wizengamot hereby finds you guilty for the murder of Peter Pettigrew as well as twelve
muggle witnesses, and an accomplice to the murders of James and Lily Potter and the attempted
murder of their son, Harry Potter—”

“It was the rat—please, it was Peter—”

“—Which, as we all know, inadvertently resulted in the death of your master, Lord Voldemort—”

“Wh—wait—Voldemort’s dead?!” Sirius blinked, shocked.

“—And for these crimes, the Wizengamot sentences you to life in Azkaban.”

No—it was all happening too fast, he didn’t understand—

“Please—”

Crouch glared down at him, banging a small gavel against the podium.
“This case is now closed. Smearn, prepare the prisoner for transport.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Crouch!” Squeaked the nervous boy hovering behind Sirius’s chair.

“STOP!” Sirius roared, fear and frustration and anger and guilt pouring forth in an echoing scream,
“Please, you have it all wrong—”

He felt the tip of a wand passed against the base of his skull; heard a murmured spell. Abruptly,
everything went black.

* * *

When he woke, it was cold. Freezing—the kind of cold that swallows you, that sinks deep into the
marrow of your bones. Sirius was shivering before he even opened his eyes.

The floor was stone. The walls were stone. There was a straw mattress in one corner, a ragged
blanket flung haphazardly across it. In the opposite corner, there was a deep hole cut into the floor
—the smell emanating from it made Sirius gag, and he turned away, pressing a hand to his face.
He came face to face with an iron door, shut tight. Beside it, there was a small, barred window.

Azkaban.

No.

Harry—he had to get Harry—and Peter was still out there, it wasn’t safe—

Sirius stumbled back against the wall, trying to control his breathing. The stone was stiff against
his back, cold as a block of ice, seeping through the thin material of the prison uniform…

It’s alright, Sirius told himself, frantically, Voldemort’s dead, Crouch said he’s dead—and Remus
—Remus will come back, Remus will know—he’ll know I’d never betray them, he’ll piece it
together, he’ll figure it out…

A cold, cruel voice whispered spitefully from the back of his mind, rising from the fog of panic.

Will he? It asked, sneering, Will he really?

“Yes,” Sirius spoke the word aloud, muttering to himself, “Yes, he’ll know—Moony will know,
he’d never believe…he’d never think that I was…”

The traitor? The voice laughed, viciously, sharp and stinging, But why not? Why wouldn’t he?
After all, you believed it was him…

“No,” Sirius gasped, half-sobbing, wrapping his arms around himself, “No, no, no…”

Why shouldn’t he believe it? The evidence is all there—Albus Dumbledore himself testified against
you…

“No, no no no…”

The entire wizarding world thinks that you killed them—you killed James and Lily, tried to kill
baby Harry…
 “I didn’t,” Sirius sobbed, “I didn’t, I didn’t…”

But you did, didn’t you? The voice hissed, gleefully, It is your fault, isn’t it? You were the one who
suggested Peter, the one who convinced James to give him the secret…

“No…”

The vision swam before him: James’s body, stiff and pale on the carpet, those lifeless eyes…

It’s your fault, all your fault…

Outside the barred windows, the dementors hovered, feasting. Inside the cell, Sirius curled into a
ball, trying desperately to protect himself from the bone-chilling cold. He squeezed his eyes shut,
but still James was there; those blank eyes an accusation, whispering,

You killed them, you killed them…it’s all your fault…all your fault, all yours…

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "rocket man" by elton john!

there's a oneshot that goes with this chapter! read about what's up w andromeda at this
point
here

resources on prison abolition (specifically in the context of the u.s.):

here is a link to a free pdf of angela davis's book on abolition, "are prisons obsolete?"
(spoiler alert the answer is yes)

if a book is too daunting here is a little article that summarizes some of davis's main
points

"the end of policing" by alex s. vitale is another book that very clearly breaks down
the ways in which police and prisons do not, in fact, protect us and instead perpetuate
violence

and i also encourage everyone to look up "carceral feminism" and why it's
problematic. here is a vox article to get started.
 Azkaban
Chapter Summary

feeling nefarious as i post this...feeling a little evil on this tuesday evening...perhaps

even a bit fiendish...

Chapter Notes

cw: there's a mention of an urge to self-harm + also a bit of suicidal ideation in this
chapter. it's also just like. very sad lol.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dirty old river, must you keep rolling

Flowing into the night?

People so busy, make me feel dizzy

Taxi light shines so bright

But I don’t need no friends

As long as I gaze on

Waterloo sunset

I am in paradise

Every day I look at the world from my window

But chilly, chilly is the evening time

Waterloo sunset’s fine (Waterloo sunset’s fine)

1981

At first, he thought they might protect him.

Sirius clung to the memories, the way a drowning man might cling to scraps of debris in the water.
He gripped them, desperately, in shaking fingers; he held them like a shield in his mind.

Prongs’s laugh; Lily’s gentle smile; Marlene leaning against Yasmin’s shoulder, rolling her eyes;
the fire in the Gryffindor common room; Mary climbing onto his shoulders for a piggy-back ride;
the joy of a prank perfectly executed; Moony—Moony smiling, Moony laughing, Moony holding
him, kissing his shoulders, his neck…

It was a foolish, pathetic attempt. Sirius realised very quickly that the memories didn’t protect him
from anything—happiness only drew the dementors, like moths to a flame. Anytime he reached for
them, searching for a breath of air to stop him from drowning in his own grief, they gathered
outside the bars of his window, feasting. James’s laughter was replaced with his slack, lifeless
mouth; Lily’s smile with her dead eyes, Marlene and Yasmin and Mary all erased by the horrible
onslaught of the worst nights of his life…

Still, Sirius was too weak to go without them. Time and time again, he would find himself
reaching, helplessly, for the happy memories—any shred of light or kindness that he could find.

Until the day he forgot Euphemia’s smile.

It was a bad night, a hard night. They were all bad, of course, and incredibly hard—but Sirius
hadn’t slept in what felt like days, and he was desperate for anything to stave off the nightmares
that he knew would pounce like hungry wolves the moment he closed his eyes. So he thought of
Mrs. Potter, the woman who had been more of a mother to him than his own ever was—he
remembered the day she had helped him move into his new room, trying to recall the way she had
beamed at him before pulling him into a tight hug.

He couldn’t.

The memory had corroded; dissolved; large chunks of it missing, eaten away. When he tried to
recall Mrs. Potter’s happy grin, he could see only her tired, withered eyes, blinking up at him from
a hospital bed the last time he’d ever visited her.

When he finally fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamt only of sickness and caskets.

1982

Hope died quickly in Azkaban. By the time New Year’s Day passed, Sirius had realised that
Remus wasn’t coming for him. By the time spring came around, he had accepted it.

He didn’t know how much time had elapsed, of course. The days were all a blur, cold sunlight
bleeding into even colder nights, the wind that whipped off the crashing waves only ever biting and
cruel. Sirius didn’t know if weeks had passed, or months. By the summer of 1982, he had already
begun to feel as though he’d been in that frozen cell forever. Everything else—Hogwarts, the
Potters’, the little flat in Soho—became a distant and rapidly fading dream.

In the very beginning, he had hoped. Those first few days, he’d told himself that it was a mistake—
that Remus would know it was a mistake, would refuse to accept it, would fight for him. Moony
will save me, he told himself, feverishly, Moony will come back. He always comes back.

Months passed. Sirius turned twenty-three, and didn’t know it.

1983
The key, Sirius found, was not to remember. He could protect the memories, if he buried them
deep enough—if he locked them away, under layers and layers of choking dirt. They grew like
pearls in the recesses of his mind, untouchable and shimmering. He couldn’t allow himself to lose
them; couldn’t let them slip away. So he hid them, in the increasingly twisted passages of his own
brain.

In a way, it was a bit like what he’d done to defend against his mother’s legilimency. Anytime
Sirius found his thoughts skittering to one of those precious memories (Harry’s delighted laughter,
James whooping as he scored a goal on the quidditch pitch, Moony whispering ‘I love you’—) he
ran away, twisting his own thoughts into knots that became more and more impossible to unpick.

Sorrow, he found, was like any other kind of pain; if he sat with it long enough, he grew numb.

1984

The boy was crying again. Somewhere deep in the recesses of Padfoot’s mind, he could feel him—
shuddering, full-body sobs, sadness that wracked his muscles and ached in his bones.

Padfoot huffed and curled up tighter on the mattress, leaning his snout against his front paws. He
was stronger than the boy; the sadness couldn’t touch him the same way. He felt it, just the same,
but…less. Simpler. Padfoot was lonely; Padfoot missed his friends, his pack. He missed running
and jumping and barking; he missed chasing his tail and rolling in the underbrush of forests and
tasting magic in the air. It was easy sadness. Uncomplicated.

The boy screamed, somewhere inside him. The boy wanted out. It was a bad night—he wanted to
do something drastic, wanted to fling himself against the barred windows, against the stone wall.
Wanted to feel a pain that was sharper, easier to quantify; a pain that did not come from inside his
own body.

That was alright. Padfoot was a strong dog, a good dog. Padfoot would keep him safe. Padfoot
would keep him quiet, keep him shut up tight. Padfoot would eat when the boy wouldn’t, and sleep
when the boy couldn’t. Padfoot would go on living, even when the boy could not.

1985

By the winter of 1985, Sirius Black had killed Peter Pettigrew in one thousand, two hundred and
seventy-six different ways.

All of them imagined, of course. But satisfying, nonetheless.

“I quite like the rat idea,” he mused, aloud, to his wall. “Dunno where I’d find a live rat…I could
transfigure one, I suppose. Oh, fuck, wait—I don’t have a wand.”

Padfoot barked, from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Mm, well, for the purpose of this exercise, let’s say I had a wand…transfigure a rat…then shove
it down his throat until he chokes on it. I think that would be fitting, don’t you?”

Padfoot agreed.

It was the only thing keeping him sane, really. Or, well—‘sane’ might have been a bit of a stretch.
But he could still hold a conversation (sort of) and create plans (in a manner of speaking). His mind
was still (somewhat) clear, except for when it wasn’t. And he was still alive, which was more than
many could say.

He saw the bodies, sometimes. Through the bars of his window. Shrouded corpses, floating like
grotesque balloons as the dementors moved them to the little graveyard that had been built on the
prison grounds. Sirius didn’t pity them. He didn’t even envy them. Really, he didn’t feel much of
anything, anymore.

Except hate. It burned in his chest, an ever-blooming flame. One day, Sirius was sure, it would
destroy him completely. But it was better than the horrible, chilling cold.

Padfoot stirred inside him, sensing the dark turn his thoughts had taken. Sirius shook him off—he
didn’t want to go, just yet. He spent so little time in his human body, these days, that his tongue
was beginning to feel unfamiliar in his mouth. If he didn’t practice speaking now and again, he’d
forget how to do it completely.

“Now, if I had two rats…”

1986

It was a good dream, that night. Mary, lying beside him, under the quidditch stands—passing a
joint back and forth; lazy, happy smiles…

Sirius came awake gasping, scrambling back on the mattress.

“Wait—” he panted, “No, no, wait—”

The dementors were already there, and the memory had changed. Now Mary was swaying,
standing dead-eyed outside Marlene’s house, silent tears running down her face.

“No,” Sirius croaked, tears already crawling into his eyes, down his throat. “Please—”

It was too late. The memory was gone, eaten while he lay dreaming, defenceless. He wept, and
cursed his frail mind, scrambling desperately for Mary’s smile, her snorting laugh—but it was no
use. The body could only go without happiness for so long before the memories resurfaced, and the
dementors swept in, like thieves in the night. He lost more and more of them, that way.

In the years that followed, he would only lose more.

1987
Time passed, stubbornly. Days bled into weeks bled into months bled into years. Sirius spent most
of it in a stupor, a numbing haze of hatred and grief. He couldn’t remember the sound of his own
laugh, couldn’t remember what it felt like to smile. He relived every worst memory, every moment
of pain the dementors could pull from his head. After a while, even that wasn’t enough—he began
to see things, to hear things—things that had never happened, people who were long gone.

You killed us, James’s voice whispered in his ear, You bastard, you bloody bastard—you killed us.

How could you? Hissed Lily, curled around Harry’s crib, We trusted you, our lives were in your
hands…

Sirius wept. He pulled at his hair; he gnashed his teeth. He screamed at ghosts of his own making.

Why did you leave me? Asked Regulus, accusing, Why, why, why?

Sirius tried, desperately to answer them. But he never could.

1988

It was a full moon, again. Sirius made the mistake of looking out the window—he saw it, there in
the sky. Beautiful. Horrible. Laughing at him.

He wanted to die.

In an instant, Padfoot was there, shedding human skin for the claws and fur of the dog. Sirius
retreated, a buried thought in the back of his own mind.

Behind the thick stone walls of his cell, Padfoot howled.

1989

If I die, he told himself, I can never kill Peter.

It was a horrible thought to cling to. But it was all he had left.

1990

Wouldn’t dying be easier?

Wouldn’t anything be easier than this?

1991
 Once, Remus Lupin had told him he loved him.

Sirius remembered that, even when he wished he could forget.

He no longer remembered the specifics of the moment; whether it had been fall or winter, summer
or spring. If it had been cloudy, or sunny, or raining. What they had been wearing, where they had
been standing. If Remus had been smiling or crying.

But he knew that it had happened. He’d had a man who loved him, and he’d thrown it all away—
for what? Sirius remembered arguments, fights where they snapped at each other, or shouted. He
remembered sitting across a table, watching Remus reach desperately out to him. He remembered
turning away.

Why had he done it? What had any of it accomplished, in the end? Who had he protected?
Certainly not Remus. Certainly not James, or Lily, or Marlene…little Harry…

He couldn’t stop himself from wondering, sometimes, how much time had passed. Had Remus
ever returned? And if he had—then what? Had he come back to an empty flat? Who had told him
the news?

And Harry…how old was he now? Five? Six? Did he still have his mother’s eyes? His father’s
laugh?

Sirius imagined a thousand futures, a thousand pasts, a thousand ways that everything could have
gone differently. The dementors let him. It didn’t make him anything but miserable.

1992

In his dreams, not even Remus loved him still.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "waterloo sunset" by the kinks!

idk what to say guys i just love angst <3

also this is the point where the timeline splits from the original! if you're reading them
side-by-side, this chapter covers chapters 175-182 of the original, timewise.
 Escape
Chapter Summary

padfoot goes for a swim

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boy

You were the one that they’d talk about around town as they put you down

And as hard as they would try they’d hurt to make you cry

But you never cried to them, just to your soul

No, you never cried to them, just to your soul

Run away, turn away

Run away, turn away

Run away

Tuesday 10th July 1993

It was summer, maybe. The wind had less bite. Or maybe Sirius was imagining things—it was so
hard to tell; between the vicious northern wind and the dementors, it was almost always freezing.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had truly felt warm.

Still, the sun was a bit brighter, he thought. And the sea smelled a bit different, when Padfoot
sniffed. Sort of…thawed. In a way. Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe it was the dead of winter. Maybe
he was entirely wrong.

There was something else different, too. Padfoot lifted his head from the worn mattress, sniffing
once more. Past the briny tang of the sea, past the icy, unsettling scentless-ness of the dementors,
there was something…new. Something alive. A new person—a new prisoner? But it didn’t have
the same bitter tang of hopelessness, no rage or desperation…

Padfoot cocked his head, listening. He could hear a voice, distantly, speaking. The words were
steady and even, if a bit nervous; certainly not the mad screaming or cackling laughter that Padfoot
sometimes heard from surrounding cells, evidence of the broken minds of his fellow prisoners.

“…to see the maximum security cells, and then I suppose we can continue on…”

Someone was…touring the prison?

Sirius transformed back, feeling a burst of panic at the thought of anyone discovering Padfoot—the
dog was all he had left, his only meagre defence against the endless oblivion of imprisonment. He
couldn’t let them find out—couldn’t let them take it away.

His human ears were weaker, not sensitive enough to pick up on the same sounds as the dog. Still,
after a moment he heard the steady sound of footsteps.

A person. There was a person out there. Sirius hadn’t seen another person in…well, he supposed
he didn’t know. His heart began to pound in his chest, startling him. He’d forgotten that it could do
that.

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him to press up against the bars of his cell window,
wasn’t sure why it felt so important to see this mysterious visitor, to speak to him. He had no plan,
no idea what he wanted to say. It had just been so long since he had seen anyone, had spoken to
anyone. He felt half-mad as he tried to remember how to have a conversation.

The footsteps drew closer. Sirius sucked in a breath as the speaker came into view, dizzy with the
prospect of speaking to an actual human. He blinked, shoving his face into the bars of the window
until the cold iron stung his cheeks.

It was an older man—fifties, if Sirius had to guess. He had a thatch of grey hair, and was well-
dressed in tailored robes. Floating next to him was a single dementor, and Sirius shivered as the
spectral being’s long, black cloak fluttered in the wind, resisting the urge to shrink back into his
cell.

Pressing his palms flat to the stone wall to steady himself, Sirius cleared his throat.

“Hello.”

His voice was ragged, raw with disuse. It sounded strange and foreign to his own ears.

The man paused, staring at him in shock. He had a newspaper tucked under one arm, which Sirius
eyed hungrily—he remembered the simple pleasure of reading, the feel of paper beneath his
fingers, the smell of parchment…

“Hello,” Sirius repeated, and the man blinked.

“Sirius…Black…?”

He knew who Sirius was, then. That was—that had to be a good sign, surely? He hadn’t yet been
forgotten, lost to the steady march of time. The world had not abandoned him yet, not entirely.

“Yes,” he breathed, “Yes, I’m Sirius.”

The man seemed to give himself a little shake, brow drawing together in a stern frown. “I am
aware, thank you.”

“Who are you?” Sirius asked, ignoring the sharpness of his tone, continuing to stare with open,
hungry curiosity. “Why are you here?” The man seemed a bit flustered, as though unsure how to
respond.

“I am the Minister for Magic,” he said, stiffly, “And I’m here for a routine inspection of the prison
grounds.”

“There’s never been an inspection before,” Sirius said. The words were stilted, scratchy. He wasn’t
entirely sure whether he was putting the emphasis in the correct places—the up and down lilt of
speaking no longer felt like something that came naturally. He had to think about each word before
he said it.

“Yes, well,” the Minister cleared his throat, glancing nervously at the dementor that hovered
beside him, “It’s a new policy, new reforms, you know…just, er…checking in on things…”

He began to walk again, looking thoroughly uncomfortable and eager to leave. Sirius gripped the
bars of the window, desperately.

“Wait!”

The man hesitated, sending an unnerved glance towards his cell, eyes skittering over Sirius’s face
as though he couldn’t quite stand to look at him for very long.

“Can I have that?” Sirius asked, hardly daring to hope.

“…what?”

Sirius licked his lips, eyes dropping down to the paper folded under the Minister’s arm. “That,” he
whispered, “Please.” After a moment, he added, “I quite enjoy a good crossword.”

“Oh.” The man glanced down at the folded paper, perplexed, frowning in confusion. After a
moment, he said hastily, “I suppose.” He lifted the paper, carefully, to the bars of the window, and
Sirius stretched his fingers through, snatching it greedily before he could change his mind. The
moment it was in his hands, he backed away from the window, clutching the paper possessively.
The Minister backed away just as quickly, giving a jerky little nod towards the bars.

“Right, then. Well, erm…right.” He hurried off, throwing one last, spooked glance over his
shoulder. In moments, he had disappeared.

Sirius took a deep, unsteady breath. He was shaking.

A newspaper, he thought, dizzily, I have a newspaper. He could read. Tears pricked his eyes at the
thought—it had been so long, so long…

Sirius retreated to his filthy mattress, curling up with his back against the wall. With trembling
hands, he unfolded the paper, smoothing it out carefully, reverently. He squeezed his eyes shut for
a moment, trying to steady himself. Then he opened his eyes, and looked down at the date on the
front page.

He was right. It was summer.

10 July 1993

It was summer.

10 July 1993

It was summer, so he had been right, and it was summer—

10 July 1993

After all this time, Sirius hadn’t realised that there were still new bits of his heart left to break. But
as he stared down at the date, printed in small, neat letters, something cracked, permanently, in his
chest.
1993.

Twelve years? Had it really—could it possibly be true? Twelve?

“No,” Sirius whispered, vision blurring as tears pricked their way into his eyes. “No, no, no…”

That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. Sirius couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around
what that meant. He’d known—he’d known that it had been a long time. A long time. An eternity.

But it was different to see it printed, right there in black and white.

1993. 1993. Twelve years.

It was impossible. It was a lifetime. It was more time than he’d ever had with James, or Lily or
Harry or—

Remus.

Sirius gasped, pressing a fist to his mouth, trying to swallow the sob that was choking him. It had
been so long since he had let himself think of them, had allowed himself to remember that name…

Twelve years. Twelve years, and Remus had never come for him.

It was a fresh kind of pain. Sirius tried desperately to wipe the tears from his eyes, to stare down at
the paper—to force himself to read, to look, to do anything that wasn’t think about

Moony, Moony’s eyes, Moony’s smile, Moony leaving—

The grief was threatening to drown him, to overtake him, and Padfoot whined from somewhere
deep in his chest—but Sirius couldn’t let him out, couldn’t hide in the dog’s body, not when the
Minister might reappear. He forced himself to breathe, to stare down at the newspaper, picking
apart the headline with painstaking care.

MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE

There was a photograph beneath it of a large, smiling family. Sirius squinted down at it—the faces
were familiar, though he couldn’t quite place them…

Gid? He thought, staring down at the grinning twin boys, waving furiously up from the picture,
Fab?

But—no, that couldn’t be right. Gideon and Fabian Prewett were dead, they had died in…1979.
Fourteen years ago. So this had to be…

Molly, Sirius thought, Molly and Arthur Weasley. The memories came back chipped, disjointed—
he remembered Gid and Fab’s older sister, crying at their funeral; the gaggle of red-haired
children, who he realised must be the people in the photo. But they were all older now, so much
older, all grown up…their youngest boy had been the same age as Harry; Sirius scanned the picture
for him, eyes landing on skinny teenager in the centre of the group, grinning just as widely as the
rest of them, and—

And—

The rat.

All the breath left his lungs.

There, sitting on the shoulder of the youngest Weasley boy, was a painfully, unmistakably familiar
rat. When Sirius looked close enough, he could even make out its little paws—on the right one,
there was a finger missing.

Peter Pettigrew.

Abruptly, the rage returned.

The rat—Sirius thought, staring down at the photograph— The rat, the rat, he’s alive, he’s alive—

He was on fire, veins burning with acidic fury. He grasped the paper in shaking hands, pressing it
close to his face, staring down at the tiny whiskered creature that blinked out at him with beady
eyes.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Sirius whispered, feverishly, “There you are.”

* * *

Sunday 15th July 1993

In the end, it was surprisingly easy. He was already so thin, skin stretched tight across bones. The
dementors opened the door every day when they delivered his food—slipping through the crack
would be only too simple. And he already knew they couldn’t tell the difference when he
transformed into Padfoot; he assumed that they must think he was losing his mind, the way so
many other prisoners had.

The danger, of course, was whether the dementors would be able to tell once he was actually out.
Sirius wasn’t entirely sure how their senses worked; was their strange ability to sense humans
accurate enough to know which side of the cell door he was on? Or did their sightlessness mean
that as long as he hovered by the door, they wouldn’t be able to tell?

It would be a very, very dangerous gamble. No one had ever escaped from Azkaban before, but
Sirius knew what the punishment would be. According to wizarding law, any escaped convict was
subject to whatever justice the dementors saw fit to administer—including the dementor’s kiss.

Sirius didn’t care. He was already as good as dead, nothing but a corpse that had been rotting for
twelve years. If he had any shreds of a soul left, it was no use to him here.

Still, it was hard to break through the fear that sunk into his bones every time the dementors
approached his cell. By the time Sirius finally managed to work up the courage to try it, five nights
had passed—he had started keeping track again, after seeing the date on the newspaper.

Today is July 15 th, 1993, he thought, as he transformed into Padfoot, My name is Sirius Black. I
have been imprisoned for twelve years.

And I am going to kill Peter Pettigrew, or die trying.

The dementors came. They opened the door. They left the food. They closed the door. They moved
on to the next cell.
Padfoot stood, panting, outside, for the first time in twelve years.

Outside.

It didn’t feel real. His legs shook; he stifled the whine in the back of his throat. The dog’s heart
beat like a frightened rabbit’s, waiting for the dementors to continue on their path, floating slowly
out of sight.

The moment they were gone, he ran.

* * *

The sea tried to swallow him.

Over, and over, and over again.

In the years that followed, Sirius would never really understand how he’d done it. The waves
battered him, pushing and pulling; the cold of the water soaked through fur and skin, down to
bone. The salt burrowed into the cracks between teeth, the skin of his gums, the back of his throat.

Padfoot swam. He swam and he swam and he swam. When he couldn’t swim, he floated, panting,
muscles burning as he struggled to lift his head above the waves. He pushed his body until he
thought it might break, leaving him to sink like a stone in the sea.

It didn’t.

He had no idea how much time had passed. Night had fallen by the time he finally dragged himself
onto shore, where he lay shivering on the sand. Padfoot collapsed onto the empty stretch of beach,
exhaustion bleeding black around the edges of his vision. Before it could overtake him, he rolled
onto his back, staring up at the sky.

He was free.

* * *

And then one day you find

Ten years have got behind you

No one told you when to run

You missed the starting gun

Tuesday 31st July 1993

The next two weeks passed in a sort of haze. Sirius spent most of it as Padfoot—wandering through
the countryside until he managed to find signs of people, neat rows of houses tucked all together.
He scavenged through dumpsters, snuffling until he found scraps of food which he scoffed down
ravenously. His stomach felt as though it had grown teeth.

I’m going to kill Peter, he thought, feverishly, over and over again, I’m going to kill Peter. I’m
going to find Peter, and I’m going to kill him.

But there was one thing he had to do first.

It was risky, returning to London. Padfoot exhausted himself, walking on and on endlessly, for
days. When he finally arrived, he cringed away from the crowded streets, from the sounds, from
the people. It was all so much—too much, all at once. Light and colour and noise and smells, an
unending assault on the senses. He crept through alleys, flinching and whimpering. There was a
part of him that longed for the cold, numb silence of stone walls. At least there, fear was something
familiar.

It took him two days to find his way to Surrey. Padfoot had to skulk down backroads, ducking
away from main streets, avoiding the bustling people as best he could. When he got there, he
realised that he didn’t know the address. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever known it—all he
remembered was Surrey, the house Lily had never been invited to see, Hagrid telling him that
Harry was going to live with his aunt and uncle…

Padfoot wandered. Time slipped past like water, blurry and indistinct. He tried desperately to
focus, sniffing at the air, searching for anything familiar. He crawled through the alleyways like a
ghost.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was some higher power, the muggle god that
Remus used to invoke for his swear words. After hours of searching, just as Padfoot was beginning
to grow dizzy with exhaustion, he caught the scent.

It was faint. It was so, so faint. And smothered—covered in layers of mundanity, of beige carpets
and dust and milky tea. But it was there—it was there, and he recognised it, still.

After all these years.

His godson. Harry Potter.

Padfoot followed it, traced it to a large, blocky house that looked identical to every other large,
blocky house on the street. The scent trailed from the front door, strong and fresh, as though he had
just left…had just walked down the road…

Padfoot crept through the alleyway, heart turned to stone in his chest. He wriggled through a fence,
ducked between two houses, padded carefully up to the edge of their shadows, and—

There.

Across the road was a boy, standing alone in the dark. He had a trunk, for some reason, which he
was rummaging through, back turned to Padfoot. Abruptly, he straightened and turned, squinting
into the dark.

James, Sirius screamed, from inside the dog’s body, James.

Whatever was left of him shattered as he stood, staring at the ghost of his best friend.
 It was like going back in time. Like he was thirteen again, standing across from Prongs in the
Gryffindor common room. This boy had the exact same hair, wild and unruly, sticking up from his
scalp as though he’d just stepped off the quidditch pitch. He had the same pointed chin, the same
nose, the same face. For a moment, Sirius wondered if it had all been a bad dream—because here
stood James, alive and well. Any moment he would walk forward, would shake his head and smile,
would say What are you doing back there, Pads? Playing hide and seek?

But he didn’t. In the next second, he had turned around again, going back to his trunk. The
realisation settled over Padfoot, a horrible, crushing weight.

This wasn’t James.

It was Harry.

Harry, who had grown up without him. Harry, who he had abandoned—Harry, who he had failed
to protect.

The boy spun around again, holding up his wand.

“Lumos.”

The light flared to life, a dim blue glow, and Harry was looking at him—staring—and then he
stumbled back, tripping on his trunk—the wand flew from his hand—

Padfoot turned and ran.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "smalltown boy" by bronski beat; song partway through is
"time" by pink floyd!

if you're reading the og atyd alongside this one, i'd recommend reading chapter 183
after this chapter :)
 Return to Hogwarts
Chapter Summary

writers are allowed to have a little deus ex machina...as a treat...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Good morning to you, I hope you’re feeling better baby

Thinking of me while you are far away

Counting the days until they set you free again

Writing this letter, hoping you’re okay

Sent to the room you used to stay in every Sunday

The one that is warmed by sunshine every day

And we’ll get to know each other for a second time

And then you can tell me about your prison stay

He knew where he needed to go. From the photo in the newspaper, it was all very clear; somehow,
Peter had wormed his way into the Weasley family, had made himself a child’s pet. Sirius
wondered, vaguely, how long he had been with them—surely, he hadn’t been living as a rat all
these years?

Still, no matter; what was important was that Sirius now knew how to find him. Once September
rolled around, he knew exactly where Peter would be.

Hogwarts.

It was a long, daunting journey, from London to Scotland. Sirius spent most of it as Padfoot, who
was better equipped to handle the strain of travel—he didn’t need shoes, for one thing. Padfoot was
also less picky about his diet; he could hunt and eat rabbit raw, or—when he was too weak for that
—dig through bins for scraps of food that might have turned his stomach as a human.

He stayed away from towns and cities, following sprawling motorways and road signs. The cars
looked different; but then, everything looked different. When Sirius did find himself wandering
through towns, all the people were dressed strangely; the clothes were…baggier, more muted. He
felt as though he’d stepped into an entirely new world, close enough to the one he’d known to be
familiar, but strange enough that he felt the ache of lost time like a constant bruise.

Sirius spent almost no time as a human over the course of the next month. He knew that the
Ministry would be in an uproar, likely sending dementors to prowl across the country in search of
him. It seemed that even the muggles knew who he was; he saw his face splashed across a few
newspapers, and once on a TV screen through the window of a shop.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he finally reached Scotland. It slipped away
from him, if he didn’t keep careful track; Sirius found himself drifting into a sort of haze, allowing
hours to slide through his fingers like water as he plodded along. In Azkaban, it had kept him from
going insane. Or maybe it hadn’t—but it had made the time pass more easily.

The weather was beginning to cool, a chill creeping in with the evenings and settling down each
night. As he drew closer to his destination, Sirius decided to risk stopping by what had once been
an old Order safe house, just two villages over from Hogsmeade. Padfoot was a hardy dog, but
Sirius knew that if he was going to make it through the winter he would need some sort of supplies,
warmer clothes…medicine, if he could get it. He tried to make a list in his head, but quickly gave
up; thinking about the future felt too much like jinxing it. Besides, Sirius already had one plan to
focus on: get to Hogwarts, find Pettigrew, kill him. After that…

He didn’t like to think about what might happen after that.

Sirius spent two entire days scouting the safe house, hiding in the woods that bordered it as
Padfoot, watching carefully for any signs of life. Knowing Moody, he would probably be sending
aurors to check on all the old safe houses since Sirius’s escape—if he was still working for the
Ministry, after all these years.

Only once he was satisfied that it was empty did Sirius enter, wincing as he smashed one of the
back windows to unlock the door. The house had clearly been abandoned for a long time; a thick
layer of dust sat like a blanket over everything. But there were still a few odds and ends left around
—a threadbare sweater in one closet, a pair of jeans in another, a moth-eaten t-shirt. None of it fit
properly; he had to tie the jeans with twine to keep them from falling off the knife-bones of his
hips, and the sweater rolled down over the knobbly joints of his wrists. But it was better than the
rags of his prison uniform, which were disintegrating bit by bit every day.

There wasn’t much in terms of food; a box of stale crackers, a dusty can of tuna. Still, it was better
than nothing, and Sirius scoffed the lot so quickly that he hardly even tasted it. He didn’t dare risk
staying in the house overnight—he had probably already stayed too long as it was. But before he
left, there was one more thing he needed to find.

They had gotten the idea from Mundungus Fletcher. Or at least, Sirius thought they had—there
were gaps in the memory, little holes punched through by time and the dementors’ erosion, like the
moth-eaten t-shirt on his back. It had been someone in the Order, an eccentric fellow who was
slightly older than they were, ranting on and on about how they couldn’t trust Gringotts to keep
their money safe. In the end, Sirius thought they had mostly just done it for a laugh, but also…just
in case. (It was at the point in time where everyone was doing a lot of things, just in case.)

Despite his tenuous grasp on the details of the memory, Sirius was certain that he and James had
squirreled away the sort of exorbitant amount of money that only two disgustingly wealthy and
stupidly juvenile young men could easily part with. They’d made a game of it, trying to guess how
much each one of them had hidden and where they’d kept it, always trying to one up the other.

So he searched the entire house. He couldn’t remember if either of them had actually hidden
anything at this particular location, but he had to try—Sirius knew that he would need money,
eventually, if he was going to do…anything, after killing Peter.

(Do what? Your friends are dead—you failed them, you killed them, you deserve to be rotting back
in that cell—)
Sirius blinked, and night had nearly fallen. He’d drifted off, again.

He cursed himself, scrambling frantically to continue his search. He was just about to give up
when, an hour later, he finally struck gold—in the most literal sense of the phrase. Underneath a
loose floorboard in the attic of the house, there was a heavy coin purse filled to bursting with shiny
galleons.

Sirius took it and fled.

* * *

Saturday 31st October 1993

All in all, Sirius thought that he was doing a pretty good job at being a wanted criminal. He’d
located Peter, broken out of prison, and made it all the way to Hogsmeade without getting caught.
Now, the only thing standing between him and the vengeance he had been planning nearly every
minute for the past twelve years was a brisk walk and a few stone walls.

Oh—and the horde of dementors.

They were everywhere, patrolling the edges of the Hogwarts grounds the same way they’d
patrolled the cells at Azkaban. After sunset, they even came into Hogsmeade, gliding unimpeded
through the streets. And all of them, every single one, was looking for him.

Fortunately, nobody was looking for Padfoot.

Sirius had taken up residence in the Shrieking Shack, only ever leaving in the form of a dog. He
crept through the back alleys of Hogsmeade during the day, in search of food; at night, he roamed
as far as he dared into the forbidden forest, hunting small creatures. He returned cold and jittery,
curling up in the pile of threadbare blankets he had managed to steal or scavenge, sleeping fitfully
on the hardwood floor.

The little cot was still there, of course. On the upper floor. In that room. But Sirius didn’t go in
there—not since the first day, when he’d walked in as Padfoot and it had hit him like a ton of
bricks.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years, and it still smelled like Moony.

The memories were a storm; a torrent; a flood. Sirius had nearly drowned in them, gasping and
stumbling back, slipping into human skin just to escape the overwhelming senses of the dog.

Moony.

He had been trying so, so hard not to think about him.

Because…James was gone. And Lily was gone. Even Peter, in a way, had died that night. And it
hurt, it left him hollow, it was a pain that never seemed to fade. But Sirius could live with pain—if
haunting your own body could be called living.
It was the hope that broke him, that left him curled in a corner, holding himself together as he
shook. Because Moony was still alive, was still out there somewhere, and that meant…maybe one
day…

(But he left you, didn’t he? Left you to rot in that prison—he must hate you, must think that you
killed them, and you did, didn’t you? So you deserve it, don’t you? You betrayed him, betrayed
them all…)

And so Sirius slept on the floor.

It was alright, because he didn’t plan to stay long. On Halloween, Sirius took his chance—
everyone in the castle would be at the feast; it was the perfect opportunity. All he had to do was
sneak in, make his way up to the tower, find the rat, and wring his traitorous little neck.

Sirius snuck around the edges of the grounds as Padfoot, hiding in the deep shadows of evening. At
the entryway closest to Gryffindor Tower, he transformed, pulling a hooded cloak that he’d stolen
off a clothesline tightly around his face. With his shoulders hunched and his face covered, he could
be one of the professors, coming in late for the feast. None of the portraits batted an eye—none of
them studied him too closely. Probably, Sirius thought, nobody had even considered the possibility
that he might sneak past the dementors.

He felt feverish and slightly giddy as he climbed the familiar staircase up to Gryffindor Tower—it
wasn’t happiness, exactly, far too dark for joy. But it was the closest thing he’d felt to it in a long
time, as he imagined grasping Wormtail’s fat little body, squeezing until he squealed, until his eyes
bulged, until his throat snapped.

The portrait of the fat lady was the same as it had been fifteen years ago, and for a moment Sirius
felt dizzy with déjà vu.

“Let me in.” His voice rasped from his throat, scratchy and rough with disuse. The fat lady
yawned.

“Password?”

“I’ve forgotten it.”

“Sorry, no password, no entrance.”

Sirius gritted his teeth, shoulders already beginning to shake with stifled rage. He was so close.

“Let me in,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “Right now.”

The fat lady peered at him, disgruntled, trying to see under his cloak.

“Who are you? You’re not a student…”

Sirius couldn’t wait any longer—he reached down, withdrawing a knife from the pocket of his
overlarge jeans. As he loosened his grip on the cloak, it slipped back, slightly. The fat lady gasped,
and a murmur started up from the surrounding portraits, who began to point and whisper.

“If you don’t let me in, I will rip you to fucking shreds.”

“Sirius Black!” The fat lady screeched, face going pale with fear, “You’re Sirius Black!”

“Let me in!”
“No—no, never!”

“LET ME IN!” He roared, leaping forward, blinded by rage. The fat lady screamed as he slashed
her precious canvas, fleeing from the frame.

Sirius stood, panting, knife in hand. The anger roiled like a bubbling cauldron in his veins, but it
was too late—if he didn’t leave now, he’d be caught. He let out one last, frustrated growl as he
spun, yanking the cloak back over his face and fleeing the castle.

He slipped into Padfoot the moment he was outside, running as quickly as he could back towards
the willow. Already, the alarms were sounding—he could hear the chaos erupting behind him,
sharp ears pricked to the shouting in the castle. It was not until he reached the willow that he
realised he had made a grave mistake.

Coming up out of the passageway beneath the tree, Padfoot was more than capable of pressing the
secret knot that paralysed its branches. But coming from Hogwarts…

Padfoot shied backwards as the Whomping willow swung for him, growling low in his throat. He
was too large, an easy target for the violent tree.

It can’t end like this, Sirius thought, frantically, It can’t—I’m so close, I was so close—

Suddenly, something darted past him—a flash of orange fur. It twisted skilfully between the tree’s
swinging branches, then lazily placed one paw against the knot.

It was a cat.

Sirius stared for a moment, disbelieving. Then, with no other choice, he trotted carefully up to the
passageway, eyeing the creature warily. It sat twitching its tail, watching him with yellow eyes.

Padfoot huffed once, and the cat flicked its ears in acknowledgment. Then it spun around and
darted back off, disappearing into the shadows.

* * *

The cat came by quite often, after that. Sirius had no idea how it knew about the passageway, nor
the knot on the willow. At first, he wondered if it was a fellow animagus. But as time went on, he
quickly realised that this was not the case; it was simply a bog-standard cat. An incredibly
intelligent cat, but a cat nonetheless.

It would find him when he stalked the grounds, weaving between his legs and rubbing its squashed
little head against his side. It would trot down the passageway and into the shrieking shack, curling
up next to him on the wooden floor. Sometimes, it would even bring dead birds or mice as gifts
(which Sirius didn’t find all that appetising, but Padfoot certainly appreciated).

“If only you could catch rats for me, eh?” Sirius said one day, scratching behind the cat’s ears. He
was leaning against the wall of the shack; the cat lay curled in his lap, purring. “Might solve all my
problems, if I could just set you on the bloody traitor…”

The cat’s ears twitched. Sirius knew it was ridiculous, but he got the distinct sense that it was
somehow listening—more than that, that it somehow understood.
“I was too hasty…” Sirius murmured, half to himself, “I’ll need to wait…find a better
opportunity…get the passwords somehow…” He scowled, “Suppose I’ve put them all on an even
higher alert now…probably have to wait for things to cool down a bit before I risk going back in
again…”

The cat made a small noise, bumping its head into the palm of Sirius’s hand. He’d stopped
scratching behind its ears, lost in his own musings.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry…”

It was soothing, holding the soft creature in his lap. Sirius had been alone for so long that at first he
didn’t recognise why having the cat there made him feel as though a weight had lifted off his
chest. But eventually, of course, the animal would leave—Sirius suspected that it belonged to one
of the students in the castle, it was too well-fed to be a stray—and the weight would settle back,
and he would realise: it was loneliness. He’d grown so used to it that he’d nearly forgotten how it
felt to go without it, even for a short while.

It was easier to concentrate with the cat around, too. Since he’d first set foot outside that cell door
in Azkaban, Sirius had felt—frantic. Jumpy. Always looking over his shoulder, waiting to get
caught. He’d been so focused on getting to Peter and exacting his revenge before he ran out of time
that he’d very nearly thrown away his chance, and he couldn’t let that happen again.

He could still be caught at any moment. Sirius knew that. But instead of allowing the fear to send
him round the twist, he made it into an anchor, reminding himself to step cautiously, to move only
when he was sure that he wouldn’t be discovered. Revenge was the skeleton that held him up; the
marrow in his bones; the air that he breathed. Imagining the day that he would bring Peter
Pettigrew to justice was the only thing that had kept him alive through twelve years of slow,
unending torture. He had waited so long—surely, he would be able to wait just a bit more.

So Sirius bided his time. He lurked, watching for another opportunity. He didn’t think of Remus,
or Lily, or James—he did his best not to think of Harry, so close and yet so inaccessible. He kept
all his thoughts focused on Peter, on the sweet relief he would feel once he finally had Pettigrew’s
blood on his hands. He was careful. Very, very careful.

Mostly.

There was just one indulgence that he allowed himself. One risk that couldn’t stop himself from
taking.

In November, there was a quidditch match. Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. And Sirius knew he
shouldn’t—he knew he shouldn’t. But somehow, he found himself sneaking into the stands, up to
the highest, emptiest seats. He was Padfoot; even if he was spotted, no one would recognise him.
And besides, it was pouring rain—he doubted anyone would even be able to spot him.

Something stirred in his chest as he watched the players take the field, something familiar and
bright and nostalgic. Excitement. He hadn’t felt excited for anything in twelve years—it was as if a
thousand tiny bubbles were bursting in his chest, leaving him floaty and warm even as the rain
soaked through his fur. Padfoot had to struggle not to bark as he watched the Gryffindor players
mount their brooms, robes already soaked before they’d even taken flight.

He watched the players rising, battling the storm, and—

James.
Padfoot shook himself. The bubbles had turned to knives, a sharp twisting in his chest.

No. That was Harry. That was Harry, flying with the Gryffindor team. A quidditch player, just like
his father.

Can you see this, Prongs? Sirius found himself asking, silently, Look at him fly—just like you.

Except that wasn’t right, not exactly. James’s flying…his flying had been flashier, showier, all
bravado. And at the same time, he’d been anchor of his team, constantly aware of all his
teammates, always there when they needed support. And he’d been…he’d been…a chaser. Yes—a
chaser, right at the centre of things, scoring the goals.

Harry’s flying was much more…solitary. He hovered separate from the other players, out of the
way. Despite the battering storm, Sirius could tell that he was just as skilled on a broom as his
father had been, but there was none of the show—he didn’t want to be the centre of attention. In
fact, the impression that Sirius got was that he’d much prefer the opposite. And he wasn’t a chaser;
he was the Gryffindor team’s seeker. Like Narcissa had been, and…

Regulus.

On the pitch, Madam Hooch blew her whistle for a time-out. The storm was only growing worse,
lightning splitting the sky in two. It seemed that both seekers were struggling to see in the
downpour; at this rate, the game would continue well into the night.

Padfoot was too far away to see what, exactly, happened during the time out, but when the players
got back on their brooms Harry seemed to be flying with a renewed vigour. He zipped across the
pitch, ducking and weaving, expertly avoiding bludgers and other players as he searched for the
snitch. As Padfoot watched, he flew upwards, hovering high above the field. Just as he turned,
lightning flashed, so close that it illuminated the entire field—and the stands. Padfoot could see
Harry’s face, glasses somehow miraculously clear of rain, so that his wide-eyed stare was clearly
visible as his eyes locked on the shaggy black dog.

At the same moment, Padfoot felt a familiar chill beginning to creep up his spine.

Oh no—no no no no no

He scurried out from the stands, dashing back down in the furious storm, past the oblivious
spectators whose eyes were riveted on the sky. He didn’t stop until he was cowering beneath the
stands, cringing away, concealed by the many bodies—the many souls—above him.

The dementors swept onto the field, soundless and horrifying. For a moment, Sirius was sure that
he had been caught—that this was it; they were here for him, to take him back or kill him or suck
out his soul.

But they didn’t. Instead, they glided across the field, spreading their grisly chill across the entire
arena, so that the crowd began to fall silent. It was almost as if they were going towards—

Harry.

As Padfoot watched, frozen in fear, the boy went stiff on his broom—then collapsed, falling at
breakneck speed towards the ground. For a moment, Sirius was split between time, watching
another boy fall, another body—

Reg—
 He nearly dashed out from beneath the stands, but Dumbledore got there first. The headmaster
swept onto the field, shouting furiously, waving his wand and slowing Harry’s descent. In the
stands, chaos erupted—students screaming, rushing onto the pitch, professors trying to calm them
—Hooch’s shrill whistle above it all—

It was now or never. Padfoot turned and ran, nothing more than a shadow in the rapidly falling
night, all the way back to the willow.

Chapter End Notes

song is "care of cell 44" by the zombies!

is the money thing totally out of left field? yes. did the canon explanation for how
sirius buys the firebolt make even less sense to me? yes. so this is what we're sticking
with.

does crookshanks immediately knowing what's up make sense? no. is it canon? no. but
i'm a cat person, and also too lazy to write the slow development of their relationship--
sirius needed a friend <3

also -- ten chapters left!! ahhhhhh

 Opportunity
Chapter Summary

crookshanks supremacy <3

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

When I was seventeen

I dreamed of being king and

Having everything I wanted

But that was long ago and

My dreams did not unfold so

I’m still the king of nothing

December 1993

It was a bad idea.

It was a very, very bad idea.

It would be foolish, and reckless, and downright stupid. Sirius was the most wanted criminal in all
of Great Britain—if he made even the smallest mistake, he risked exposing himself and throwing
away everything he had worked for.

Still, he found himself staring down at the newspaper ad for the Firebolt—the newest, fastest, most
disgustingly expensive broom on the market. It was a mail-order advertisement; just send the
money and the return address, and the broom could be yours by Christmas—or so the
advertisement promised.

It wasn’t worth it. Sirius knew that. It was just…

Harry’s broom had been destroyed, after that dreadful quidditch match. Sirius had had to hide in
the treeline along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, waiting for the willow to calm down after the
broom was blown straight into its branches by the gale-force winds. The tree thrashed and
smashed, splintering it beyond repair.

Harry himself was alright. Padfoot had seen him only a few days after the match, tromping out
across the grounds with his friends—the Weasley boy and a bushy-haired girl. But the poor kid had
looked utterly dejected, dragging his feet and slumping his shoulders even as both of his friends
tried to cheer him up. Sirius could only imagine how he was feeling; he knew that if it were
James—

(But it isn’t James, is it? Because James is dead, dead because of you, because you failed him—
failed all of them—)

The cat jumped onto his lap, startling him, and Sirius nearly dropped the paper.

“Merlin—don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Mrrow.” The cat blinked expectantly up at him, and Sirius sighed as he reached down to scratch
its ears.

“Alright, alright…”

He relaxed, slightly, as he began to pet the little beast, pulling himself forcibly out of the dark
spiral that his thoughts had begun to take. The cat would get fussy if he started shaking, now that it
had gotten comfortable.

Sirius glanced down at the newspaper advertisement again, swallowing the lump in his throat.
James might be…gone—but Harry was still there. And maybe this was one thing…just one thing
that Sirius could do for him.

But it would take nearly all the money that he’d salvaged from that safe house…

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

* * *

Harry didn’t use the broom a single time for the entire month of January. Sirius would have known
—he’d figured out all the best spots to lurk around the quidditch stands by then, places where he
could sink into the shadows, where no one would see him. He spent quite a bit of time watching
the Gryffindor practices, but Harry only flew on an old Comet model borrowed from the school’s
supply—and Sirius had no idea why. Had the mail order ad been a scam? Had the broom never
arrived?

Sirius knew he had more important things to worry about. Getting back into the castle was
beginning to seem more and more impossible; unless he could somehow get the password for the
Gryffindor common room, there would be no getting to Peter. And the only way he could think of
to get the password would be to lurk outside the common room and wait for someone to say it—
but there was no way he would be able to go unnoticed in the empty corridor.

So he found himself spending quite a bit of time stalking the grounds, spying on the quidditch
pitch. Some days, he would watch Harry fly with his teammates for hours. Others, he would turn
and run the moment he saw the boy step onto the pitch with his borrowed broom, heart pounding to
the rhythm of the ghosts that haunted him—James James James James James.

Sirius didn’t know how to handle it—the emotion. In Azkaban, apathy had been his only shield; he
had spent over a decade frozen behind the walls of self-induced numbness, repressing and locking
away any stray bit of feeling that still had the tenacity to worm its way into his heart. It had kept
him alive, though it hadn’t felt much like living.
Now, though, away from the dementors (or at least—further away than he had been in twelve
years), everything was beginning to come back. Emotion burned brighter, hotter, melting the icy
shield of lethargic detachment that he had grown so used to hiding behind. At times, Sirius spent
entire days curled on the floor of the Shack, unable to face the outside world and its constant
barrage of stimuli.

Happiness was the worst. Sirius hadn’t expected that. It struck him like a knife, gutting, leaving
him open and bleeding for the crush of guilt that would inevitably follow. Every time he felt the
sharp twist of joy—running uninhibited through the Forbidden Forest as Padfoot; smelling the
wafting scent of sugar from Honeyduke’s as it floated over Hogsmeade; watching Harry execute a
perfect dive on his broom—Sirius would find himself bent double moments later, gasping through
the grief that followed.

Because how could he smile, in a world where James and Lily Potter no longer existed? How could
he feel anything but sorrow?

At night, he would wake, sobbing, trying desperately to lock away the happy memories that had
crept into his dreams. When he realised that no dementors were coming to steal them away, he
would only weep harder, hugging his knees to his chest.

(You don’t deserve them—you don’t deserve them—you deserve to be rotting, to be stuck in that
cell…)

On the worst nights, the only thing that stopped Sirius from going back—from turning himself in,
from burying himself behind those stone walls—was the knowledge that Peter was still alive. Still
out there. So close. The rage was the only thing left that could protect him from the grief; he clung
to it until his hands were raw and bloody.

But anger was useless, if he couldn’t be patient.

So Sirius continued to wait, to watch and listen. He continued to go back to the quidditch pitch,
despite the way it ripped him apart. Watching Harry fly was like a drug; Sirius felt high, dizzy with
the sensation that he had stepped back in time, that he was once more sixteen, watching his best
friend take to the field for practice. The comedown left him shaking, every time.

In February, Sirius finally spotted the broom. His heart leapt as he watched Harry walk out onto the
field, smiling and laughing with his teammates, Firebolt clutched in his fist. His fellow Gryffindors
watched reverently as he mounted the broom, and then—

He was off.

Oh, Sirius thought, battling the painful surge of joy that stole his breath, Oh, Prongs, how I wish
you could see this.

Harry was born to fly. He was made for it. On the Firebolt, he nearly outraced the wind, nothing
but a blur above the pitch. Sirius thought of James’s childhood dream, how he’d wanted nothing
more in life than to be a quidditch player.

Well – Sirius thought of Lily – Almost nothing.

He watched Harry soar, chasing after the snitch. He watched him dive, and turn, and zip across the
pitch.

That’s your boy, Prongs, he thought, unable to look away, That’s him.
There was a quidditch match the very next day – Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. The stands were
wild, full of cheering and screaming, but the noise all faded to a dull roar as Padfoot crouched in
the shadows, watching Harry fly. The Ravenclaw seeker tried to tail him; their beaters tried to
distract him with bludgers—it didn’t matter. He was far too skilled for any of them, darting across
the pitch at breakneck speed, hunting for the snitch with single-minded determination.

Harry had just caught sight of the elusive little ball, leaning forward on his broom to catch up to it,
when the Ravenclaw seeker suddenly shrieked. Padfoot tore his gaze away from Harry to see what
had happened—immediately, his heart turned to ice.

Three dementors had somehow made their way unnoticed onto the field, black cloaks drifting in
the wind. But before anyone could do anything about it, Harry was twisting, tearing his wand from
his robes and pointing it at them, screaming,

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Miraculously, silver light burst from the end of his wand—the shape coalesced into powerful
muscle, stamping hooves, and there, on its head, pointed and sharp…

Prongs.

For a moment, Sirius forgot to breathe.

Prongs, it’s me.

The patronus cantered towards the dementors, barrelling over them and sending them sprawling at
the exact moment that Harry wrapped his fingers around the golden snitch.

It’s me, it’s Padfoot—Prongs, please—

The crowd went wild.

Don’t go, Sirius thought, desperately, as the silver stag began to fade, Please, please Prongs—
don’t leave me—

The cat appeared at his side. It was carrying something in its mouth – a bit of folded parchment –
and indicated with a flick of its tail and a meaningful flash of its yellow eyes that Padfoot should
follow, immediately.

So he did, wandering back towards the willow, leaving the cheers of victory behind. His heart was
pounding, caught somewhere between joy and grief, aching like it was trying to tear itself in two.
He thought of the triumphant smile that had cracked like lightning across Harry’s face, shining; the
mirror image of another boy, another face, another lifetime…

Inside the Shack, he transformed back.

“Alright then, cat,” Sirius turned to look at its squashed little face, “What’ve you got for me?”

The cat opened its mouth, placing the parchment in his waiting hand. Sirius unfolded it and
squinted down at the messy handwriting. A sharp bark of laughter jumped from his lips.

Passwords. It was a list of the passwords for Gryffindor Tower.

* * *
He waited until nightfall, this time, to sneak back into the castle—when everyone was asleep,
including the portraits. His blood sang with adrenaline, heart pounding. Revenge was so close that
he could almost taste it, like a shark sniffing blood in the water.

The fat lady was gone. In her place was a different painting—a small knight, who snorted when
Sirius woke him, calling out,

“Ho there, Scoundrel! Nobody sneaks past the noble Sir Cadogan!”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Sirius said, licking his lips, “I woke you up.”

“A challenge, eh? If it’s a fight you want, good sir, I shall be all too happy to oblige!”

“I just need to get into the common room.”

“Nobody gets in without the password!”

Sirius felt a cold smile beginning to creep across his face.

“Oh,” he said, withdrawing the paper from his pocket, “I have the password.”

Inside, the Gryffindor common room was so startlingly familiar that Sirius had to pause, for a
moment—to lean against the wall, to catch his breath. There was the fireplace, where he had spent
so many evenings with his friends; the desk where he’d plotted pranks with James, the couch
where he’d sat with Mary, the stairwell where he and Remus had…

The rat, Sirius reminded himself, biting back the flood of memory, The rat—find the rat.

Nobody woke as he crept up the stairs. Nobody woke as he stole down the dormitory corridor,
until he found the Weasley boy’s room. He shared it with Harry – of course – along with three
others; Sirius was surprised to see the name Neville Longbottom on the little plaque outside the
door. Frank and Alice’s boy—Sirius hadn’t thought of Longbottoms in years. It was a strange sort
of comfort, seeing their son’s name; a reminder that some of them, at least, had made it through the
war. Sirius thought of Alice’s steely gaze, and Frank’s quiet determination. If anyone was going to
make it out, he supposed it would have been those two.

The adrenaline surged in his veins as he crept into the dark room, heart beating feverishly in his
chest. He felt more animal than man, hungry for spilled blood, baring his teeth in a feral grin as he
withdrew the knife from his pocket.

He recognised the Weasley boy’s bed from the clothes scattered around it—a hand-knit sweatered,
emblazoned with his initials. Sirius moved as though in a trance, tearing the curtains from their
hangings, lunging forward to find—

Nothing. He panted, breathing heavily, searching—but Wormtail was nowhere to be found.

The rat was gone.

The Weasley boy woke, and began to scream. Sirius snarled at him, murderous rage still pounding
in his blood.

Then he turned, once more, and fled.

 * * *

Months passed. Sirius allowed the rage to consume him, spent hours burning in the acid of its
stomach. He stopped watching the quidditch practices; he didn’t go to any more games. He had
been foolish, and selfish, to think that he was entitled to any shred of happiness. Sirius didn’t even
deserve to look at Harry, not when he’d allowed the man that killed his parents to slip away,
again…

As the days passed, all that Sirius could do was prowl the grounds as Padfoot, searching for any
sign of Wormtail, growing more and more frustrated when he found absolutely nothing. The cat
helped, following him around the edges of the Forbidden forest, hissing at him anytime he tried to
go near the castle, as if to say Don’t you dare.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Sirius told it, when it curled up purring on his lap in the Shack, “I
have complete faith that you would find him, if he were inside the castle…but if I could just help
you search—”

The cat dug its claws into his leg, and that was that.

As winter faded into spring and the weather grew warmer, Sirius began to feel as though he might
lose his mind. He had to find Peter before the term ended and the Weasley boy left Hogwarts—he
had to. In his nightmares, Peter laughed at him, staring him down on that crowded muggle street,
eyes flashing triumphantly. Sirius woke dizzy, disoriented, half expecting to find himself
surrounded by bodies and broken stone, in the remnants of the explosion.

Find the rat, he reminded himself, as he came back to his body, I just have to find the rat.

It was not until the very last moment that Sirius finally, finally got his chance. They were on the
cusp of summer; early June, exams just ending. Recently, the cat had been very interested in
Hagrid’s hut, watching it from the treeline, or else prowling around in the massive groundskeeper’s
vegetable patch. Padfoot couldn’t follow out of the safety of the trees—especially not when the
man had a live hippogriff chained up in his backyard—but he watched the cat sniff around the little
house with a wary gleam in its eye.

The evening it happened, he had left the cat to go and hunt rabbits, stomach clenching painfully as
it begged for food. Padfoot was just returning to the edge of the treeline when his ears pricked—
there was a commotion coming from over near the willow, the unmistakable sounds of the cat
hissing coupled with panicked human shouting.

“Get away from him—get away—Scabbers come here—”

Immediately, the familiar, bloodthirsty adrenaline surged through his veins. Padfoot ran for the
edge of the forest, and—

Yes—yes—

There, just a few feet away from the whomping willow, the Weasley boy lay on the ground. His
hands were clutched over a quivering lump in his pocket; Padfoot sniffed the air, and—

Yes yes yes

—he was there! Wormtail. The rat. The cat stood a few feet away, hissing, teeth bared.
 Padfoot didn’t think. He ran, barrelling into Harry, who had just stumbled into his path, side by
side with his bushy-haired friend. The boy collapsed on the ground, and Padfoot rolled off of him,
snarling as he lunged for Weasley. He locked his jaws around the gangly teenager’s arm, dragging
him towards the roots of the tree. The boy struggled, desperately, fear thick and sharp in the air.
Padfoot didn’t care in the slightest—he pulled him down, into the darkness.

At last, he thought, feverishly, I have you.

You’re not escaping this time.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "king of nothing" by seals & crofts!

also the chapters start getting longer from here on out as i scramble frantically to cram
everything in lmao...buckle up everybody
 Reunion
Chapter Summary

professor lupin?!?!?

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

How you turn my world you precious thing

You starve and near-exhaust me

Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you

I move the stars for no one

You’ve run so long

You’ve run so far

Your eyes can be so cruel

Just as I can be so cruel

Oh, I do believe in you

Yes I do…

Padfoot dragged the boy down the tunnel, jaws holding fast even as he struggled. He dug his teeth
in, tasting blood—some part of him registered, absently, that the boy was innocent; that he
shouldn’t be involved in any of this. But he had Wormtail in his pocket, and Sirius had waited far
too long for this opportunity. There would have to be some collateral damage.

The Weasley boy flailed, hooking his leg around a clump of roots. Padfoot growled, heaving—
there was a sickening snap.

The boy screamed.

Padfoot ignored it.

The rat, the rat—kill the rat—

He hauled the boy all the way to the Shack, dragging him up the stairs, to the room with Remus’s
old cot. He was very pale now, and moaning, one leg sticking out at an unnatural angle. Padfoot
didn’t release him until they’d reached the middle of the room, and the boy scrambled back, going
for his wand—in an instant, Padfoot was on him, wrenching the stick from his grasp.

And then he was human, and for the first time in twelve long years, he had a wand again.
“You!” The Weasley boy gasped, face contorting in pain as he dragged himself further away. Sirius
allowed it, stepping back into a shadowy corner of the room.

“Quiet!” He hissed, sharply, pointing the wand. The boy’s mouth snapped shut. He was shaking.

Sirius waited, head cocked, listening…

After a few moments, the cat darted into the room, hopping up onto the cot. It settled down and
curled into a ball, purring loudly and clearly very satisfied with its work. The Weasley boy watched
it, brow furrowed in confusion—then his face twisted in horror, as the door to the room burst open
and Harry dashed through with his wand raised high. His other friend followed behind him, her
wild mane of hair flying around her shoulders as she ran.

They caught sight of their injured friend immediately, rushing towards him.

“Ron—are you okay?”

“Where’s the dog?”

“Not a dog,” the Weasley boy—Ron—hissed through gritted teeth, face white with pain. “Harry,
it’s a trap—”

“What—”

“He’s the dog—he’s an Animagus—”

Sirius stepped out of the shadows, slamming the door shut, lifting his stolen wand.

“Expelliarmus!”

The two teenagers’ wands flew out of their hands, landing neatly in Sirius’s palm. He took a step
forward, eyes fixed on Harry, drinking him in. It was the first time he’d seen his godson as a
human—his eyes were just as Sirius remembered. The exact same shade of green as Lily’s.

“I thought you’d come and help your friend,” he croaked, throat raw and dry, “Your father would
have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I’m grateful…it will make
everything much easier…”

There was so much to say—so much to do—but he couldn’t get distracted…

Abruptly, Harry’s features contorted with hatred—a rage so deep and blinding that it erased all
traces of Lily and James from his face. Sirius had never seen either of them wear such visceral
hate.

Harry took a step forward, hands balled into fists; his friends held him back.

“No, Harry!” Cried the girl, eyes wide with terror. But Ron stood, using Harry’s shoulder to haul
himself up, shouting,

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!”

Sirius’s heart twisted in his chest. It was exactly the sort of thing that he would have done for
James.

“Lie down,” he said, gently, “You will damage that leg even more.”
The stubborn boy didn’t listen, gripping Harry’s shoulder so tightly that his knuckles went white.
“Did you hear me?” He demanded, voice pitching up in desperation, “You’ll have to kill all three
of us!”

“No…” Sirius murmured, baring his teeth in a feral grin as he stared at the quivering lump in Ron’s
pocket, “Only one will die tonight.”

“Why’s that?” Harry demanded, attempting to shake off his friends, “Didn’t care last time, did
you? Didn’t mind slaughtering all those muggles to get at Pettigrew—what’s the matter, gone soft
in Azkaban?”

Sirius felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. Of course—of course he knew what the world
thought of him, what they all believed…but it was different to stand face to face with his best
friend’s son, and realise that the child had likely spent his whole life believing that it was Sirius
who had deprived him of his parents.

(But he’s not wrong, is he? It was you, wasn’t it—you who convinced them to trust Peter, you who
assured them that it would be safe…)

“Harry!” Gasped the girl, “Be quiet!”

But Harry didn’t listen. Instead, he howled with rage, screaming,

“HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!”

The boy lunged forward, suddenly, and before Sirius could raise any of the wands he’d stolen
Harry’s hand was around his wrist, forcing them away, fist colliding with the side of Sirius’s head
—they fell backwards, into the wall—his friends were shouting, Harry was punching, Sirius was
struggling to regain control—but he was so weak, after months of nothing but scraps and stray
rabbits, he couldn’t—he had to—

Sirius had a hand around Harry’s throat, frantic and reeling, hissing feverishly,

“No—I’ve waited too long—”

Suddenly, Harry’s friends were on him, kicking and pummelling, wrenching his arms away. The
wands slipped from his grasp; Harry dove after them; the cat was hissing; everyone was shouting;
Sirius was flailing, trying to fight off the two teenagers that had suddenly decided to attack him.

“Get out of the way!”

Harry’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. His friends both scrambled back,
snatching their wands off the ground. Ron dragged himself onto the cot, clutching his broken leg.

Harry walked towards Sirius slowly, wand raised, eyes full of hate. Sirius watched him, panting.

“Going to kill me, Harry?”

The boy stopped, hovering above him, wand pointed straight at his chest. His hand was steady,
though his voice shook.

“You killed my parents.”

He looked so much like James.

“I know,” Sirius said, voice cracking, “But it’s not what you think—if you knew the whole story
—”

“The whole story?” Harry stared at him, green eyes flat with rage, “You sold them to Voldemort.
That’s all I need to know.”

“You’ve got to listen to me,” Sirius begged, “You’ll regret it if you don’t—you don’t understand
—”

“I understand better than you think,” Harry snarled, voice trembling, “You never heard her, did
you? My mum…trying to stop Voldemort killing me…and you did that…you did it….”

Sirius swallowed, thickly, opening his mouth to speak—but before he could utter a word,
something had pounced on him, a warm weight settling on his chest.

The cat.

Sirius stared at it, dumbfounded. After a moment, he prodded at the creature, trying to push it
away.

“Get off.”

But the cat dug its claws into his shirt, pricking his chest, refusing to budge. It stared up at Harry
with its big, yellow eyes, as though daring him to try anything. His friend with the wild hair
released a stifled sob, pressing her hand to her mouth.

Harry glared at the cat, murderously, wand still aimed straight at Sirius’s chest. Sirius waited,
hardly daring to breathe as the seconds ticked by—wondering if this was it. If this was how he
would go.

In a way, it would almost be poetic. He had failed to protect James and Lily; it was fitting then,
wasn’t it, that their son should be the cause of Sirius’s own death?

But the rat…the rat…

Nobody moved. Sirius stared up at Harry, and the seconds continued to pass. The rage was still
there in his eyes, burning. But beneath it there was something else—something soft and afraid and
unaccountably good.

James—Lily—

Sirius began to close his eyes.

And then, abruptly, the sound of footsteps came from downstairs. The girl began to scream at once,
shouting,

“WE’RE UP HERE! WE’RE UP HERE – SIRIUS BLACK – QUICK!”

The footsteps thundered up the stairs; the door burst open with a flash of red sparks; and—and—

Moony.

Time slowed around them.

He was older. Much older—no longer the gangly youth of their early twenties. Still just as tall, of
course, but his hair was now streaked with grey, and there was a weary slump to his shoulders, as
though he had just set down the weight of the world. His face was lined with age, creased around
the forehead and the eyes, jaw a bit squarer, dusted with stubble. There was a new scar on his right
cheek, just beside his ear.

He was beautiful. Achingly, painfully beautiful.

Oh, love, Sirius thought, through the haze in his mind, You’ve grown up without me.

He was aware, vaguely, of Remus scanning the room, assessing the situation, sharp eyes darting
just the way Sirius remembered from when he was trying to work out some complicated problem.
He heard, distantly, the spell as Remus disarmed Harry, though he hardly processed the word
because his voice—his voice—

“Where is he, Sirius?”

It took everything in him not to crack, not to throw himself at Remus’s feet. Say it again, he wanted
to beg, Say my name again.

He struggled, for a moment, with the torrent of emotion, trapping it behind the thick wall of ice
that he had so carefully constructed. Eventually, he managed to lift his hand, pointing wordlessly at
the Weasley boy’s pocket.

“But then…” Remus frowned, brow furrowed, lip poking out as he thought, “…why hasn’t he
shown himself before now? Unless—” His eyes widened, stifled emotion swelling behind them,
“Unless he was the one…unless you switched…without telling me?”

Sirius didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he nodded, gaze never wavering from Moony’s eyes.

Suddenly, Remus’s voice was there—inside Sirius, inside his mind.

Show me.

And Sirius did, wondering if he was going mad—replaying the memories, the night he’d convinced
James and Lily to switch their secret-keeper.

“But Padfoot,” James said, brow furrowed in concern, “I thought we were agreed?”

“I know, but this is better, can’t you see?! No one will ever suspect Wormy!”

Lily’s voice—later that night, when they’d told her—“Like a double bluff! It’s brilliant!”

Sirius held Moony’s gaze, begging. I’m sorry, he thought, desperately, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so
sorry.

“Professor,” Harry said, stepping forward, and the word sent a shock through Sirius.

Professor? Had Remus been here, at Hogwarts, all this time? But—no—where had he gone on the
moons? The shack was always empty.

Harry was still speaking, asking, “What’s going on—?”

But as he spoke, Remus stepped forward, eyes still locked on Sirius. He reached down, gripping
Sirius’s shaking hand in his long, scarred fingers, pulling him to his feet. And then Sirius was in
Moony’s arms, crushed against his chest, fingers twisting in his robes.

“Sirius,” he breathed, so quietly that no one else could hear. He spoke the name like it was
something precious, something powerful, something dangerous. Like it was a spell, or a prayer.
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” The girl screamed, shrilly. Remus broke away, turning to face her.

“You—you—”

“Hermione—”

“—you and him!”

“Hermione, calm down—”

“I didn’t tell anyone!” The girl (Hermione?) cried, furiously, “I’ve been covering up for you—”

“Hermione, listen to me, please!” Remus interrupted her, raising his voice, “I can explain—”

But now Harry was shouting, fists clenched, confusion replaced once more by rage.

“I trusted you!” He shouted, voice cracking, “And all this time you’ve been his friend!”

“No,” Remus said, something like guilt twisting in his face, “I haven’t been—I thought—but
now…just let me explain—”

“NO!” Hermione cut him off, screaming, “Harry, don’t trust him, he’s the one who’s been helping
Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too – he’s a werewolf!”

At his side, Remus stiffened. The room went deathly silent as all three children turned to stare at
him, with looks of open horror across their faces.

“Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione,” Remus said, after a moment—voice steady,
though slightly strained. “Only one out of three, I’m afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into
the castle, and I certainly don’t want Harry dead…” He grimaced, briefly, “But…yes. I’m a
werewolf; you’re right about that.”

Over on the cot, Ron moved as if to stand—but he quickly collapsed, a strangled noise of pain
escaping from his throat. Remus started towards him, eyeing the broken leg with obvious concern,
but Ron shuddered back.

“Get away from me, werewolf!”

Remus froze, as though he’d been slapped. After a tense moment of silence, he turned back to
Hermione.

“How long have you known?”

“Ages,” Hermione murmured, chin jutting forward defiantly even as she trembled, “Since I did
Professor Snape’s essay…”

Professor Snape? Sirius wondered if he had misheard—surely they weren’t talking about Severus
Snape?!

“He’ll love that,” Remus replied, coldly, “He only assigned that essay because he wanted someone
to work it out…Did you check the lunar chart and realise that I was always ill at the full moon? Or
was it the boggart that gave it away?”

“Both,” Hermione breathed.

Remus laughed, humourlessly.

“You’re incredibly clever, Hermione, I’ll grant you that.”

“I’m not,” Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, “If I’d been a bit cleverer, I’d have told
everyone what you are!”

“But they already know,” Remus replied, evenly, “At least, the staff do.”

Now Ron spoke up, voice betraying his shock as he asked, “Dumbledore knows you’re a werewolf,
and he still hired you? Is he mad?!”

Sirius was beginning to rethink his “only one will die tonight” plan.

“Some of the staff thought so,” Remus replied, “He had to work very hard to convince certain
teachers that I was trustworthy—”

“AND HE WAS WRONG!” Harry began to shout again, “YOU’VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL
THIS TIME!”

Harry pointed at Sirius—he was so angry; they all were, and Moony was right there, and Peter…

Sirius crossed to the cot and sank down onto it, burying his head in his hands. It was too much—it
was all too much. He’d been a fool to leave Azkaban, a fool to allow the gutting claws of emotion
back into his heart, a fool to think he could do this—

But he had to, he had to, he’d come so far—

The cat jumped onto his lap, purring. Sirius tried to breathe, to focus on nothing but the vibrations
emanating from the soft bundle of fur.

“I have not been helping Sirius,” Remus snapped, losing patience, “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll
explain. Look—”

He lifted the three wands in his hand, tossing them one by one back to their owners.

“There,” Remus huffed, putting his own wand away, “You’re armed, we’re not. Now will you
listen?”

Harry scowled, stubbornly. “If you haven’t been helping him, how did you know he was here?”

“The map,” Remus explained, “The Marauder’s Map. I had it in my office—”

“You know how it works?”

Remus waved a hand. “Of course I know how it works; I helped write it. I’m Moony—” Sirius’s
heart clenched as he said it, “That was my friends’ nickname for me at school.”

“You wrote—?”

“The point is, I was keeping an eye on it this evening, because I suspected that the three of you
might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was
right, wasn’t I?”

He began to pace, tugging anxiously at the sleeves of his robes.

“You might have been wearing your father’s old cloak, Harry—”
“How d’you know about the cloak?”

“The amount of trouble your father got up to under that cloak…” Remus tutted, dismissively, “The
point is, invisibility cloaks can’t hide you from the Marauder’s Map. I saw you cross the grounds
and enter Hagrid’s hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set off back toward the castle.
But there was somebody else with you—a fourth person.”

“What?” Harry interrupted, again, “No, there wasn’t!”

“I couldn’t believe it,” Remus muttered, half to himself, “I thought the map must be
malfunctioning. How could he be there?”

“No one was with us!” Harry insisted.

“And then I saw another dot, moving towards you, labelled Sirius Black…I saw him collide with
you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the whomping willow—”

“One of us!” Ron interrupted, frowning.

“No, Ron,” Remus paused his pacing, turning a steady gaze towards the boy, “Two of you.”

He walked towards the boy on the cot, looming over him.

“Do you think I could have a look at that rat?”

Ron blinked. “What?” He shook his head, “What’s Scabbers got to do with it?”

“Everything,” Remus replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice, though he was clearly
trying to keep it steady, “Could I see him, please?”

The rat squirmed as Ron withdrew it from his robes, trying frantically to escape. But the boy held
him fast by the tail; the cat on Sirius’s lap stood, hissing a warning.

“Why?” Ron asked again, holding the rat closer to his chest as Remus stepped forward, “What’s
my rat got to do with anything?”

“That’s not a rat,” Sirius heard himself saying. His eyes locked on the terrified rodent—finally.

“What d’you mean—of course he’s a rat—”

“No, he’s not.” Remus spoke firmly, “He’s a wizard.”

“An animagus,” Sirius croaked, “By the name of Peter Pettigrew.”

For a moment, everyone fell silent. Then,

“You’re both mental—”

“Ridiculous—”

“Peter Pettigrew’s dead!” Harry shouted, pointing at Sirius, “He killed him twelve years ago!”

“I meant to,” Sirius growled, eyes locked on the rat, “But the slimy little bastard got the better of
me…not this time, though!”

He lunged forward, sending the cat flying and Ron reeling backwards, screaming as Sirius’s
weight landed on his broken leg.

“Sirius, NO!” Remus shouted, and suddenly the other man’s hands were around his shoulders,
dragging him back, “WAIT! You can’t do it just like that – they need to understand – we’ve got to
explain—”

“We can explain afterwards!” Sirius roared, fighting to break from Moony’s grip. He was so close
—so close—he could almost taste the blood—

“They’ve—got—a right—to know—everything!” Remus was panting, using all his strength to hold
Sirius back, “Ron’s kept him as a pet! There are parts of it that even I don’t understand! And Harry
—you owe Harry the truth, Sirius!”

Abruptly, Sirius sagged back. He couldn’t deny it—Remus was right. He owed it to Harry to
explain what had really happened on that horrible night. He owed him much more than that.

“Fine,” Sirius said, through gritted teeth, “Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus.
I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for…”

“You’re nutters, both of you,” Ron said, white-faced and shaking, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m
off.”

He attempted to stand, but Remus whipped out his wand, pointing it straight at the rat that was still
clutched in the boy’s fist.

“You’re going to hear me out, Ron,” Remus said, “Just make sure you hold onto Peter while you
listen.”

“HE’S NOT PETER, HE’S SCABBERS!” Ron shouted, fighting to shove the squirming rat back
into his pocket—it was no use, Wormtail was wriggling desperately as he tried to escape, and Ron
nearly toppled off the cot.

Harry rushed to his friend’s side, steadying the other boy and shoving him back down onto the
mattress. He turned to Remus, saying flatly,

“There was an entire street of witnesses who saw Pettigrew die.”

“No—that’s just what they thought they saw!” Sirius snarled, “What he made them think…” His
eyes hadn’t left Peter for a single second.

“Everyone thought that Sirius killed Peter,” Remus said, slowly, “Even—” He broke off,
swallowing. Sirius didn’t have to ask what he’d stopped himself from saying.

Even me.

“But…” Remus took a breath, continuing, “The Marauder’s Map never lies. And I saw Peter’s
name on the map tonight, Harry—he’s alive. Ron’s holding him right now.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a disbelieving glance; Hermione spoke up.

“But Professor Lupin…Scabbers can’t be Pettigrew…it just can’t be true, you know it can’t…”

“Why not?” Remus asked, in the sort of voice he used to use at his study sessions when he was
trying to help a first year work out a problem for themselves. Professor Lupin.

“Because…because people would know if Peter Pettigrew was an animagus. We did animagi in
class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework—the Ministry
of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there’s a register showing
what animal they become, and their markings and things…and I went and looked Professor
McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven animagi this century, and
Pettigrew’s name wasn’t on the list—”

She said all this very quickly, as though she were delivering a report in class. Remus began to
laugh, and for a moment Sirius’s eyes darted away from the rat, because—

Oh. He had nearly forgotten that sound.

How had he nearly forgotten it?

“Right again, Hermione!” Remus said, “But the Ministry didn’t know that there were three
unregistered animagi, running around Hogwarts right under their noses.”

The rat in Ron’s fist let out a piercing squeak, and Sirius’s eyes snapped back to it immediately. He
couldn’t afford to get distracted—not until Peter was dead.

“If you’re going to tell them the story, then hurry up, Remus,” he snapped, “I’ve waited twelve
years, I’m not going to wait much longer.”

“All right…but you’ll need to help me, Sirius, I only know how it began…”

Suddenly, a loud creak came from the other side of the room; everyone whipped around to stare.
The door had somehow come open on its own.

Remus frowned, striding over and poking his head into the hall.

“No one there…”

“This place is haunted!” Ron yelped, somehow even more pale than he’d been a moment before.

“It’s not,” Remus said calmly, still frowning at the door, “The Shrieking Shack was never
haunted…the screams and howls the villagers used to hear were only ever me.”

He pushed a hand through his curls, brow furrowed in thought. Then,

“That’s where it all starts – when I became a werewolf. None of this could have happened if I
hadn’t been bitten…and if I hadn’t been so reckless…”

Sirius’s heart twisted, painfully, in his chest. Same old Moony—always finding a way to take the
blame, to make everything his fault.

“I was very young when I was bitten. My parents…didn’t take it well. There was no cure in those
days—the potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes
me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I
transform…I’m able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane
again.”

Ah, Sirius thought, That’s why the shack’s been empty. He tried to imagine the wolf, majestic and
regal, with its glowing golden eyes…he tried to picture Remus, trapped inside, curled up alone.
Hating himself. Transforming back, with no one there to help him.

“Before the Wolfsbane potion was discovered, though, I turned into a monster once a month. It
probably should have been impossible for me to come to Hogwarts—most parents don’t want their
children exposed to dangerous creatures.

“But Dumbledore thought differently. He decided that so long as we took certain precautions, there
was no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to attend the school…” Remus sighed, heavily, looking over
at Harry, “I told you, months ago, that the whomping willow was planted the year I came to
Hogwarts. The truth is that it was planted because I came to Hogwarts. This house—” he gestured,
weakly, to the room they stood in, “—the tunnel that leads to it—they were built for my use. Once
a month, I was smuggled out of the castle, into this place, to transform. The tree was placed at the
tunnel mouth to stop anyone coming across me while I was dangerous.”

Sirius listened, eyes locked on Peter, feeling as though he were drowning in memory. All those
mornings in the hospital wing, staring down at Moony’s bruised and battered frame—nights in the
Forbidden Forest, wild and joyful and free…

“My transformations in those days were…terrible. Turning into a werewolf is a very painful
process. I was locked up, separated from humans to bite…the wolf took its frustration out on itself.
The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent
spirits. Dumbledore encouraged the rumour…Even now, when the house has been silent for years,
the villagers don’t dare approach it…”

Remus swallowed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “But apart from my transformations, I was the
happiest I’d ever been. For the first time in my life, I had friends, three wonderful friends. Sirius
Black…Peter Pettigrew…and, of course, your father, Harry—James Potter.”

Sirius had to force himself to breathe, had to remind his heart to keep beating.

“Now, my three friends began to notice my frequent disappearances. I told them that I was sick—
when that didn’t work, I tried to avoid them, to brush them off. I was terrified of what would
happen if anyone found out—terrified that I would be forced to leave the school, or that these three
friends…the first friends I had ever truly had…that they would think I was a monster.”

Remus released an unsteady breath. Sirius dug his fingers into the cot beneath him, to keep his
hands from shaking.

“But my friends were stubborn. God—so stubborn. And infuriating, and clever…they figured it
out, like you, Hermione. But they didn’t look at me like a monster.”

His voice was thick with emotion now, though he managed to keep the words mostly steady.
“Instead, they…they did something for me, something I would have never thought to ask of them.
Something to make my transformations more bearable. They became animagi.”

“My dad too?” Harry asked, quietly.

“Yes,” Remus told him, smiling sadly, “It took them the better part of three years to work it out.
Your father and Sirius were the cleverest students in the school, which was lucky, because the
animagus transformation can go horribly wrong – one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on
those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James and Sirius, but in our
fifth year, they finally managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will.”

“But how did that help you?” Hermione asked, perplexed.

“They couldn’t keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,” Remus
explained, “A werewolf is only a danger to people. They snuck out of the castle every month under
James’s invisibility cloak, and transformed…Peter was small enough to slip beneath the willow’s
attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. Then they’d slip down the tunnel and join
me. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but…I had a bit
more control, over my mind.”

Sirius couldn’t take much more of this—the memories were choking him, crawling down his
throat, stealing his breath. “Hurry up, Remus,” he growled, keeping his eyes fixed on Wormtail.

“I’m getting there, Sirius, just hang on…” Remus took a breath. “There were so many possibilities,
now that we could all transform. Pretty soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the
Forbidden Forest at night – Sirius and James were big enough animals to keep a werewolf in check.
We probably discovered more about the forest than any other students in Hogwarts history…and
that’s how we got our nicknames, which we used to sign the Marauder’s Map. Sirius is Padfoot.
Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs.”

“What sort of animal—?” Harry began to ask, but Hermione spoke over him.

“That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you’d given
the others the slip and bitten somebody?”

Sirius felt a strange, dizzy sense of déjà vu. For a moment, it wasn’t Harry’s bushy-haired friend
standing before them, but someone else—a tall, willowy girl, with long blonde hair and a quiet
laugh and fiery determination in her eyes.

“A thought that still haunts me,” Remus said, snapping Sirius back into the present. His voice was
thick with guilt, “And there were certainly times when I feared the worst…but we were young,
thoughtless—carried away with our own cleverness.

“Of course, I sometimes felt guilty about betraying the trust that had been placed in me…Madam
Pomfrey, McGonagall, even Dumbledore—none of them had any idea that I was breaking the rules
which had been set down for my own and others’ safety. They never knew that I’d led three fellow
students into becoming animagi illegally.”

Sirius frowned—that was a bit of a stretch. He seemed to remember Remus trying to talk them out
of the idea…that had happened, hadn’t it?

“But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next
month’s adventure. And I haven’t changed…” Now Remus’s voice had grown bitter, sharp with
the self-disgust that Sirius still remembered from some of his darker moods.

“All this year, I’ve been…battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that
Sirius was an animagus. But I didn’t do it. Why? Because I was too selfish. I didn’t want an
investigation, didn’t want my lycanthropy revealed…I had broken so completely from the
wizarding world, I couldn’t imagine life with the Ministry breathing down my neck. I told myself
that it didn’t make a difference, that I didn’t owe it to anyone—that my freedom was all I had
left…” He laughed, a bitter, joyless thing. “I convinced myself that Sirius was using some sort of
Dark Arts he had learned from the death eaters to get into the school, that being an animagus had
nothing to do with it…so, in a way, Snape’s been right about me all along.”

“Snape?” Sirius asked, abruptly, tearing his gaze away from Peter to frown up at Remus. That was
the third time he’d mentioned Snivellus’s name. “What’s Snape got to do with it?”

“He’s here, Sirius,” Remus sighed, “He’s teaching here as well.” He glanced over at Harry, Ron,
and Hermione.
“Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the
Defence Against the Dark Arts job. He’s been telling Dumbledore all year that I can’t be trusted.
And he has his reasons…you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick
that involved me—”

“It wasn’t—” Sirius shook his head, throat tight, “Moony—”

“Don’t—” Remus pressed his eyes shut for a moment, shaking his head. Sirius fell silent, heart
turned to stone in his chest as he watched Remus take a shuddering breath.

“Severus was very interested in where I went every month,” Remus said, in a flat, clipped voice.
“We were in the same year, you know, and we…didn’t exactly get along. He—he hated James, in
particular, especially once things with Lily…anyway, Snape developed a sort of…obsession…with
figuring out my secret. Followed me around for all of our fifth year. And one day, Sirius…told
him. How to get past the willow.”

Sirius remembered it. He remembered it all very well—he had spent quite a bit of time reliving this
particular memory, in Azkaban.

Still, the pain was just as fresh.

“Snape tried it, of course. Came down the tunnel on a full moon. I—” Remus broke off, sharply,
sucking in another breath. “I’d have killed him, if it hadn’t been for James.” He turned to Harry.
“Your father saved Professor Snape – dragged him out, risking his own life in the process…but not
before Snape saw me transforming. Dumbledore forbid him to tell anyone, but from then on he
knew…”

“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,” Harry said, frowning, “Because he thought you were in on
the…trick?”

“That’s right,” spat a cold, familiar voice, from the wall directly behind Remus. As they all turned,
Severus Snape pulled off James’s invisibility cloak, pointing his wand directly at Moony.

Sirius leapt to his feet at once, moving forward. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin; Hermione
screamed.

“I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,” Snape sneered, tossing the cloak aside, “Very
useful, Potter, thank you…” His black eyes glittered like beetles, triumphant.

“You’re wondering, perhaps, how I knew where to find you?” A sharp, cruel smile crept across his
face, “I’ve just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your potion tonight, so I took a
gobletful along. And very lucky I did…lucky for me, I mean. Lying on your desk was a certain
map. One glance at it told me all I needed to know. I saw you running along this passageway and
out of sight.”

“Severus—” Remus began to speak, but Snape didn’t let him finish.

“I’ve told the headmaster again and again that you’re helping your old friend Black into the castle,
Lupin, and here’s the proof. Not even I dreamed you would have the nerve to use this old place as
your hideout—”

“Severus, you’re making a mistake,” Remus insisted, desperately. “You haven’t heard everything
—I can explain—Sirius isn’t here to kill Harry—”

“Two more for Azkaban tonight,” Snape hissed, as if Remus hadn’t even spoken, “I’m very
interested to see how Dumbledore takes this…He was quite convinced you were harmless,
Lupin…a tame werewolf—”

“You fool,” Remus curled his hands into fists, voice low and angry, “Is a schoolboy grudge worth
putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?”

BANG!

Without warning, thin cords burst from the end of Snape’s wand, binding Remus completely and
sending him toppling to the ground. Sirius shouted, enraged, and lunged forward—only to find
Severus’s wand pointed right between his eyes.

“Give me a reason,” Snape hissed, “Give me one reason to do it, and I swear I will.”

Sirius froze, glaring murderously at the man across from him. He had no idea how Snape had
wormed his way into Dumbledore’s good graces—but as far as Sirius was concerned, the greasy
bastard was still a death eater. He was the only one who deserved to be in Azkaban.

“Professor Snape,” Hermione squeaked, stepping forward hesitantly, “It—it wouldn’t hurt to hear
what they’ve got to say, w-would it?’

“Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school,” Snape spat, “You, Potter, and
Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in
your life, hold your tongue.”

“But if—if there was a mistake—”

“KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Snape bellowed, eyes flashing wildly, “DON’T TALK
ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

Hermione fell silent, recoiling. Snape’s eyes returned to Sirius.

“Vengeance is very sweet,” he breathed, with a deranged smile, “How I hoped that I would be the
one to catch you…”

“Oh, save the fucking theatrics, Snivellus,” Sirius growled. “As long as this boy brings his rat up to
the castle—” he nodded to Ron, “I’ll come quietly…”

“Up to the castle?” Snape’s smile grew, sickeningly, “I don’t think we need to go that far. All I
have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the willow. They’ll be very pleased to see you,
Black…pleased enough to give you a little kiss, I daresay…”

No, Sirius thought, cold dread bleeding like ice into his veins, No—not now—not when I’m so
close—

“You—you’ve got to hear me out,” his voice had gone ragged, “The rat—look at the rat—”

But the horrible, triumphant glint in Snape’s eye only gleamed brighter.

“Come on, all of you,” he ordered. With a snap of his fingers, the cords binding Remus flew into
his open palm, “I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a kiss for him too—”

But before any of them could move, Harry had dashed across the room, blocking the door with his
body.

“Get out of the way, Potter, you’re in enough trouble already,” Snape growled, “If I hadn’t been
here to save your skin—”

“Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year,” Harry said. “I’ve been
alone with him loads of times, having defence lessons against the dementors. If he was helping
Black, why didn’t he just finish me off then?”

“Don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind words,” Snape hissed, “Get out of the way,
Potter.”

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Harry shouted, “JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT
SCHOOL YOU WON’T EVEN LISTEN—”

“SILENCE!” Snape screamed, “I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!” He glared at Harry,
hatred shining in his eyes, “Like father, like son, Potter! I have just saved your neck; you should be
thanking me on bended knee! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’d have
died like your father, too arrogant to believe that you might be mistaken in Black—now get out of
the way, or I will make you. GET OUT OF THE WAY, POTTER!”

In the next instant, three voices shouted at the exact same moment,

“Expelliarmus!”

The three combined spells hit Snape with such force that he flew backwards, slamming into the
wall and sliding down to the floor. He slumped, unconscious; a trickled of blood slid from beneath
his greasy hair.

Sirius blinked in shock—then looked around at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all of whom had their
wands raised and identical expressions of surprise on their faces.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sirius said, hoarsely, “You should have left him to me…”

Harry didn’t meet his eye, looking instead at Snape’s wand—which had flown all the way across
the room, landing on the bed beside the cat.

“We attacked a teacher…we attacked a teacher…” Hermione was muttering, anxiously, colour
drained from her face as she stared at Snape’s limp form. “Oh, we’re going to be in so much
trouble—”

On the floor, Remus was struggling madly against the cords. Sirius knelt, untying him, and as he
straightened he rubbed his arms where the rope had cut into them.

“Thank you, Harry.” He said.

“I’m still not saying I believe you,” Harry responded, quickly.

“Then it’s time we offered you some proof,” Sirius stood, “You, boy – give me Peter. Now.”

Ron drew back, clutching the rat to his chest.

“Come off it,” he protested, weakly, “Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his
hands on Scabbers? I mean…” He turned to his friends, beseechingly, “Okay, say Pettigrew could
turn into a rat – there are millions of rats – how’s he supposed to know which one he’s after if he
was locked up in Azkaban?”

“You know, Sirius, that’s a fair question,” Remus agreed, brow furrowed as he turned to look at
him. “How did you find out where he was?”

Sirius stuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper and smoothing it,
carefully. They all craned their necks to look—it was the photo from the Daily Prophet, with the
entire Weasley family smiling and waving madly.

“How did you get this?” Remus asked, taken aback.

“Fudge,” Sirius replied, shortly, “When he came to inspect Azkaban last year, he gave me his
paper. And there was Peter, on the front page…on this boy’s shoulder…I knew him at once…how
many times had I seen him transform? And the caption said the boy would be going back to
Hogwarts…to where Harry was…”

“My God,” Remus breathed, eyes darting between the rat in the photo and the one clutched in
Ron’s fist, “His front paw…”

“What about it?” Ron asked, defiantly.

“He’s got a toe missing.” Sirius said.

“Of course,” Remus shook his head, “So simple…so brilliant…he cut it off himself?”

“Just before he transformed,” Sirius said, tightly, “He…lured me, made sure there was a crowd—
let me disarm him, so that it seemed like I was the one attacking. Shouted at me…the whole time, I
had no idea that he’d already set the time-delay spell. And then it was too late…”

“Didn’t you ever hear, Ron?” Remus asked, “The biggest bit of Peter they found was his finger.”

“Look, Scabbers probably had a fight with another rat or something! He’s been in my family for
ages, right—”

“Twelve years, in fact,” Remus cut in, quietly. “Didn’t you ever wonder why he was living so
long?”

“We—we’ve been taking good care of him!”

“Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?” Remus asked. “I’d guess he’s been losing
weight ever since he heard Sirius was on the loose again…”

“He’s been scared of that mad cat!” Ron nodded, accusingly, at the creature, which was still curled
up and purring on the cot.

“This cat isn’t mad,” Sirius said, reaching out a hand to scratch behind its ears. “He’s the most
intelligent of his kind I’ve ever met. He recognised Peter for what he was right away. And when he
met me, he knew I was no dog. I had no idea why he was helping me…then I realised that he knew
what I was after, and we’ve been working together ever since…”

“What do you mean?” Asked Hermione.

“He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn’t,” Sirius explained, “So he stole the passwords into
Gryffindor Tower…as I understand it, he took them from a boy’s bedside table…” He shook his
head, turning bitterly back to the rat, “But Peter got wind of what was going on and ran for it. I
understand he left blood on the sheets…probably bit himself…faking his own death had already
worked once…”
 “And why did he fake his death?” Harry asked, suddenly, “Because he knew you were about to kill
him, like you killed my parents!”

“No,” Remus tried to explain, “Harry—”

“And now you’ve come to finish him off!”

“Yes, I have,” Sirius growled, eyes locked on the squirming rodent.

“Then I should’ve let Snape take you!” Harry yelled.

“Harry,” Remus said quickly, “Don’t you see? All this time we’ve thought Sirius betrayed your
parents, and Peter tracked him down – but it was the other way around; Peter betrayed your mother
and father – Sirius tracked Peter down—”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!” Harry screamed, “HE WAS THEIR SECRET-KEEPER! HE SAID SO
BEFORE YOU TURNED UP, HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!”

He was pointing right at Sirius, that same burning anger returned to his eyes.

“Harry…” Sirius breathed, voice breaking, “I as good as killed them.” He swallowed, forcing the
words from his throat, “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment,
persuaded them to use him as secret-keeper instead of me…I’m to blame, I know it…the night they
died, I didn’t even—I went to the house for a different reason, and when I got there it was…” He
paused, trying to remember how to breathe.

“I—I realised what Peter must’ve done…what I had done…”

Sirius turned away, unable to look at Harry any longer.

“Enough of this,” Remus cut in, gently, “There’s one certain way to prove what really happened.
Ron, give me that rat.”

“What are you going to do with him if I give him to you?” Ron asked, tremulously.

“Force him to show himself,” Remus replied, “If he really is a rat, it won’t hurt him.”

Ron swallowed, hesitating—before finally, finally stretching out a hand, and passing over the rat. It
squeaked and writhed horribly, desperate to escape, but Remus had it in an iron grip.

“Ready, Sirius?”

Yes, yes, yes.

Sirius had plucked Snape’s wand from the cot, and he approached Remus, eyes locked on
Wormtail the entire time.

“Together?” He breathed.

‘I think so,” Remus answered, gripping the rat even more tightly. “On the count of three. One—
two—THREE!”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "within you" by bowie (from the labyrinth soundtrack -- a
movie that i would grind up and snort like cocaine if i could <3)

previously, any dialogue from the original atyd has been exactly the same, word for
word. however, as we get into the hp books as source material, it'll be more of an
amalgamation. some of the dialogue in this scene is copied directly, some is tweaked
but generally the same, and some has been edited or changed completely to better fit
the mkb canon (or simply because i did not like it).
 Wormtail
Chapter Summary

well well well...how the turntables...

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Well, if you told me you were drowning

I would not lend a hand

I’ve seen your face before my friend

But I don’t know if you know who I am

Well, I was there and I saw what you did

I saw it with my own two eyes

So you can wipe off that grin, I know where you’ve been

It’s all been a pack of lies

A flash of blue-white light; for a moment, the rat hovered in the air, twisting frantically. In the
next second, he fell to the floor—another flash of light, and then—

The rat began to grow. Limbs lengthened; tail shrunk; the twitching nose sank back into the rapidly
expanding face. In a matter of seconds, they were no longer staring at a rat; now, he was a small,
cringing man.

Peter.

The years had not been kind to him. He was balding, sallow-skinned and hollow-cheeked, as
though he had lost a great deal of weight very quickly. He twitched on the ground, blinking up at
them with watery blue eyes, breathing quickly. He reeked of fear.

“Well, hello, Peter,” Remus said, steadily, “Long time, no see.”

“S-Sirius…R-Remus…” he squeaked, eyes darting towards the door. “My friends…my old
friends…”

Sirius raised his wand, vengeance ready on the tip of his tongue—but Remus grabbed his wrist,
stopping him.

“We’ve been having a little chat, Peter, about what happened the night Lily and James died. You
might have missed the finer points while you were squeaking around down there on the bed—”
“Remus,” Peter choked out, desperately, “You don’t believe him, do you…? He tried to kill me,
Remus….”

“So we’ve heard,” Remus replied, voice hard, “I’d like to clear up one or two things with you,
Peter, if you’d be so—”

“He’s come to try and kill me again!” Peter shrieked, interrupting. He pointed straight at Sirius
with his mangled hand, only a stump where his index finger used to be. “He killed Lily and James
and now he’s going to kill me too…You’ve got to help me, Remus…”

Yes, Sirius thought, staring at him, Yes, yes, I’m going to kill you, you fucking bastard—

“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” Remus said.

“Sorted things out?” Peter asked, frantically, eyes skipping around the room as he searched for
some means of escape. “I knew he’d come after me! I knew he’d be back for me! I’ve been waiting
for this for twelve years!”

“You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?” Remus asked, “When nobody’s ever done
it before?”

“He’s got Dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Peter insisted, “How else did he get out
of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!”

A laugh leapt from Sirius’s throat, bitter and joyless.

“Voldemort, teach me tricks?”

Peter flinched away from him; Sirius’s hands shook with rage.

“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” He demanded, voice twisted into a snarl, “I don’t
blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?”

“Don’t know what you mean, Sirius—” Peter muttered, sounding as though he were on the verge
of hyperventilating. He was sweating, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

“You haven’t been hiding from me for twelve years,” Sirius hissed, “You’ve been hiding from
Voldemort’s old supporters. I heard things in Azkaban, Peter…they all think you’re dead, or you’d
have to answer to them…I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like
they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters’ on your
information…and Voldemort met his downfall there. But not all of his supporters ended up in
Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the
error of their ways…If they ever got wind that you were still alive—”

“Don’t know…what you’re talking about…” Peter gasped, wiping his face on his sleeve. He
turned to Remus, beseechingly. “You don’t believe this—this madness, Remus—”

“I must admit, Peter, I find it difficult to understand why an innocent man would want to spend
twelve years as a rat,” Remus said, flatly.

“Innocent, but scared!” Peter half-sobbed, tears in his eyes, “If Voldemort’s supporters were after
me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban—the spy, Sirius Black!”

“How dare you,” Sirius spat, burning with rage, “Me, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak
around people who were stronger and more powerful than me? But you, Peter – I’ll never forgive
myself for not realising you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look
after you, didn’t you? It used to be us…me and Remus…James…”

Peter sucked in a breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead once more.

“Me, a spy…must be out of your mind…never…don’t know how you can say such a—”

“Lily and James only made you secret-keeper because I suggested it,” Sirius snarled, voice shaking
with fury. “After the things you did to protect him—I thought we could trust you. That it was the
perfect plan – a bluff. Surely, Voldemort would come after me, would never dream that they’d use
a weak, talentless thing like you…but you never cared about protecting James, did you? You just
wanted to—fucking…possess him! It must have thrilled you, telling Voldemort that an absolute
nobody like you could hand him the Potters—that you had them in the palm of your hand. It must
have been the best moment of your miserable fucking life!”

Peter was mumbling now, frantically, wringing his hands as his eyes darted, again and again,
towards the door.

“Professor Lupin?” Hermione asked, nervously, “Can—can I say something?”

“Certainly, Hermione.”

“Well—Scabbers—I mean, this—this man—he’s been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three
years. If he’s working for You-Know-Who, how come he never tried to hurt Harry before now?”

“There!” Peter yelped, voice saturated with desperate gratitude, “Thank you! You see, Remus?
I’ve never hurt a hair on Harry’s head! Why would I?”

“Because you’re a bloody coward!” Sirius burst out, “Because you never did anything for anyone
unless you could see what was in it for you! Because the man who promised you power was
fucking obliterated, and you weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s
nose, were you? No, you had to bide your time, find a nice wizard family to take you in so that you
could keep your ear to the ground, wait until there was an opportunity to come out of hiding…until
whatever was left of Voldemort or somebody like him began to regain power…”

Peter shook his head, stammering, but didn’t seem to be able to find any words.

“Er—Mr. Black—Sirius?” Hermione broke in again, making Sirius jump, slightly, as he was pulled
out of his furious haze.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how—how did you get out of Azkaban, if you didn’t use Dark
Magic?”

“Thank you!” Peter gasped, bobbing his head up and down sycophantically, “Exactly! Precisely
what I—”

Remus glared at him, and he fell silent. Sirius frowned at Hermione, thinking.

“I’m…still not quite sure how I did it…” He murmured, searching for the words to explain, “I
think the only reason I never lost my mind is that I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy
thought, so the dementors couldn’t suck it out of me…but it kept me sane and knowing who I
am…helped me keep my powers…so when it all became…too much…I could transform in my
cell…become a dog. Dementors can’t see, you know…” He pressed his eyes shut, briefly, before
continuing, “They feel their way towards people by sensing their emotions…they could tell that
my feelings were less—less human, less complex when I was a dog…but they thought that I was
just losing my mind like everyone else in there, so they didn’t care. But I was weak, so weak, and I
couldn’t drive them away from me without a wand…”

“But then I saw Peter in that picture…I realised he was at Hogwarts with Harry…perfectly
positioned to act, if a single hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength
again…”

Peter was shaking his head robotically, eyes wide and shining with tears.

“…ready to strike at the moment he could be sure of allies…and to deliver the last Potter to them.
If he gave them Harry, who would dare say that he’d betrayed Lord Voldemort? He’d be welcomed
back with honours…

“So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew that Peter was still alive…it was
as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn’t destroy it…it wasn’t a happy
feeling…it was an obsession…but it gave me strength, cleared my mind. One night, when they
opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog…it’s so much harder for them to sense
animal emotions that they were confused…I was thin, very thin…thin enough to slip through the
bars…I swam as a dog back to the mainland…I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts
grounds as a dog. I’ve been living in the shack ever since, except when I came to watch the
quidditch of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry…”

He found Harry’s eyes. They were so green, just like Lily’s.

“Believe me,” he heard himself begging, “Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed your parents. I
would have died before I betrayed them.”

Harry held his gaze, face twisted with some indecipherable emotion. After a moment – an eternity
– he nodded.

“No!”

Peter collapsed onto the floor, scuttling forward on his knees, hands clasped as he pleaded,

“Sirius—it’s me…it’s Peter…your friend…you wouldn’t…”

Sirius kicked out at him, sharply, snarling, “Don’t you dare—don’t you dare fucking touch me.”
Peter flinched away.

“Remus!” He turned, imploring, “You don’t believe this…wouldn’t Sirius have told you if they’d
changed the plan?”

“No…” Remus murmured, after a moment, with a sort of glazed look in his eye, “Not if he
thought…” He looked up, towards Sirius; their eyes met. He could almost hear the sound of
Remus’s heart cracking in his chest.

“Not if he thought I was the traitor,” Remus breathed.

“Moon—”

The other man held up a hand, as if to stave off a physical blow. “No, don’t—it’s fine. It’s fine,
there are more important—we have other things to worry about right now.”

“Please, just let me—”

“I can’t talk about this right now, Sirius.”

On the floor, Peter’s eyes darted between the two of them, anxiously. Sirius swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Remus pressed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his features
had arranged themselves into something harder, jaw set with grim determination.

“Are we doing this?” He asked, wand levelled at Peter.

Sirius nodded. “Together.”

“You wouldn’t…you won’t…” Peter sobbed, scrambling over to Ron.

“Ron…haven’t I been a good friend…a good pet? You won’t let them kill me, Ron, will you…
you’re on my side, aren’t you?”

The gangly boy stared down at him in abject horror.

“I let you sleep in my bed!”

“Kind boy…kind master…” Peter continued to crawl towards him, blubbering, “You won’t let
them do it…I was your rat…I was a good pet…”

“If you made a better rat than a human, it’s not much to boast about, Peter,” Sirius spat. Ron hissed
in pain, wrenching his broken leg out of Wormtail’s reach. The grovelling man changed direction,
clutching Hermione’s robes on his hands and knees.

“Sweet girl…clever girl…you—won’t let them…Help me…”

Hermione ripped her robes from his clinging fingers, staggering away until her back hit the wall.

Peter’s entire body was shaking, now, as he turned towards Harry.

“Harry…Harry…you look just like your father…just like him…”

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO HARRY?” Sirius roared, “HOW DARE YOU FACE HIM?
HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT JAMES IN FRONT OF HIM?”

“Harry,” Peter croaked, reaching horrible, gnarled hands towards the boy, “Harry, James wouldn’t
have wanted me killed…James would have understood, Harry…he would have shown me
mercy…”

Sirius and Remus reached him at the same time, grabbing him by the shoulders and wrenching him
back, throwing him to the ground.

“We’ll never know what James would have wanted,” Sirius tried to shout, but his voice came out
choked, “Because you fucking killed him!”

Peter began to sob uncontrollably, snivelling on the dusty floor.

“Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord…you have no idea…he has weapons you
can’t imagine…I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never
meant it to happen…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me—”

“DON’T LIE!” Sirius screamed, “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A
YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!”
“He—he was taking over everywhere!” Peter insisted, through the tears, “W-what was there to be
gained by refusing him?’

“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” Sirius
repeated, feeling as though his blood had caught fire with rage, “Only innocent lives, Peter!”

“You don’t understand!” Peter shrieked, hysterical, “He would have killed me, Sirius!”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” There was an awful roaring in his ears; red spots dancing
in his vision. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE
DONE FOR YOU!”

He stood side by side with Moony, both their wands raised.

“You should have realised,” Remus said, quietly, “If Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would.
Goodbye, Peter.”

“NO!”

Suddenly Harry was there, lunging between them, arms spread wide. “You can’t kill him,” he
panted, “You can’t.”

Sirius had to bite his tongue, swallowing the curse that nearly leapt past his lips.

“Harry,” he said, roughly, “This piece of vermin is the reason you have no parents. This cringing
bit of filth would have seen you die too, without batting an eye. You heard him. His own stinking
skin meant more to him than your whole family.”

“I know,” Harry said, chin jutting out defiantly, “We’ll take him up to the castle. We’ll hand him
over to the dementors…he can go to Azkaban…but don’t kill him.”

“Harry!” Peter sobbed, flinging his arms around the boy’s knees, “You—thank you—it’s more
than I deserve—thank you—”

“Get off me!” Harry snarled, kicking the clawed hands away, “I’m not doing this for you. I’m
doing it because I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted his best friends to become killers – just
for you.”

For one long moment, Sirius and Remus turned to look at each other. Then, slowly, they lowered
their wands.

“You’re the only person who has the right to decide, Harry,” Sirius said, struggling to stifle the
desperate need for vengeance—for violence— “But think…think what he did…”

“He can go to Azkaban.” Harry said, firmly, “If anyone deserves that place, he does…”

On the floor, Peter continued to cry, tears and snot mingling on his face.

“Very well.” Remus said, stiffly, “Stand aside, Harry.”

Harry hesitated.

“I’m going to tie him up,” Remus assured him, “That’s all, I swear.”

Finally, Harry moved. Remus pointed his wand at Peter, using the same spell Snape had used
earlier to bind the snivelling little man.
“But if you transform, Peter,” Sirius threatened, voice ragged, “We will kill you. You agree,
Harry?”

Harry looked down at the floor, meeting Peter’s eye. He nodded, once.

“Right,” Remus said, brusquely, “Ron, I can’t mend bones nearly as well as Madam Pomfrey, so I
think it’s best if we just strap your leg up until we can get you to the hospital wing.”

He strode over to the cot, bending down and tapping the boy’s leg with his wand. “ Ferula.”
Instantly, bandages wound around it, strapping the limb to a splint so that Remus was able to help
him to his feet.

“That’s better,” Ron said, shakily, “Thanks.”

“What about Professor Snape?” Hermione asked, glancing anxiously at the slumped body in the
corner.

“There’s nothing seriously wrong with him,” Remus assured her, checking the unconscious man’s
pulse, “You were just a little – overenthusiastic. Still out cold. Er—perhaps it will be best if we
don’t revive him until we’re safely back in the castle. We can take him like this…”

Under his breath, he muttered, “Mobilicorpus.” Immediately, Snape’s body jerked into a standing
position, like a marionette on strings. He floated a few inches above the ground, head lolling
against one shoulder. Remus paused to pick up the invisibility cloak, tucking it under one arm.

“And two of us should be chained to this,” Sirius suggested, sneering at Peter. “Just to make sure.”

“I’ll do it,” Remus offered.

“And me,” Ron said darkly, limping forward on his splinted leg.

Sirius conjured up two sets of thick manacles, and in moments Peter was bound completely to the
others. It was awkward, getting them back into the tunnel—they had to shuffle, single file—but
they managed it, nonetheless. Sirius followed after them, levitating Snape in front of him with the
bastard’s own wand; Harry went behind him, and Hermione brought up the rear.

As they walked, the gravity of what had just happened began to settle in. Sirius had spent years
dreaming of vengeance—and though it had been stifled, somewhat, for the first time in twelve
years he suddenly had a future again. Freedom was nearly his, almost close enough to touch.

“You know what this means?” He asked Harry, as they walked back towards the Whomping
Willow. “Turning Pettigrew in?”

“You’re free,” Harry replied, quietly. Sirius swallowed.

“Yes, but…” he cleared his throat, suddenly nervous, “I’m also—I don’t know if anyone ever told
you—I’m your godfather.”

After a moment, Harry responded.

“Yeah, I knew that.”

Sirius’s heart was hammering in his chest, palms sweating. Maybe this was a bad idea—it was, it
probably was—he was in no way fit—Harry probably wouldn’t even want—

“Well…your parents appointed me your guardian,” Sirius heard himself saying. “If anything
happened to them…”

Harry didn’t say anything, and Sirius rushed to fill the silence,

“I’ll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle. But…well…think about
it. Once my name’s cleared…if you wanted a…a different home…”

“What—live with you?” Harry asked, sounding dumbstruck. “Leave the Dursleys?”

“Of course, I thought you wouldn’t want to,” Sirius backtracked, hurriedly, “I understand, I just
thought I’d—”

“Are you insane?” Harry asked, some new emotion swelling in his voice, “Of course I want to
leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?”

Sirius turned to face him, wondering if he’d heard correctly. Harry was staring up at him with
wide, hopeful eyes, a disbelieving smile on his face.

Sirius recognised the expression. It was the same one he’d worn when Euphemia Potter first asked
him if he’d like any posters for his new room.

“You want to?” Sirius breathed, heart swelling in his chest, “You mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean it!” Harry grinned, smile bright enough to light up the entire tunnel. Sirius found
himself smiling back, overcome with—happiness. Warm, radiating happiness.

Night had fallen by the time they reached the end of the passageway. The cat must have darted
ahead and pressed the knot on the tree, because the willow was eerily still and silent. Sirius was
still smiling, slightly, as they made their way across the grounds, Remus holding his wand on
Peter, Sirius levitating Snape.

And then, suddenly, the clouds shifted. The moonlight broke through.

The moonlight.

Sirius flung out an arm, pushing Harry and Hermione back as Remus began to shake. He could
hear the horrible snapping as his bones shifted, the sounds of the transformation.

“Oh my—” Hermione gasped, sharply, “He didn’t take his potion tonight! He’s not safe!”

“Run,” Sirius croaked, “Run. Now.”

But Harry didn’t run. Instead, he leapt forward, reaching for Ron, who was still chained to Peter
and, by extension, Remus. Sirius grabbed Harry’s robes, flinging him back,

“Leave it to me—RUN!”

Remus was about halfway through the transformation now, wolf clawing out of his skin, dark fur
sprouting. The cat hissed, backing away—

And then the wolf was there, snarling and snapping its jaws. It ripped its arm free of the manacle,
growling, and in the same moment Sirius transformed. Padfoot tackled the wolf, locking his jaws
around its neck—they were fighting, tearing at each other—he had to keep Harry safe—

To the side, he could hear Hermione screaming—flashes of light—the wolf’s teeth sunk into his
foreleg, and Padfoot howled in pain—Moony, Moony please—
Their eyes met, just for a moment. The wolf stared at him, golden and glowing, and Padfoot could
have sworn he saw…something there. Some form of recognition. The jaws on his leg loosened,
minutely—it was all Padfoot needed.

I’m sorry, he thought, desperately, as he sank his teeth into Moony’s neck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry.

The wolf howled in pain, retreating, tearing off into the forest. Padfoot could taste its blood in his
mouth, gamey and burning hot.

“Sirius, he’s gone, Pettigrew transformed!” Harry shouted, desperately.

Padfoot didn’t hesitate; he turned and followed the scent of the rat, the sound of tiny, scurrying
feet. Peter ran towards the lake, and Sirius followed, chasing him, tracking him, right up to—

No.

The cold washed over him, abruptly, and Padfoot faltered.

Peter had led him right to the dementors.

Padfoot whimpered as they closed in, drawing closer and closer. He stumbled back, delirious with
pain, whining high in his throat—and then he was human again, crouching, covering his head,
trying desperately to hide.

No no no no no

There were hundreds of them—too many—he was back in the house, and James was on the carpet
—Lily curled around the crib—their eyes, lifeless—

Sirius tried to run and found he was stuck, stuck in that house, stuck in that room, and James and
Lily were there, always there, dead eyes staring up at him, hands around his throat—they were
clawing at him, asking Why, why, why did you let this happen? How could you betray us?

The world was fading—Sirius could no longer try to hold on. He allowed it to slip from his grasp,
sinking slowly into the merciful dark.

* * *

When he woke again, he was sitting in Flitwick’s office. Dumbledore sat across from him,
studying him with cold blue eyes.

“Hello, Sirius,” he said.

“What—wh—”

“Severus Snape,” Dumbledore cut him off calmly, “Has just told us all a very interesting story.”

“No,” Sirius whispered, horrified, mind spinning as he tried to remember what had happened—
he’d run after Peter, and then the dementors…how had he escaped? How had he gotten inside the
castle? “Please, whatever he said, it’s not true—I can explain, I can explain everything…”
Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him, smiling, eyes glittering behind his spectacles.

“That,” he said, lightly, “Is exactly what I was hoping you might say.”

So Sirius explained. He stumbled through the entire story, going all the way back to that fateful
night when he had convinced James to switch secret-keepers. He talked about becoming animagi,
about finding James and Lily’s bodies, about going to confront Peter. He talked about the whole
mess of confusion that had come afterwards; about using Padfoot to keep from losing his mind in
Azkaban, about seeing the newspaper clipping with the picture of Wormtail. He talked about
escaping, about journeying north to Hogwarts, about biding his time for nearly a year until he
finally, finally got the opportunity he had been waiting for.

“Well,” said Dumbledore, politely, once he had finished speaking, “That is certainly quite the
story.”

“Please,” Sirius begged, desperately, “You have to believe me.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard, thoughtfully, studying Sirius with an inscrutable expression. After a
moment, he said,

“I’m afraid that there is one part of the story you got wrong.”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“You said that Peter went into hiding after his master died.”

“He—he did, I told you, he was the rat—”

“His master is not dead.”

Sirius breathed out, sharply.

“What?”

“Voldemort did not die that night,” Dumbledore repeated, steadily, “Though he came very close.
He was weakened, terribly, and stripped of most of his powers—but he remains very much alive.”

Sirius swallowed, trying to process that information.

“Then…all this time…”

“Yes, Sirius.” Dumbledore said gravely, “I am afraid that the war is still far from over. Voldemort
has been gathering strength, slowly, these last twelve years. If your story is true, and Peter
Pettigrew has now escaped…I fear that things may very soon take a turn for the worse.”

“Harry…” Sirius breathed, feeling suddenly cold. Dumbledore nodded.

“He will need your help, Sirius,” he said, softly, “Can I count on you? Will you still fight, to
protect him?”

Sirius’s eyes snapped to Dumbledore; he stared at his old headmaster, burning with determination.

“I never stopped fighting.”

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, scrutinising him. Then he nodded again, stood, and
smiled.
“I will see what I can do.” He began to walk towards the door, pausing only once to throw over his
shoulder,

“I would keep an eye on the window, if I were you.”

And with that, he was gone.

Sirius slumped in his chair, mind spinning, trying desperately to parse through their conversation.
If Voldemort was really still alive…still out there….He shuddered, wrapping his arms around
himself.

Suddenly, a sharp tapping came from the window. Sirius jumped and spun around, startled—his
jaw fell open.

Hovering just outside, majestic wings flapping, was Hagrid’s hippogriff. And perched on its back
were Harry and Hermione, both looking incredibly windswept and flustered. Hermione pointed her
wand at the window, and in the next instant, it sprang open.

“How—how—?” Sirius shook his head, staring at them.

“Get on—there’s not much time,” Harry ordered, grip firm around the hippogriff’s neck, “You’ve
got to get out of here—the dementors are coming—Macnair’s gone to get them.”

That was all Sirius needed to hear. He wriggled out of the small window, swinging a leg over the
hippogriff’s back and pulling himself up behind Hermione.

“Okay, Buckbeak, up!” Harry called, “Up to the tower—come on!”

The wings swept downwards with a great rush of air, and suddenly they were lifting off into the
sky. Sirius’s stomach jolted, a familiar thrill—he had forgotten what it felt like, to fly with the wind
in your hair.

Harry steered the beast over to the West Tower, where it landed on top of the battlements.
Immediately, he and Hermione slid off the creature’s back; Sirius scooted forward, taking Harry’s
spot at Buckbeak’s neck.

“Sirius, you’d better go, quick,” Harry told him, breathlessly, “They’ll reach Flitwick’s office any
moment, they’ll find out you’re gone.”

Buckbeak seemed anxious to leave as well; he tossed his feathered head, pawing at the ground.

“What happened to the other boy?” Sirius asked, hoarsely, “Ron?”

“He’s going to be okay. He’s still out of it, but Madam Pomfrey says she’ll be able to make him
better. Quick—go—”

But they’d had so little time—there was so much more that Sirius needed to say.

“How can I ever thank—”

“GO!” Harry and Hermione shouted, frantically. Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat, wheeling
Buckbeak around so that they were facing towards the open sky.

“We’ll see each other again,” he promised, “You are—truly your father’s son, Harry.”

And then he squeezed his heels against Buckbeak’s sides, and the hippogriff leapt into the air.
 They soared off into the night, under the light of the full moon.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "in the air tonight" by phil collins!

and that's a wrap on prisoner of azkaban :)

 The Triwizard Tournament
Chapter Summary

goblet of fire speedrun let's goooo

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It’s my own design

It’s my own remorse

Help me to decide

Help me make the

Most of freedom and of pleasure

Nothing ever lasts forever

Everybody wants to rule the world

Thursday 23rd August 1994

Dear Sirius,

Thanks for your last letter. That bird was enormous; it could hardly get through my window.

Things are the same as usual here. Dudley’s diet isn’t going too well. My aunt found him
smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they’d have to cut his pocket money if
he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out of the window. That’s a
sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn’t even got Mega-
Mutilation Part Three to take his mind off things.

I’m okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if
I ask you to.

A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was
because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don’t reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he?
Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward?

I’ll send this with Hedwig when she gets back; she’s off hunting at the moment. Say hello to
Buckbeak for me.
Harry

“Harry says hi,” Sirius murmured, absentmindedly, reaching up to stroke Buckbeak’s head. The
hippogriff leaned down into the touch, making a happy sort of chirping noise in the back of his
throat. Sirius smiled, distractedly, before turning back to the letter with a frown.

This settled it. He had been hearing rumours all summer – correspondences from Dumbledore,
clippings from the Prophet, bits and pieces of Le Monde Magique, when he could get it. The
French newspaper was a local one, and not the most up to date on British news—still, reading
between the lines, Sirius had begun to notice more and more scraps of unsettling information.

He gave Hedwig one of Buckbeak’s rats, and she hooted appreciatively as he sat down to pen a
letter to Dumbledore. It was the Hogwarts headmaster who had told Sirius about an eccentric
friend in Toulouse that kept an aviary of tropical birds in lieu of an owlery – a friend who was on
extended holiday in Greece, and whose house would therefore be empty…

Sirius had been there for two months; the locals thought he was a distant cousin who the strange
Monsieur Bernard had asked to look after the property. In that time, he had gained some weight,
shaved his beard, cut his hair, and plumbed the depths of his patchy memory to recall his
childhood French. He hated the language—it left a sour taste in his mouth, reminding him too
much of hours spent in the Black family manor, knuckles raw where his tutor smacked them with a
ruler every time he stumbled over pronunciation.

He finished the letter and paused to read over it. It was short, a simple message letting Dumbledore
know that Harry’s scar was troubling him again, and that Sirius would be returning to Britain at
once to be closer to his godson.

He knew that Albus might try to dissuade him. There had been a series of rather angry missives at
the beginning of summer, on Sirius’s part, once he discovered exactly how Harry had been living
at the Dursleys’. He’d wanted Harry removed from the home; he’d threatened to return to England
himself and steal the boy away, consequences be damned. Dumbledore had come to see him in
person, after that – Sirius had ranted and raved, pacing frantically, gritting his teeth.

“You left him there—you knew and you left him, James’s son, how could you—”

But Dumbledore only watched him, calmly, utterly unmoved by his shouting. It made Sirius feel
like he was sixteen, sitting in the Potters’ living room, staring up at those placid blue eyes all over
again. You have to get him out.

Please.

Dumbledore had an excuse. He always did. The blood magic was the strongest protection, he
explained; sacrifices had to be made, as always – the most important thing was keeping Harry
alive, and hadn’t he done that? If Sirius tried to take him away, Dumbledore said, he would only be
putting the boy in greater danger—and with everything that had already happened, with all the
ways Voldemort had tried to attack him…was that really what Sirius wanted?

It was too familiar. Sirius felt trapped, once again, by the cold logic of what Dumbledore was
saying; felt his resolve crumbling, his fury turning to uncertainty.

“He shouldn’t be there,” he’d said, hoarsely, “He deserves better, Albus.” He deserves James. He
deserves Lily.

Dumbledore had looked at him, sadly. “And do you really think that you can provide him better,
Sirius?” He asked, quietly.

Sirius had looked down, then, at his sunken body, his shaking hands.

No.

So Harry stayed with the Dursleys, and Sirius limited himself to exchanging letters with the boy,
writing back and forth over the summer, making use of the magical aviary. Dumbledore had kept
in contact with him, too, bringing him up to speed on everything that had happened with the war
since he’d been…away.

Voldemort had already tried to attack Harry. Twice. And now there were new rumours, whispers
about the Dark Lord’s return to power… disappearances… sightings in Albania…

So Sirius didn’t care if it was reckless. He didn’t care if Dumbledore thought it was best for him to
stay far away. He was going back—he needed to be close to Harry. He needed to be ready to
protect him. Sirius had already failed once—he couldn’t let it happen again.

He sent the letter off to Dumbledore with one of Monsieur Bernard’s birds, then scrawled a quick
note to give Hedwig.

Harry

I’m heading back to England at once. I’ve been hearing strange things all summer, and this news
about your scar is only the latest in a series of increasingly bizarre rumours. If it hurts again, go
straight to Dumbledore—apparently he’s got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he’s
reading the signs even if no one else is.

I’ll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry.

Sirius

* * *

September 1994

Dear Sirius,

I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There’s
no point coming back, everything’s fine here. Don’t worry about me, my head feels completely
normal.

Harry

Sirius shook his head, smiling down at the note. Beside him, Buckbeak squawked noisily as he
gulped down a dead rat.

Nice try, Harry.

I’m back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that’s going
on at Hogwarts. Don’t use Hedwig, keep changing owls. And don’t worry about me, just watch out
for yourself. Don’t forget what I said about your scar.

Sirius

Surprisingly, Dumbledore had actually agreed with his decision to return—he’d even suggested the
hiding spot where Sirius was now staying: a cave, tucked snugly into the mountains just past
Hogsmeade. It was nowhere near as comfortable as Monsieur Bernard’s house, but Sirius could
hardly complain – anything was better than his cell back in Azkaban.

He’d learned, shortly after arriving back in England, about what had happened at the Quidditch
World Cup that summer – death eaters, the Dark Mark reappearing…and now Dumbledore had
informed him that the Triwizard Tournament was set to take place for the first time in decades.
There was simply too much happening for him to continue hiding away in the French countryside,
even if it meant spending most of his waking hours as Padfoot once again.

Besides, Sirius needed something to keep his mind occupied, to keep him grounded in the present.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself slipping away, falling through time and memory, thinking
about James and Lily and…

Moony.

Remus was no longer teaching at Hogwarts. According to Dumbledore, Snape had ‘accidentally’
shared the secret of his lycanthropy shortly after Sirius’s escape, and Professor Lupin had made a
hasty exit before the news could cause too much uproar. Mad-Eye Moody had been brought on as
the DADA professor in his stead.

Sirius thought about going to him, of course. He thought about it often—more often than he liked.
More often than he should. Dumbledore had told him that Remus was living in the same flat, their
little apartment in Soho. It would be so easy—fly Buckbeak in at night, hide him in the garage,
transform into Padfoot and trot up those familiar stairs…
Sirius replayed the fantasy, over and over again, in his mind. He would walk through the door, and
Remus would see him, and it would be like the past had never happened—like twelve years had
simply melted away. Moony would take him into his arms and kiss him, so beautifully.

Except that twelve years had happened.

And Remus had never come for him, not once.

Now, Sirius was no longer the boy from those fantasies. He was no longer young, and beautiful,
and full of life. He was no longer the person Moony had fallen in love with – though he
remembered that person, as if from far away. He remembered being loud, and vibrant, and
reckless. He remembered the love he’d held for mischief, and for his friends; he remembered
laughing with his head thrown back, sweeping his hair behind one ear, smirking with that devilish
confidence that he’d always projected.

But that boy felt more like a dream than anything else. And Sirius couldn’t bear the thought of
going to Moony now, as he was, and watching the fantasy wither before his eyes. Who could be
expected to love a black hole, where there had once been a star?

So he locked Remus away, in the back of his mind. He focused on Harry. He focused on the war.
That, at least, had remained constant in his life.

* * *

At the end of October, Sirius’s fear was proved right.

Dear Sirius,

You told me to keep you posted on what’s happening at Hogwarts, so here goes – I don’t know if
you’ve heard, but the Triwizard Tournament’s happening this year and on Saturday night I got
picked as a fourth champion. I don’t know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I
didn’t. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff.

Hope you’re okay, and Buckbeak.

Harry

Sirius felt a curling dread in the pit of his stomach as he read the letter – this was exactly the sort of
thing he had feared happening. He wrote back to Harry at once, thinking quickly.

Harry—
I can’t say everything I need to in a letter, it’s too risky in case the owl’s intercepted—we need to
talk face-to-face. Can you make sure you’re alone by the fireplace in the common room at one
o’clock in the morning on November 22nd?

I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, and while you’re around Dumbledore
and Moody I don’t think anyone will be able to hurt you—but someone certainly seems to be
having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right
under Dumbledore’s nose.

Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about November
22nd as quickly as you can.

Sirius

Harry wrote back immediately to say that he would make sure the common room was empty, and
for the next two weeks Sirius did all he could to gather information—spending his days as a stray
dog in Hogsmeade, filching newspapers and hanging about groups of chattering wizards to see if
he could hear anything useful. At midnight on the dot on November 22nd, he broke into the empty
house of a wizarding family, using their floo to call through to the fireplace in the Gryffindor
common room.

He had just finished situating himself when he heard the tell-tale sound of the portrait door
swinging open, and someone stomped into the room. A moment later, Harry flopped down into the
armchair across from the fireplace, looking very rumpled and frustrated.

James, Sirius’s heart whispered, clenching like a fist. It had been so long since he’d seen the boy’s
face; he’d had a growth spurt over the summer, which only made him look more like his father…

Harry caught sight of his face in the fire and did a double take, before scrambling down to the
floor.

“Sirius—how’re you doing?”

“Never mind me,” Sirius said quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat, “How are you?”

“I’m—” Harry hesitated, for a moment. And then his face crumpled, and words spilled out—
everything he hadn’t said in his letters, everything he had clearly been bottling up for weeks.

“Nobody believes me, Sirius,” he whispered, desperately, “They all think I put my name in the
Goblet, no matter how many times I tell them I didn’t—and Rita Skeeter wrote an article in the
Daily Prophet, and it’s all rubbish, but everyone believes her too; it’s like I can’t walk down the
bloody corridor without someone asking if—if I’m going to cry over my dead parents, or when I
started dating Hermione, or—I dunno, whatever other crap she put in there.” He tugged his fingers
through his hair, anxiously, and the motion reminded Sirius so much of James that he forgot to
breathe for a moment.

“Everyone in the castle hates me now, because they think I’m trying to upstage Cedric—even
Ron,” he laughed, bitterly, “Even Ron thinks that I…tricked him, or lied to him, I dunno; he’s
supposed to be my best friend, but he’s acting like I’ve betrayed him or something—like he’s
jealous that I get to risk my bloody life for a bunch of gold that I don’t even want. And now
Hagrid’s just shown me what’s coming in the first task, and it’s dragons, Sirius, and I’m a goner.”

Harry stared down at him, huddled on the floor. Sirius stared back, heart twisting in his chest.

You don’t deserve this, he thought, desperately, You’re supposed to be a kid; you’re supposed to be
happy…

He swallowed, thickly, focusing on the task at hand.

“Dragons we can deal with, Harry,” he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, “But we’ll get
to that in a minute—I haven’t got long here…I’ve broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but
they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about.”

“What?” Harry asked, shoulders slumping.

“Karkaroff,” Sirius said, quickly – he’d found out from a combination of his own sleuthing and a
barrage of letters pestering Dumbledore for information that Igor Karkaroff had somehow clawed
his way into becoming headmaster of Durmstrang. Now he was at Hogwarts with his students to
compete in the Triwizard Tournament. “He was a death eater, Harry. You know what death eaters
are, don’t you?”

“Yes—he—what?”

“He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I’d bet everything that’s why
Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year—to keep an eye on him. Moody’s the one who
caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place.”

“Karkaroff got released?” Harry said, brow furrowing as he struggled to process the information,
“Why’d they let him go?”

“He cut a deal with the Ministry of Magic,” Sirius said, scowling, “Claimed he’d seen the error of
his ways, and then he named names…put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place…He’s
not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he’s been
teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the
Durmstrang champion as well.”

“Okay,” Harry said, frowning, “But…are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet?
Because if he did, he’s a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from
competing.”

“We know he’s a good actor,” Sirius replied, darkly, “Because he convinced the Ministry of Magic
to set him free, didn’t he? Now, I’ve been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry—”

“—you and the rest of the world,” Harry muttered, bitterly.

“—and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman’s article last month, Moody was attacked
the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm,” He said
quickly, as Harry opened his mouth to respond, “But I disagree. I think someone tried to stop him
from getting to Hogwarts—I think someone knew their job would be a lot harder with him around.
And no one’s going to look into it too closely; I’ve heard about Mad-Eye’s current reputation. But
I worked with him during the war, and he was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.”

“So…what are you saying?” Harry asked, “Karkaroff’s trying to kill me? But—why?”
Sirius paused, trying to figure out how much to tell him.

“I’ve been hearing some very strange things,” he said, after a moment, “The death eaters have been
more active than usual lately…showing up at the Quidditch World Cup, setting off that Dark
Mark…and then—did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who’s gone missing?”

“Bertha Jorkins?”

“Exactly…she disappeared in Albania, precisely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last…and

she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah, but…it’s not very likely she’d have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?” Harry sounded
sceptical.

“Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins,” Sirius replied, “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years
above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a good
combination, Harry. I’d say she’d be terribly easy to lure into a trap.”

“So…so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?” Harry asked, “Is that what you
mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius said, carefully, “Not for certain…Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type
who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But
whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament
would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident.”

“Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing,” Harry said, with a humourless smile,
“They’ll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff.”

“Right—these dragons,” Sirius shook his head, getting back to the task at hand, “There’s a way,
Harry. Don’t just go for a stunning spell—dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be
knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards to take one down—”

“Yeah, I know, I just saw,” Harry muttered.

“But you can do it alone,” Sirius continued, “There’s a simple spell—that’s all you need. Just—”

But Harry held up a hand, silencing him. He turned slightly, glancing back towards the staircase.
Then,

“Go!” He whispered, frantically, “Go! There’s someone coming!”

Harry scrambled to his feet, turning his back to the fire. Sirius opened his mouth, hesitating—but it
was too dangerous; if Harry was caught talking to him, who knew what would happen to the boy…

So he pulled back, severing the floo connection, hoping desperately that Harry would be able to
figure out a solution on his own.

* * *

Monday 25th November 1994

Dear Sirius,

You won’t believe what happened! The first task is over—I’m tied in first place with Viktor Krum!

I was the fastest person to finish—we each got assigned a dragon and we had to steal this golden
egg from its nest, and I got the Hungarian Horntail, which was supposed to be the worst one of the
lot. But I used a summoning charm on my Firebolt, and it came straight to me, and once I was in
the air I wasn’t scared in the slightest. It was just like a quidditch match; I distracted it, got it to
chase after me, and the moment it left its nest I dove straight down, so fast it didn’t even see me,
and I got the egg out from right under its nose! I wish you could have seen it.

Anyway, if someone really is trying to do me in, I reckon they’re gonna need to try a bit harder
next time.

Harry

For the first time in months, Sirius found himself smiling—really smiling. Harry’s excitement bled
through the page; he was clearly thrilled with himself, bursting with newfound confidence.

“Look at your boy, Prongs,” Sirius mumbled, quietly, “Taking on dragons at fourteen—that’s more
than even you could say!”

He had used up all the parchment he’d brought from Monsieur Bernard’s house—he’d been writing
frequent letters to Dumbledore, trying to get to grips with what, exactly, was going on at Hogwarts.
But the headmaster was being rather evasive, non-responsive and cagey with the information he
shared, insisting that he was incredibly busy and didn’t want to risk writing down anything too
sensitive, while simultaneously maintaining that it was too dangerous to meet in person.

So Sirius had to wait until he was able to scrounge up more letter-writing supplies from
Hogsmeade, which took a bit of time; it wasn’t until December that he was finally able to respond.

Dear Harry,

Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your name in that goblet shouldn’t be
feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitis Curse, as a dragon’s eyes are
its weakest point, but your way was better, I’m impressed.

Don’t get complacent though, Harry. You’ve only done one task; whoever put your name in for the
tournament’s got plenty more opportunity if they’re trying to hurt you. Keep your eyes open—
particularly when the person we discussed is around—and concentrate on keeping yourself out of
trouble.

Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual.

 Sirius

* * *

Friday 22nd January 1995

Sirius,

You told me to keep you posted about anything unusual, so…well, something sort of strange
happened last night.

I was on my way back from the Prefect’s bathroom with that golden egg I got from the dragon (it’s
my clue for the second task – I had to open it underwater, long story). I was using the invisibility
cloak, and I had the Marauder’s Map – I was looking at it, and I saw one of the tournament judges
in Snape’s office—Mr. Crouch. He’s the Head of the Department of International Magical
Cooperation, I met him at the Quidditch World Cup.

I thought it was weird, because it was the middle of the night, and Mr. Crouch has been sick—he
hasn’t been coming to judge the tournament. Ron’s brother Percy is his assistant, and he says
Crouch has been working from home, sending instructions by owl post.

Anyway, I got sort of distracted and hit a trick step, and I dropped the egg AND the map, which
was rotten luck. Filch and Snape almost caught me, but Moody showed up and got me out of it.

I don’t think Moody trusts Snape. He seemed to think he was up to something, and afterwards I
explained to him about seeing Mr. Crouch in Snape’s office, and he said Crouch has always been
obsessed with catching dark wizards. Ron reckons that Moody might be right, and Snape could be
up to something—but Hermione says that Dumbledore trusts him, and we should trust
Dumbledore…

I dunno what to think. D’you reckon Snape could be involved, in some way? Did he and Karkaroff
ever know each other?

Harry

Sirius frowned, reading over the letter twice. Snape…Karkaroff…Crouch… try as he might, he
couldn’t figure out how it all pieced together—there was too much that he was missing,
information that he didn’t have. He wished, more than anything, that he could be there at
Hogwarts, by Harry’s side, helping him through everything.

But of course, that was impossible. So Sirius did the next best thing; he went to London.
Dumbledore didn’t want him leaving his hiding place, he knew. But the Hogwarts headmaster was
refusing to tell him everything – Sirius could tell, there were definitely things the old man was
holding back – and he needed all the information he could get.

He stole a wand, despite the risk, using it to apparate – it was finicky, unhappy with its new master,
and Sirius nearly splinched himself. But he made it there, and spent the next week skulking about
outside the Ministry of Magic, picking up on any bits of information he could find. Dumbledore
found him after six days and brought him back to the cave at once—they had a very one-sided
argument, in which Sirius shouted at him about holding back information, and Dumbledore waited
calmly, watching him the way he might watch a child throwing a temper-tantrum.

“Sirius,” Dumbledore said, sternly, once he had finally shouted himself hoarse, “You promised me
that I could count on you.”

“You can, that’s what I’m trying to tell you—”

“Do you not think,” Dumbledore interrupted, “That I have told you everything I could? Everything
that’s safe?” His voice hardened, marginally, though his features remained calm, “I am just as
much in the dark as you are when it comes to Voldemort’s current plots; I have told you everything
that I can without putting both you and Harry at great personal risk.”

Sirius tugged his fingers through his hair, frustrated. It was getting long again—ratty and tangled;
he didn’t have a brush in the cave.

“What about Snape,” he insisted, “You know he was a death eater, Albus—how do you know it
wasn’t him that put Harry’s name in the goblet?”

“I trust Severus,” Dumbledore said, firmly. Sirius barked a laugh.

“Well, I certainly don’t! And neither does Moody, from the sound of things—”

“That is enough.”

“—No, I’m sorry, but it’s not enough! I have a right to know why you’ve chosen to place your trust
in him, when he only ever tried to hurt James, when he hates Harry—”

“That is enough!” Dumbledore’s eyes flashed, dangerously, as he stared Sirius down. “I might
remind you, Sirius, that you have also broken my trust in the past, and the consequences of your
actions were far more severe than anything that Severus has done.”

Sirius fell silent, feeling as though he’d just been stabbed in the gut. Dumbledore continued,

“Yet you are asking me, once again, to trust you. And I have agreed—I have chosen to place my
faith in you, to trust that you, like Severus, have the child’s best interest at heart. But I require your
trust, in turn, and if you cannot give me that…” He shook his head, bleakly, “Then I do not believe
it would be in Harry’s best interest to continue his contact with you.”

Sirius felt cold.

“What are you saying, Albus?”

Dumbledore stared at him, appraisingly. After a moment, he said,

“I am asking for you to trust me, Sirius. Nothing less, nothing more.”
Sirius stared back at him—those calm blue eyes, which never seemed to change.

“Fine,” he whispered, “I won’t leave again.”

* * *

Saturday 6th March 1995

In the end, it wasn’t until late February that Sirius was able to write back, instructing Harry to tell
him the date of his next Hogsmeade weekend. Harry responded promptly, letting him know that it
was in two weeks—Sirius replied and instructed the boy to meet him at the end of the road out of
the village. The second task of the Triwizard Tournament came and went; once again, Harry
passed through unharmed.

March arrived, trying to chase away the chill of winter with early spring sunshine, and on the
Saturday of the next Hogsmeade weekend, Padfoot waited patiently for Harry to appear. He came
down the road promptly at two o’clock, followed closely by Ron and Hermione—of course, Sirius
had expected those two to tag along. It seemed that the three of them were always together.

“Hello, Sirius,” Harry said, smiling.

Padfoot wagged his tail, sniffing at the boy’s bag—he’d asked them to bring food, and he could
smell chicken. His stomach gave a hopeful lurch.

He led the three teenagers up the mountain path, guiding them to the narrow cave entrance. Inside,
all three of them bowed to Buckbeak, who was tethered at the opposite end of the cave; after a
moment, he bent his knees and allowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathered neck.
Padfoot transformed, and Sirius turned to greet his godson.

“Chicken!” He croaked—he cleared his throat as Harry pulled out a bundle of food, passing it over.
“Thanks! I’ve been living off rats, mostly.” He sat down on the floor, tearing immediately into a
juicy drumstick, “Can’t steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I’d draw attention to myself.” He
swallowed, pausing to grin up at Harry.

“What’re you doing here, Sirius?” Harry asked, eyes darting around the cave, answering smile tight
with concern.

“Fulfilling my duty as godfather,” Sirius said, lightly, gnawing once more at the chicken. “Don’t
worry about it, I’m pretending to be a loveable stray.”

Harry still looked concerned, so he added, “I want to be on the spot. Your last letter…well, let’s
just say things are getting fishier. I’ve been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out,
and by the looks of things, I’m not the only one who’s getting worried.”

Ron wandered over to the pile of Daily Prophets on the floor, flipping through them. But Harry
continued to stare at Sirius, brow furrowed. For once, he looked more like Lily than James.

“What if they catch you? What if you’re seen?”

“You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I’m an animagus,” Sirius
replied dismissively, going back to his food.

Ron nudged Harry, and the two boys scanned through one of the newspapers together. Sirius
glanced at the title—it was one of the articles about Crouch and his mysterious illness.

“They’re making it sound like he’s dying,” Harry said, frowning, “But he can’t be that ill if he
managed to get up here…”

“My brother’s Crouch’s personal assistant,” Ron said, glancing over at Sirius, “He says Crouch is
suffering from overwork.”

“Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close,” Harry murmured, thoughtfully, “The
night my name came out of the goblet…”

“Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn’t he?” Hermione chimed in, with a sour
expression on her face. She continued to pet Buckbeak, who was happily crunching the chicken
bones that Sirius threw towards him. “I bet he wishes he hadn’t done it now—bet he feels the
difference now she’s not there to look after him.”

Sirius had no idea who Winky was, but apparently she and Hermione were friends.

“Hermione’s obsessed with house-elves,” Ron muttered, catching the confused look on his face.

“Crouch sacked his house-elf?”

“Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup,” Harry said, “We were there when it happened. The night the
death eaters were out—we all sort of got lost in the confusion, ended up in the woods. We heard
whoever it was cast the Dark Mark, but then they left right away, and all these Aurors showed up.
Crouch was there, and Mr. Weasley—Ron’s dad. They thought we’d done it at first, but then they
found Winky—we knew who she was ‘cause we’d seen her earlier, saving a spot for Crouch in the
Top Box at the game. She had my wand for some reason—I’d lost it in the forest.” Harry shook his
head, “Anyway, they did something to see what the last spell was, and it was the one for the Dark
Mark. So then they started asking Winky if she did it—she didn’t, but Mr. Crouch said she’d
disobeyed his instructions to stay in her tent, and then he fired her.”

Sirius stood up halfway through the story and began pacing, tugging fingers through his tangled
hair as he listened.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, once the boy was finished speaking, “You first saw the elf in
the Top Box, saving a seat for Crouch, right?”

“Right,” said Harry, Ron, and Hermione, simultaneously.

“But Crouch didn’t turn up for the match?”

“No,” Harry answered, “I think he said he’d been too busy.”

Sirius continued to pace, mind spinning. After a moment, he asked,

“Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you’d left the Top Box?”

“Erm…” Harry frowned, thinking. “No…I didn’t need to use it before we got into the forest. And
then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars.” He blinked,
brow furrowing, “Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?”
“It’s possible,” Sirius murmured, still thinking.

“Winky didn’t steal that wand!” Hermione said, indignantly.

“The elf wasn’t the only one in that box,” Sirius replied, pacing once more, “Who else was sitting
behind you?”

“Loads of people,” Harry shrugged. “Some Bulgarian ministers…Cornelius Fudge…the

Malfoys…”

“The Malfoys!” Ron shouted, abruptly, slamming his fist into his hand, “I bet it was Lucius
Malfoy!”

“Anyone else?” Sirius asked.

“No one.”

“Yes there was, there was Ludo Bagman,” Hermione corrected.

“Oh yeah…”

Ludo Bagman. According to Dumbledore, he was the Head of the Department of Magical Games
and Sports, involved in both the World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament.

“I don’t know anything about Bagman except that he used to be a Beater for the Wimbourne
Wasps,” Sirius muttered, frowning, “What’s he like?”

“He’s okay,” Harry said, slowly, “He keeps offering to help me with the tournament.”

“Does he, now?” Sirius’s frown deepened, “I wonder why he’d do that?”

“Says he’s taken a liking to me,” Harry replied, shrugging.

“Hmm…” Sirius continued to pace.

“We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared,” Hermione added, turning to Harry
and Ron, “Remember?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t stay in the forest, did he?” Ron replied, “The moment we told him about the
riot, he went off to the campsite.”

“How d’you know?” Hermione challenged, “How d’you know where he disapparated to?”

“Come off it,” Ron shook his head, incredulous, “Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman
conjured the Dark Mark?”

“It’s more likely he did it than Winky,” Hermione crossed her arms.

“Told you,” Ron gave Sirius an exasperated look, “Told you she’s obsessed with house—”

Sirius cut him off, holding up a hand.

“When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and they found the elf holding Harry’s wand, what did
Crouch do?”

“Went to look in the bushes,” Harry replied, “But there wasn’t anyone else there.”
“Of course,” Sirius scowled, going back to his pacing, “Of course, he’d want to pin it on anyone
but his own elf…and then he sacked her?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, angrily, “He sacked her, just because she hadn’t stayed in her tent and let
herself get trampled—”

“Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!” Ron snapped.

Sirius frowned, shaking his head. “She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. The
way a man treats those below him says a lot more about his character than the way he treats his
peers.”

He sighed, running a hand over the scratchy stubble on his chin—he’d have a beard again, soon, if
he didn’t shave…

“All these absences of Barty Crouch’s…he goes to the trouble of making sure his house elf save
him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn’t bother to turn up and watch. He works very
hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too…It’s not like
Crouch. If he’s ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I’ll eat Buckbeak.”

“D’you know Crouch, then?” Harry asked, curiously.

Sirius grimaced, feeling carefully stifled anger beginning to slide back into his veins.

“Oh, I know Crouch all right,” he said darkly, remembering the cold sneer, the clipped voice, “He
was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban—without a trial.”

“What?!” Ron and Hermione both gasped.

“You’re kidding!” Harry said, appalled.

Sirius shook his head. “No, I’m not.” He took another bite of chicken, pausing to chew and
swallow, “Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn’t you
know?”

All three teenagers shook their heads.

“He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic,” Sirius explained, “He’s a talented wizard, Barty
Crouch—talented and power-hungry. Oh, never a Voldemort supporter,” he assured them, catching
the look on Harry’s face, “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But
then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side…well, I probably shouldn’t get into it…
you’re too young…”

“That’s what my dad said at the World Cup,” Ron frowned, chin jutting out defiantly, “Try us,
why don’t you?”

Sirius found himself smiling—the set jaw, the determined gaze, the gangly frame…for a moment,
it reminded him of…

No—don’t go there.

Still, he found himself saying, “All right, I’ll try you…” He took a breath, pacing the length of the
cave once more, trying to collect his thoughts. Then,

“Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You know he has an army of supporters, but you don’t
know who any of them are—there’s no telling if the person under that death eater mask is your co-
worker, your friend, your brother…what you do know is that Voldemort has ways of forcing
people to obey him, to do whatever terrible things he orders. You’re terrified for yourself, your
family, your friends; but at the same time, you can’t trust anyone…you start second-guessing every
interaction, wondering if the person you’re talking to is on your side or theirs…Every week, there’s
a new disappearance, a new death, a new Dark Mark left over somebody’s home. You can’t rely
on the Ministry of Magic to do anything about it, because half the people in the Ministry already
work for You-Know-Who. It’s chaos—panic and confusion everywhere, so much fear…”

Sirius’s throat had gone dry, his voice hoarse. If he closed his eyes, he’d be right back there,
casting curses and looking over his shoulder and trying to eat his own heart every time he went
home and saw…

Stop it.

He shook himself, clearing his throat.

“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. Everyone was looking to the Ministry to do
something, something to make them feel safe. And that was when Crouch stepped in, leading the
charge in a new wave of anti-death eater policy reforms.

“He rose very quickly through the ranks; the more power he got, the harsher his measures became.
He was the one who gave Aurors the power to kill rather than capture, back in ’81, and the one
who authorised the use of Unforgivable Curses against suspects. He signed the Act that allowed
suspected death eaters to be sent to prison without trial—I wasn’t the only one locked up that way.
In the end, Crouch used many of the same methods as the death eaters themselves. But at that point
the war had dragged on for so long that most people didn’t care how he went after Voldemort and
his supporters, as long as it put an end to their terrorism.

“In fact, Crouch was so successful that a lot of people wanted him as their next Minister of Magic.
When Voldemort disappeared, he was a shoo-in for the job. But then…” Sirius smiled, grimly,
“Crouch’s son was caught with a group of death eaters who’d talked their way out of Azkaban.”

He’d heard most of it from Dumbledore, after his escape. Bellatrix and her husband had been part
of the group—they were still rotting in Azkaban, as far as Sirius knew. “Apparently, they were
trying to find Voldemort and return him to power.”

“Crouch’s son was caught?” Hermione asked, horrified.

“Yep,” Sirius nodded, tossing his final chicken bone to Buckbeak and throwing himself back down
on the ground, where he began to tear at a loaf of bread. “I was already in Azkaban when it
happened; I’ve learned most of this since I got out. But it was a nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d
imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have
left the office early once in a while…gotten to know his own son.”

He began to devour the bread, chewing and swallowing so quickly that he hardly tasted it.

“Was his son a death eater?” Harry asked.

Sirius hesitated, thinking of the weasel-faced boy—his sneering grin, beneath a cracked mask.
James, dropping his shield just for a moment…

He looked back down at the bread.

“Sure was,” he said, bluntly, “But Crouch didn’t know that.”

“So what happened?” Hermione asked, “Did he try and get his son off?”

Sirius laughed, mirthlessly.

“Let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to
tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic.
You saw him dismiss a devoted house elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again—
doesn’t that tell you what he’s like?” Sirius shook his head, “Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched
just far enough to give his son a trial, and from what I’ve heard, it wasn’t much more than an
excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy…then he sent him straight to Azkaban.”

“He gave his own son to the dementors?” Harry asked, quietly.

“That’s right,” Sirius nodded. “I saw the dementors bring him in, watched them through the bars in
my window. He would have been…nineteen? Twenty? They took him into a cell near mine. He
was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though…they all went
quiet in the end…except when they shrieked in their sleep…”

Sirius drifted, for a moment—remembering cold stone, crashing waves, tortured screams…

“So he’s still in Azkaban?” Harry asked, bringing him back to the present. Sirius swallowed.

“No,” he said, “No, he’s not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in.”

“He died?”

“He wasn’t the only one,” Sirius said, mouth twisting, “Most go mad in there, and plenty stop
eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming,
because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he
arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed
visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died
herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for
his son’s body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it.”

He finished the bread, taking a swig from the flask of pumpkin juice that Harry had brought him.

“So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made,” he went on, “One moment, a hero,
poised to become Minister of Magic…the next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name
dishonoured—and, so I’ve heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy died,
people started feeling a bit more sympathetic towards him…started asking how a nice young lad
from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much
for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the
Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

He finished the story, and for a little while everyone was silent. Then, Harry spoke.

“Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard it’s become a bit of a mania with him. If you ask me, he still
thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more death eater.”

“And he sneaked up here to search Snape’s office!” Ron pointed out, turning to Hermione as if this
alone proved his point.

“Yes, and that doesn’t make sense at all,” Sirius replied, raising a brow.
“Yeah it does!” Ron insisted, but Sirius shook his head.

“Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn’t he been coming to judge the tournament?
It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him.”

“So you think Snape could be up to something, then?” Harry asked, but Hermione cut in before
Sirius could answer.

“Look, I don’t care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Hermione,” Ron snapped, “I know Dumbledore’s brilliant and everything, but
that doesn’t mean a really clever dark wizard couldn’t fool him—”

“Why did Snape save Harry’s life in the first year, then? Why didn’t he just let him die?”

“I dunno—maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out—”

“What d’you think, Sirius?” Harry asked, interrupting his friends’ bickering. Sirius glanced
between the two of them, thoughtfully.

“I think they’ve both got a point,” he said, slowly, “Ever since I found out Snape was teaching
here, I’ve wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape’s always been fascinated by the dark arts,
he was famous for it at school. Slimy little git, he was.” Harry and Ron both grinned at that,
seeming delighted with any chance to chat shit about their professor. “Snape knew more curses
when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of
Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be death eaters.”

Sirius held up a hand, ticking off names as he remembered them.

“Rosier and Wilkes—they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. Mulciber—
he’s in Azkaban. Avery—from what I’ve heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he’d
been acting under the Imperius curse—he’s still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never
even accused of being a death eater—but then, plenty of them were never caught. And Snape’s
certainly cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble.”

“Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet,” Ron put in.

“Yeah, you should’ve seen Snape’s face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!” Harry
added, “He said he wanted to talk and accused Snape of avoiding him—he looked really worried.
He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn’t see what it was.”

“Karkaroff showed Snape something on his arm?” Sirius asked, feeling suddenly cold. His arm…it
had to be…

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all watching him—so he shrugged, casually, brushing it off.
“Well, I’ve no idea what that’s about…but if Karkaroff’s genuinely worried, and he’s going to
Snape for answers…”

He frowned, staring at the wall, deep in thought. It had to be the dark mark, didn’t it? But why
would Karkaroff be showing it to Snape…it wasn’t as though it was anything Snivellus hadn’t seen
before…

“There’s still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape,” He finally said, with a frustrated grimace,
“And I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn’t, but I just can’t see him
letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he knew it posed a risk to Harry’s safety…”
“Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape’s office then?” Ron demanded, still set on
his own theory.

“Well,” Sirius mused, “I wouldn’t put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher’s
office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defence Against the Dark Arts very seriously,
Moody. I’m not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he’s seen, it’s not surprising. I’ll
say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive
where possible. He was tough, but he always stuck to his principles. Crouch, though…he’s a
different matter…is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape’s
office? And if he’s not…what’s he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so
important he didn’t turn up in the Top Box? What’s he been doing while he should have been
judging the tournament?”

Sirius fell silent again, thinking. Dumbledore and Snape had their own game, he supposed; Moody
was on Dumbledore’s side, but he didn’t trust Snape; Crouch should have been on Dumbledore’s
side too, but if he didn’t trust Snape either…and Snape had been avoiding Karkaroff, but
Dumbledore had let him back into the castle…

“You say your brother’s Crouch’s personal assistant?” He asked, finally, “Any chance you could
ask him if he’s seen Crouch lately?”

“I can try,” Ron said, looking a bit sceptical, “Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up
to anything dodgy, though. Percy worships the ground he walks on.”

“And you might try and find out whether they’ve got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you’re at
it,” Sirius added, gesturing to a copy of the Daily Prophet with a headline about the missing witch.

“Bagman told me they hadn’t,” Harry said.

“Yes, he’s quoted in the article in there,” Sirius waved a hand, “Blustering on about how bad
Bertha’s memory is. Well, maybe she’s changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn’t
forgetful at all—quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip.
It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her
being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic…maybe that’s why Bagman didn’t bother to look
for her for so long…”

Sirius sighed, heavily, reaching up to rub his eyes.

“What’s the time?”

“It’s half past three,” Hermione answered, promptly.

“You’d better get back to school,” Sirius said, levering himself to his feet. “Now listen…” He
caught Harry’s eye and held it, “I don’t want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right?
Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you’re not to go leaving
Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you.”

“No one’s tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows,” Harry replied,
sullenly. Sirius gave him a hard look.

“I don’t care…I’ll breathe freely again when this tournament’s over, and that’s not until June. And
don’t forget, if you’re talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?”

He passed the empty flask back to Harry, patting Buckbeak once on his feathered head. “I’ll walk
to the edge of the village with you, see if I can scrounge another paper.”
He transformed into Padfoot as they left, leading the three teenagers back down the mountain. At
the end of the road to Hogsmeade, Harry, Ron, and Hermione each patted his head in farewell, and
Padfoot took off at a loping run around the outskirts of the village, enjoying the feel of the wind on
his face.

* * *

Friday 28th May 1995

The rest of March passed quietly, as did April. Harry sent food to Sirius, when he could, and kept
in contact with periodic letters. But it wasn’t until the end of May that a speckled grey owl flapped
down to the cave with a missive that gave Sirius cause for concern.

Dear Sirius,

Something strange happened last night. Bagman took me and the other Champions outside to tell
us about the third task (it’s this massive maze, apparently there’s going to be ‘obstacles’—
completely wrecked the quidditch pitch, but he says it’ll be back to normal by next year), and
afterwards Krum wanted a word in private. We ended up sort of near the edge of the Forbidden
Forest, and while we were talking Mr. Crouch just…came out of the woods.

He was acting like a nutter, talking to the trees about his job—I think he thought they were Percy,
Ron’s older brother—and his son’s marks in school and whatnot, and he was really filthy, like he’d
been wandering around in there for a long time. But he had these moments where it was like a
switch had flipped, and suddenly he’d start saying he needed to speak to Dumbledore, to warn him
about something. He was really insistent, so I went back to the castle and Krum waited with him at
the forest. Only Snape held me up in the corridor, and by the time I got Dumbledore and we went
back out someone had stunned Krum and Crouch was gone.

They searched the grounds, but nobody was able to find him, so now no one knows where he went.
And no one knows who attacked Krum either—we’re not sure if it was Crouch or somebody else,
and if it was somebody else we don’t know if they attacked Crouch, as well.

When Crouch was more himself, he said some other stuff, too. It sounded like he thought Bertha
Jorkins was dead, and he also said Voldemort’s getting stronger. I dunno how he’d know that, but
he seemed really upset. D’you reckon this has something to do with Karkaroff, or why Crouch was
searching Snape’s office?

Harry

Sirius wrote back immediately, sending the letter off with the morning post the next day.
Harry — what do you think you’re playing at, walking off into the forest with Viktor Krum? I want
you to swear, by return owl, that you are not going to go walking with anyone else at night. There
is somebody highly dangerous at Hogwarts. It is clear to me that they wanted to stop Crouch from
seeing Dumbledore and you were probably feet away from them in the dark. You could have been
killed.

Your name didn’t get into the Goblet of Fire by accident. If someone’s trying to attack you, they’re
on their last chance. Stay close to Ron and Hermione, do not leave Gryffindor Tower after hours,
and arm yourself for the third task. Practice stunning and disarming. A few hexes wouldn’t go
amiss either. There’s nothing you can do about Crouch. Keep your head down and look after
yourself. I’m waiting for your letter giving me your word you won’t stray out-of-bounds again.

Sirius

He received a curt response the next morning, agreeing not to wander about after dark—Sirius
could almost hear Harry’s sullen voice through the page. If he was anything like James, Sirius had
no doubt that the boy resented being told to keep out of mischief; but someone had to keep him in
line, and…well, wasn’t that Sirius’s responsibility?

He stroked Buckbeak’s neck, absentmindedly, as he stared down at the hastily scrawled note.
Sirius never knew whether Harry was looking to him for a friend or a father; he felt ill-equipped to
handle either one. He knew that he was supposed to be older and wiser—but most of the time, he
still felt like a child himself, a boy who had gone to sleep one night and woken up in the body of a
middle-aged man.

A few days later, Sirius received another letter from Harry.

Dear Sirius,

I’m writing because I had another strange dream last night—one of the ones that makes my scar
hurt. Wormtail was there, with Voldemort. Voldemort was angry with him, but then he got a letter
and said somebody else had fixed Wormtail’s mistake. He has this snake—in the dreams I’ve had,
anyway—and he said he wasn’t going to feed Wormtail to it anymore, and instead he’d feed me to
it. But he still tortured Wormtail—he used the Cruciatus curse, and it made my scar hurt so badly
that it woke me up.

I talked to Dumbledore about it, and he said…he thinks my scar might connect me to Voldemort,
somehow. That I might be able to feel it when he’s really angry at someone. He said he thinks the
dreams could really be happening, and he reckons that all the disappearances recently might
somehow be connected…I asked him if he think Voldemort’s getting stronger, but he didn’t really
give me a proper answer.

Do you think Crouch was right? Do you think Voldemort’s getting stronger again?
 Harry

Sirius wrote back to him, providing what reassurance he could—he didn’t want to lie to the boy
outright, but at the same time, it would only hurt Harry to have him distracted, thinking about
problems that he couldn’t do anything to fix.

If Voldemort is really getting stronger again, my first priority is making sure you’re safe. I doubt
he could touch you while you’re under Dumbledore’s protection, but all the same, take no risks;
concentrate on getting through that maze safely, and then we can focus on other things.

As May gave way to June, Sirius began sending daily owls to Harry, doing his best to keep up to
date with his godson’s preparation for the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. He urged Harry
to put everything else out of his mind and focus entirely on learning new spells, especially as the
end of June drew near. If he could just get the boy through the tournament safely, Sirius told
himself, then everything would be alright—he’d have the summer to investigate these rumours
about Voldemort’s growing power. They all just had to make it through the month, first.

“Don’t worry, Prongs,” Sirius would whisper, late at night, running his fingers absentmindedly
over the tattoo on his shoulder, “I won’t let anything happen to him. I promise.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "everybody wants to rule the world" by tears for fears!

same deal for all the goblet of fire dialogue re: tweaking/editing. some is the same,
some is mostly the same, some is totally different. should all fit the mkb canon tho <3

also -- i know in the books it's like "wow haha he must be on a tropical island sending
all these tropical birds" but ???? were the birds magical?? how would that work??
don't they use special owls specifically for their mail?? can wizards pluck any bird off
the street and give it a letter to deliver? so in this story, u get a magical aviary. idk why
the birds are where my suspension of disbelief hit its limit in the book about literal
magic, but it just bothered me trying to think of a way that would make sense lol
 Return
Chapter Summary

and so it begins again...

Chapter Notes

cw: harry recounts what happens in the graveyard at the end of goblet of fire,
so...death and a limb chopped off and all that jazz

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Like the castle in its corner

In a medieval game

I foresee terrible trouble

And I stay here just the same

I’m a fool to do your dirty work

Oh yeah

I don’t wanna do your dirty work

No more

Saturday 24th June 1995

He waited in the pumpkin patch. It was all that Dumbledore would allow –too risky to watch the
Third Task with the rest of the crowd, even as Padfoot. But Sirius insisted that he had to be at
Hogwarts. Just in case…

In the end, they compromised: the pumpkin patch, squashed between the edge of the Forbidden
Forest and Hagrid’s hut. It would be easy enough for Sirius to make an escape into the woods,
should he need to. But with the dog’s hearing, he could at least make out the sounds coming from
the distant quidditch pitch—the cheers of the crowd as the task began, which faded to a low buzz
of chatter once the champions were sent into the maze.

Dusk deepened; night fell; the hum of voices rose and subsided in the stands. There were a few
disturbances—raised voices, surprised exclamations—but nothing to indicate that any of the
champions had completed the task. Padfoot waited, lying on his belly, leaning his chin against his
paws.

He knew the moment that something went wrong. There were cheers, at first—then screams,
waves of them, cresting and crashing and rippling. He could hear footsteps, shouting; he stood,
ears pricked, every muscle tensed to run. Sirius had to fight himself to remain in place, to keep his
promise to Dumbledore that he would wait.

Harry—what’s happening—is Harry—

He paced, growling, eyes locked on the pitch. People were spilling out of the stands, leaving
—what was happening? Where was Harry??

He had no idea how much time had passed—it felt like hours; it felt like an eternity—before he
spotted a figure moving towards him, robes billowing as she hurried across the grounds. Sirius
experienced a strange sense of déjà vu as he found himself staring up at Professor McGonagall’s
pinched expression.

“Got a bloody dog now, has he…” She muttered to herself, eyeing Padfoot warily. He cocked his
head and barked, once.

“Come along, then,” McGonagall ordered, looking a bit harassed, “You’re to follow me to
Dumbledore’s office. He…says he will be with you shortly.”

Sirius had a very different definition of “shortly” than Dumbledore. He felt half-mad by the time
the old headmaster finally showed up, pacing frantically across the cluttered space as the phoenix
perched next to the headmaster’s desk watched him, with what Sirius imagined to be a distinctly
haughty expression.

Eventually – finally – the door swung open; Dumbledore swept in, and following behind him was
—

“Harry!”

Sirius could have collapsed in relief. He rushed forward, clinging to the boy, running hands over
his shoulders, examining him for injury.

“Are you all right?! What happened?!”

There was an open wound on one of his legs—why hadn’t he been taken to the hospital wing??
Sirius guided him to a chair, urging him to sit. Harry followed him, mutely. He had a flat, dead
look about the eyes that Sirius recognised all too well – hopelessness.

“What happened?” He demanded again, this time turning to Dumbledore. The older man sighed,
heavily, and sat down behind his desk, looking more exhausted than Sirius had ever seen him.

“The person who entered Harry into the tournament was Barty Crouch,” he said, quietly, “Junior.”

“Junior.” Sirius repeated, flatly. “But he’s—”

“Very much alive, I’m afraid.” Dumbledore sighed again, steepling his fingers and leaning forward
over the desk. “His mother saved his life. Apparently, the late Mrs. Crouch knew that she was
terminally ill, and persuaded her husband to let her take her son’s place in Azkaban using polyjuice
potion.”

“Then…the death bed visit…”

Dumbledore nodded. “The person who left Azkaban that day with Bartemius Crouch was none
other than his son. The body that you saw buried on the prison grounds was the disguised corpse of
his wife.

“According to Crouch, his father used the Imperius curse to control him; he was kept under lock
and key inside their home, cared for by the house elf. Bertha Jorkins discovered this arrangement,
and Bartemius cast a memory curse so powerful that it permanently damaged her mind. Last
summer, in Albania, she was captured by Voldemort with the help of Peter Pettigrew, who has
reunited with his old master.”

“The rat,” Sirius growled, hands curling into fists before he could stop them. Dumbledore gave
him a stern look, silencing any further outbursts.

“Indeed. Voldemort tortured Bertha for information, until he broke through the memory charm.
That is how he learned about the Triwizard Tournament. It is also how he learned that Barty
Crouch Jr. was no longer locked in Azkaban.”

Sirius nodded, slowly. He had suspected as much about Bertha—though of course, he hadn’t
known about Crouch…

“Voldemort and Pettigrew returned to Britain and sought out Crouch. He was already fighting his
father’s hold—he had managed to break free from the Imperius curse long enough to cast the Dark
Mark at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Before he was reunited with Voldemort?” Sirius blinked, brow furrowed, “Why?”

Dumbledore’s mouth was a thin, grim line. “Apparently, he was…angry with his fellow death
eaters. Those that attacked the muggles at the World Cup – he felt that they were being…frivolous.
That they had denied their master to save their own skins from Azkaban, and had failed to use their
freedom to seek out the Dark Lord and assist in his return to power. Barty wanted to remind them
of their…disloyalty.”

Sirius released a breath, trying to reconcile his memories of the scrawny, mean-spirited little boy
with what he was hearing now. Barty had always been a creep, and Sirius knew he’d joined the
death eaters…but he had never imagined that his brother’s little friend was ever capable of such
insane…devotion.

“Voldemort must have found him shortly after,” Dumbledore went on, “The house elf had been
fired, as I believe you are aware, and so it was only Crouch and his father left at the house.
Bartemius was overpowered by Pettigrew and Voldemort; he has been acting under the Imperius
curse for these last few months, which explains his mysterious illness. Working with Peter, Crouch
was able to attack and overpower Moody, as well. He has kept Alastor alive but imprisoned, and
has been using polyjuice potion to impersonate him.”

“For how long?!” Sirius asked, shocked—the Moody he remembered would never have allowed
two third-rate death eaters like Crouch and Wormtail to get the jump on him…but he supposed that
in twelve years, a lot had changed.

“Since the night before Alastor was due to arrive at Hogwarts.”

Sirius thought of the newspaper article back in September, claiming that what had happened with
Mad-Eye had just been another false alarm. It was all coming together; each disjointed piece
finally falling into place, everything connected around the previously-missing centrepiece: Barty
Crouch.
(Junior.)

“It was Crouch who put Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire. Crouch who snuck into Snape’s office,
to steal ingredients for his polyjuice potion. Crouch who attacked Krum, and killed his own father,
transfiguring the body so that we all thought he had disappeared…and it was Crouch who ensured
that Harry made it to the Third Task, where he had turned the Triwizard cup into a portkey.”

“A portkey?!”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore nodded, turning to look at Harry. The boy was slumped in his chair, staring
blankly ahead. His hands were trembling.

“Mr. Potter disappeared the moment he touched the cup, and reappeared approximately one hour
ago outside of the maze. Along with the body of Cedric Diggory.”

“Cedric…” The other Hogwarts champion—the Hufflepuff. Sirius felt sick.

The room lapsed into silence. Dumbledore was still watching Harry, blue eyes glittering like chips
of ice. After a moment, the phoenix left its perch and fluttered down onto Harry’s lap, ruffling its
feathers.

Harry blinked, and seemed to come back to himself a bit. He reached up to stroke the bird’s head.

“’Lo, Fawkes.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, gently, “I am afraid that I must ask you to share your story, now.”

“No,” Sirius stepped forward, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “He needs sleep, Albus. He
needs rest. He needs to get that leg looked at. Surely, this can wait until the morning?”

Dumbledore continued to stare at Harry, expectantly, as though Sirius hadn’t even spoken. After a
tense moment, the boy raised his head. He had a defeated look in his eyes—as though he’d been
expecting this all along.

“It does us no good to numb our pain, Harry,” Dumbledore said, softly, as their eyes met, “Nor to
avoid it. The longer you sit with a poison, the more it spreads—better to have it out now, while the
wound is still fresh. I know that you have been through a terrible ordeal, but I also know that you
have shown incredible courage. All I ask is that you remain brave for a bit longer.” The headmaster
leaned forward, beseechingly, “Tell us what happened.”

As if on cue, the phoenix opened its beak and sang one long, piercing note. The sound filled the
room with its warm, golden glow; Harry sat up a bit straighter, invigorated. He took a breath.

“It took us to a graveyard,” he said, “The portkey. We thought it was part of the tournament. There
was someone walking towards us, but he was wearing a cloak—we couldn’t see his face. He was
carrying something. When he got closer, my scar started hurting, and—”

Harry broke off for a moment, swallowing hard. When he continued speaking, it was in a dull, flat
voice, wiped clean of emotion.

“He killed Cedric.” A pause; a breath. “He used the killing curse.”

Sirius bit his lip until he tasted blood.

“He tied me to a headstone, and I saw his face. It was Wormtail. I couldn’t move…there was a
snake…Wormtail set down the thing he was carrying, and dragged a cauldron in front of the grave.
There was some sort of potion inside…he—unwrapped the thing he’d been carrying, and it was—”

Harry shook his head, looking as though he might be sick.

“I don’t know what it was,” he whispered, “I think it was Voldemort. Only…it didn’t look human,
really. It looked like…meat. Like raw meat.” He shuddered, and Sirius squeezed his shoulder.

“He threw it into the cauldron,” Harry said, “I hoped that it would drown…Wormtail recited
something, some sort of spell…bone of the father…he summoned a piece of bone from the
grave…flesh of the servant…Wormtail, he—cut off his hand,” Harry’s placed his own fingers
against his right wrist, unconsciously, “And…blood of the enemy. He used my blood.”

“What?!” Sirius gasped, horrified, and Dumbledore stood immediately from his chair.

“Let me see.”

He swept around the desk, and Harry lifted his arm—there was a tear on his sleeve. He pulled the
cloth back to reveal an angry wound, raw and red around the edges, smeared with blood.

“He said it would make him stronger,” Harry said, voice barely a whisper, “That’s why he wanted
me. So that he’d have the—protection, that my mum…” He trailed off, lowering his arm. Sirius
thought sickly of Lily, curled around the bars of a crib…

“It worked,” Harry said, “He could touch me. He—he touched my face.” His voice broke, slightly,
and Dumbledore’s eyes darted from the cut on his arm to his face. For a moment, Sirius could have
sworn he saw a triumphant gleam—but then it was gone, and Dumbledore merely looked
exhausted as he returned to his seat.

“Very well,” he sighed, “Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please.”

“Albus, the boy’s clearly—”

Dumbledore held up a hand, cutting Sirius off.

“Please, Sirius,” he said, sternly, “Do not interrupt. I am sure this is difficult enough.”

Sirius frowned, bitterly, but fell silent.

“I kept hoping it had drowned,” Harry whispered, eyes far away, “But it hadn’t. He didn’t. He…
the potion got brighter, and there were sparks—and then there was steam, this great cloud of white
steam, and I saw him standing…” He shook his head, as though trying desperately to dislodge the
image from his brain. “It was Voldemort. He was—human again. Or…something like it, at least.
He didn’t look right…not right at all…”

“What did he do, Harry?” Dumbledore prompted, gently, “After the spell had been completed?”

Harry swallowed. “He used the mark on Wormtail’s arm to summon the death eaters. There were
so many of them—they were all wearing black cloaks, like at the World Cup…He was angry with
them. Angry that no one had come for him…he said he’d been waiting, thirteen years…he never
died, Professor—he said that the curse rebounded, that he didn’t have a body, but he was still
alive…waiting…”

Sirius glanced across the desk at Dumbledore, trying to catch his eye—how could that be possible?
How could two people survive the same killing curse, in one night?
But Dumbledore’s eyes remained locked on Harry, who continued to speak.

“He said that Wormtail found him last summer, that he brought Bertha Jorkins…and then…
everything with Crouch, and the tournament—it was all to get to me.” Harry took a deep,
shuddering breath. Beneath Sirius’s hand, his shoulders were trembling, though he didn’t seem to
realise it.

“He wanted to duel me,” Harry said, quietly, “He told Wormtail to untie me. He gave me back my
wand. He—he used the cruciatus curse.”

Sirius stiffened. No.

“He tried to use Imperius, but I fought it…”

No, Sirius thought, helplessly, Oh, Harry…

“I dodged the next spell—I tried to run, but there was nowhere to go; the death eaters were
everywhere…”

How did this happen? How did we let this happen?

“So I fought.” Harry leaned forward, bracing his hands against his knees, spine curving as though
he were holding up some great weight, “I fought back. And—something happened.”

He shook his head, brow furrowing as he remembered. “Our spells collided, and there was this
golden light—like a web, or…or a cage, or…something. It was like our wands were connected, and
I heard—I heard a phoenix, singing. And somehow I knew that I couldn’t let the connection
break.” He took a breath.

“So I didn’t. And the light, it sort of…started sliding towards me. But I held on, and then it
changed direction—went towards Voldemort. And when it got to his wand…it was like I could
hear it screaming. And then—”

Harry broke off, abruptly, voice choked. He reached up to rub at his eyes, and when it became
clear that he couldn’t continue, Sirius broke the silence.

“The wands connected?” He asked, looking to Dumbledore, “Why?”

Dumbledore was frowning, eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were concentrating on a difficult
problem.

“Priori Incantatem,” he murmured, half to himself.

Sirius blinked. “The reverse spell effect?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded, slowly, “Harry and Voldemort’s wands are brothers; their cores share
a tail feather from the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact.” He nodded towards the scarlet bird on
Harry’s knee.

“My wand’s core is from Fawkes?” Harry asked, staring down at the bird.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore folded his hands on top of the desk, “The moment you left the shop four
years ago, Mr. Ollivander wrote to inform me that it was you who had bought it.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius asked, frowning, “What does that have to do with Priori
Incantatem?”
Dumbledore breathed in, deeply, releasing the air in a heavy sigh. “A wand will not work properly
against its brother,” he explained, “If the owners of the wands try to force them to do battle, there
is a very rare effect that can take place…one wand will force the other to regurgitate every spell it
has cast, in reverse order, until the connection is broken.”

He turned back to Harry, saying slowly,

“Which means…that some form of Cedric must have reappeared.”

Harry nodded, silently.

“Reappeared?” Sirius asked, sharply, “As in…came back to life?”

“I’m afraid not,” Dumbledore replied, “No spell on earth can revive the dead. But there would have
been an echo…a sort of shadow, perhaps, of the living Cedric, which would have emerged from
the wand…is that what happened, Harry?”

“He spoke to me,” Harry said, trembling once more, “Cedric’s ghost, or—or whatever he was…he
spoke to me.”

“An echo,” Dumbledore corrected, “Which would have looked and acted exactly like Cedric. I
assume there were others…Voldemort’s past victims…”

“An old man,” Harry said, voice strained, “Bertha Jorkins. And…”

“Your parents?” Dumbledore asked, quietly.

Sirius was drowning.

“Yes,” Harry said.

He couldn’t breathe. He dug his fingers into Harry’s shoulder, holding on as if it were the only
thing keeping him from sinking into the black waves of memory.

Dumbledore was still speaking, was saying something—Sirius heard him ask, “What did they do?”

“They spoke to me,” Harry said, in a broken voice, “They told me to hold on…my—my dad, he
said…he said they’d buy me time, that I had to get to the portkey. And—Cedric—” he buckled,
momentarily, voice twisting in his throat as he reached up to scrub roughly at his eyes, “Cedric
asked me to bring his body back. To his parents.”

Lily, Sirius thought, raggedly, James—

He buried his head in his hands, as though he could hold his splintering mind together if he only
pressed hard enough. There was a long stretch of silence; either Harry had said everything there
was to say, or he was simply no longer able to go on.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

“You have been incredibly brave, Harry,” he said, softly, “More courageous than anyone could
have expected. I would say that the bravery you have demonstrated tonight is equal, even, to those
who gave their lives fighting Voldemort at the height of his power. You have accomplished
something that many fully grown wizards could never hope to manage, and in doing so you have
ensured that we might be ready in the face of this new and terrible danger.” Dumbledore stood,
moving out from behind his desk. “Now, I believe that it would be best for you to spend the night
in the hospital wing. A sleeping potion, and some rest…Sirius, would you like to stay with him?”

Sirius nodded, mutely, and transformed, following after them as Padfoot.

The moment they stepped through the doors of the hospital wing, five heads turned to look at them
—Madam Pomfrey was there, of course, along with Ron and Hermione, and…Fab and Gid’s sister
—her name, Sirius definitely knew her name…

“Harry!” She shrieked, rushing towards him, “Oh, Harry!”

“Molly—” That was it— “please, give the boy a bit of space.” Dumbledore urged, gently; the
woman halted, glancing between the headmaster and Harry with obvious concern.

Dumbledore went on, “Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight, and I have just had to ask
him to relive it for me. What he needs more than anything, right now, is rest. You may all stay,” he
glanced at Ron, Hermione, and another boy—a man, really, older, but with the same lanky frame
as Weasley – a brother, Sirius thought— “But I will ask you to refrain from questioning him, and to
ensure that you do not disturb his rest.”

Molly nodded, eyes wide, and turned to the silent children to hiss, redundantly, “Quiet now, all of
you!”

“Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey said, stepping forward and eyeing Padfoot warily, “May I ask
what—?”

“This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while,” Dumbledore said, without offering any
further explanation, “No need to worry – he is incredibly well trained. Harry – I will wait while
you get into bed.”

Harry nodded, silently. He hadn’t said a single word since they’d left the headmaster’s office.

“I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry,” Dumbledore added, “I would
like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school.” Harry nodded once more, and
with that, Dumbledore left.

Madam Pomfrey led Harry to a bed near the end of the ward. There was only one other occupied
bed—Sirius recognised Mad-Eye Moody, though he looked very different than the last time they’d
seen each other. He was older, for one thing, hair grizzled and grey, and he had the shrunken
appearance of a man who has recently lost a great deal of weight. There were clumps of his hair
missing, and his skin had a vaguely jaundiced look. He was passed out cold on the cot, magical
eye and wooden leg on the bedside table next to him.

“Is he okay?” Harry asked, as they passed by.

“He’ll be alright,” Madam Pomfrey assured him, bustling around as she pulled the familiar, pale
green screens around Harry’s bed for privacy and passed him some pyjamas.

Once he had changed and climbed into bed, the Weasleys and Hermione gathered around, staring
down at him with nearly-identical worried looks on their faces.

“I’m all right,” Harry said, dully, “Just tired.”

Padfoot could smell the tears in Molly’s eyes as she blinked them away, reaching down to smooth
the bedcovers. Madam Pomfrey came over with a sleeping potion, passing it to Harry.
“You’ll need to drink all of this,” she instructed, “It’s a potion for dreamless sleep.”

She returned to her office, and Harry lifted the goblet she’d handed him to his lips. He only made it
through a few mouthfuls before he began to drift off, eyelids fluttering shut—Molly reached over
and plucked the goblet carefully from his hands, setting it on the bedside table.

For a long time, nobody spoke. Harry’s breathing evened out, until it was clear he had fallen asleep
—even then, the quiet stretched on. Molly kept sniffling, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief,
and her elder son wrapped an arm around her shoulders, comfortingly. Ron and Hermione were
both staring at Harry, wide-eyed, as if they couldn’t bear to let him out of their sight again—they
were sitting so close that their shoulders were nearly touching.

It was Ron who eventually spoke, voicing the question that they were all clearly thinking.

“What happened?” He murmured, white-faced, “Is Cedric really…I mean…did he actually…”

Molly sniffed sharply, and a dark look came over her face. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t be the first
time in the tournament’s history,” she muttered, angrily, “I told Arthur—I told him—those
Ministry politicians…lost their minds, should never have approved it…”

“They took every precaution, mum,” the older boy said, rubbing her shoulder, “Changed the rules
and everything. This shouldn’t have been able to happen—there were wizards on standby, all
around the maze, none of the obstacles were meant to be lethal…”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and Padfoot could tell what they were thinking—even if the
maze wasn’t meant to be lethal, it had been the perfect opportunity for someone to strike if they
wanted to hurt Harry.

Only it wasn’t Harry who had died…

Suddenly, Padfoot’s ears pricked—there were voices, coming from outside the hospital wing,
drawing closer...

“An outrage!” He recognised Professor McGonagall’s shrill Scottish brogue, “It’s a disgrace—
Dumbledore would have never allowed it!”

“My dear woman, I will remind you that Dumbledore is not the Minister of Magic, and therefore
does not have the authority—”

“He is the headmaster of this school—”

The rest of the group could hear the voices now, and they turned towards the doors of the hospital
wing.

“They’ll wake him if they don’t shut up!” Molly hissed, frowning.

Hermione fidgeted with her hands, staring anxiously at the doors. “What are they shouting about?
Nothing else can have happened, can it?”

“That’s Fudge’s voice,” Molly whispered, “And that’s Minerva McGonagall’s, isn’t it? But what
are they arguing about?”

Unnoticed by the rest of the group, Harry shifted in bed, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva—” Cornelius Fudge was still speaking, voice raised,
drawing ever nearer to the hospital wing.

“You should never have brought it inside the castle!” Professor McGonagall shouted, “When
Dumbledore finds out—”

At that very moment, the doors burst open. Harry sat up, slipping his glasses back onto his face—
Padfoot was the only one who caught the movement, as the rest of the group was now utterly
riveted by the scene unfolding before them.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded, striding towards Mrs. Weasley with Professor
McGonagall and Snape close at his heels. He was looking very flustered and harassed, cheeks red
and hair sticking out from under his bowler hat.

“He’s not here,” Mrs. Weasley replied, tartly, “This is a hospital wing, Minister, don’t you think
you’d do better to—”

But before she could finish her scolding, the doors opened once more, and Dumbledore swept in.

“What is this?” He asked, frowning severely, “What is the cause for this disturbance? Minerva, did
I not ask you to stand guard over Barty Crouch—”

“Well, there is no need for that anymore, Dumbledore!” McGonagall shrieked, “The Minister has
seen to that!”

The last time Sirius had seen his old Transfiguration professor so angry, he had been sixteen,
standing in Dumbledore’s office, wondering if he was about to be expelled. McGonagall’s bony
hands were curled into fists, and she was trembling with rage.

“When we informed Mr. Fudge that we had captured the death eater responsible for tonight’s
events,” Snape cut in, speaking quickly, “He seemed to feel that there was some special threat to
his person. He insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it
up to the office where Barty Crouch—”

“I told him you would never allow it, Dumbledore!” Professor McGonagall interrupted, fuming, “I
told him you had forbidden dementors from entering the castle, but—”

“Might I remind you,” Fudge shouted over her, face going blotchy with angry spots of red, “That I
am the Minister of Magic, and it is up to my discretion to decide what sort of protection may be
necessary when questioning a potentially dangerous—”

But McGonagall only shrieked more loudly, speaking over him,

“The instant that—that thing entered the room,” she screeched, pointing an accusing finger at
Fudge, “It swooped down on Crouch and—and—”

Padfoot had to stifle the anxious growl that rose in his throat. He did not need McGonagall to finish
that sentence—he knew exactly what had happened to Barty.

The dementor’s kiss. It had eaten his soul.

“For Merlin’s sake, it is not as though he is some great loss!” Fudge snapped, “According to you,
he was responsible for several deaths!”

“But he can no longer testify, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, slowly, giving Fudge an appraising
look—as though something had been readjusted, and he was now seeing the man in a new light.
“He cannot provide evidence as to why he killed those people.”

“Why he killed them? Well, that’s no mystery, is it?” Fudge huffed, unable to meet the
headmaster’s eye, “He was a raving lunatic! Based on what I’ve heard from Minerva and Severus,
he believed he was acting according to You-Know-Who’s instructions!”

“That is because he was acting according to Voldemort’s instructions, Cornelius,” Dumbledore

replied, calmly, “All of the murders that he committed were part of a plot to restore Lord
Voldemort’s strength. And it succeeded—Voldemort has now regained his body.”

Fudge stared at Dumbledore as though the man had just told him that flobberworms had suddenly
learned to speak ancient Greek. He began to splutter, looking as though his eyes might pop out of
his head.

“You-Know-Who…returned? Absurd—ridiculous—come now, Dumbledore…”

“As I am sure you have heard from Minerva and Severus,” Dumbledore said, “We heard Crouch’s
confession. He told us everything under the influence of veritaserum; how he was smuggled out of
Azkaban, how Voldemort learned of his situation from Bertha Jorkins and came to free him from
his father, how he plotted to capture Harry…The evidence is irrefutable. Voldemort’s plan worked.
Crouch made sure of it.”

“Now see here, Albus,” Fudge began to smile, with an unhinged sort of look in his eye, “You—you
don’t honestly believe that. You-Know-Who—back? Come now, come now…certainly, Crouch
may have believed that he was following You-Know-Who’s orders—but the word of a madman is
hardly trustworthy, Dumbledore…”

“When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, it took him straight to Voldemort,” Dumbledore
said, evenly, “He himself witnessed Lord Voldemort’s rebirth. I will explain everything to you, if
you will accompany me to my office.” The headmaster glanced back once, at Harry’s bed, and said
firmly, “I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight.”

Fudge’s strained, hysterical smile stretched ever wider, as he, too, glanced over at Harry’s bed.

“You are—er—prepared to take Harry’s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?”

Padfoot began to growl, hackles raised—he could already smell where the slimy bastard was
taking things, and he’d be damned if he was going to let him get away with it.

“Of course I believe Harry,” Dumbledore said, and some of the calmness began to fade—now, his
eyes were flashing, like ice in sunlight, “I myself heard Crouch confess, and I heard Harry’s
account of everything that happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories
corroborate each other, and they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins
disappeared last summer.”

Fudge glanced at Harry again, licking his lips.

“Then…you are prepared to believe that You-Know-Who has returned, based only on the word of a
crazed serial killer and a young boy who…well…”

His eyes darted, once more, to Harry—he at least had the decency to look embarrassed as he bad-
mouthed the boy right in front of his face.

“You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge,” Harry said, coldly.
Ron, Hermione, Molly, and the other Weasley boy all startled at the sound of his voice—none of
them had yet realised that he was awake.

Fudge flushed, and the abashed look turned into one of mulish defiance.

“And if I have?” He asked defensively, turning back to Dumbledore, “If it has come to my
attention that you have purposely obscured certain facts about the boy? A Parselmouth, eh? And
having funny turns all over the place—”

“I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?” Dumbledore
asked. His voice had gone cold, now.

“You admit he’s been having these pains, then?” Fudge said, quickly, “Headaches? Nightmares?
Possibly—hallucinations?”

“Listen to me, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. The words were imbued with a heavy sense of gravity
which was only strengthened as the headmaster stepped forward, drawing up to his full height and
radiating old, untouchable power, “Harry is just as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has
not addled his brains. It is my theory that it hurts only when Lord Voldemort is nearby, or is
experiencing a particularly strong surge of emotion.”

Fudge shrank back, but the obstinate glare remained.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Albus, but I hardly believe that a curse scar can act as an alarm bell…”

“Look, I saw Voldemort come back!” Harry shouted, trying to stand – Molly forced him back
down, and he continued to shout from the bed, “I saw the death eaters! I can give you their names!
Lucius Malfoy—”

Snape jerked, suddenly, as though he were about to move—but he went still immediately
afterwards, watching Fudge.

“Malfoy was cleared!” The Minister said, clearly affronted. “A very old family—donations to
excellent causes—”

“Macnair!” Harry continued.

“Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!”

“Avery—Nott—Crabbe—Goyle—”

“These are merely the names of those acquitted of being death eaters thirteen years ago!” Fudge
scowled, stubbornly, “You are just repeating names that you’ve found in old trial reports! For
Merlin’s sake, Dumbledore—the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too—
his tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them—the boy can talk to snakes, is it really
wise to trust him?”

“You fool!” Shouted Professor McGonagall, “Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not
the work of a random madman!”

“And yet I see no evidence that suggests otherwise!” Fudge yelled back, losing his temper, “In fact,
it seems as though all of you are determined to start a panic that will destabilise everything we have
worked for these last thirteen years!”

Padfoot had to fight to keep from lunging at Fudge, from snapping his jaws in animal rage.
Thirteen years—and it hadn’t made an ounce of difference. The Ministry was just as blind as it had
been a decade ago.

Dumbledore seemed to realise that Fudge wanted only to wallow in wilful ignorance. Still, he
stared the man down, saying firmly,

“Voldemort has returned. If you accept that fact now, Cornelius, then there may yet be time to take
the necessary precautions and salvage the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove
Azkaban from dementor control—”

“Preposterous!” Fudge exclaimed, “Remove the dementors? I’d be kicked out of office for
suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are
standing guard at Azkaban!”

“The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord
Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he
asks them!” Dumbledore shot back, “They will not remain loyal to you! Voldemort can offer them
much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind
him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort
of power he had thirteen years go!”

Fudge was opening and closing his mouth in impotent, wordless outrage.

“The second step you must take—and at once,” Dumbledore continued, “Is to send envoys to the
giants.”

“Envoys to the giants?” Fudge shook his head, shrieking “You must be mad!”

“Extend them the hand of friendship now, before it is too late,” Dumbledore said, ominously,
“Because Voldemort will almost certainly try to convince them that he is the only wizard who can
promise them their rights and their freedom!”

“You—you cannot be serious!” Fudge blustered, backing away, “If the magical community heard
that I was approaching the giants—people hate them, Dumbledore—end of my career—”

“You are blinded,” Dumbledore said, thunderously, “By the love of the office you hold, Cornelius!
You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You
fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor
has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any—and see what
that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now—take the steps I have suggested and you will be
remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever
known. Fail to act—and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed
Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!”

“Insane,” Fudge whispered, face drained of colour, “Mad…”

For a tense moment, there was only silence. Madam Pomfrey, Molly, Ron, his brother, and
Hermione were all standing around Harry’s bed, staring in horror at the Minister of Magic.
McGonagall was still glaring murderously; Snape was watching everything unfold with a carefully
neutral expression.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

“If you are determined to shut your eyes to what is right in front of you, Cornelius, then I am afraid
that this is where we part ways. You must act as you see fit. And I—I shall act as I see fit.”
Fudge bristled, clearly taking the words as some sort of threat.

“Now, see here, Dumbledore,” he said, puffing out his chest, “I’ve always had a lot of respect for
you, and because of that I’ve given you free rein. Even when I didn’t agree with your decisions, I
kept quiet—letting you hire werewolves, keeping Hagrid on staff, running the school without a
single bit of Ministry oversight…but if you’re planning to work against me—”

“The only person who I intend to work against,” Dumbledore interrupted, smoothly, “Is Lord
Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.”

Fudge didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He shifted, anxiously, taking off his bowler hat
to fidget with it. After a moment, he said in a softer, pleading voice,

“He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be…”

Snape pushed forward, suddenly, yanking up the sleeve of his robes. He brandished his forearm
like a weapon, shoving it in Fudge’s face—the Minister recoiled.

“There,” Snape spat, “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it
burned black, but you can still see it. Every death eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark
Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When
he touched the Mark of any death eater, we were to apparate instantly to his side. This Mark has
been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both
felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He
betrayed too many of his fellow death eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.”

Fudge took a step back, shaking his head, eyes locked on the Mark on Snape’s arm. It was unclear
whether he had actually listened to a word the man had said; he looked up at Dumbledore,
whispering, “I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Albus, but I’ve heard enough. I
have nothing more to say to you. I will be in touch tomorrow, to discuss the running of this school.
I must return to the Ministry.”

He began to leave, and was nearly out the door when he suddenly paused. Abruptly, he turned and
walked back to Harry’s bed, pulling out a large bag of gold.

“Your winnings,” he said, curtly, “One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation
ceremony, but under the circumstances…”

He dropped the bag onto the bedside table and then turned, without further ado, and marched out of
the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Dumbledore sighed heavily, turning to address the group gathered around Harry’s bed.

“I am afraid that there is much yet to do…” He murmured, frowning, “Molly—am I right in
thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?”

“Of course you can,” the woman nodded, pale and determined, “We’ve always known what Fudge
is like. It’s Arthur’s fondness for muggles that’s held him back at the Ministry all these years.
Fudge thinks he lacks proper Wizarding pride.”

“Then I need to send a message to Arthur,” Dumbledore said, “We must notify all those who can
be persuaded of the truth immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who
are not as short-sighted as Cornelius.”

“I’ll go to Dad,” the elder Weasley boy said, standing, “I’ll go now.”
“Perfect,” Dumbledore nodded, ‘Tell him what has happened, and that I will contact him directly
very soon. He will need to be discreet – if Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry—”

“Leave it to me,” the boy said, with a confident nod.

He patted Harry’s shoulder, gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek, swung his cloak over his
shoulders, and disappeared out the door.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore said, turning to Professor McGonagall, “I will need to see Hagrid in my
office as soon as possible, along with Madame Maxime – if she will consent to come.”

Professor McGonagall nodded once, then followed the Weasley boy out the door.

“Poppy,” Dumbledore now addressed Madam Pomfrey, “Would you be so kind as to go down to
Professor Moody’s office, where I think you will find a house elf called Winky in considerable
distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after
her for us.”

“Very—very well,” Madam Pomfrey blinked, looking a bit surprised by these instructions. But she
hurried out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her. Once the sound of her footsteps had
died away, Dumbledore turned back to the remaining members of the group.

“And now,” he said, eyeing Padfoot, “It is time for two of our number to recognise each other for
what they are. Sirius…if you could resume your usual form.”

Sirius hesitated only a second before transforming, so that he was no longer a dog, but a man,
standing beside Harry’s bed.

Molly screamed and stumbled back, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Sirius Black!”

“Mum, shut up!” Ron yelled, grabbing her arm, “It’s okay!”

Sirius’s eyes were on Snape, who was glaring at him with murderous rage.

“Him!” he spat, mouth twisting into a snarl, “What is he doing here?!”

“He is here at my invitation,” Dumbledore said, firmly, “As are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is
time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other.”

Old differences? Sirius thought, Old differences?! Never mind everything Snape had done in
school – the torment he had caused, the bullying, the bigotry – this was a man who had joined the
death eaters. A man who had not only viewed muggles and muggleborn wizards as inferior, but
had hated them—enough to want them dead. Sirius had no idea what Snape had done to redeem
himself in Dumbledore’s eyes, but as far as he was concerned, the man was evil, through and
through.

When neither of them moved, Dumbledore spoke again – a bit more sharply, this time.

“I will settle, in the short term, for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the
same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth stand united, there is no
hope for any of us.”

So Sirius shook Snape’s hand—only because he knew Dumbledore wouldn’t let it go until they’d
 done it, and there were more important matters that needed to be addressed. But he glared at Snape
the entire time, thinking viciously,

Dumbledore may trust you, but I don’t.

I never will.

“That will do to be going on with,” Dumbledore sighed, as they backed away from each other,
“Now I have work for each of you. Fudge’s attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything.
Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Emmeline Vance
– the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin’s for a while; I will contact you there.”

There was a strange ringing, in Sirius’s ears.

Lie low at Lupin’s for a while…

Harry sat up in his bed, beginning to say, “But—”

Sirius turned to him, and the boy fell silent, staring up at him beseechingly.

“C’mere,” he said, roughly, pulling Harry into a hug. He buried his face in the familiar bird’s nest
of hair, and for a moment—just a moment—it was almost like—

“Do you have to go?” Harry mumbled, into his shoulder – low enough so that only Sirius could
hear. He swallowed the lump in his throat, forced himself to speak through the dizzy ringing in his
ears, the pounding of his heart that sounded like

Moony moony moony

a barrier crumbling, somewhere in his mind – a locked box opening, a prowling monster of
emotion peeking out.

“You’ll see me again soon, Harry,” he managed to say, voice mostly steady, “I promise. But…I
have to do what I can. For—”

For you. For them.

He swallowed, thickly. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, looking down, “Yeah…of course I do.”

Sirius hugged him, one more time, before transforming. He left the room behind, with its sterile
smell and its worried faces and its identical row of beds. He left Hogwarts, though it felt as if he
were splitting his heart in two.

One half remained, with a boy in a bed in a castle, a boy with messy black hair and eyes so green
that they could send Sirius back in time.

He ran towards the other half, the half he had ripped out and abandoned fourteen years ago, the
half that continued to beat somewhere in London.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "dirty work" by steely dan -- which, i know, technically, is
about sex, but dumbledore kinda fucks them all, so...

also, forgot to put this earlier (sorry -- i think i should have left a note on 182) but if
you've been reading this side by side with the original version, you should have
already read through ch 184 at this point. the next chapter of THIS version will align
with ch 185 of the original :)
 Moony
Chapter Summary

:') ouch

Chapter Notes

if ur reading this version + the original together, this chapter is a rewrite of ch 185 of
the original!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I can tell by your eyes that you’ve probably been cryin’ forever

And the stars in the sky don’t mean nothin’ to you, they’re a mirror

I don’t want to talk about it

How you broke my heart

If I stay here just a little bit longer

If I stay here, won’t you listen to my heart

It wasn’t until he got to London that he began to wonder if this was a bad idea.

Sirius hunched, panting, in an alleyway, crouched behind the bins. The stolen wand wasn’t
fighting him so much, anymore, but the apparation had still left him winded, out of breath, feeling
like his eyes were trying to squeeze out of his head. He pressed them shut, shaking.

Lie low at Lupin’s.

He had to—he had to, Dumbledore knew what was best. Sirius’s own mind was a mess, a frantic
tangle of fear and anger and horrible, bone-aching guilt as he thought of the haunted look in
Harry’s eyes.

I was supposed to keep him safe.

And Remus—Remus hadn’t come for him. It had been a year, and he hadn’t tried to find Sirius, not
once—not even a letter, a note—

Can you blame him? Whispered the cold, cruel voice that lived in the back of Sirius’s mind, Can
you really blame him? Look at yourself—why would he want you? Why would he ever want to see
you again?
He had been trying so, so hard not to think about—this. Any of this. The first time they’d seen each
other again, last summer, there had been too much happening—a whirlwind of confusion and
questions and explanations, rage and fear and adrenaline. It had still half-felt like a dream, or a
nightmare. And since then…

You never went to him, either.

Sirius swallowed.

Because he hates me, he thought, numbly He must—he knows I betrayed him, betrayed them…if it
hadn’t been for me, James and Lily would still…

“Fuck!”

He hissed, crouching in the grimy alleyway, burying his head in his hands. He couldn’t—deal with
this, couldn’t think about it, couldn’t feel it—not right now. There was work to do—a mission.
Dumbledore was counting on him; he needed to focus on that. If he just followed orders, just did
what Dumbledore said…

Yes, that was the key. That made everything simple, narrowed the world down into one fine point.
Just follow Dumbledore, Sirius thought, sucking in a breath, Dumbledore knows what he’s doing.

He transformed into Padfoot. That made everything easier, too. Padfoot was a good dog—Padfoot
knew how to follow orders.

The street was familiar, in a strange, dizzy way. He remembered it—and yet it was different,
storefronts changed, old scents mixed with new. He wasn’t sure which pieces he’d never seen
before, and which he’d simply forgotten.

He remained a dog, all the way up the stairs, to the door—faded, now, but still the same sunny
yellow. He scratched at it, once. He barked.

The door opened.

Moony.

He smelled different. Muted. Magic sunk deep under skin. And there was something else—another
scent, something that nagged at the back of his mind, a memory he couldn’t quite reach.

“Come in,” Remus said.

Padfoot huffed, and gave a little shake of his head. Remus leaned against the door as he shut it, and
Sirius transformed, and then they were staring at each other.

“I’ve come straight from Hogwarts.” Sirius said. He didn’t know what else to say—he realised,
abruptly, that he had no idea if anyone had actually informed Remus of what had happened.

“Yes,” Remus said, faintly, “Dumbledore sent a message ahead.”

He was staring. Sirius couldn’t hold his gaze. He felt very aware, suddenly, of the way that he
looked—hair snarled and matted, fingernails caked with dirt, skin dusted with grime. He’d caught
sight of his reflection, once, in the reflective glass of the aviary windows at Monsieur Bernard’s
house. He hadn’t recognised the man looking back at him.

He’d avoided anything resembling a mirror, after that.

“Something happened at the tournament,” Sirius said, voice dry and rasping, “Harry was
kidnapped.”

“What?! Is he—”

“He came back, he’s fine – fine as can be expected. Voldemort’s back, too.”

“What?!”

“It’s true. Harry faced him.”

“No.” Remus had gone pale; there was a pleading look in his eyes.

“The Order’s reforming. Dumbledore told me to come here, lie low.”

“Right,” Remus nodded, eyes still wide and horrified.

“If that’s…” Sirius hesitated, looking down at his hands, “If you don’t mind? I just followed orders
without thinking, but I could go somewhere else if…”

“No!” Remus said, quickly, reaching out to place a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius felt each point
of heat from his fingertips like pooling sunlight, spreading down into his aching bones. “Of course
you should stay here, it’s your home.”

Oh, Sirius thought, breath catching in his throat. For a moment, the warmth continued to spread,
curling closer to his heart—and then Remus glanced towards the kitchen, and Sirius followed his
gaze.

The muggle was there. Remus’s—the one from the phone, from…

“You’re here.” Sirius said, flatly.

Oh, he thought, and the warmth bled out of him as quickly as it had come, Oh.

“Alright, mate?” Asked the muggle, with a smile that made Sirius want to crawl out of his skin,
“Tell you what, you look like you could do with a Chinese. I’ll pop out, shall I, Remus?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I think I do.”

The muggle smiled, tightly, reaching down to grab a wallet off the coffee table as he left. He patted
Moony’s shoulder, saying, “I’ll be half an hour.” The door shut behind him, and Sirius felt as
though he were trying to swallow broken glass.

They were alone. There were a thousand things that Sirius wanted to say, and he couldn’t find the
words for any of them.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “That was rude of me. I didn’t mean to be rude.” He thought of all his
silly, stupid fantasies, how he’d imagined coming back to Remus as though he’d never left—
ridiculous. There was a reason Remus hadn’t come to find him. It had just walked out of their flat.

Remus reached out again, placing a hand over his. Sirius hadn’t realised that he’d started to scratch
at his skin; he stopped.

“How about a shower?” Remus asked, quietly, “Then a sit down. Everything’s ok.”
Sirius looked up, and found pity in his eyes. Pity and fear.

“Sounds good.”

Remus guided him to the bathroom, as though he’d forgotten where it was—Sirius didn’t say
anything, just followed after him, silently.

The hot water choked him. Sirius had to force himself to breathe, to try and stop himself from
drowning in the flood of questions that surged through his mind.

When? How long? What have you been doing all this time? Why—how could you?

Do you love him?

Do you still love me?

He waited until his skin was raw and clean and stinging from the heat before he shut the water off,
staring down at his sunken body, his jutting bones.

What a stupid question. What was left of him to love?

He wrapped himself in a towel and opened the bathroom door, hair tangled and dripping wet. The
flat was silent—but surely Remus—he hadn’t left again—

“Remus?!” He called out before he could stop himself.

“Bedroom,” came Moony’s voice.

Of course. Sirius shoved the panic down—Don’t be stupid. He followed Remus’s voice, and found
him standing over the bed, staring down at a knitted jumper and pair of pyjama pants that he had
laid out. Remus glanced at him, then quickly turned away, as though he couldn’t bear to look at
Sirius for more than a moment.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to the clothes, “I’ll let you change.”

He started to leave, and before Sirius knew what he was doing he had reached out, gripping
Remus’s arm.

“Don’t go.” He said, pathetically, “Could you stay in the room?”

“Ok…” Remus murmured, speaking the way someone might to a frightened animal. He patted
Sirius’s hand. It was horrible.

Sirius dressed slowly, body sore and tired from the long journey; from the months spent sleeping
on bare rock; from the years curled on a filthy mattress in a frozen cell. The clothes were warm,
and soft. They smelled like Moony.

They smelled like the muggle, too.

The bed was different, Sirius thought. A different bedspread. He couldn’t remember what colour it
had been before, but he didn’t think it was the same. On one bedside table, there was a book. On
the other, a pack of cigarettes.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” He said. His voice didn’t shake; he was very proud of himself for that. “I
don’t want to muck anything up between you and…and…sorry, his name’s gone.”
“Grant.”

“Grant.” He hated it. He hated the way Remus’s voice sounded when he said it. Sirius glanced
around the room—at the dresser, the walls. “I’ve forgotten a lot, I think.”

“That’s ok.”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t ok, not even a little bit.

“Come and sit down. Cup of tea?”

“Cup of tea.” Sirius repeated, tonelessly.

Remus nodded, warily, and Sirius followed him into the kitchen.

He hovered. After a moment, it occurred to him that he was probably being rude, again. He cleared
his throat.

“Thank you.” A pause; then, “Sorry, I…I keep forgetting things.”

Remus touched him, again. Fingers on his arm—his hands hadn’t changed. Sirius couldn’t
remember what colour the walls had been the last time he’d seen the flat, or how old he’d been
when he’d had his first kiss, or the date of his little brother’s birthday—but he could remember
every scar on Moony’s hand, as if they’d been carved somewhere deep inside his mind;
somewhere that neither time nor dementors could ever penetrate or touch. The long one, that curled
from the bone of his left wrist to the knuckle of his ring finger; the small, sharp line below his right
thumb; the faded punctures from a long-healed bite on his palm.

“It’s ok,” Remus said, quietly, “Go and sit. I’ll be a minute, you can hear me from the living
room.”

So Sirius did. The living room was just like the rest of the world—the same, but not the same.
Sirius couldn’t remember if the armchair had been there when he’d lived in the flat. The TV was
definitely new; he remembered arguing about that. He’d never wanted one; it was ugly and boxy
and blocking the fireplace. Distinctly muggle. He hated it.

He listened to the quiet sounds of Remus in the kitchen—the gentle clink of a spoon, the soft slide
of a drawer opening and shutting, the whistle of the kettle. The sound of the lock on the front door,
clicking open. Loud footsteps, the creak of hinges—the muggle was back.

“’Orright?!” He said, overly loud and cheerful, stomping inside gracelessly and bringing the scent
of sesame oil with him. His arms were full of food—plastic bags and little white boxes with grease
leaking through.

Sirius watched, silently, as he set them all out on the coffee table, opening each box one by one and
unwrapping plastic wrapped containers, smiling blithely and chattering away.

“Blimey, don’t you look better after a wash, eh? Still got that nice thick hair. Jealous, I’ll be bald
by the time I’m forty, reckon. Seen how grey Remus is? Looks distinguished, I tell ‘im, but ‘e don’t
listen…”

Remus came back into the room, carrying a tray with three mugs. Sirius glanced between the two
of them, resisting the urge to bring his knees up to his chest and curl in on himself.

“I’ll grab plates…” Grant said, still smiling that horrible plastic smile. He walked past Remus into
the kitchen, and the taller man took his place at the coffee table, nudging aside a box of fried rice
to make room for the tea tray. He tried to smile, too – a weak, forced thing that twisted the corners
of his mouth.

“Here we are.”

Sirius stared down at the tray. It held an assortment of little things—lemon slices and milk and a
sugar bowl. He knew, vaguely, that he’d once had a very specific ritual for his tea—a certain way
that he would always take it. He studied the sugar, and the milk, and the lemon, hoping that it
would come back to him.

It didn’t.

Remus must have seen something on his face, because he asked nervously, “Are you hungry? Is
this all right?”

“Lovely,” Sirius managed to reply, nodding, “Thanks. You shouldn’t go to all this trouble.”

“Nonsense.”

Grant returned with his plates. They ate sitting around the coffee table—Sirius on the sofa, Remus
on the armchair, Grant on the floor. Sirius picked at the food with his fingers, chewing carefully.
He’d forgotten how food like this tasted—after two years of living off bloody, hunted meat and
scraps dug out of bins, it was nearly overwhelming. He licked the grease from his fingers and lips.
He didn’t feel like a real person.

“I’ll have to do a proper shop, on my way back from work tomorrow.” Grant announced, “Get you
a toothbrush, some things like that.”

“I can do that.” Remus said, quickly, sitting stiffly in his armchair. He turned to look at Sirius,
“Your clothes and books are boxed up in the garage. I’ll go and have a look tomorrow.”

“You kept them?” Sirius asked, before he could stop himself, “You kept my things?”

Remus stared at him, awkwardly. “Er. Well, after everything, Mary showed up and did it for me. I
wasn’t…I wasn’t very well, for a while. I’m not sure what state they’re in, I haven’t been there
since.”

“I didn’t expect you to keep anything.” Sirius said, searching his face. Remus shrugged, and looked
away. Grant reached between them to pluck another egg roll from the table.

Once they’d finished eating, Sirius wiped his hands on his pyjama bottoms, and then sat on the
sofa uselessly, waiting for someone to tell him what to do.

The mission, he reminded himself, Dumbledore’s mission.

Grant stood, collecting the plates and the fork that Sirius hadn’t touched. Sirius perked up a bit,
withdrawing his wand from the sleeve of his borrowed jumper.

“I can do that, let me.”

“Where did you get that?” Remus asked, staring at the wand.

“Stole it,” Sirius muttered, glancing down. “Took a while to get used to, but I can handle it ok now.
Here, let me…”
“It’s fine,” Grant said, moving out of reach. “I’d prefer to do it normally.” He walked into the
kitchen with his stack of dishes, disappearing.

Fine, then. Sirius had more important things to worry about, anyway.

“Muffliato.”

He turned to Remus, leaning forward, speaking quickly. “Is the floo connection working?”

“No.” Remus blinked, as though surprised by the question, “I never re-connected. I don’t actually
do very much magic at home, because—”

“Yeah, because of the muggle,” Sirius muttered, not quite able to keep the sourness out of his
voice. “He’s made a lot of changes, I see.” He raised his eyebrows at the TV.

“It’s his home too,” Remus said. It felt a bit like being stabbed in the chest.

“Whatever, I don’t care. Right, we’ll need to re-connect it. If I’m staying here, that is. We’ll need
to be able to communicate with the rest of the Order.”

“The rest of the—”

“—have you got an owl?” Sirius asked, peering around the room.

“No,” Remus bit his lip, looking away. “I’ve got a phone.”

Sirius felt a sharp surge of anger, irritation crackling over his skin. “For merlin’s sake, Moony!” He
said, sharply, “What have you been doing all these years, moping about?!”

Remus recoiled, as though Sirius had hit him. His eyes went flat, and his voice was stony as he
said,

“I’ve been surviving. How easy do you think it is for me to hold down a job? And it’s not as if I’ve
had anyone I need to keep in touch with.”

Sirius didn’t know how to respond to that. The anger beat its fists uselessly against his ribcage,
screaming, You had twelve years—twelve years to do something.

Anything.

“Look,” Remus said, voice softening, “I can imagine how you must feel. I know you want to do
everything at once, now you’re free, but let’s just take things slowly tonight, ok? Get a proper
night’s sleep and we’ll work on a plan tomorrow.”

One night. Sirius supposed that he could wait one more night. He nodded, and Remus seemed
pleased. Grant returned, and Sirius didn’t look at him as Remus subtly withdrew his own wand and
undid the muffliato spell.

“Shall I stick the telly on?” Grant asked, looking between them. Remus nodded. Sirius resisted the
urge to bash his head against the wall.

The TV droned on, little people running about on the staticky screen, talking in too-loud voices and
smiling too-wide smiles. Sirius couldn’t follow any of it; Grant kept hitting little buttons and
changing the picture. Some of the images were vaguely familiar. Most were not.

Is this what you’ve been doing for twelve years? Sirius thought, with something like dread licking
into his heart, Sitting on the sofa and eating Chinese and watching TV? What about Harry? What
about me?

Where were you?

Every so often, Grant would laugh or make some ridiculous comment about what they were
watching, and Sirius had to dig his fingers into the arm of the sofa to keep from clawing his throat
out.

You, he found himself thinking, You’re the reason he’s here. You’re the reason he stayed. You’re
the reason he no longer smells like magic.

It wasn’t fair, maybe. But he thought it, nonetheless.

Eventually, the steady drone of the TV wormed its way into his head, making him feel drowsy and
heavy. He yawned, and Grant turned to look at him, yawning back.

“Yeah, me too.” He said, with that inane smile, “Got work in the morning, maybe it’s time for
bed.” He glanced over at Remus, as though waiting for him to say something.

“Yeah,” Remus said, stiffly, standing from the armchair. “Um. Sirius, are you ok here? I’ll get you
a cushion and a duvet.”

“No need.” Sirius waved him off, stretching. He transformed into Padfoot, listening as Grant
sucked in a sharp, surprised breath, and curled up on the sofa. It smelled wrong—everything
smelled wrong.

He could hear the two of them, shuffling around, getting ready for bed. He could hear them
whispering together, later, though he didn’t want to—but Padfoot’s hearing was too good, ears
pricked for any tiny sound.

“Can you do that?” Grant asked, “Turn into a wolf whenever you like?”

“No.” Remus whispered back, “He’s an animagus. He learnt how to do it. I’m a werewolf, I got
bitten, I don’t get a choice.”

Grant knew? He’d told the muggle about being a werewolf?

He’d never told Sirius that secret. Sirius had had to work it out for himself – the way he had to
work everything out for himself, with Moony.

“Bad luck. Mind you, don’t think I’d like it much, if you could.”

“He won’t hurt you, he’s still got his normal mind when he’s a dog.”

There was a moment of silence, then a bit of rustling as one of them turned in the sheets.

“Are you ok?”

Sirius’s heart had grown teeth.

“I think so.” Remus said – no snapping, no sarcastic response, no dismissive comment about what
a stupid question that was. “But it’s weird. It’s going to be difficult, I think.”

“How long will he be here?”

“Oh. I don’t know. A while, maybe. He’s talking about…about another war. I might need to help.”

“Remus…”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. The whole situation is…it’s a fucking nightmare, really. I need some
time to think.”

His heart was eating itself. His heart was going to swallow him whole.

“I wish I could help.” Grant whispered, “I wish I understood.”

“You’re so good with Sirius. I don’t know what to say to him, he’s so…I dunno, prickly. I’m
scared I’ll say something wrong and he’ll bite my head off.”

“Hmm, well I have a bit of experience with those types. Anyway, he’s obviously been through the
mill. Just gotta be patient. Kind. You can’t force him to get better, I’m afraid.”

The whispered conversation faded out, after that, and eventually Padfoot heard the sounds of deep
breathing that meant they’d both fallen asleep. He lay awake, on the sofa, half-wishing that he’d
never come. He had been so stupid, to think that anything could be the same.

The mission, he reminded himself, Focus on Dumbledore’s mission. That’s all the matters. That’s
all you need to do.

He buried his face in the sofa cushion. Beneath the lingering scent of Chinese food, beneath the
layers of mundanity and muggle and flat domestic life, there was still something familiar—
something wild and green. Burnt sugar and parchment…

Eventually, Padfoot managed to fall asleep.

* * *

In the dream, he was cold. He was very, very cold—bone-chilling cold, blood-frozen breath-stolen
gut-wrenching cold, cold enough to break. In the dream, he would never be warm again—and it
wasn’t a dream, because he woke up surrounded by stone, and outside the barred window there
was—was—

Padfoot leapt off the couch, barking, get away, get back, get away—

“Shh!” Moony was there, suddenly, hands lifted as though in surrender, “Sirius, it’s me! You’re
here, you’re with me!”

Padfoot stopped, mind spinning—Moony, it’s Moony, it’s Moony because you’re at the flat but it’s
not your flat and you’ve been away but you’re back now. You’re with Moony.

He transformed. He uncurled himself from the floor.

“Sorry,” Remus said, shakily, “It’s just that we’re not allowed pets, here, and if the neighbours
hear you…”

“Sorry.” Sirius looked away, shame cracking like an eggshell in his chest, “You’d think I’d be used
to it now. Been out for a year.”
“It’s fine.” Remus said, stiffly, “Sorry I shouted.”

Sirius picked at the breakfast that Remus offered him, sitting in awkward silence. Once he’d
finished eating, they went down to the garage. He had to transform into Padfoot once they left the
flat, so it was up to Remus to get the door open—it stuck shut at first, and he had to slam his
shoulder into the side before it finally got free.

Sirius had that strange sense of déjà vu again, like he’d stepped back in time. The bike was gone, of
course, but all his tools were still there, along with the various trunks and boxes that they’d shoved
in the corners for storage. It looked exactly the same as he remembered. Except, of course, for the
new stacks of boxes—labelled simply, SIRIUS.

“Mary must have done some sort of preserving spell,” Remus said, noting the odd dustless-ness of
the boxes. Sirius nodded mutely, wandering through the stacks in silence. There was the old leather
jacket that he’d worn religiously, the one that had made him feel cool and untouchable and punk.
There were his Uncle Alphard’s books, the records he had listened to until he could recite the lyrics
in his sleep. There were the ripped jeans, and the muggle t-shirts, and his favourite eagle-feather
quills.

Sirius left it all, selecting only nondescript wizard’s robes for Remus to bring back to the flat. The
rest of it didn’t belong to him, not anymore—it belonged to somebody else, a boy who had died
fourteen years ago in a house in Godric’s Hollow.

He changed into the robes once they were back in the flat, passing the knit jumper wordlessly back
to Remus. Then he transformed into Padfoot and curled up to sleep on the couch, wanting nothing
more than to sink into oblivion for a few short hours.

When he woke up again, Remus was sitting beside him, eyes fixed on the TV. Sirius transformed
back and squinted at it, trying to figure out what he was watching—and gave up almost
immediately. It was all incomprehensible drivel.

“Don’t you read anymore?”

“Of course I do.” Remus waved a hand at the crammed bookshelves on either side of the fireplace
as proof, “TV is just background noise.”

Sirius huffed, straightening out his robes as he sat up. He reached a hand up to tug his fingers
through his hair, instinctively—they got caught almost immediately on the snarled tangles, making
him wince. Remus noticed.

“Do you want to try washing it again? If you put loads of conditioner on, then comb it through,
that might help?”

Sirius nodded, slowly, and Remus stood and moved towards the bathroom. Sirius followed him,
hovering, watching as he ran the bath. Once the tub was full, he opened the medicine cabinet and
pulled out a comb and a pair of scissors, setting them down carefully.

“Er…” He stepped back, glancing awkwardly between Sirius and the tub, “Shall I leave you to it?”

No, came the response, like a kick in the gut. Sirius swallowed, looking away, stifling the burst of
panic that came at the thought of being left alone.

“No, I think I’d rather…if you don’t mind?”

“Anything you like,” Remus said, immediately.

Sirius undressed, and Remus turned away, busying himself with folding the flannel on the side of
the sink and straightening the towels slung over the radiator—as though he couldn’t bear to look at
Sirius directly, couldn’t stand the sight.

Sirius didn’t blame him. He knew he had been beautiful, once. He wasn’t anymore.

He sank slowly into the bath, until most of his withered body was submerged in the warm water.
Remus sat on the closed toilet lid, folding up his legs and crossing them to keep them from
bumping into the wall. His shoulders were stiff, fingers tapping anxiously against one knee.

Sirius leaned back, letting the water swallow him, until all he could hear was the muted rush of
blood in his own ears. He stayed under until the heat sank into his bones, chasing away the chill
that had taken up permanent residence in the marrow. He resurfaced when he could no longer
breathe.

The shampoo had a sharp, clean scent that stung his nose. He scrubbed it roughly into his scalp,
fingernails scratching against his head, tiny pinpricks of pain. When he rinsed, the foam slid down
his shoulders and into the water, turning it murky and opaque.

He reached for the conditioner next, pouring handfuls of the stuff into his palms. It was slimy, with
the same sharp scent as the shampoo.

“We ought to make a list.” Sirius said.

Remus blinked, sitting up a bit straighter. “What?’

“A list.” Sirius repeated, reaching for the comb, “We ought to make one. People to get in contact
with, for Dumbledore.”

“For Dumbledore.” Remus echoed, flatly.

“Yeah, he said get in touch with the old crowd. Only my memory’s shot, so you’ll have to help.
The names, you know.” He dragged the comb through his hair, yanking at the knots.

“You really want to go right back to war, don’t you?” Remus said.

Sirius turned to stare at him, trying to feel less like he’d just been punched in the gut. How was he
supposed to explain to Remus, with his muggle and his TV and his twelve years of freedom, that
the war had never ended? That not everyone had had the luxury to just…walk away from it?

“Look,” Remus said, something like guilt twisting on his face, “It’s not that I don’t believe in the
cause, it’s just…I remember how it went last time.”

“As if I don’t!” Sirius scowled, turning away, ripping at his hair with the comb—the stupid knots
wouldn’t fucking come out. “I haven’t been on holiday for twelve years!”

“No, I know, but…” Remus trailed off, swallowing, and Sirius felt a horrible rush of anger.

“It’s all we can do,” he said, roughly, “It’s the only thing that matters.” He lifted the comb to his
head again, preparing to wrench it once more through the snarled tangles.

“Stop that,” Remus said, abruptly, standing, “You’ll rip all your bloody hair out, come on. Let me
do it.”

Before Sirius could respond, he had rolled up a towel and knelt on the floor, plucking the comb
from Sirius’s hand. Remus leaned forward, and Sirius felt the closeness like an ache, like pressing
on a bruise—their eyes met, and Remus hesitated.

“May I?”

He spoke softly, gently. Sirius stared at him, helplessly.

You can do anything, he found himself thinking, pathetically, Anything you want to me.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Moony’s fingers slid into his hair, so gently, lifting
sections of it to ease the comb through. He moved slowly, and carefully, like he was touching
something precious.

It took a long time. A very long time—the water went cold around him. But Sirius remained still,
reminding himself to breathe, and Remus worked steadily, coaxing each knot out of itself slowly.
Every so often, his fingers would brush against Sirius’s shoulders, his neck, the shell of his ear. He
felt like a thief, stealing each tiny point of contact, tucking each one away in his heart.

Eventually, Remus drew back, setting down the comb. He stood, and Sirius lifted a hand to his
head, running his fingers carefully over his hair. It was smooth, parting easily beneath his fingers,
not a single knot left behind.

“Thanks,” he breathed.

Remus smiled. “Any time.” He sat back down in his previous spot, and Sirius felt the distance
between them like a physical weight, pressing down against his spine.

He rinsed the conditioner out of his hair, then crawled out of the tub and reached for a towel,
drying himself. He dressed quickly, avoiding the mirror. He had no desire to see what was left of
himself.

They returned to the living room. Remus made tea and cheese on toast, setting both down next to
Sirius with a cautious, hopeful expression. Sirius glanced at the food, then reached for some paper
in a stack on the table and a muggle pen. He needed to focus on the mission—he needed to do what
Dumbledore had asked.

“Ok,” he uncapped the pen, “Moody, obviously, top of the list – after he’s recovered of course,
wait ‘til you hear what happened to him at Hogwarts! Then the Weasleys, and Mary…”

“No, not Mary.” Remus interrupted, frowning. “She won’t…she’s settled down, she’s got kids.
And the Weasleys, they’ve got seven kids, Sirius, you can’t ask that of people…”

“I don’t need to.” Sirius replied, shoulders tensing. “They’ll do what’s right.”

“I can’t see it that way.” Remus shook his head, “All I can see is the cost of another war…”

“We don’t have a choice!”

“I know, I know, I just want us to think, before we—"

Sirius didn’t wait for him to finish, anger bursting like fireworks inside his chest.

“What’s happened to you, Remus?! This isn’t like you. You’re supposed to be a Gryffindor!”

Remus stared at him for a moment, shocked. And then his features hardened, and his voice grew
cold.
 “Quite a bit has happened to me, actually. I lost everyone I ever cared about in the last war, so
forgive me if I’m not thrilled about marching straight into battle again. I’m not twenty-one
anymore.”

Sirius shook his head, disgusted. How dare Remus—how dare he! As if Sirius hadn’t lost
everything—everything—

“We owe it to them! To Lily and James!”

“I don’t owe them anything!” Remus shouted, hands balling into fists, “Maybe you feel like you
do, ‘secret keeper,’ but if you recall, I wasn’t fucking consulted on that one!”

And oh—oh…

The anger bled out of him so quickly, replaced by the familiar cold as the cruel voice in the back of
Sirius’s mind whispered,

He’s right, you know….it’s your fault, all your fault…he hates you, and he has every reason to…

“Moony—”

“Don’t you dare call me ‘Moony!’” Remus yelled, furiously, “Don’t act like we’re still…like
nothing’s changed! Like everything’s fine, and I’m just going to do everything you say!”

He shoved himself to his feet, moving towards the door, and panic gripped Sirius in its fist.

No—no—not again, please not again—

“No, Remus, please!” His voice cracked, but he couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop the words from
jumping out of his throat. Remus turned, and Sirius stared up at him, frightened and utterly pathetic
and hating himself more than he’d ever thought he could.

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

Remus’s shoulders sagged, like a balloon deflating. He walked back to the armchair, slowly, and
sank down, rubbing at his eyes.

“I won’t,” he said, like the words were being dragged out of him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "i don't want to talk about it" by rod stewart!

after you finish this chapter, please please please go read chapters 186, 187, and 188 of
the original. i will not be rewriting any of those chapters; chapter 185 will pick up
chronologically AFTER the end of ch 188 of the original, and the timeskip will
probably feel kind of abrupt if you haven't read those three chapters bc there are a lot
of important conversations that happen! (also chapters 186-188 are just so so beautiful
and worth rereading <3)
 Grimmauld Place
Chapter Summary

if u haven't already re-read chapters 186, 187, and 188 of the original atyd, i implore
you to go do so here

this chapter picks up chronologically AFTER chapter 188 of the original atyd, so if
you haven't read that it'll feel like an abrupt timeskip with very significant shifts in
their relationship dynamic! you have been warned...

also i'm 99% sure this is the longest chapter in the fic, somehow! not sure why that
happened, but buckle up :)

Chapter Notes

cw: smidge of zombies in a nightmare, brief discussion of regulus's death, and a little
more death (boggart activity only) near the end (nobody actually dies, i promise)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Breaking up is hard

But keeping dark is hateful

I had so many dreams

I had so many breakthroughs

But you, my love, were kind

But love has left you dreamless

The door to dreams was closed

Your park was real dreamless

Perhaps you’re smiling now

Smiling through this darkness

But all I had to give was guilt for dreaming

Friday 15th July 1995

The house was disgusting.

Truly, horrifyingly, terribly disgusting. And Sirius had spent the better part of a year eating
garbage and living out of a cave.

“What the fuck?” He muttered, recoiling from the stench—he pressed a hand over his mouth and
nose, stomach turning with an uncomfortable lurch. It smelled like a thousand flobberworms had
crawled into the walls and died.

Beside him, Remus coughed, wrinkling his nose.

“I’m assuming that it, er…wasn’t always like this, then?”

“No,” Sirius shook his head, braving a few steps in past the front door. The house was as well-
warded as he remembered, but the blood magic that bound it was very old and very powerful. Even
if his mother had tried to change it (which Sirius had no doubt that she had), the estate would
always belong to the closest blood relative of the Black heir.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, frowning at the skittering spiders that fled from underfoot, “It’s
always been a cesspool. Just not…a literal one.”

Remus came to stand beside him, allowing the door to swing shut. He glanced around—at the thick
layer of dust, the cobwebbed corners, the mildewing wallpaper.

“Well,” he said, after a moment, “Home sweet home.”

Sirius felt his lips twitch, despite himself. When he turned to look up, Remus was smiling down at
him, gently, though his eyes had that cautious expression—the one he’d worn so often since Grant
had left. The one that made Sirius feel like something fragile, as though Remus was only waiting
for him to break.

He smiled back. He was trying. None of it would be worth it, if he didn’t try.

Sirius’s fingers twitched, as though his body knew better than his mind what he wanted, and he had
just reached out to take Moony’s hand when—

“TRAITOR!”

They both startled, nearly jumping out of their skin as a horrible screech echoed from down the
hall. Sirius felt his blood run cold—he knew that voice. He knew it. But it couldn’t be—it couldn’t
be—Dumbledore told him, he said she’d been dead ten years…

“FILTH! DISGRACE! ABOMINATION! SHAME OF MY FLESH, HOW DARE YOU SET

FOOT IN THIS HOUSE!”

“It’s a portrait,” Remus said, and Sirius realised that he’d reached out to grip his shoulder,
“Padfoot, it’s just a portrait.”

“Right,” Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, heart pounding, “Right.”

He could see it, now, as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting. Down at the end of the
entryway, his mother’s painted face was contorted in rage, looking exactly the way that Sirius
remembered.

“LEAVE THIS PLACE!” Walpurga Black bellowed, “DO NOT DEFILE OUR NOBLE HOME
WITH YOUR TRAITOROUS BLOOD!”

Remus grimaced and waved his wand, and suddenly a pair of thick curtains fell over the portrait,
hiding it. The shouting continued, muffled behind the heavy cloth.

“Merlin,” Sirius breathed, attempting a shaky smile, “That’s going to be so bloody irritating.”

Remus shook his head, and took his hand, and Sirius felt himself settling back into his skin, a little
bit.

“Come on,” Remus said, guiding him away from the portrait, towards the stairs, “I believe you
mentioned something about your teenage bedroom…?”

* * *

In the end, it was far too much for two people to handle—they had to recruit help. The house had,
as far as Sirius could tell, been left to rot for nearly a decade after the death of his mother; it had
turned into its own ecosystem.

And so the Weasleys moved in. It was a bit of an adjustment, at first; Sirius had spent so long on
his own that it no longer felt natural seeing so many faces every day—all of them freckled and with
flaming red hair. There were Molly and Arthur, of course, who Sirius knew from their time with
the original Order – Arthur more than Molly. The man was just as kind, softspoken and odd as
Sirius remembered; his wife was a force to be reckoned with, and Sirius was extremely grateful to
have her help in their ongoing battle against the house (which seemed very reluctant to part with its
mould, its dust, and its various pest infestations).

They brought along five of their seven children, claiming an entire hallway of bedrooms. The
eldest, Bill, was a young man in his early twenties with a long red ponytail that Molly seemed
desperate to cut. He walked into the house on the first day wearing a leather jacket and a silver
earring, and Sirius decided that he liked him immediately.

The twins, Fred and George, were in their final year at Hogwarts, and reminded Sirius so much of
Fabian and Gideon Prewett that he sometimes had to shake himself and remember where he was,
who he was talking to. They were mischievous and free-spirited and brilliant, leaving Sirius in awe
of their various inventions—extendable ears, skiving snackboxes, ton-tongue toffee. It seemed that
Fred had an incredible knack for potion-making and magical alchemy, while George was
extremely talented when it came to charms; together, they were hoping to open their own Prank
shop to rival Zonko’s. Molly loathed the idea. Sirius loved it. Remus pretended to remain neutral,
but Sirius could tell that he secretly loved it, too.

Then there was Ron, Harry’s best friend. Hermione came to join them too, halfway through the
summer, and the two of them spent nearly every moment together bickering, an activity which they
both seemed to find equal parts enjoyable and exasperating. Ginny, the youngest Weasley and
Molly’s only daughter, spent most of her time with the two of them, and seemed to take a great
deal of pleasure in siding with Hermione in every argument just to aggravate her older brother.

Sirius got to know them all very well over the next two weeks; he spent nearly every waking
minute surrounded by Weasleys, attacking each room in the house one by one. They scoured and
scrubbed, they dusted and disinfected, they rinsed and ransacked, throwing out old heirlooms and
cursed objects by the armful. Sirius had no desire to keep any of it; for all he cared, every remnant
of the Black family could burn.

The problem, of course, was that many of the remnants had a mind of their own. Portraits did not
go quietly; seemingly innocuous trinkets carried nasty jinxes; wardrobes and cupboards and
curtains were infested with all manner of magical pests. Sirius didn’t care; he was determined to
gut the place.

The Weasleys weren’t the only people coming in and out of Grimmauld Place, of course. Within
their first twenty-four hours in the house, Dumbledore had stopped by to set up the new Order of
the Phoenix Headquarters.

They used a fidelius charm. Sirius helped draw the runes, and cast the spell, and gave the secret to
Dumbledore—and promptly threw up the moment that he left. Remus sat with him and rubbed his
back, and didn’t say anything at all when Sirius trudged upstairs and curled up in bed and didn’t
move for twelve hours.

The next morning, they didn’t talk about it.

After that, all sorts of people were coming in and out of the house on Order business, faces both
familiar and new. Grimmauld was open to all Order members, night or day—if providing a secure
space was the only thing that Sirius could do, then he was determined to do it well. And at least
this way, he was actually able to attend the meetings, instead of crawling slowly out of his skin
while he waited for Moony to return from them and catch him up to speed.

Since Voldemort’s abrupt and violent return in June, the death eaters had mostly been quiet. This
was unsurprising; with the Ministry working overtime to deny the fact that he was back, it was the
perfect opportunity for Voldemort to lick his wounds and rebuild his forces without Ministry
interference. While the situation certainly wasn’t ideal, the relative quiet of the death eaters at least
meant that the Order had a chance to rebuild, as well.

That was the main focus throughout the month of July: rebuilding. Recruiting allies, sending
liaisons to the giants when the Ministry wouldn’t, setting up safehouses and supply stores in
anticipation of the battles to come. And, of course, attempting to glean whatever information they
could about Voldemort’s plans—following known death eaters, conducting surveillance on their
old haunts, and doing everything in their power to ensure that this time, they were able to thwart
Voldemort before he gained the sort of influence he’d had fourteen years ago. Nobody wanted
another decade of war.

Of course, Sirius was involved in none of these missions, though he attended every single Order
meeting once their Headquarters were moved to Grimmauld Place. He tried to volunteer—he tried
very hard, and repeatedly, to the point that it might have been embarrassing if he hadn’t been so
bloody sick of doing nothing but pottering around the house casting cleaning spells like a
housewife. But no matter how he argued that he could help, that he could be useful, Dumbledore
insisted that it was far too dangerous for him to leave Grimmauld Place—the Ministry was already
using him as a scapegoat for any strange happenings, blaming almost all suspicious activity on
‘escaped convict, Sirius Black’ and doubling down on their hunt for him.

So Sirius was stuck waiting, watching everyone else come and go and report back on all they’d
accomplished for the Order while he sat at home.

Which was fine. It was all perfectly fine.

He had Remus, at least. When he wasn’t away on missions. Or, well—Sirius had most of him. He
had the parts that Remus was willing to give. The parts he had left to give.

He still wrote to Grant. Sirius knew; they didn’t talk about it. It wasn’t as if there was anything
more to be said. He’d told Remus that he was happy he’d had someone, and he was. He’d never
wanted Moony to suffer, couldn’t begrudge whatever happiness he’d managed to find in those
twelve long years they’d been separated.

But it still hurt.

It hurt because Sirius was selfish, and possessive. It hurt because a part of him was still angry, still
spiteful, still whispering from the darkest corner of his heart: I wouldn’t have given up on you, if
the positions had been switched. I would have never loved again. You already had it—it was
already yours, all the love I ever had to give.

But that wasn’t fair, and he knew it. After all, there were so many stars in the sky—it wasn’t
Remus’s fault that there was only one moon.

So he had what Moony would give him, and it was enough—it was more than enough. It was more
than Sirius had ever expected to have again. He had Moony in the mornings, smiling at him from
across the breakfast table, newspaper in his lap. He had Moony in the nights, curled next to him in
the bedroom that was a wound across time, a relic of the boy that Sirius would never be again. He
had Moony in the sunshine, streaming through the windows to dance across his grey-dappled hair
and the lines that creased his face when he laughed. He had Moony in the dark, as they re-learned
each other’s bodies, finding all the old pieces that still fit together, mapping out the new edges with
their fingertips.

They were discreet. Sirius’s old bedroom was on a separate floor from the Weasleys, and they still
had their old flat, and Remus was coming and going so much that it wasn’t as though it were
entirely obvious what was going on. After all, the home was open to any member of the Order.

It wasn’t that it was a secret, just…private. Fragile. Something they needed to figure out together,
before they subjected it to others’ scrutiny. And besides, it wasn’t as if they’d been snogging in the
middle of Order meetings when they were twenty, either—if Sirius was being honest, he simply
couldn’t remember which Order members ever knew they’d been together in the first place, before
everything. It wasn’t as if any of their friends were left.

But Sirius tried not to think about that.

Harry would figure it out, eventually, once he came to live with them, and he was really the only
one that Sirius cared about. He had no idea what sort of things the Dursleys may have taught the
boy about…two men living together, but from what he knew of Petunia and her husband, Sirius
doubted it was anything good. Still, he couldn’t imagine James and Lily’s son would have a
problem with it; Harry was many things, but he wasn’t hateful. Quite the opposite, in fact.

And so the moment they moved into Grimmauld Place, Sirius began making arrangements,
ensuring that they’d have everything Harry might need when he came to stay. When it was settled
that the Weasleys would be moving in for the summer, Sirius expected that Harry would come
with them.

He realised quickly that he’d been mistaken.

Once again, it came down to Dumbledore. The Hogwarts headmaster insisted that it was best for
Harry to remain with the Dursleys, and refused to hear any argument to the contrary.
“We’ve made this the safest house in all of Great Britain—you’re its bloody secret-keeper, Albus!”

“The blood magic that protects Harry so long as he remains with his mother’s family is much older
and much stronger than any fidelius charm.”

“I thought that didn’t matter anymore—didn’t Voldemort use Harry’s blood for that exact
reason?!”

“It has been weakened, perhaps, but we will ensure that there are Order members guarding the boy
every hour of the day to compensate.”

“We wouldn’t need to do that if he were here—this is the only place where no one could find him,
so long as you don’t tell them!”

Dumbledore’s eyes had flashed dangerously at that, voice growing sharp.

“You have an astonishing amount of faith in the fidelius charm, Sirius,” he said, coldly,
“Considering what happened the last time the Order relied on the spell to keep someone safe.”

Sirius had blanched. “That’s—I’m not—”

“It has already been decided,” Dumbledore cut him off, standing to leave, “The boy will be safest
if he is kept as far away from Voldemort as possible, this summer.” And with that, he had left,
sweeping out the door without another word.

So Sirius was stuck, once more, writing letters to his godson as their only form of communication.
It was entirely unsatisfactory; he couldn’t even say anything of substance, really, because Moody
insisted that owls were too easily intercepted to write down anything important. Sirius could tell
that Harry hated the entire arrangement, too.

So it was a stroke of luck, in some ways, that Dumbledore was forced to change his mind in early
August. In fact, Sirius would have been thrilled—if it had been for any reason other than the
dementors.

* * *

Friday 6th August 1995

It was a huge mess, really—a mess that could have been avoided, had Harry just been allowed to
move into Grimmauld Place as soon as they’d established the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters.

But no—he’d had to stay with the Dursleys, under constant guard, and when Mundungus Fletcher
had abandoned his guard duty to chase down a ‘business opportunity’ that had something to do
with stolen cauldrons, two dementors had attacked almost immediately.

They’d been sent by Voldemort, no doubt; disheartening news, as it meant that he would soon have
Azkaban in his pocket—if he hadn’t taken complete control already. The dementors had attacked
Harry and his cousin. Of course, Harry had done the only thing he could: defended himself.
It was the opportunity the Ministry had been waiting for. They’d been trying to discredit Harry all
summer, using the Daily Prophet to paint him as an unstable attention-seeker who was only
claiming that Voldemort had returned because he wanted to cause a fuss. The moment he used
underage magic, Fudge tried to have Harry expelled from Hogwarts—thanks to Dumbledore, he
wasn’t successful. Instead, there was a disciplinary hearing scheduled for August 12 th, at which
point it would be decided whether or not Harry would be allowed to return to Hogwarts in
September.

It was ridiculous. Entirely bloody ridiculous—but at least it meant that Harry was finally allowed
to come and stay at Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer. Silver linings, and all that.

An advance guard was sent to retrieve him on the Friday after the attack. Sirius wasn’t part of it.
Remus was. That was fine—everything was perfectly fine, because Harry was finally coming to
live with them, and as long as Sirius focused on that he felt less like he was about to chew through
his own tongue.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to greet his godson when he first arrived. Instead, Sirius found
himself sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place that evening, staring at one of his least favourite
people in the world:

Severus Snape.

Remus had already filled him in completely on the year he’d spent teaching at Hogwarts with
Snivellus—apparently, the man was just as nasty as an adult as he’d been when they were
teenagers, with the same old penchant for picking on those weaker than him. Only now, instead of
hexing first and second years, he got to bully his students. Lovely.

All in all, Snape had grown up to be the exact same slimy, malicious, insufferable prick that Sirius
remembered from school. He was also (in a twist of fate that made Sirius want to rip his hair out)
one of Dumbledore’s most trusted confreres, and one of the Order’s most crucial members—their
spy.

And now, he was sitting in Sirius’s kitchen.

“You’d think,” he drawled, eyeing Sirius from across the table as they waited for the rest of their
group to filter in, “That with the great Sirius Black working as the Order’s own personal maid, the
Headquarters might look less like a troll cave. And yet…”

“Apologies, Snivellus,” Sirius snapped, hands curling into fists on the table, “It’s a bit difficult to
mop up the great big grease stains you leave behind on everything you touch.”

“Honestly, Black, you’ve had nearly two decades to think of a new insult.”

“And you’ve had two decades to figure out how to use a shower, you s—”

“Come now, Sirius,” Remus broke in smoothly, and both men spun around to watch as he walked
into the kitchen, “We should be polite to our guests.” He took the seat on Sirius’s left, close enough
that their hands brushed together under the table, and turned to smile benignly at Snape.

“Severus, there’s a bathroom on the second floor with a shower and a bath—you’re welcome to
either.”

Sirius grinned, delighted, as Snape’s face went bright red. Dora, who had been following after
Remus, laughed loudly, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggling and nearly knocking
over a vase in the process. She slid into the seat next to Moony, and Snape scowled at all three of
them.

“All right, all right,” Moody stomped in, grumbling, “Straight to business, everyone—this is no
time for idle chatter!”

The moment Moody’s back was turned, Dora caught Sirius’s eye and pulled a face. He smiled,
grudgingly, rolling his eyes.

It had been—strange. Seeing Dora again. Or Tonks, now, as she insisted everyone call her. The last
time Sirius had seen her, she’d been a hyperactive child with boundary issues, and now…well, she
still had boundary issues, but she was all grown up otherwise. A young woman in her early
twenties, working as an Auror for the Ministry. She’d volunteered to join the Order immediately
once she found out what was happening, which had apparently led to a vicious argument with her
mother…

But Sirius couldn’t think about Andromeda right now; he had to focus on the meeting.

“Harry?” He murmured under his breath to Remus, as Moody called the meeting to order.

“Safe and sound,” Remus mumbled back, and Sirius nodded. Part of him wanted to dash out of the
room immediately, to run and find his godson. But he couldn’t afford to miss Snape’s report, as
much as wished he could.

For the past month, Severus had been working as a double agent, worming his way back into the
ranks of the death eaters and doing his best to decipher Voldemort’s plans. Apparently, he’d come
to the meeting tonight to share some crucial piece of information.

Moody ran through their usual agenda, reviewing current missions and upcoming assignments for
various members. Kingsley Shacklebolt gave an overview of the current state of things at the
Ministry (bleak), and Arthur Weasley caught everyone up to speed on what had happened with the
dementors and Harry. Once that was done, Moody finally turned to Snape, barking,

“Well, Severus?”

Snape cleared his throat, and every head in the room swung around to look at him.

“He wants the prophecy.”

For a moment, the room went entirely silent. Predictably, it was broken by Tonks.

“…is that…bad…?”

Snape glared at her, and she held her hands up defensively.

“What?! I wasn’t even at Hogwarts when everything went down last time—excuse me for wanting
to be filled in!”

“Go on, Severus,” Moody grunted, magical eye spinning towards Tonks as his regular one focused
on Snape, “Elaborate.”

Snape released a sharp breath, and began to speak.

“Fourteen years ago, Voldemort was made aware of a prophecy—a prophecy that seemed to be
about him. It indicated that a child would be born who would one day grow up to defeat him.
Based on the information contained in that prophecy, he determined that the child was Harry
Potter. And…well, you all know what happened.”

James, eyes flat and dead—Lily, curled around the crib—Harry screaming, screaming and
screaming…

Beneath the table, Remus settled a hand on Sirius’s knee, squeezing. He snapped back into the
present just in time to hear Tonks ask,

“Why does he want the prophecy if he’s already heard it, then?”

“Because he hasn’t heard it,” Snape bit out, casting an irritated glance in her direction, “The
prophecy was…relayed to him; paraphrased. He assumed that it would be sufficient information to
address the threat it warned about. Clearly, he was wrong—the Dark Lord is now under the
impression that he must hear the entire prophecy, word for word, in order to ensure that he defeats
Harry Potter.”

There was another uncomfortable pause, as everyone absorbed that.

“Well…is that true?” Tonks asked, glancing anxiously at Arthur, then Moody, “Would the
prophecy tell him how to…y’know? Win?”

“There is no way to be certain,” Snape replied, “But Dumbledore feels that it is of the utmost
importance that the Dark Lord be prevented from accessing this prophecy. There is currently only
one surviving copy, stored in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic.”

“Oh!” Tonks leaned back, grinning, “Well, that’s alright then, isn’t it? I mean, that place is locked
down tighter than—” She glanced at Sirius, faltering, “Er…I mean, it’s really well guarded.”

“Not well enough,” Moody said, darkly, and Kingsley nodded in agreement.

“We’ll need to supplement the Ministry guard as best we can,” the Auror said, thoughtfully, “The
Department of Mysteries is well-guarded, but it won’t be guarded against Voldemort—not unless
Fudge suddenly has a change of heart.”

Arthur snorted, shaking his head darkly, and a low murmur of agreement went up around the table.

This launched a new round of discussions about the Department of Mysteries and how best to go
about guarding it—none of which Sirius would be involved in, of course. He sat silently through
the meeting, stiff and tense, still rattled from the discussion of what had happened fourteen years
ago…all because of a single prophecy…

And you…it’s your fault, all your fault—your fault they died, your fault they’re gone…and now
look at you! Not even fighting to protect their son, sitting on your arse all day in this stupid bloody
house…

“Sirius?”

“Hm?”

Remus squeezed his shoulder—everyone was standing, leaving the kitchen; they were some of the
last people left at the table.

“Meeting’s over,” Remus said, quietly, searching his face. Sirius plastered on a smile.
“Oh, brilliant! Shall we go and see Harry?”

Remus continued to frown for a moment, studying him. But then he smiled back, tentatively, and
nodded.

“C’mon, he’s upstairs…”

They had just stood to leave the kitchen when a familiar voice began screaming, ranting and
raving, echoing down the stairwell.

“Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this
place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers—”

Sirius scowled, stomping up the stairs and shouting as loudly as he could,

“Shut up, you horrible old hag, shut UP!”

“Youuuu!” Walpurga’s portrait wailed, screeching as if someone had just driven a knife into the
canvas, “Traitorous, impure, spiteful beast! My greatest shame—”

“I said—shut—UP!”

Remus joined him, and together they were able to wrestle the heavy velvet curtains shut, putting an
end to the awful screaming.

Sirius grimaced, flicking his hair out of his face, and turned to the group of people crowded in the
hallway. At the very front was a skinny teenager, a bit taller than he’d been when Sirius saw him
last, with bird’s-nest hair and wide green eyes.

“Hello, Harry,” Sirius smiled, wryly, “I see you’ve met my mother.”

* * *

It took a bit of shuffling to get everyone situated in the kitchen—there were all the Weasleys, of
course, in addition to Harry, Hermione, Remus, and Sirius. Tonks was also staying for dinner, as
was Mundungus (who had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, and didn’t realise the meeting had
ended until Sirius woke him up). Fortunately, the kitchen table was a sprawling affair big enough
to accommodate everyone, and Sirius settled down next to Harry as Mrs. Weasley began the dinner
preparations, directing her family like a small army to get the food and table settings laid out.

“So then, Harry,” Sirius leaned in to speak to his godson, “Good summer?”

Harry scowled. “No, it’s been lousy.”

Sirius found himself grinning at the sullen expression on the boy’s face—clearly, neither of them
had been alone in their frustration at being cooped up.

“Don’t know what you’re complaining about, myself,” Sirius teased, and Harry turned to look at
him, incredulous.

“What?”
“Oh yeah, a surprise visit from some dementors, a deadly struggle for your soul…I’m downright
jealous, I’d kill for a bit of excitement. I mean, at least you’ve been able to get out a bit, stretch
your legs—I’ve been cooped up in this bloody house all summer.”

“Really?” Harry frowned, “Why?”

Sirius waved a hand. “Ministry’s put out a reward for me. Ten thousand galleons. And now that
Wormtail’s probably told Voldemort all about my animagus secret, Dumbledore feels that my
disguise isn’t quite as fool proof as it used to be…seems to think that the best thing I can do for the
Order is stay put.” He tried to keep his voice light, but the last words went brittle and bitter,
anyway.

Harry scowled again, although this time it was less sullen and more sympathetic.

“At least you’ve known what’s been going on,” he muttered, scuffing his shoe against the stone
floor.

“Right,” Sirius said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “It’s been wonderful, having to sit through all of
Snape’s reports, listening to his snippy little comments about how he’s risking his life while I’m
tucked up safe in my bed every night…asking me how the cleaning’s going—”

“Cleaning?”

“Cleaning,” Sirius confirmed, darkly, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen, “Trying to make this
bloody dump liveable—well, for humans, anyway. There were plenty of other things living here
when we first moved in…it was left to rot when mummy dearest died ten years ago. The old
family house-elf is still here, but if anything he just made things worse…”

“Sirius?” Mundungus, who was sitting beside him and not paying attention to a single word of this
conversation, interrupted, “This solid silver, mate?”

Sirius glanced over. He was holding an empty goblet, squinting down at the delicately carved
snakes that curled around the rim.

“Yes, finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest.”

“That’d come off, though,” Mundungus muttered, tracing his fingers over it. Sirius suppressed a
smile—if his mother weren’t already dead, the sight of her precious silver being handled by
Dung’s grubby hands would certainly do the trick.

“Fred—George—NO, JUST CARRY THEM!” Mrs. Weasley’s sharp voice cut across the room,
giving Harry, Sirius, and Mundungus just enough notice to duck out of the way as a gigantic
cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, a heavy wooden breadboard, and its accompanying
knife all hurtled towards them. The cauldron skidded across the length of the table, leaving a dark
burn on the wood; the flagon tipped and upended its contents all over the floor; and the knife shot
off the breadboard and landed point-down on the table in the exact spot that Sirius had just
snatched his hand away from.

“FOR MERLIN’S SAKE!” Mrs. Weasley shouted, “THERE WAS NO NEED—I’VE HAD
ENOUGH OF THIS—JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU
DON’T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!”

“We were just trying to save a bit of time!” Fred said, defensively, grimacing as he pulled the knife
out of the table. “Sorry Sirius, mate—didn’t mean to—”
Sirius shook his head, helplessly—he was laughing too hard to respond. When he looked up,
wiping tears from his eyes, Remus was staring at him from across the kitchen with a small,
delighted smile on his face. Their eyes met; something uncurled in Sirius’s chest. It had been a
long time since he had laughed like that.

Molly, however, was not amused—she was still scolding the twins furiously, waving her wand to
vanish the spilled butterbeer.

“—none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble! Bill didn’t feel the need to apparate every few
feet! Charlie didn’t charm his way through every simple chore! Percy—”

She broke off, abruptly, glancing over at her husband. Arthur’s face had gone flat; an
uncomfortable silence settled across the room.

It had been a source of tension all summer—Sirius had been filled in on the situation by Bill and
the twins shortly after the Weasleys arrived. Apparently, Molly and Arthur’s third son, Percy (who,
according to Fred and George, was an insufferable swot), had been promoted at the Ministry early
on in the summer. He now worked directly under the Minister of Magic himself, which Arthur
suspected was Fudge’s way of spying on the Weasley family, who had always been some of
Dumbledore’s biggest supporters. Predictably, Percy had taken great offense at this suggestion;
less predictably, he had gotten into a huge row with his father, packed his bags, and moved out the
very next morning. The family hadn’t had any contact with him since.

“Let’s eat!” Bill said, hurriedly, breaking the awkward silence.

“It looks wonderful, Molly,” Remus said kindly, sitting down across from Sirius and ladling stew
into a bowl.

For the next few minutes, there was a quiet punctuated only by the scrape of forks and the clink of
spoons as everyone tucked in to the dinner Mrs. Weasley had prepared. After a bit, though, Molly
turned to Sirius, exclaiming,

“Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you—there’s something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing
room. It keeps rattling and shaking; might just be a boggart, but I think it would be best to ask
Alastor to have a look before we open it.”

“Alright,” Sirius grunted, shrugging. He appreciated Molly’s help with the cleaning, but she was
always trying to sit him down and talk about it, as if they needed a ten-step plan for what
essentially amounted to: toss everything.

“And the curtains in there are full of doxies, I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow…”

“Sounds thrilling,” Sirius muttered. Across the table, Remus raised a brow. Sirius kicked him,
gently, in the shin.

The dinner continued on as normal, muffled sounds of chewing accompanied by the steady buzz of
chatter as various disparate conversations overlapped with each other. Harry remained quiet,
glancing around the table, taking in the scene. Sirius supposed it took a bit to get adjusted—
between Tonks’s facial-morphing entertainment for Hermione and Ginny, Bill’s intense
conversation about goblin politics with Arthur and Remus, and the roaring laughter of the twins
and Ron as Mundungus told them the story of one of his many morally dubious (but overall
harmless) exploits, it was quite a lot to take in.

Eventually, after several helpings of Molly’s rhubarb crumble, the conversation died out; everyone
leaned back in their chairs and loosened their belts, happy and sated.

“Nearly time for bed, I think.” Molly said, yawning. Sirius sat up.

“Not just yet, Molly,” he turned to Harry, “You know, I’ve got to say—I’m a bit surprised that you
haven’t asked about Voldemort yet. I assumed it would be the first thing you’d want to know
about.”

The entire room was suddenly on edge—every head swivelled to look between Harry and Sirius,
anxiously.

“I did!” Harry protested, frowning, “I asked Ron and Hermione, but they said we’re not allowed in
the Order, so—”

“And they’re quite right,” Molly cut in, “You’re too young.”

Sirius bristled, shoulders tensing.

“Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions? Harry’s been
trapped in that muggle house for a month. He’s got the right to know what’s been happen—”

“Hang on!” This time it was George who interrupted.

“How come Harry gets his questions answered?” Fred demanded, looking just as put out as his
brother.

“We’ve been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven’t told us a single stinking
thing!”

“You’re too young, you’re not in the Order,” Fred performed an uncanny impression of his
mother’s voice, “Harry’s not even of age!”

“It’s not my fault you haven’t been told what the Order’s doing,” Sirius replied, evenly, “That’s
your parents’ decision. Harry, on the other hand—”

“It’s not down to you to decide what’s good for Harry!” Molly snapped, her normally friendly face
now darkened with anger, “You haven’t forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?”

“Which bit?” Sirius asked blithely, raising a brow.

“The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know,” Molly replied, through gritted teeth.
The entire room was watching the exchange; Sirius could feel Moony’s eyes on him, brow
furrowed across the table. Still, he dug his heels in—this was important. Harry didn’t deserve to be
kept in the dark.

“I don’t intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,” Sirius shot back, “But as he was the
one who saw Voldemort come back, he has more right than most to—”

“He’s not a member of the Order!” Molly interrupted, “He’s only fifteen and—”

“—and he’s dealt with as much as most in the Order,” Sirius cut her off, voice rising slightly, “and
more than some—”

“No one’s denying what he’s done!” Molly’s hands were trembling now, fists clenched on the
arms of her chair, “But he’s still—”
“He’s not a child!” Sirius snapped.

“He’s not an adult either!” Molly flushed, voice growing sharper, “He’s not James, Sirius!”

It was like being punched in the gut. There was a horrible, weighted moment of silence before
Sirius managed to get his bearings, giving Molly an icy stare.

“Believe me, I am perfectly aware of who he is.”

“Are you?” She scowled at him, defiantly, “Because you wouldn’t always know it, the way you
talk about him—sometimes it’s like you think you’ve got your best friend back!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry asked, frowning.

“What’s wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!”
Molly said sharply, without taking her eyes off of Sirius, “You are still at school and adults
responsible for you should not forget it!”

“Meaning I’m an irresponsible godfather?” Sirius glared at her, furious.

“Meaning you’ve been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you
to stay at home and—”

“Oh, leave Dumbledore out of this, will you!”

“Arthur!” Molly turned to her husband, “Arthur, back me up!”

Mr. Weasley sighed heavily, remaining silent as he took his glasses off and cleaned them on the
sleeve of his robes. As he placed the spectacles back on his nose, he said, carefully, “Dumbledore
knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in to a certain
extent now that he is staying at headquarters—”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!”

“Personally,” Remus spoke up, voice quiet as he turned to Molly, “I think it better that Harry gets
the facts—not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture—from us, rather than a garbled version
from…others.”

Molly huffed, staring around the table angrily. “Well…” She shook her head, “Well…I can see I’m
going to be overruled. I’ll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting
Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry’s best interests at heart—”

“He’s not your son,” Sirius said, quietly.

“He’s as good as!” Molly retorted, sharply, “Who else has he got?”

“He’s got me!”

“Yes,” she sneered, eyes flashing, “The thing is, it’s been rather difficult for you to look after him
while you’ve been locked up in Azkaban, hasn’t it?”

Sirius began to stand, without even realising—the rage was blistering in his veins, burning—

“Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” Remus said, voice hard,
“Sirius, sit down.”
Molly was shaking, face screwed up as if she was about to scream, or cry, or both. Sirius forced
himself back into his chair, gritting his teeth.

“I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this,” Remus continued, “He’s old enough to decide for
himself.”

“I want to know what’s been going on!” Harry replied, immediately.

“Fine.” Molly folded her arms, voice buckling, “Ginny—Ron—Hermione—Fred—George—I

want you out of this kitchen, now.”

She had hardly finished speaking before a storm of angry voices broke out.

“We’re of age!” Fred and George shouted, in tandem.

“If Harry’s allowed, why can’t I?” Ron demanded.

“Mum, I want to know too!” Ginny protested, indignant.

“NO!” Molly bellowed, over all of them, “I absolutely forbid—”

“Molly, you can’t stop Fred and George,” Arthur said, softly, “They are of age—”

“They’re still in school—”

“But they’re legally adults now,” Arthur sighed.

Molly’s face was now bright red, mouth twisted sourly.

“I—oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron—”

“Harry’ll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!” Ron insisted. Then, turning to Harry,
“Won’t—won’t you?”

Harry hesitated for only a second before nodding.

“’Course I will.”

Ron and Hermione smiled; Mrs. Weasley scowled.

“Fine!” She said, voice shrill and overloud, “Fine! Ginny—BED!”

Ginny raged all the way up the stairs—they could hear her shouting at her mother as they left, and
Molly shouted right back. All the noise woke Walpurga’s portrait, again—fortunately, Remus
volunteered to go take care of it. Sirius didn’t think that he could deal with two angry mothers just
at the moment.

Once Remus had returned, and the screaming match had faded, and the kitchen door was securely
shut, Sirius turned back to his godson.

“Okay, Harry…what do you want to know?”

“Where’s Voldemort?” Harry asked immediately, leaning forward, “What’s he doing? I’ve been
trying to watch the muggle news and there hasn’t been anything that looks like him yet, no funny
deaths or anything—”
“That’s because there haven’t been any suspicious deaths yet,” Sirius cut in, “Not as far as we
know, anyway…and we know quite a lot.”

“More than he thinks we do, anyway,” Remus added.

“Then…he’s stopped killing people?” Harry looked between the two of them, brow furrowed,
“Why?”

“Because it wouldn’t do him any good to draw attention to himself, right now.” Sirius explained,
“The grand comeback he had planned didn’t exactly go the way it was supposed to—he messed it
up.”

“Or rather, you messed it up for him.” Remus said, with a wry smile.

Harry blinked. “How?”

“You weren’t meant to survive, Harry,” Sirius said, “You weren’t meant to make it out of that
graveyard. You certainly weren’t meant to tell anyone that he’d returned—only his loyal death
eaters were supposed to know.”

“The very last thing that Voldemort wanted,” Remus said, quietly, “Was for Dumbledore to be
alerted of his return. And that was exactly what happened, the moment you got back to Hogwarts.”

“How has that helped?” Harry asked, bluntly. Bill shook his head.

“Are you kidding? Dumbledore’s the only person that You-Know-Who has ever been scared of!”

“And thanks to you, he was able to recall the Order…what, an hour after Voldemort returned?
We’ve been working ever since to make sure Voldemort isn’t able to carry out his plans.”

“What plans?” Harry asked, “How d’you know what he wants?”

“Dumbledore’s got a shrewd idea,” Remus said, dryly, “And Dumbledore’s shrewd ideas normally
turn out to be accurate.”

“So what does Dumbledore reckon he’s planning?”

“Well, the first thing he’ll need is an army,” Sirius said. “At the height of his power he had huge
numbers at his command – loyal death eaters, witches and wizards he’d coerced into joining his
cause, dark creatures that he’d won over with promises of greater freedoms…You already heard
him discussing the giants; you can bet they won’t be the only ones he tries to recruit. He’ll need
numbers if he wants to take on the Ministry.”

“So you’re trying to stop him getting more followers?”

“We’re trying, yes.”

“How?”

“Well, first we have to convince everyone that he’s actually back,” Bill said, darkly, “Which hasn’t
exactly been a walk in the park.”

“Why?”

“Because of Fudge,” Tonks snorted, “Why else? You saw him after You-Know-Who came back,
didn’t you? He refuses to accept the truth; he’s got the whole Ministry denying it.”
“But why?” Harry asked, desperately, “Why’s he being so stupid? If Dumbledore—”

“Ah, well, you’ve put your finger on the problem,” Arthur cut in, shaking his head, “Dumbledore.”

“Fudge sees him as a threat,” Tonks explained.

Harry stared at her, incredulous. “A threat?!”

“A political threat,” Arthur elaborated, “Fudge thinks that Dumbledore is angling for his position
as Minister of Magic.”

“But Dumbledore doesn’t want—”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Arthur agreed, impatiently, “He’s never wanted the Minister’s job, even
though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power
instead, but he’s never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though
Dumbledore never even applied for the job.”

“The problem,” Remus said, “Is that Fudge knows Dumbledore’s a much cleverer man, and a much
more powerful wizard—he relied on Dumbledore quite a bit when he first became Minister, for
help and advice. But now that he’s grown comfortable in the position, he doesn’t much fancy
letting it go, and it’s made him a bit paranoid—Fudge reckons that Dumbledore’s only stirring
things up to make him look bad, discredit him politically.”

“How can he think that?” Harry demanded, frustration evident in his tone, “How can he think
Dumbledore would just make it all up—that I’d make it all up?”

“Because Fudge doesn’t want to believe it, Harry.” Sirius said, bitterly, “It’s much easier for him to
deal with the problem of a mud-slinging political rival than it would be to confront the fact that one
of the darkest wizards in all of our history has suddenly returned after fourteen years of peace and
quiet.”

“And therein lies the problem,” Remus sighed, “Most wizards have been taught their whole lives to
listen to what the Ministry tells them—plus, Fudge has got the Daily Prophet in his pocket, and
that coupled with the fact that nobody really wants to believe that Voldemort could be back is
making it very hard to convince people that they need to be on the alert. Of course, that only makes
them easier targets for the death eaters…”

“But you’re telling people, aren’t you?” Harry looked at each of them, in turn, “You’re letting
people know he’s back?”

Sirius smiled grimly.

“Well, as Britain’s most wanted convict, I doubt it would go over too well if I started prowling the
streets with leaflets.”

“And I’m not a very popular dinner guest with most wizards,” Remus said, dryly, “It’s an
occupational hazard of being a werewolf.”

“Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off,”
Sirius went on, “And it’s very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can
bet Voldemort will have them.”

“We’ve managed to convince a couple of people, though,” Arthur put in, “Tonks here, for one—
she’s too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side
is a huge advantage—Kingsley Shacklebolt’s been a real asset, too. He’s in charge of the hunt for
Sirius, so he’s been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet.”

“But if none of you’s putting the news out that Voldemort’s back—” Harry began to speak,
frowning. Sirius cut him off.

“Who said none of us was putting the news out?” He raised a brow, “Why d’you think
Dumbledore’s in such trouble?”

Harry blinked. “What d’you mean?”

“They’re trying to discredit him,” Remus explained, “Didn’t you see the Daily Prophet last week?
They reported that he’d been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of
Wizards because he’s getting old and losing his grip, but it’s not true, he was voted out by Ministry
wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort’s return. They’ve demoted him from Chief
Warlock on the Wizengamot—that’s the Wizard High Court—and they’re talking about taking
away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too.”

“But Dumbledore says he doesn’t care what they do as long as they don’t take him off the
Chocolate Frog cards,” Bill added, grinning.

“It’s no laughing matter,” Arthur frowned, “If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could
end up in Azkaban, and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. As long as You-Know-
Who knows Dumbledore’s out there and wise to what he’s up to, he’ll be cautious, at least for now.
But once Dumbledore’s out of the way—well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field.”

“But if Voldemort’s trying to recruit more death eaters, it’s bound to get out that he’s come back,
isn’t it?” Harry asked, chewing on his lip.

“Maybe eventually,” Sirius muttered, darkly, “But Voldemort’s very good at operating in secret—
he knows how to blackmail, and bribe, and convince others to do his dirty work for him. And
besides, gathering followers is only one thing he’s interested in; he’s got other plans that he’s
concentrating on at the moment, plans that lend themselves to secrecy…”

“What plans?” Harry asked, leaning forward, “What’s he after?”

Sirius glanced at Remus, who shook his head, marginally.

“Stuff he can only get by stealth,” Sirius said, hedging. When Harry’s brow furrowed and he
continued to stare expectantly, he added, “Like a weapon. Something he didn’t have last time.”

“When he was powerful before?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of weapon?” Harry asked, “Something worse than the Avada Kedavra—?”

“That’s enough.”

Molly slipped out from the shadows beside the door, face white with fury. She must have come
back after dragging Ginny upstairs—Sirius hadn’t noticed her return.

“I want you in bed, now. All of you.”

Fred began to protest. “You can’t boss us—”

“Watch me!” Molly snarled, turning her furious gaze on Sirius, “You’ve given Harry plenty of
information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway.”

“Why not?” Harry asked, chin jutting out defiantly, “I’ll join, I want to join, I want to fight—"

“No.”

This time, it wasn’t Molly who’d spoken. It was Remus.

“The Order is comprised only of overage wizards,” he said, firmly—and then, upon seeing Fred
and George open their mouths, “Wizards who have left school.” He sighed, suddenly looking very
tired. “There are dangers involved that none of you can understand, not…I think Molly’s right,
Sirius. We’ve said enough.”

Sirius swallowed, raising one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. He didn’t argue as Molly ushered
the teenagers out of the room, muttering sullen goodnights.

Sirius glanced at Moony, across the table, and saw the same ghosts reflected there in the other
man’s eyes. For a moment, he knew that they’d both seen the exact same thing: another group of
teenagers, in another lifetime, determined and eager and burning with a desire to fight, heads
swimming with visions of heroes.

* * *

We used to be so much in love

We used to kiss and hold and touch

We used to find so many things to do

We used to laugh and plan and dream

We used to own the world it seemed

We used to

Yes, we used to

Saturday 7th August 1995

It was Lily, tonight. She stared at him, accusing, hands curled into claws the way they’d been the
last time Sirius saw her, clutching Harry’s crib…

“How dare you!” She spat, in a voice that sounded strikingly similar to Molly’s, “How dare you!
He’s just a boy!”

“I know that!” Sirius pleaded, desperately, “I know that, I—”

“He’s not your son! HE’S NOT YOUR SON, HE’S MINE!”

“I know, I know, I’m trying—”

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HIM!”

“I’m trying! I can’t protect him if he doesn’t know what’s—”

Lily wailed, skin peeling like paper, and then suddenly she wasn’t Lily but James, green eyes
turned dark and flat and lifeless. The body pushed itself off the carpet, and Sirius cringed away.

“He’s not me, Padfoot,” James said, vocal cords rotted and horrible, “Not me…”

“Stop,” Sirius was crying, backing away, “Stop it, please—”

The corpse shambled towards him, stretching out its decaying hands, putrid flesh grasping.

“We’re going to win, aren’t we, Padfoot?”

There was nowhere to run—his back was to the wall; James had him now, dead fingers twisting in
his shirt,

“We’re going to win, right?”

Sirius.

He came awake gasping, scrambling back, trying to get away—

“Sirius!”

Remus’s hands were on his shoulders, holding him firm. They were in Sirius’s old bedroom, at
Grimmauld Place—not Godric’s Hollow, never Godric’s Hollow, because it had only been a
dream…

Sirius shuddered, sucking in a shaky breath.

“Sorry—” He gasped, burying his head in his hands, “Sorry, I just—”

Remus rubbed his back, murmuring soothingly,

“It’s alright, you’re safe, it’s okay…”

Sirius rubbed a hand across his face. It came away wet, tears he hadn’t noticed staining his cheeks.

“Fuck.” He took another breath, “Fuck, sorry, it was just—nightmare, it was just a nightmare…”

Remus leaned over, pressing a kiss against his temple. Sirius focused on the point of heat, resisting
the urge to cringe away, the instinct to bury any warmth, for fear that it would be torn away.

He was safe. He wasn’t in Azkaban. He was allowed to feel this.

Sirius sagged into Moony’s arms, waiting for his heart to stop screaming in his chest.

Eventually, he pulled back. Remus watched him, searching his face—that cautious expression that
Sirius couldn’t stomach. Moony had been many things with him, before, but he had never been
gentle. Sirius hated it.
He hated that he needed it.

“All right?” Remus asked, quietly. Sirius nodded, smiling tightly.

“Yeah, fine.” He squinted at the window—there was sunlight bleeding through the curtains.

“What time is it?”

Remus stretched one long arm across the bed, reaching for his watch on the bedside table.

“Half past eight.” He yawned. “I’ve got to head out soon; I’m supposed to be meeting Moody in
Diagon Alley…”

“Oh,” Sirius said, dully. Remus glanced up, catching sight of the expression on his face.

“I’ll…try to be back for dinner.” He said, slowly. Sirius shrugged, looking away.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I want to be back for dinner; you know if I had a choice I wouldn’t—”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Sirius snapped, “Bloody awful, being able to leave this ruddy house…”

Remus shook his head, scowling, and shoved back the blankets. “I can’t do this right now,” he
muttered, crawling out of bed.

“Yeah, go on,” Sirius curled up, bringing his knees to his chest, “Wouldn’t want you to be late for
your meeting.”

“For Christ’s sake, Sirius, you can’t—” Remus blew out a breath, running an agitated hand through
his hair. “You can’t ask me to join a war and then resent me for fighting it.”

Sirius curled up tighter, stung.

“I don’t resent you for fighting,” he muttered, sourly.

“Then what is it?!” Remus demanded, yanking a t-shirt over his head, “What is this?! Every time I
leave for a mission, you act like it’s some personal offence!”

“I don’t…” Sirius frowned; he felt cold again. “I’m not offended.”

“Well then stop acting like you are!” Remus snapped, frustrated, “I thought this was what you
wanted!”

“I…” Sirius stared down at the bedspread, trying to work through the tangle of emotions in his
chest—it had all been so much simpler, when the only thing he felt was numb. After escaping
Azkaban, everything had started to come back, but even then his walls had remained intact—the
impenetrable sheet of ice, behind which he could retreat if it ever got to be too much.

But not with Remus. Remus chipped at it, and melted it, and left Sirius with no escape from the
messy flood of feeling—fear and anger and hate and love. Everything twisted together, until
sometimes he looked at Moony and didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or wrap his hands around
his neck.

Sirius shook his head. “None of this is what I wanted,” he mumbled.

Remus deflated. He always did. When they were young, they had fought like starving dogs—jaws
locked around bone, teeth bared, neither one of them willing to stop until they’d tasted blood.
Moony never, ever gave in, and Sirius had hated him for it, and loved him for it, and always ended
up wanting to snog him silly, somehow.

But things were different now. Their fights were stifled, half-dead things; neither of them had the
energy for more.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said. He was trying.

Remus sighed, heavily. “I’m sorry, too,” he murmured, moving over to the bed, reaching out tuck a
strand of hair behind Sirius’s ear. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

“I did,” Sirius said, and Remus laughed, and—merlin, wasn’t that enough? Didn’t that make
everything worth it?

“I’ll be back for dinner,” Remus said, brushing a thumb across Sirius’s jaw. Sirius leaned into the
touch, smiling.

“Good,” he said.

* * *

The rest of the morning was mostly normal—breakfast in the kitchen, feeding Buckbeak (who had
been moved from the cave near Hogwarts to take up residence in Walpurga’s old rooms at
Grimmauld Place—he particularly seemed to enjoy her silk sheets), playing host and courier to the
various Order members who stopped by with reports and messages to pass along. Sirius stopped by
the drawing room where Molly and the children were attempting to clear out the doxy infestation to
take a look at the rattling writing desk that she had mentioned last night. He was pretty sure that it
was a boggart, but agreed that they should probably wait to have Mad-Eye take a look, just in case.

Around lunchtime, Mundungus stopped in with a haul of cauldrons that had almost certainly been
acquired illegally; Molly came downstairs to yell at him, and Sirius took the opportunity to slip
away—he knew there would be no stopping her once she got going, and wasn’t exactly in the mood
to listen to Mrs. Weasley shout herself hoarse.

When he made his way to the drawing room to check in on Harry, he found Kreacher there—the
awful little wretch—trying to make sure that nobody touched the old family tapestry. Sirius sent
him scuttling away, and then strolled over to the moth-eaten decoration, which took up nearly the
entire wall.

THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK

“TOUJOURS PUR”

Harry came to stand beside him, squinting at the names. After a moment, he frowned, brow
furrowing in confusion.

“You’re not on here!”

Sirius smiled, dryly. “I used to be there,” he said, pointing to the charred mark where his face had
once been, “Mummy dearest blasted me off after I ran away from home—Kreacher’s quite fond of
muttering the story under his breath.”

Harry turned to look up at him, blinking. “You ran away from home?”

“When I was about sixteen,” Sirius murmured, staring at the tapestry, “I’d had enough.”

“Where did you go?”

Sirius smiled, heart twisting painfully in his chest.

“Your dad’s place,” he said, quietly, “James was already like a brother to me…and your
grandparents were wonderful; they practically adopted me. Gave me my own room and
everything…I stayed there during the school holidays, moved out when I was seventeen with the
money I’d inherited from my Uncle Alphard—he got blasted off as well, see…” Sirius pointed to
another burn mark, swallowing. “Anyway, your dad and his folks—they were the only real family I
ever had.”

Harry was still staring up at him, wide-eyed.

“But…why did you…?”

“Leave?” Sirius smiled, bitterly, reaching up to tug his fingers through his hair. The memories were
still sharp, clear; they’d been a favourite of the dementors’. Writhing on that library floor, his
mother’s screeching voice, his father’s cold eyes…the fireplace, the horrible pain, the
desperation…

“I had to,” he said quietly, half-lost in memory, “I couldn’t—be there, anymore. My parents had
always been…horrible, really, but at that point they were getting in deeper with Voldemort…
buying into all his preaching about blood supremacy, convinced that the only thing that mattered
was the family legacy, you know, toujours pur…I was their greatest disappointment, of course.
Disowned me the moment I ran, made my brother the heir instead…that’s him…”

He pointed at the small picture near the bottom of the tree, the face so familiar that it made his
stomach twist.

REGULUS BLACK

1961-1979

“He was younger than me,” Sirius heard himself saying, as if from a distance, “And a much better
son, as I was constantly reminded.”

“But he died?” Harry said, studying the dates.

“Yeah,” Sirius swallowed, hard, “Stupid idiot…he joined the death eaters.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Come on, Harry, haven’t you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family
were?” Sirius snapped, hot shame creeping up the back of his neck. His brother’s voice leapt,
unbidden, into his mind.

I never wanted this!

Harry was asking a question.

“Were—were your parents death eaters as well?”

Sirius hesitated, frowning, trying to remember.

“I…never saw the mark on their arms…” He said, slowly, “But…I’d guess so. They were certainly
involved; certainly loyal to Voldemort, to his ideas…his mission. They thought purebloods were
meant to rule the wizarding world—the whole world, really. Thought we should get rid of all
muggleborns…I’m sure it made them very proud, when Regulus joined.” His mouth twisted,
sourly, as he said his brother’s name.

“Was he killed by an Auror?” Harry asked, tentatively.

Sirius felt a strange, swooping sensation in his stomach. Why was he talking about this? He wasn’t
—supposed to think about this—

“No,” he said, flatly, “No, I never…I hadn’t spoken to my family in years, at that point; I wasn’t
exactly invited to the funeral. Never did find out what happened. Best guess anyone had was that
he’d been killed by Voldemort—probably got cold feet, the little coward, tried to back out…at that
point, a lot of death eaters were thinking about deserting, Voldemort needed to make examples of
some of them, you know…”

“Lunch!” Molly called out, sweeping into the room. Sirius heard the sounds of movement behind
him, as everyone bustled around and began grabbing the food that she’d brought—he ignored
them, leaning closer to the tapestry, clasping his hands to keep them from shaking.

“I haven’t looked at this for years,” he babbled, feeling suddenly that it was very important that he
keep talking—that he not fall silent, that he not give his mind an opportunity to—

This was supposed to be yours!

“There’s Phineas Nigellus…my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts

ever had…”

I’m trying to save you!

“And Araminta Meliflua…cousin of my mother’s…tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make

muggle-hunting legal…”

You have to choose, sometimes…

“And dear Aunt Elladora…she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got
too old to carry tea trays…”

Please—

“Of course, anytime the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. I see
Tonks isn’t on here. Maybe that’s why Kreacher won’t take orders from her – he’s supposed to do
whatever anyone in the family asks him…”

“You and Tonks are related?” Harry asked, interrupting his rambling.

“Oh yeah,” Sirius nodded, eyes still locked on the tapestry, “Her mother, Andromeda, was my
favourite cousin.” He turned to his uncle’s family, spying another burn mark. “No, Andromeda’s
not on here either, look.”

He swallowed, trying not to think of the last conversation he’d had with Andromeda—how she’d
sobbed, clutching at him, once she found out he was back. How the sobs had turned to furious
screaming, so quickly…

Are you fucking with me, Sirius?! Tell me you’re not—tell me you’re not going back to him, that
you’re not planning to fight for him again—he let you rot there, he let you fucking rot—

Sirius shook his head, glancing at the two little pictures next to Andromeda’s burn mark. “Her
sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda
married a muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so—”

He imitated someone blasting the tapestry, laughing a small, bitter laugh. Harry frowned, squinting
at the names next to Andromeda’s.

“You’re related to the Malfoys!”

Sirius waved a hand. “The pureblood families are all interrelated,” he said, dismissively, “If you’re
only going to let your sons and daughters marry purebloods your choice is very limited, there are
hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage and Arthur’s something like my second
cousin once removed. But there’s no point looking for them on here – if ever a family was a bunch
of blood traitors it’s the Weasleys.”

Harry continued to study Andromeda’s sisters, brow furrowed as his eyes followed the little gold
lines connecting each face on the tapestry.

“Lestrange…” he murmured, quietly. Sirius tensed.

“They’re in Azkaban.”

Harry turned to look at him, curious.

“Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch, Junior,” he explained,
“Rodolphus’s brother, Rabastan, was with them too.”

Some sort of recognition bled across Harry’s face, features twisting in alarm.

“You never said she was your—”

“Does it matter if she’s my cousin?” Sirius snapped, bristling, “As far as I’m concerned, they’re not
my family. She’s certainly not my family. I haven’t seen her since I was your age, unless you count
a glimpse of her coming in to Azkaban. D’you think I’m proud of having relatives like her?”

“Sorry,” Harry blinked, hurrying to apologise, “I didn’t mean—I was just surprised, that’s all—”

Sirius felt a rush of shame as he realised how harshly he’d responded; he shook his head quickly.

“It doesn’t matter, don’t apologise.” He turned his back on the tapestry, shoving his hands into his
pockets. “I don’t like being back here. I never thought I’d be stuck in this house again.” He stared
out at the drawing room, blankly. “It’s ideal for headquarters, of course. My parents put every
security measure known to wizard-kind on it when they lived here. It’s unplottable, so muggles
could never come and call—as if they’d have wanted to—and now Dumbledore’s added his
protection, you’d be hard put to find a safer house anywhere. Dumbledore’s secret-keeper for the
Order, you know—nobody can find headquarters unless he tells them personally where it is—that
note Moody showed you last night, that was from Dumbledore…” He laughed, once, sourly. “If
my parents could see the use it was being put to now…well, my mother’s portrait should give you
some idea…”

Sirius trailed off, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t mind if I could just get out occasionally and do something useful. I’ve asked
Dumbledore whether I can escort you to your hearing—as Snuffles, obviously—so I can give you a
bit of moral support, what d’you think?”

Harry’s face darkened, abruptly, as though the mention of the hearing had cast a dark cloud over
his features. Sirius backtracked quickly, saying,

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’re going to clear you, there’s definitely something in the International
Statute of Secrecy about being allowed to use magic to save your own life.”

“But…” Harry swallowed, looking away, “If they do expel me…can I come back here and live
with you?”

Yes, Sirius opened his mouth to reply, Yes, of course, of course you can—

But Dumbledore’s face swam through his mind, stern and calm and implacable, the words a brick
wall: He’s safest with his family…

“…We’ll see.”

Harry’s face fell.

“I’d feel a lot better about the hearing if I knew I didn’t have to go back to the Dursleys,” he
muttered, sullenly.

“They’re that bad, huh?” Sirius asked, weakly.

Before Harry could respond, Molly called them over for lunch, insisting that all the food would be
gone soon if they didn’t come and eat. They joined the others, digging into the tray of sandwiches,
and afterwards they all went back to cleaning, and Harry didn’t bring up the question of where he
would live again.

The problem was that Sirius wanted it. He wanted it badly. Over the next few days, as Harry
smiled at him from across the breakfast table, and helped throw out armfuls of junk as they cleaned
out the house, and laughed with his friends as they listened to Mundungus’s stories at dinner, Sirius
could picture so clearly how it would be. Once the Weasleys moved back into the Burrow, it
would be just him, Remus, and Harry at Grimmauld Place; they’d eat together at the kitchen table,
and decorate Harry’s room with posters of his favourite quidditch team, and Sirius could show him
all his favourite records…

At the same time, living with Harry made Sirius realise how little he truly knew the boy. Harry was
his godson, and Sirius loved him—but he didn’t know his favourite colour, or what sort of marks
he got in school, or whether he preferred sugar or honey in his tea. He had missed so much, and he
felt the lost time like an ache, a bruise that bloomed beneath every conversation, every shared
smile. Despite what he’d told Molly, he found himself looking for pieces of James in every
interaction—only to be surprised when Harry reacted differently to something than his father
would have. Sometimes, there was even the awful lurch of disappointment.

Sirius knew that wasn’t fair. And he hated himself for it, a bit. But…he missed James, and Harry…
Harry was all that was left. How could he stop himself from looking? From searching? From
grasping onto every tiny similarity, anything that made him feel as though Prongs was still,
somehow, with him?

Sometimes, Harry would look at him the same way—like he was searching for something,
something just out of reach of both their grasping hands. It made Sirius feel incredibly old and
incredibly young at the same time, like he was meant to be a parent when he still half-felt like a
child himself. At night, he lay awake wondering if either of them would ever find what they were
looking for in each other. If either of them really understood what it was they were looking for, in
the first place.

* * *

Tuesday 31st August 1995

In the end, it didn’t matter whether Harry would have had to move back in with the Dursleys or not
—he was cleared at his hearing; he would be returning to Hogwarts in September.

This was good news; excellent news; fantastic news. Sirius was thrilled for Harry, who was clearly
incredibly relieved and excited about returning to school. The boy had been through so much, he
deserved some good news for a change…

It was just. Well. Once their children left for Hogwarts, Molly and Arthur would be returning home
—they had nearly finished with the house, as the summer drew to a close, and were eager to return
to the Burrow. And that would leave only Remus, who spent most days off on missions for the
Order, disappearing out the door in the morning and not returning until the sun had set.

And that was fine. It was necessary. It was what they’d committed to, when they re-joined the
Order.

It was just. Sirius had been alone for so long. So long; twelve years of solitude. And now, now that
he was remembering what it was like to be surrounded by friends, by family, by noise and laughter
and light, he just—he couldn’t bear the thought of losing it again.

But he’d be alright. He always was, somehow.

On the day before everyone was due to leave on the Hogwarts Express, Sirius was feeding
Buckbeak when a loud CRACK came from behind him.

“Fred,” he said, without turning around, “George.”

“Brace yourself, mate,” George said, strolling over to the armchair in the corner and throwing
himself down onto it dramatically.

“Prepare for the worst,” Fred added, darkly, leaning over the back of the chair, elbows bracketing
his brother’s head.

“She’ll go mental.”
“Go absolutely doolally.”

“Bet you five galleons she cries at dinner.”

“Bet you ten she tries to give a toast.”

Sirius’s lips twitched in amusement. “What’s happened now?”

“It’s ickle Ronnie,” George said, shaking his head in disgust.

“He’s been made a prefect.” Fred added, groaning dramatically.

“Ron?” Sirius grinned, turning to look at them, “Really?”

“Really.”

“Truly.”

“Honestly.”

“Unfortunately.”

Sirius laughed. “Well, good for him.”

“Who cares about him?” Fred asked, indignantly. “It’s bad for us!”

“Awful enough that mum’s got Bill to compare us to—”

“—Charlie—”

“—Percy—”

“—But Ron?”

“We’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

Sirius shook his head, smiling. Behind him, Buckbeak made a low chirping noise. He threw
another dead rat over his shoulder.

“You’re looking at this all wrong,” he assured them, “Trust me, it’s a good thing—do you have any
idea how much James and I got away with once Remus was made prefect?”

George cocked his head. “Professor Lupin was a prefect?”

“Suppose that checks out,” Fred said, “I mean, you’ve got to at least be a bit of a swot, if you
decide to become a teacher.”

Sirius chuckled, thinking back fondly on the rough little yob who’d first set foot on the Hogwarts
Express when they were eleven years old…

“My point,” he said, raising a brow, “Is that it’s always good to have a prefect in your pocket.”

“A compelling argument,” Fred nodded, sagely, glancing at George, “We have been at a slight
disadvantage, since we gave Harry the map.”

“It was the right thing to do, Freddie,” George said, affecting the air of a long-suffering martyr,
“There were others more in need of the marauders.”
Sirius blinked, feeling as though he’d just been hit with a stinging jinx.

“Marauders?”

The twins turned to look at him.

“Oh, did we not tell you?”

“The secret to all our mischief, it was—”

“—found it in Filch’s office our first year—”

“—in a drawer labelled ‘dangerous magical objects’—”

“—so we nicked it, of course—”

“—turned out to be this map, enchanted to show everyone in the castle, at all times—”

“—with all the secret passages labelled and everything—”

“—used it for all sorts of stuff, up ‘til fifth year—”

“—when we gave it to Harry,” George finished. “He was having a rough time of it, with, y’know,
you escaping and all that.”

“Nothing personal, it’s just that we all still thought you were a bloodthirsty murderer, but Harry
really wanted to go to Hogsmeade…”

Sirius found his eyes prickling suspiciously with moisture, even as he smiled.

“Well,” he said, hoarsely, “Sounds like quite the map.”

As it turned out, Fred and George had not been exaggerating about their mother’s excitement quite
as much as Sirius had thought they’d been. Molly insisted that they throw a small party that night,
stringing up a bright red banner that read CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE – NEW
PREFECTS. Tonks came ‘round for dinner, along with Kingsley, Moody, and Mundungus (who
almost never turned down a free meal).

It was a surprisingly cheerful and cosy affair; Hermione glowed with pride as Mrs. Weasley fussed
over her, and Ron looked just as chuffed—though he seemed more excited about the new broom
his parents had bought him as a reward for making prefect than he was about the badge itself.
Harry was a bit more subdued, but he cheered up after Tonks nudged him, grinning, and said,

“I was never a prefect myself. My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.”

“Like what?” asked Ginny, who always seemed to hover near Tonks when she was around—the
two of them got along splendidly.

“Like the ability to behave myself,” Tonks said with a wink. Sirius, who was standing beside
Harry, grinned and shook his head.

“What about you, Sirius?” Ginny asked him. He laughed.

“Me? A prefect? You must be mad – James and I racked up so many detentions, they ought to have
put up a plaque in honour of our record! Remus was the swot; he got the badge.”
Moony shot him a funny look, but then nodded, saying,

“I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best
friends.” He smiled dryly, “Of course, I failed miserably.”

Harry perked up a bit, grinning as he took a swig of his butterbeer.

Everyone milled about the crowded kitchen, chattering and laughing, enjoying the food that Molly
had prepared. Ron was prattling on about his new broom to anyone who strayed within earshot;
Molly was arguing with Bill about his hair; the twins had ducked into a corner with Mundungus
and appeared to be having a very serious and furtive discussion.

A bit later into the evening, Sirius realised that Moony had seemingly disappeared. He glanced
around, ducking out into the hallway just as Kingsley bustled back in with a grim expression on his
face. Sirius frowned, glancing back at him—then frowned even more deeply as he turned and saw
Remus half-hidden in the shadowy stairwell, tugging anxious fingers through his curls.

“Hey,” Sirius said, quietly, slipping beside him and leaning back against the wall, “What was that
about?”

Remus shook his head. “Oh, nothing,” he sighed, waving a hand, “Kingsley thinks Dumbledore
should have made Harry a prefect.”

“Harry? Why?”

“Show confidence in him,” Remus shrugged, sighing again, “I dunno. I dunno why he expects me
to understand why Dumbledore does anything…”

“Probably that big brain of yours, Professor Lupin,” Sirius nudged him, grinning, “Besides, who
really cares about being made prefect? S’not like James would’ve ever been caught dead with that
badge; Harry just takes after his dad.”

Remus turned to him, brow furrowed.

“Sirius…” he said, slowly, “You know that…James was a prefect, don’t you?”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

“He was made prefect in our sixth year,” Remus said, gently, “After I—er…quit. That’s, y’know,
when he started spending more time with Lily…”

“No,” Sirius shook his head, “No, I would have remembered that…”

“He was Head Boy, Sirius.” Remus reached out to take his hand, running his thumb in soothing
circles, “Our last year.”

Sirius swallowed, wracking his brain, trying to picture James with a shiny prefect’s badge—Remus
had no reason to lie, so it must be true, there must be something…

But try as he might, he couldn’t remember it.

“Are you sure?” He asked, weakly, staring down at Moony’s scarred fingers. The taller man
nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No,” Sirius pulled back, quickly, “I’m not upset, I’m just—it’s fine. Of course; Head Boy, it just
—slipped my mind.”

“Sirius…”

“Come on, we’re missing the party.”

He turned and walked back into the kitchen, without waiting to see whether Remus was following.
Bill was talking to Ron about quidditch, and Sirius slipped into the conversation, ignoring Remus
when he shuffled back through the door.

He was still talking to Bill and Ron a little while later when Molly headed upstairs to take care of
the boggart in the drawing room (confirmed by Moody, who had taken a look earlier) before going
to bed. Hermione had come over and begun asking Bill about his job at the Ministry, which was
much less interesting, and Sirius found his eyes wandering, scanning over the room.

Moody was standing beside Harry, pointing at something in his hand. Whatever it was, Harry had
gone pale staring down at it, features drawn. Moody said something, and Harry looked up at him,
smiling a tight, strangled smile.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Mad-Eye?” Sirius asked, frowning. He stepped away from Ron,
Hermione, and Bill, moving over to Moody, who shuffled closer. Harry disappeared off somewhere
in the room, looking relieved for the excuse to slip away.

“Photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix,” Moody said, grinning proudly as he held it up,
“Happened across it last night while I was searching for my spare invisibility cloak. Thought
people might like to see it.”

Sirius felt as though he’d just been kicked in the chest.

There, smiling and waving as though none of them had a care in the world, was a group of faces
that Sirius hadn’t seen in over a decade. There was Dorcas Meadowes, with her gentle smile,
shoulder-to-shoulder with Emmeline Vance…there was Gideon, laughing as he ruffled Fabian’s
hair…there was Marlene, with one arm around Yaz, the other around Danny…and there, behind
them, beaming not at the camera, but at each other, were Lily and James.

“Why would you show him this?” Sirius heard himself asking, voice coming out harsh and clipped,
“Why would you even bring this?”

Moody frowned, perplexed. “Thought he’d like it…seeing his parents, you know…”

Sirius shook his head, resisting the urge to snatch the photograph out of his hand. Remus, who had
obviously noticed what was going on, materialised at his elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to find Harry,” Sirius muttered, turning and ducking through the kitchen door. Remus
followed after, with Moody close on their heels. His magical eye swivelled, and he sucked in a
sharp breath.

“Drawing room—quick.”

Sirius began to hear the sound of muffled sobbing as they hurried up the stairs, which grew louder
as they neared the drawing room.
“No!” Molly’s choked voice floated down the hallway, “No… riddikulus! Riddikulus!
RIDDIKULUS!”

CRACK—CRACK—CRACK—

“The boggart,” Moody muttered, gruffly. To Sirius’s horror, Harry’s voice came next, strained and
pleading,

“Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here! Let someone else—”

Remus reached the room first, striding ahead on his long legs.

“What’s going on?”

Sirius dashed in behind him, and—

Harry.

That was Harry, there, on the floor. That was Harry, with his glasses askew, and his hair tangled,
and his eyes open. That was Harry, unbreathing, unseeing, unfeeling. He looked so much like—

No, Sirius felt his heart trying to rip its way out of his chest, No no no no no no—

“Riddikulus!” Remus shouted, pointing his wand at the body. In an instant, it was gone, and the
moon was there, and Harry…

Harry was fine. Harry was standing next to Mrs. Weasley, hands gripping her shoulders. Harry was
alive, alive, alive.

“Oh—oh—oh!” Molly broke down, sobbing into her hands.

“Molly,” Remus said, voice cracking, “Molly, don’t…”

He put an arm around her, and she collapsed onto his shoulder, shaking.

“Molly, it was just a boggart,” Remus murmured, soothingly, “Just a stupid boggart…”

“I see them d-d-dead all the time!” Molly gasped, words thick with fear, “All the t-t-time! I d-d-
dream about it…”

Sirius felt numb; hollowed out. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spot on the carpet where
Harry’s body had lain, exactly like…like…

“D-d-don’t tell Arthur,” Molly begged, wiping at her tear-soaked face, “I d-d-don’t want him to
know…Being silly…”

Remus passed her a handkerchief, and she blew her nose.

“Harry, I’m so sorry, what must you think of me?” Molly shook her head, “Not even able to get rid
of a boggart…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry said, faintly.

“I’m just s-s-so worried,” the crying started up again, “Half the f-f-family’s in the Order, it’ll b-b-
be a miracle if we all come through this…and P-P-Percy’s not talking to us…What if something d-
d-dreadful happens and we had never m-m-made up? And what’s going to happen if Arthur and I
 get killed, who’s g-g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?”

“Molly, that’s enough,” Remus said, firmly, “Things are different this time. We’ve got a head start;
we’re better prepared, we know what Voldemort’s up to—”

Molly gave a terrified little squeak as Remus said the name, and he grimaced.

“Oh, Molly, come on, it’s about time you got used to hearing it—look, none of us can know what
will happen, alright? I can’t promise that nobody will get hurt, but…we’re much better off than we
were last time. You know that. We’re not outnumbered the way we were then, they can’t just pick
us off one by one…”

Sirius shook himself, dragging his eyes away from the carpet.

“Don’t worry about Percy,” he cleared his throat, “He’ll come round. It’s only a matter of time
before Voldemort moves into the open; once he does, the whole Ministry’s going to be begging us
to forgive them.” His mouth twisted, sourly, “And I’m not sure I’ll be accepting their apology.”

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” Remus said, gently,
“What do you think we’d do, let them starve?”

Molly took a deep breath, forcing a shaky smile onto her face.

“Being silly,” she muttered, rubbing once more at her eyes.

Remus patted her shoulder, smiling indulgently.

Later that night, they lay side by side in bed, silent. Sirius thought of Moody’s photograph, of the
tiny, smiling faces that by now had surely rotted, decaying back into the earth. He thought of
Harry’s body, stiff on the carpet, so achingly familiar that it gutted him.

“Remus,” he whispered, hardly able to push the words past teeth, “We’re doing the right thing,
aren’t we?”

Remus said nothing, for a long time. Eventually, he reached out, drawing Sirius to his chest,
holding him tight.

“I think…we’re doing the only thing that we can do, love.” He murmured.

They lay awake for a long while, after that.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "time" by david bowie; song partway through is "we used to"
by dolly parton!

after reading the comments from last night's chapter, two quick things:

1. sirius DOES NOT DIE in this fic, i promise

2. apologies to everyone who's disappointed that i didn't rewrite 188; i hear you, i see
you, i am respectfully still not going to write it :) i explained why over on tumblr. love
u guys tho <3 hopefully these new chapters make up for it :)
AND one last thing that's really just me nitpicking myself, but there is a truly
staggering amount of virgo in my chart so i feel the need to address it--if you've been
reading this along with the original atyd and have read those final three chapters, you
may have noticed that there are three little details where i have, alas, strayed from
canon compliancy with mkb.
1 - i accidentally said ted tonks was a muggle somewhere in the earlier chapters, when
he's meant to be muggleborn. one day i might go back and find that line and edit it,
since it's a pretty easy fix. or i might just not. who knows. he's a muggleborn wizard
though, not a muggle. (edit 4/24 - fixed this lol)
2 - in chapter 185 of the og, it indicates that kingsley wasn't part of the original order,
but i mention him as an original order member in some of the war chapters. again, i
should probably just go back and find his name and swap it out with a different one--
maybe one day i will... (edit 4/24 - checked back and this is just an inconsistency in the
og, so it's staying the way it is!)
3 - in the original, remus seems to only realise that sirius suspected him of being the
traitor AFTER he gets back to London for the summer. unfortunately, i just didn't
really see a way to stick to this when re-writing the scene in the shack, so....this is
really the only detail where i've just decided to say "oh, well" when it comes to canon
compliancy.

that's all for now--we're in the home stretch, guys! crazy times
 Autumn 1995
Chapter Summary

oh u think ur middle aged? pretty optimistic of u...

Chapter Notes

cw: some references to past abuse at the hands of the Black family, also a mention of
suicide + discussion of death. nothing graphic or detailed!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ah, the moon’s too bright

The chain’s too tight

The beast won’t go to sleep

I’ve been running through these promises to you

That I made and I could not keep

Ah, but a man never got a woman back

Not by begging on his knees

Or I’d crawl to you baby and I’d fall at your feet

And I’d howl at your beauty like a dog in heat

And I’d claw at your heart, and I’d tear at your sheet

I’d say please (please)

I’m your man

Wednesday 1st September 1995

“Sturgis Podmore,” Dumbledore said, heavily, “Has been arrested.”

He was sitting at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, which was packed end to end with Order
members. The emergency meeting had been called only an hour before, creating a frenzy of chaos
as everyone scrambled to arrive. Sirius had been ushering people down the stairs for the better part
of twenty minutes, and had had to wrestle the heavy curtains around his mother’s dreadful portrait
closed no less than seven times.

“What?!” Molly yelped, at the same time that Moody muttered gruffly,

“S’pose that explains why he never turned up this morning…”

They’d nearly been late getting to Platform 9 and ¾, waiting around for Podmore to show up—
Moody had insisted that they needed a guard for Harry, and apparently he’d felt that himself,
Tonks, and Molly weren’t enough. In the end, though, they’d gone without Sturgis, and everything
had been perfectly fine—no dark wizards jumping out of alleyways to hex them, no death eaters
waiting at the station to attack. Padfoot had even tagged along, despite Dumbledore’s
admonishments to remain at Grimmauld Place and Molly’s frustrated grumbling, and not a single
person had questioned it; the only one who had even looked twice at Padfoot was one of Fred and
George’s friends, who’d smiled and patted his head.

All in all, Sirius was beginning to think that Dumbledore’s warnings were all a load of codswallop.
Who cared if Voldemort and the death eaters knew that he was an animagus now—it wasn’t as
though he couldn’t take care of himself. And nobody else would look twice at a dog wandering the
streets, so really, it was (mostly) perfectly safe. And it had been so nice to feel the sun on his fur,
the early autumn breeze on his face…

“He was arrested last night,” Dumbledore went on, ignoring the outbursts from Molly and Alastor,
“Trying to break into the Department of Mysteries.”

“The Department of Mysteries?” Hestia Jones asked, at the same time that Tonks said, “Break in?”
And Molly cried, “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Moody growled, magical eye whirling to look at each face gathered around the
table, “Death eaters.”

Dumbledore nodded, gravely. “It seems most likely that someone working for Voldemort used the
imperius curse to see if they could break through one of the high-security doors with Podmore,
testing the limits of the Ministry’s security.”

“But they failed?” Molly asked, anxiously.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded, “But there will be a trial. I am afraid that Sturgis may not be with
us for some time.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” asked Tonks. For a moment, nobody said anything; the silence
stretched taut across the table.

Finally, Arthur spoke, slowly.

“Attempting to break into the high-security sections of the Department of Mysteries is a serious
offence…those rooms are full of highly dangerous magic, objects and spells that could wreak
havoc if they were released on the wizarding world…”

“But he’s innocent,” Sirius said, flatly. He wasn’t looking at Arthur; he was staring at
Dumbledore. The older man held his gaze, calmly, face wiped clean of emotion.

“He’s innocent,” Sirius repeated, voice rising slightly, “If there’s a trial, and he was imperiused—”

“He won’t be able to prove that.” Moody interrupted.

“If they give him veritaserum—”

“Banned from use in trials,” Moody shook his head, “Hasn’t been used since ’82; too many
wizards built up a tolerance to the potion, used it as a get out of jail free card during the death eater
trials…they’d have to appeal for a special exception, which would take months. And you can bet
the Ministry will want to push this through as quickly as possible; they can’t afford any bad press
right now, not with the ‘rumours’ that Albus here has been spreading…”

Sirius shook his head, incredulously. “But—”

“It would not matter,” Dumbledore said. Sirius turned back to look at him, anger licking up his
spine. Dumbledore met his eye, placid and unruffled as ever. “I have already spoken to Sturgis. He
has agreed not to speak a word of what happened.”

“What?” Sirius’s hands curled into fists on the table, “Why?!”

“Telling the Ministry that he was acting under the imperius curse,” Dumbledore said, calmly,
“Would mean explaining who had cursed him. It would mean revealing that Sturgis—and
therefore, the Order—are aware of Voldemort’s goals and what he is seeking. It would mean
alerting the death eaters to the fact that there is a spy in their midst.”

A horrible, weighted silence settled across the table.

“So, what,” Sirius bit out, “That’s it? You’re just going to sacrifice an innocent man to Azkaban?”

“It is not my choice to make, Sirius,” Dumbledore said, softly, “I spoke with Sturgis. But it was his
decision to keep the Order’s secret; it is a sacrifice that only he can make.”

“It’s not right—”

“It is necessary. Sturgis understands the risk—”

“No, he doesn’t!” Sirius was standing, hands balled into fists. He hadn’t even realised that he’d
shoved out of his chair. But he glowered down at Dumbledore, who continued to sit, infuriatingly
calm, the picture of cold rationality.

“He doesn’t,” Sirius repeated, voice thick with stifled rage. The entire room was staring at him,
shocked.

“Sirius,” said Dumbledore, gentle and chiding, like he was admonishing an unruly child. And that
—that was too much. Sirius knew that if he spent another moment staring into those tranquil blue
eyes, he would crack.

He stormed out of the kitchen without another word, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Remus found him in the library, staring down at a stretch of floor between two shelves. It was
dark, hardwood, exactly the same as the rest of the room.

“Sirius…” he said, quietly, shutting the door behind him. Sirius didn’t bother to turn.

“This is where my parents tortured me,” he said.

Remus froze.

“Right here,” Sirius gestured, voice flat and bitten through with rage. He turned, moving towards
the fireplace. “I used that shelf,” he pointed, “To drag myself forward, when my legs gave out.”
“Sirius—”

“This stone,” he placed a hand against the fireplace, “To pull myself to my feet.” He could feel
Remus, hovering behind him, the heat from his body like a flame. Sirius was cold—he was so cold
now, all the time.

“The floo powder was right here,” he said, hoarsely, brushing his fingers across the mantle. “I
crawled inside…”

“Stop,” Remus caught hold of him, gently, arms wrapping around his shoulders, “Please stop,” he
whispered.

Sirius swallowed. He was pressed to Moony’s chest; he could feel the other man’s heartbeat at the
base of his neck.

“I had bitten my tongue,” he said, quietly, “It was all I could taste. Blood.”

If he closed his eyes, he could time travel. He could be sixteen again, pinned like a butterfly to the
floor. He could see his mother, so viciously alive, his father, Reg…

“How could you believe it?” He asked, voice breaking before it could even leave his throat,
scraping raw across his tongue, “How could you ever think that I would—”

Remus was holding him so, so tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, face pressed into Sirius’s hair, “I’m
sorry, I’m so sorry…”

“Did anyone fight for me?” Sirius asked, words hardly a whisper, “Did anyone…did anyone try?”

Remus shook his head, helplessly, and Sirius felt the movement against the back of his skull. “I
don’t know.”

Sirius breathed in, out. The air entered his lungs, his blood, his heart, which continued to beat.

“He’s innocent,” he said, and it came out torn.

“I know,” Remus said, holding him, “I know.”

* * *

Saturday 7th September 1995

Dear Snuffles,

Hope you’re okay, the first week back here’s been terrible, I’m really glad it’s the weekend.

We’ve got a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She’s nearly as nice
as your mum. I’m writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last
night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.
We’re all missing our biggest friend, we hope he’ll be back soon.

Please write back quickly.

Best,

Harry

Sirius studied the letter, sitting alone in the drawing room—which, now that it had been cleaned
out, was one of the most bearable rooms in the house (so long as he sat facing away from the horrid
family tapestry).

Molly and Arthur had moved out shortly after their children returned to Hogwarts, leaving only
Sirius and Remus behind in Grimmauld Place. But Remus had been sent away on a mission
somewhere in northern Europe the previous evening; he wasn’t due back until Monday. After
twenty-four hours alone in the house, Sirius already felt like he was beginning to lose his mind; he
was incredibly grateful for the distraction of his godson’s letter, as short and vague as it was.

Sirius squinted down at the spiky handwriting, reading between the lines.

Umbridge – he’d heard of her, she was a Ministry politician with some of the harshest policies
towards half-humans and nonhuman creatures that they’d seen in decades. Sirius had never met her
personally, of course, but he’d heard only horrible things, and if Harry was comparing her to
Walpurga then Sirius hated to imagine what her classes must be like. He did smile a bit, though,
when he read that the boy had already ended up in detention—Harry was James’s son, through and
through.

‘That thing I wrote to you about last summer’ had to mean his scar was hurting, and ‘our biggest
friend’…that must be referring to Hagrid, who Sirius had learned that Harry and his friends were
incredibly fond of. Dumbledore had sent him off as a liaison to the giants the previous summer,
and as far as Sirius was aware, nobody knew why he wasn’t back yet…

But Hagrid was a hardy man, and he knew how to get in contact with Dumbledore if he absolutely
needed to; there was nothing to do but wait for him to return with whatever news he might bring. If
he had managed to convince some of the giants to join the Order, then it would undoubtedly be a
long journey back.

Sirius spent a good half an hour attempting to write back to Harry before finally giving up—it was
no use; he couldn’t say anything of substance in a letter, not when it might be intercepted…
especially if Fudge had planted Umbridge at Hogwarts to be his eyes and ears.

He resolved to call by floo, waiting until the next evening to do so – students would be less likely
to linger in the common room on a Sunday night, when they had classes the next morning. At 7
o’clock, Sirius began poking his head into the fireplace every hour, just to peek and see if the coast
was clear.

The evening wore on; it grew later and later, with no sign of Harry, Ron, or Hermione. Sirius began
to wonder whether there would ever be an opportunity when he finally hit a stroke of luck, just past
midnight.

“Sirius!” Hermione gasped, crouching beside Harry at the fireplace—they had just spotted him,
abandoning their homework to circle furtively around the grate. He grinned.

“I was starting to think you’d go to bed before everyone else had disappeared! I’ve been checking
every hour.”

“You’ve been popping into the fire every hour?” Harry asked, grinning back, seemingly delighted
to see him.

“Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet.”

“But what if you’d been seen?” Hermione hissed, glancing around furtively—there was no need to
worry; they were the only ones left in the common room.

“Well,” Sirius said, smirking, “I think a girl—first year by the look of her—might’ve got a glimpse
of me earlier, but don’t worry – I was gone the moment she looked back at me. She probably
thinks I was just an oddly shaped log or something.”

Hermione frowned, anxiously. “But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk—”

“You sound like Molly.” He brushed her off, “This was the only way I could come up with of
answering Harry’s letter without resorting to a code—and codes are breakable.”

Ron and Hermione both turned to look at Harry, surprised.

“You didn’t say you’d written to Sirius!”

“I forgot.” Harry shrugged, “Don’t look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would
have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?”

“No,” Sirius smiled, amused, “It was very good. Anyway, we’d better be quick, just in case we’re
disturbed—your scar.”

“What about—?” Ron began to ask, but Hermione quickly cut him off, saying,

“We’ll tell you afterward, go on, Sirius.”

“Well, I understand why it might be alarming, but we don’t think it’s really anything to be
concerned about. It kept aching all last year, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, “And Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a
powerful emotion. So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that
detention.”

“Right, and it’s bound to hurt more often now he’s back,” Sirius nodded.

“So you don’t think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with
her?”

“I doubt it,” now Sirius shook his head, “I know her by reputation and I’m sure she’s no death eater
—”

“She’s foul enough to be one,” Harry interrupted.

“Yes, but the world isn’t split into good people and death eaters,” Sirius said, dryly, “I know she’s
a nasty piece of work, though—you should hear Remus talk about her.”
“Does Lupin know her?” Harry asked, frowning.

“No, but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost
impossible for him to get a job.”

Hermione scowled at that. “What’s she got against werewolves?”

“Same thing most of the wizarding world does,” Sirius said, bitterly, “Scared of them. Apparently
she hates part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too.
Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like
Kreacher on the loose—”

Ron laughed, but Hermione didn’t seem to find the joke funny.

“Sirius!” She chided, “Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I’m sure he’d
respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he’s got left, and Professor Dumbledore
said—”

“So what are Umbridge’s lessons like?” Sirius cut her off, in no mood to receive a lecture from a
fifteen-year-old about how he should be treating his house elf, “Is she training you all to kill half-
breeds?”

“No,” Harry scowled, “She’s not letting us use magic at all!”

“All we do is read the stupid textbook,” Ron muttered, bitterly.

“Ah, well, that figures,” Sirius sighed, “Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge
doesn’t want you trained in combat.”

“Trained in combat?” Harry shook his head, incredulous, “What does he think we’re doing here,
forming some sort of wizard army?”

“That’s exactly what he thinks you’re doing,” Sirius replied, “Or rather, that’s exactly what he’s
afraid Dumbledore’s doing—forming his own private army, which he’ll use to take on the Ministry
of Magic.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared at him, completely taken aback. Then,

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Ron exclaimed, “Including all the stuff that Luna
Lovegood comes out with.”

Sirius had no idea who Luna Lovegood was, but he could figure what Ron meant from context—
and both Harry and Hermione seemed to understand what he was getting at.

“So we’re being prevented from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared
we’ll use spells against he Ministry?” Hermione asked, features darkening with righteous
indignance.

“Yep,” Sirius said, “Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He’s getting
more paranoid about it by the day—it’s only a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested
on some trumped-up charge.”

Harry frowned, looking as though something had just occurred to him.

“D’you know if there’s going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow?
Only Ron’s brother Percy reckons there will be—”

“I dunno,” Sirius responded, sourly, “I haven’t seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they’re all
busy. It’s just been Kreacher and me here…”

“So you haven’t had any news about Hagrid, either?”

“Ah….” Sirius sighed, remembering the last part of Harry’s letter. “Well, he was supposed to be
back by now; no one’s sure what’s happened to him.” Identical looks of shock and concern spread
across the three friends’ faces; Sirius reassured them, hurriedly, “But Dumbledore’s not worried, so
don’t you three get yourselves in a state; I’m sure Hagrid’s fine.”

“But if he was supposed to be back by now…” Hermione murmured, still looking very troubled.

“Madame Maxime was with him, we’ve been in touch with her and she says they got separated on
the journey home—but there’s nothing to suggest he’s hurt or—well, nothing to suggest he’s not
perfectly okay.”

This didn’t seem to soothe any of them; Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at each other,
exchanging a series of concerned glances.

“Listen, don’t go asking too many questions about Hagrid,” Sirius said, impatiently, “It’ll just draw
even more attention to the fact that he’s not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn’t want that.
Hagrid’s tough, he’ll be okay.”

This did not seem to have the comforting effect he intended; Harry, Ron, and Hermione continued
to exchange worried, meaningful looks.

“When’s your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway?” Sirius changed the subject, “I was thinking,
we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn’t we? I thought I could—”

“NO!” Harry and Hermione both cried together, voices rising in concern.

“Sirius, didn’t you see the Daily Prophet?” Hermione added, staring down at him anxiously.

“Oh, that,” Sirius grinned, rolling his eyes – there had been a headline a few days back claiming
that he had been spotted in London (as if that narrowed it down—London was a huge city, it
wasn’t as though anyone was going to have any luck finding him). “They’re always guessing where
I am,” Sirius assured her, “They haven’t really got a clue—”

“Yeah, but we think this time they have,” Harry interrupted, “Something Malfoy said on the train
made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius—you know, Lucius
Malfoy—so don’t come up here, whatever you do, if Malfoy recognises you again—”

“All right, all right!” Sirius snapped, “I’ve got the point!”

He thought of the plan he’d had forming in his head—apparate into the shack, transform into
Padfoot, spend the day wandering Hogsmeade with Harry and his friends…they could have gone to
Honeyduke’s, and Zonko’s…he could have bought Harry a proper birthday present, since they
weren’t able to celebrate over the summer…

But now, the fleeting fantasy withered before his eyes as he stared up at his godson’s anxious face.
Sirius felt a sharp kick of resentment, muttering,

“Just an idea, thought you might like to get together—”

“I would, I just don’t want you chucked back in Azkaban!” Harry insisted, frowning.

And Sirius—he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the flash of disappointed anger that rose like bile in
the back of his throat, spilling out over his lips.

“You’re less like your father than I thought,” he said, coolly, hating the concerned scrunch of
Harry’s brow, the helpless frown on his face—it was all wrong, features not made for cautious
worry, twisting themselves out of James’s shape. “The risk would’ve been what made it fun for
him.”

He hated himself the moment he said it. He hated himself the moment he thought it.

But he said it, nonetheless.

Hurt flashed in Harry’s eyes. “Look—” He started to speak, but Sirius interrupted him, shame and
anger mixing sickly in his stomach.

“Well, I’d better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs,” he said, quickly, “I’ll
write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?”

And with those final, bitter words, he withdrew, and was alone once more in Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Monday 9th September 1995

You’re less like your father than I thought…

Why had he said that? It had been cruel; unkind. Harry had only been trying to protect him, to keep
him safe…

Sirius wandered the halls of Grimmauld Place, aimlessly, turning the words over in his mind. It
was just this house, this awful, rotting tomb—he could feel it breathing, like a living creature, a
beast, a darkness that crawled under his skin and bubbled up in his throat. No matter how far he
ran, it seemed, he would always end up back here, tied by blood and duty and the family that had
tried to kill him.

You can’t change what you are, whispered the voice in the back of his head. He couldn’t change
what was in his bones, the cruelty built into the marrow. He had promised himself, once, that he
would be a better person—yet here he was, closing his eyes and remembering what hurt looked
like on his godson’s face.

He didn’t mean to end up in front of the bedroom. He wasn’t sure, entirely, how he’d got there—
he’d started in the drawing room, and he’d thought he was going down…he’d definitely been in
front of a staircase, but he’d let himself drift…

Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black

He’d kept Molly away, during their cleaning; he’d kept everyone away. Not a single soul had set
foot inside the bedroom. Including Sirius.

He pushed open the door.

It was like stepping into a grave.

The bed was rumpled, blankets pushed back as though he’d just rolled out and hurried through the
door. There was a book, spine cracked open on the dresser, face down. The walls were the same
familiar shade of green, the family crest painted behind the bed just as Sirius remembered it. A
thick layer of dust lay over everything, the only sign that any time had passed at all.

There was a picture, on one of the walls. The Slytherin quidditch team, smiling and waving in their
green and silver robes—and there, in the centre, squinting up into the camera—

Reggie.

He looked so happy—so happy, and Sirius couldn’t—

He couldn’t breathe.

He spun around, stumbling across the room to grip the bedpost. His hands were shaking; his vision
blurred, tears stinging like acid in his eyes. Sirius blinked them away, furiously, glancing up. There
was something beneath the family crest, yellowing bits of paper stuck to the wall—he rubbed
harshly at his eyes, trying to make out what they were.

Newspaper, he realised, dully, They’re newspapers. Sirius didn’t remember them; Reg must have
put them up sometime in the years after he left. He stepped closer, studying the titles—and the
grief cracked open in his chest, blistering into rage.

They were about Voldemort. All of them—every single one.

I thought you didn’t want this, Reg, Sirius found himself thinking, furiously, You said you didn’t
want it—so what’s this? What’s this? What sort of fucking—shrine—

He stumbled back, knees hitting the mattress, sitting down heavily on the bed. Something small
and unyielding bit into his palm; he lifted his hand, looking down.

It was a pawn. A porcelain pawn, painted with delicate designs. Sirius picked it up, feeling as
though the world were crumbling around him.

“He kept it in his pocket.”

He spun around, and all the breath left his lungs.

“Reg.”

The word was choked; strangled; suffocated.

“Not quite.”

His brother stepped forward, slightly, out of the shadowed corner of his frame.

“You got old,” he said. His voice was the same, exactly the same.

“You didn’t.” Sirius was staring. His heart was trying to chew its way through his ribcage, inside
his chest.
They stared at each other. The silence tightened like a noose, bit by bit.

“Why—” Sirius cleared his throat, raggedly, “Why are you—here.”

He’d looked for it, of course. Every Black had a portrait painted, the moment they turned
seventeen. In their scouring of the house, there had been a moment each time he stepped into a new
room where he had wondered, with a crippling sense of dread, whether he would come face to face
with his little brother.

But the portrait hadn’t been hanging with any of the others, and Sirius hadn’t understood why—
eventually, he’d just accepted that it had been lost, or destroyed, or perhaps hidden away by
Kreacher, buried in some filthy pile of rubbish. And that—that had been fine. Sirius didn’t care.

He hadn’t expected it to be here. In this room. Who in their right mind wanted a portrait of
themselves hanging across from their bed?

“Mother,” Regulus said, evenly, staring down from the frame, “She couldn’t stand to look at me,
after…”

“Oh,” Sirius nodded, woodenly, “Oh. Right.”

For a long moment he only stared, silently, drinking in the familiar slanted cheekbones, the dark
curls, the grey-blue eyes. And then he was standing, moving forward, frantic and desperate and
asking the question that he’d promised himself he would never ask again.

“How?” The word shattered as it left his throat, “How did it happen?”

His brother’s painted face stared down at him, features cold and sharp as he remembered. For a
moment, Sirius thought he might not answer—but then something softened, impossibly, in the
canvas of his eyes.

“I only know what I heard,” he said.

“Please,” Sirius begged, “Please.”

Regulus swallowed, and looked away.

“Suicide,” his voice was quiet, “It was suicide. I—he…drowned himself.”

Oh, Sirius thought, splintering, Oh, Reg. Oh, Reg, oh no, oh Reggie…

The pawn in his fist was smooth, delicate, slightly cool. He clutched it, trying to breathe.

“Why?” He asked, as a hundred different answers poured like water through his mind.

I never wanted this—

This was meant to be yours—

You have to choose—

You can’t save everyone—

“I don’t know,” the portrait said, steadily, “I’m not him.”

“But you are,” Sirius begged. Regulus shook his head.

“I’m a piece of him,” he said, words brittle with something like bitterness, “An artist’s rendition.
So much changed, in that last year…and he never talked to me.” A pause; then, “He never talked
to anyone, really.”

“No,” Sirius said, faintly, “I suppose he didn’t.”

He opened his palm, staring down at the pawn. Why had he come here? What had he been looking
for? What had he thought it would accomplish?

Sirius moved, stretching out a hand towards the bedside table, letting the little chess piece slip to
the edge of his fingertips.

“Keep it,” the portrait said, suddenly. He lurched forward in his frame, stretching out a hand as if
to stop Sirius from letting go. Sirius startled, jerking his wrist, fingers squeezing shut.

“Why?”

Regulus stared at his closed fist, helplessly.

“Because he kept it,” he said.

The portrait looked up, and their eyes met.

“Do you hate me?”

Sirius released a breath.

“What?”

“Did you hate me?” his brother repeated the words, face pressed so close to the frame that Sirius
could see the brushstrokes in his eyes, “I always wondered.”

“Reg…”

“I hated you,” the portrait said—and then he was speaking quickly, words coming out in a rush, “I
hated you, and I wanted to protect you, and I wanted you to save me. And I wanted—I always
wanted to see you again. Always. I missed you. And I hated you for that. I hated you so, so much.”

Sirius was crying. He couldn’t stop; he could taste the salt on his lips, stinging.

“I hated you too,” he said, words twisted up in grief, “So much, Reg.”

The portrait lifted a palm, and Sirius raised his own hand, placing it flat against the canvas. They
stood, face to face, watching each other with identical eyes.

“I tried to save him,” Sirius said, “I did.”

“I know,” Regulus nodded, sadly, “I think…he tried to save you, too.”

“Well,” Sirius scrubbed a hand across his face, smiling a small, bitter smile, “Look at how that
turned out for us.”

For a while, they were both quiet. Sirius studied his brother’s face, frozen forever at seventeen in
the gilded frame. Reggie’s nose was the tiniest bit crooked, at the end. He’d forgotten that—he’d
forgotten so much.
Sirius turned to leave. His hand was on the door when the portrait said,

“Wait.”

He turned, and Reggie was watching him, shoulders one tense line.

“Wait,” he said again, “I…there’s something I need to ask you.”

Sirius swallowed. His face felt hot, skin stretched tight from crying.

“What?”

Reggie looked at him, and his eyes—surely they hadn’t been painted with that much sadness?

“Will you destroy me?” He asked, softly, “Please?”

Sirius took a step back.

“No.”

“Please, Sirius—”

“No.” He turned, putting his back to the painting—he was shaking. “No, I can’t—why would you
ask me that? How could you—you—”

“Please,” his brother begged, “Please, Sirius.” His voice was quiet, a little broken, a little desperate.
“I never wanted to be trapped in this house.”

And Sirius…what could he say, to that?

He turned, slowly. He looked at his brother, one last time.

“Will it hurt you?” He whispered. Regulus shook his head.

“I’m a painting, Sirius,” he said, softly, “I can’t feel pain.”

* * *

Remus found him, later, sitting in front of the drawing room fireplace. It was empty, save for ash.
The cracked frame lay beside it.

They sat beside each other. Remus lay his head against his shoulder. Sirius stroked his hair. It was
so, so lovely; silver and sand.

“How was the mission?” He asked, quietly. Remus made a muffled noise in the back of his throat.

“I missed you.”

Sirius kissed him.

“I missed you, too.”

The sun was setting outside; orange light stuck like honey in Moony’s eyes, bronze and copper and
speckled gold. Everything precious the earth had to offer, all wrapped in the body of one man.

“How did you do it?” Sirius asked, quietly. Remus turned to look at him.

“Do what?”

Sirius paused for a moment, thinking.

“Grieve.”

The sun dipped lower in the blushing sky, warm pinks and yellows cooling slowly into darker
blues.

“I don’t know,” Remus murmured, frowning. Their eyes met; something softened in his face. He
reached out, tangling their fingers.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Remus said.

* * *

Monday 7th October 1995

“Sirius!” Ron, who had been dozing off in the armchair in front of the fireplace, startled awake.
Sirius grinned, watching as Harry and Hermione hurried over.

“Hi.”

The three teenagers crouched down, huddling close to the fire, chorusing back in tandem,

“Hi!”

“How’re things?” Sirius asked, still smiling.

“Not that good,” Harry frowned, “The Ministry’s forced through another decree, which means
we’re not allowed to have Quidditch teams—”

“—or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?”

Over the course of the past month, Umbridge and Fudge had been very busy trying to bring
Hogwarts under Ministry control. Early on in September, Umbridge had been declared ‘High
Inquisitor’ and given the power to ‘inspect’ Hogwarts classes and teachers to ensure that they were
‘up to Ministry standards.’ Since then, a flurry of special ‘decrees’ had been passed, all of which
created new restrictions on the way the school was run in an obvious effort to bring Dumbledore to
heel. It was utterly ridiculous, and Harry and his friends were clearly already fed up with it.

On the latest Hogsmeade weekend, Mundungus had been sent to keep an eye on Harry—in
disguise, of course—and had reported back that he and his friends were plotting to create an
underground club to teach students the defensive magic that Umbridge refused to. Sirius had sent a
note to his godson immediately, requesting another late-night floo meeting.
“How did you know about that?” Harry asked, brow furrowing. Sirius shook his head, smiling
fondly.

“You want to choose your meeting places more carefully,” he chided, amused, “The Hog’s Head, I
ask you…”

“Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!” Hermione looked affronted—Sirius had figured
that she’d probably been responsible for the logistics of the scheme. “That’s always packed with
people—”

“—which means you’d have been harder to overhear,” he interrupted, “You’ve got a lot to learn,
Hermione.”

“Who overheard us?” Harry asked, leaning closer.

“Mundungus, of course,” Sirius replied. The three of them stared at him, baffled—Sirius
remembered that Dung had been in disguise, and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. “He
was the witch under the veil.”

“That was Mundungus?” Harry’s mouth fell open, “What was he doing in the Hog’s Head?”

“What do you think he was doing?” Sirius tutted, “Keeping an eye on you, of course.”

Harry grimaced. “I’m still being followed?”

“Yeah, you are,” Sirius raised a brow, “And just as well, isn’t it, if the first thing you’re going to
do on your weekend off is organise an illegal defence group.” He was supposed to be admonishing
them, but he couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice.

“Why was Dung hiding from us?” Ron asked, sounding disappointed, “We’d’ve liked to’ve seen
him.”

“He was banned from the Hog’s Head twenty years ago,” Sirius said, “And that barman’s got a
long memory. We lost Moody’s spare invisibility cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung’s been
dressing as a witch a lot lately…anyway…First of all, Ron – I’ve sworn to pass on a message from
your mother.”

“Oh yeah?” Ron winced, bracing himself.

“She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defence Against the
Dark Arts group. She says you’ll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there
will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be
worrying about that right now. She also,” he turned to address Harry and Hermione, “Advises you
two not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of you
and simply begs you to remember that she has your best interests at heart. She would have written
all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you’d all have been in real trouble, and she can’t
say it for herself because she’s on duty tonight.”

“On duty doing what?” Ron asked.

“Never you mind, just stuff for the Order.” Sirius took a breath, “So it’s fallen to me to be the
messenger. And make sure you tell her I passed it all on, because I don’t think she trusts me to."

There was a short silence as the three teenagers absorbed this, all frowning pensively.
Crookshanks, who was crouched next to Hermione on the carpet, mewled and tried to bat at
Sirius’s head.

“So you want me to say I’m not going to take part in the defence group?” Ron asked, sullenly, after
a moment.

Sirius blinked. “Me?” He grinned, “Certainly not! I think it’s a brilliant idea!”

“You do?” Harry asked, starting to smile.

“Of course I do!” Sirius chuckled, shaking his head, “D’you think your father and I would’ve lain
down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?”

“But—last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks—”

“Last year all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!” Sirius
said, impatiently, “This year we know that there’s someone outside Hogwarts who’d like to kill us
all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!”

“And if we do get expelled?” Hermione asked, chewing on her lip.

Harry gave her an incredulous look. “Hermione, this whole thing was your idea!”

“I know it was…I just wondered what Sirius thought,” she said, defensively.

“Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue,”
Sirius replied, firmly.

“Hear, hear!” Harry and Ron both grinned, nodding.

“So,” Sirius shifted, leaning forward a bit and speaking in a low, conspiratorial voice, “How are
you organising this group? Where are you meeting?”

Harry sighed. “Well, that’s a bit of a problem now. Dunno where we’re going to be able to go…”

“How about the Shrieking Shack?” suggested Sirius.

“Hey, that’s an idea!” Ron perked up, but Hermione tutted sceptically, drawing their attention.

“Well, Sirius, it’s just that there were only four of you meeting in the Shrieking Shack when you
were at school,” she said, briskly, “And all of you could transform into animals and I suppose you
could all have squeezed under a single invisibility cloak if you’d wanted to. But there are twenty-
eight of us and none of us is an animagus, so we wouldn’t need so much an invisibility cloak as an
invisibility marquee—”

“Fair point,” Sirius nodded, brow furrowed in thought. “Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with
somewhere…There used to be a pretty roomy secret passageway behind that big mirror on the
fourth floor, you might have enough space to practice jinxes in there—”

“Fred and George told me it’s blocked,” Harry cut him off, “Caved in or something.”

“Oh…” Sirius frowned. “Well, I’ll have a think and get back to—”

Suddenly, he felt something brush the back of his head. Sirius froze, turning to glance behind him.
There, coming directly towards his face, was a hand—stubby fingers ladened with rings, grasping
—
Sirius pulled out of the fireplace immediately, heart pounding, and stumbled away as the floo
connection cut off.

* * *

Sunday 3rd November 1995

It had been a close call. Too close—Umbridge had nearly caught him. Sirius didn’t like to think
about what might have happened if he’d been just a split second slower, if he hadn’t realised what
was happening…

There was no telling exactly how it had happened, or who had tipped her off. All that was clear
was that owl mail was no longer safe, no matter how innocuous the message might seem—and
speaking through the floo network was completely off-limits. Which meant, for the remainder of
that autumn, that Sirius was cut off from Harry almost completely.

He still knew that the boy was safe, of course. He was at Hogwarts; there were plenty of Order
members there to give periodic updates and share any significant news. But Sirius didn’t want to
hear from McGonagall about how Harry’s lessons were going, or listen to Mundungus recount
what he’d seen the boy do during Hogsmeade weekends, or hear Dumbledore insist, over and over
again, that everything with Umbridge was under control.

He wanted to see his godson. He wanted to talk to Harry.

As the weeks slipped by, Sirius began to feel more and more like he was stuck, floating in a strange
sort of limbo, either drifting or dragging himself through time. He spent hours wandering or sitting
aimlessly in Grimmauld Place, waiting for Order members to stop by with news of the outside
world or counting down the days until meetings. He scanned newspapers obsessively, reading
between the lines of the Ministry’s drivel to figure out what was actually happening. He watched
Remus leave, again and again, on missions. He waited for him to come back.

Time had become such a strange and slippery thing that when November rolled around Sirius had
already lost track of the days completely. So when he came downstairs one evening to find Remus
in the kitchen, sticking a candle into a slice of cake, he only blinked and asked,

“What are you doing?”

“Oh!” Remus jumped, spinning around to look at him with a sheepish smile. “I was going to bring
this up and surprise you…” He straightened up, snapping his fingers to light the candle. “Happy
birthday.”

Sirius stared at the cake for a moment, processing the words.

“…Oh.”

Remus smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Did you think I’d forgotten?”

“No, I…” Sirius shook his head, moving further into the kitchen, “I didn’t realise…is it really
November already?”
“Has been for three days, love,” Remus said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Sirius drew
near. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Sirius’s temple.

Sirius looked down at the birthday cake, complete with its candle, then back up at Remus. His lips
twitched into a slow, teasing smile.

“Aren’t you going to sing for me?”

“Piss off.” Remus laughed, shoving him away and gesturing to the cake. “Go on then, make a
wish.”

Sirius smiled, and leaned down, and closed his eyes. He blew out the candle.

He wished.

They ate the cake together, knees knocking under the kitchen table.

“Remind me how old I am?” Sirius said, licking the frosting off his fork.

“Thirty-six.”

“Ugh, I’m ancient.”

“Shut up, you tosser, I’m the one who’s gone grey.”

“But Moony, you’re a silver fox!”

“Come off it.”

“I mean it, you’ve got the whole handsome professor thing going on.” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows,
grinning. “It’s quite sexy.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m not a professor – I was only a teacher for a year. Not even the full year,
at that.”

“I bet all the students fancied you.”

Remus wrinkled his nose. “Sirius, don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m not being disgusting!” Sirius laughed, leaning into Moony’s side, pressing a kiss to his neck.
“I’d’ve fancied you.” He kissed him again, tongue flicking along the line of Moony’s jaw. Remus
swallowed, and Sirius felt the motion against his lips.

“Come on, quit making fun,” he muttered. Sirius leaned in closer, steadying himself with a hand
against Remus’s thigh.

“Why?” He murmured, grinning against the taller man’s neck, “Going to put me in detention?” His
fingers slid higher, teasingly.

“Sirius—” Remus gasped, as Sirius began to kiss his neck again.

“Yes, professor?”

Remus groaned, and the sound sent a lick of heat down Sirius’s spine. “For Christ’s sake, don’t
call me that.”
“But it suits you,” Sirius was half in his lap now, nearly straddling him, “Professor.”

Remus made a low sound in the back of his throat, and then his arms were wrapping around Sirius
—there was a sudden lurch—Sirius yelped, shocked, as Moony apparated both of them directly
into the bedroom.

“Shut up,” Remus growled, shoving him backwards onto the bed. Sirius grinned, heart pounding.

“Is that an order, pr—”

Remus was on him before he could finish speaking, kissing him hungrily, hands sliding up to grip
his wrists. Sirius kissed him back, breathless. He tasted of birthday cake.

“Moony,” Sirius gasped when Remus broke away, lips moving down to his jaw, sucking a mark at
the pulse point of his neck.

“I thought I told you to stop talking,” Remus murmured, nipping at his collarbone. Sirius smiled,
eyes sliding closed, melting into the sensation of Moony’s tongue, Moony’s teeth…

“Well,” he shot back, smirking, “You’ll just have to make – ah!”

Remus pulled back, grinning down devilishly as Sirius bucked against the knee that had just slid
between his thighs.

“Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Nice try,” Sirius gasped, “You can’t shut me up that—fuck, Moony—”

Remus hummed, looking up from where he’d just begun to press soft kisses against Sirius’s hip,
fingers playing with the button on his jeans.

“Oh, did you want to have a conversation?” Remus asked, eyes flashing with that old, familiar
mischief. He began to pull away, and Sirius jerked, grasping at the silvered curls with one hand.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, heart thrumming with heat, as though all the blood in his body had
caught fire. Remus grinned, beautiful and evil and hungry.

“Ask nicely,” he said, thumb working slow circles over Sirius’s hip. He shifted his palm, slightly,
hand brushing lower, and—

“Please—” Sirius groaned, “Moony, please—”

There wasn’t much talking, after that.

When it was over, they lay tangled together, breathless and spent. Sirius had his head against
Moony’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, tracing scars with his fingers. In the background, Remus
had set a Leonard Cohen album spinning on the old record player.

For a while, they lay quietly, listening to the deep, hypnotic rasp.

‘If you want a lover…I’ll do anything you ask me to…’

“I have a present for you,” Remus murmured, fingers playing lazily with a strand of Sirius’s hair.

‘And if you want another kind of love…I’ll wear a mask for you…’
Sirius pressed himself up on one elbow, smirking.

“Another one?”

‘If you want a partner, take my hand…’

Remus rolled his eyes, sitting up and reaching for his wand on the bedside table. “An actual
present,” he said, summoning something under his breath.

“Moony, I do not know how to emphasise enough that that thing you do with your tongue is a gift
—”

“Shut up, you wanker.”

“Well, you could always make me again…”

Remus laughed, shaking his head, and leaned back against the headboard. He was holding a
matchbox in one hand, and he glanced down at it, biting his lip.

“Er…I didn’t find time to wrap it properly…”

‘Or if you want to strike me down in anger, here I stand…’

Sirius sat up, too, stretching out a hand.

“Go on, then. Give it here.”

From the record player, Cohen continued to croon over the gentle skip of music,

‘I’m your man…’

Remus swallowed, passing the box over and watching, nervously, as Sirius slid it open. He looked
down.

He stopped breathing.

“It’s not—” Remus said, quickly, “I mean…I know how you feel about…it’s not some—big thing,
or anything, just—I mean, I know we can’t really—well, actually I dunno, maybe it’s different
with wizard law, but even if we could—I mean, it’s really not the time, and I’m not expecting—it’s
not…”

Sirius stared down at the matchbox, feeling as though his heart might burst. Nestled together in the
cardboard, side by side, were two rings: simple, solid gold bands.

“Moony,” he breathed, shaking his head.

“We don’t have to,” Remus said, quickly, “I mean—it doesn’t have to be…marriage, or anything
like that. I don’t—I don’t even know how that would work, really, and it’s not—I mean, we don’t
need some big ceremony, I know that’s not something you’d want, and it’s not something I’d want
either, but I just…I just wanted something.”

“Something?” Sirius asked, looking up. Their eyes met, and caught, and tangled together. Sirius
wondered, vaguely, if they hadn’t been twined together from the very start, from that first moment
twenty-five years ago when he’d looked up at the Hogwarts Express and seen a boy in a window
on a train. Hadn’t they been searching for each other again, ever since? Didn’t their eyes always
end up back here, somehow, together?
 “A promise,” Remus said, softly, “That we’ll be together. If that’s—something you want.”

“Moony,” Sirius felt himself smiling, even as tears pricked his eyes, “That’s all I want.”

Remus released a breath; the joy glowed on his face, blindingly bright. Yet Sirius didn’t think he
could look away, even if he wanted to.

“You promise?” He breathed, bringing a hand up to cradle Sirius’s face, thumb stroking across his
jaw. Sirius leaned into the touch.

“I promise,” he said.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "i'm your man" by leonard cohen!

also -- i do not actually think 36 is middle-aged, just fyi. for sirius and remus, it's old
age! :)

also x2 - after reading the comments on last chapter, a note on the silver thing: the
answer to "how is remus ok being in the kitchen with silver??" is fuck shut up i didn't
think about that stop asking me things ahhhhh
no but actually that's a good point, i just didn't think of it when i was writing. so...hc
that sirius is purposely pointing out all the silver to mundungus knowing he'll steal it
and leave shitty non-silver copies behind <3 and in the meantime idk remus just didn't
use any of the silver and probably felt sick or something lol
 Christmas 1995
Chapter Summary

shaking and crying as i try to get this fic to a happy ending

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

In starlit nights, I saw you

So cruelly, you kissed me

Your lips, a magic world

Your sky, all hung with jewels

The killing moon

Will come too soon

Fate

Up against your will

Through the thick and thin

He will wait until

You give yourself to him

Wednesday 18th December 1995

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t uncommon; he often had trouble sleeping when Remus was away. The bed was too big,
and too cold. His head was too full of nightmares. It took him too long to come back to himself,
when he startled awake and had nobody there to ground him.

Currently, Remus was on an overnight reconnaissance mission with Emmeline Vance, somewhere
in Wales. He’d told Sirius before he left that he likely wouldn’t make it back until the following
afternoon, and Sirius had nodded and smiled and kissed him goodbye and not complained, not even
a little bit. The moment the door clicked shut, he’d gone straight for the firewhisky.

Remus didn’t drink, anymore. The bottle was Sirius’s own private stash, for emergencies only. He
didn’t use it often – only when he really needed it. And tonight…tonight was a bad night.
It was just the season. Just the weather, really. Winter had a way of crawling into his bones, the
cold and dark so familiar, the biting wind that rattled the windows like the wind off the sea…

And it was nearly Christmas, which always made him think of the Potters; Effie’s mince pies,
Monty’s games of charades, James’s delighted smile as he unwrapped yet another quidditch-
related gift…

Sirius took a long pull on the bottle, allowing the burn of whiskey to dull his senses, just a bit. He
sat sprawled in an armchair, staring into the fireplace, wondering if the hypnotic dance of the
flames paired with the liquor-induced heaviness might be enough to eventually lull him to sleep.

“SIRIUS!”

He startled out of the chair, nearly dropping the bottle of firewhisky. He had just been dozing off,
eyes drifting closed—

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, YOU USELESS BRAT?!”

Ah. Sirius grimaced as he realised who must be speaking.

“Calm down, you old geezer,” he muttered, leaving the bottle on the floor and stomping up the
stairs.

“SIRI—oh, there you are.”

Sirius glared at the portrait of his great-great-grandfather, hovering in the doorway of the empty
bedroom.

“What?”

“Well, there’s no need to be churlish,” sniffed Phineas, looking down at him with obvious disdain.
“I have a message from Dumbledore.”

“From Dumbledore?”

Sirius straightened up. Phineas Nigellus had once been a Hogwarts headmaster, which meant that
he had a twinned portrait which remained inside the headmaster’s office at the school. Dumbledore
sometimes used the crotchety old man to pass messages back and forth, but Sirius had no idea what
could possibly warrant such a late-night call. His heart plummeted as he immediately imagined the
worst.

Remus—Harry—

“What’s happened?!”

Phineas frowned, sourly. “I’m not an owl, you know. You could ask politely.”

“Oh for merlin’s sake, just give me the blasted message!”

The portrait tutted grumpily, but said,

“Fine, then. He’s sent me to tell you that Arthur Weasley’s been badly injured. His wife and
children are on their way here. Oh—and Harry Potter.”

“What?” Sirius frowned, stepping forward, “Injured—injured how? When?”

“I don’t know!” Snapped the portrait, “I was trying to sleep, thank you very much, I wasn’t paying
attention to every little detail of what was said! Shall I tell him to send the children to you or not?”

“Yes—yes, of course they can come here, but—”

Phineas did not wait for him to finish, merely turned around and disappeared from the portrait,
muttering under his breath. Sirius scowled—he hadn’t even said when the kids would be arriving,
or how…

Floo? No—the network was being watched. Apparation was off the table if they were at
Hogwarts…flying would take too long…

Portkey, then. Sirius hurried down to the kitchen, which was set as the house’s usual portkey-
reception spot. Kreacher, who he hadn’t noticed standing in the hallway, skulked in behind him,
clutching a filthy rag.

“Opening the mistress’s home to such filth…a disgrace…” he muttered, creeping around to the
corner.

“Shut up!” Sirius snapped, He still felt a bit dulled from the liquor he’d consumed earlier, and he
splashed a bit of cold water on his face to try and wake up. Kreacher watched him, judgmentally.

He had barely finished drying off when there was a small pop! Sirius turned to find Harry, Ron,
the twins, and Ginny, all holding onto an old kettle.

“Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father’s dying…?” Kreacher sneered, shuffling a
bit closer and eyeing the tarnished kettle.

“OUT!” Sirius shouted, pointing at the kitchen door. Kreacher cast one last reproachful look over
his shoulder before scurrying away, and Sirius turned back to the children, who all looked a bit
dazed.

“What’s going on?” He asked, helping Ginny up off the floor, “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been
badly injured—”

“Ask Harry,” said Fred.

“Yeah,” George agreed, turning to the dark-haired boy, “I want to hear this for myself.”

Sirius turned with them to look at Harry, who was staring back with an apprehensive expression.

“It was—” he swallowed, glancing away, “I had a—a kind of—vision…er…I was sleeping, and I
thought it was a dream at first, but—it wasn’t, it was different. I saw Mr. Weasley standing in a
dark room, and then…there was a snake. It attacked him; he was bleeding…I…I told Dumbledore
as fast as I could.” He shook his head, staring grimly at the floor. “He sent some of the portraits in
his office to go…check, I guess, and they found him and called for help. He’s in St. Mungo’s
now.”

There was a tense moment of silence once Harry finished speaking, as everyone absorbed this
news. Then,

“Is Mum here?” Fred asked, turning to Sirius. He shook his head.

“I doubt she even knows what’s happened yet…it sounds like Dumbledore’s main priority was
getting the five of you here before Umbridge could interfere. I’m sure he’s contacting Molly now.”
“We’ve got to go to St. Mungo’s,” Ginny stepped forward, urgently. “Sirius, can you lend us some
cloaks or anything—?”

“Well—hang on, you can’t all just run off to St. Mungo’s!”

“Yes, we can!” Fred said, chin jutting out defiantly, “We’ve got to—he’s our dad!”

Sirius frowned. “And what exactly is your plan for explaining why four of Arthur’s children
somehow knew about the attack before the hospital even had time to contact his wife?”

“What does that matter?” George moved to stand beside his brother, crossing his arms like he was
settling in for a fight.

“It matters because we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of
things that are happening hundreds of miles away!” Sirius shot back, losing patience, “D’you have
any idea how the Ministry would respond to that?”

Fred and George continued to glare, mulishly, and Sirius was almost afraid that they might simply
apparate away—if not for their younger siblings. Ron had remained silent throughout the entire
exchange, pale and wide-eyed. But Ginny furrowed her brow, thinking.

“Somebody else could have told us…we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry…”

“Where?” Sirius asked, shaking his head, “Look, your dad was on business for the Order tonight,
it’s already going to look strange enough when he turns up injured—if his children somehow know
exactly what happened without anyone telling them, it could implicate the Order—”

“We don’t care about the bloody Order!” Fred burst out, hands curling into fists.

George shouted, just as loudly, “It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!”

“Your father knew what he signed up for!” Sirius yelled back, “Trust me, he won’t thank you if
you go and muck everything up that we’ve been working for! This is just how it is—you’re too
young, you don’t understand—there are things worth dying for!”

“Easy for you to say, isn’t it!” Fred raged, “You’re not the one out risking your neck!”

Sirius froze, choking back the horrible swell of anger that surged through his chest.

He’s a child, he reminded himself, firmly, He’s a child, and you’re an adult, and it’s your job to be
responsible. It’s your job to keep them safe.

“Look,” he said, forcing himself to stop shouting, “I know that this is hard, okay? I know. But
rushing to the hospital will only make things more difficult for everyone involved, and unless one
of you has a healer certification that I don’t know about, it’s not as if there’s anything you’ll be
able to do. So we have to stay put, at least until we hear from your mum. All right?”

Fred and George continued to glare at him, furious—but Sirius couldn’t blame them. Hell, if he
was in their position he probably already would have apparated to St. Mungo’s—all things
considered, they were exercising a considerable amount of self-control.

Ginny was the first to concede, moving over to the armchair in front of the fireplace and curling up
with her knees to her chest. Ron and Harry exchanged a wordless look, then sat side by side at the
kitchen table.
“That’s right,” Sirius said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice, “Come on, let’s all…let’s all
have a drink while we’re waiting. Accio butterbeer!”

Six bottles came soaring out of the pantry, skidding across the table. Sirius passed them around;
they were wordlessly accepted and cracked open, leaving the kitchen silent save for the crackling
of the fire and the soft clink of the bottles.

Sirius felt, distinctly, that he should be doing something more. But he had never been particularly
good at comforting people, and he wasn’t sure what to say…Fred and George still looked furious,
exchanging dark looks as they drank their butterbeer; Ron remained pale and silent; Ginny’s
features were pinched with worry.

Suddenly, a burst of fire appeared over the table, startling everyone. It left a scroll of parchment in
its wake, which thudded onto the table along with a single golden phoenix tail feather.

“Fawkes!” Sirius cried, leaning forward to grab the parchment. “That’s not Dumbledore’s writing
—it must be a message from your mother—here—”

He shoved the letter towards George, who snatched it eagerly and began to read aloud,

“Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo’s now. Stay where you are. I will send news as
soon as I can. Mum.”

George looked up, brow creased with worry.

“Still alive…” he murmured, “But that makes it sound…”

He didn’t bother to finish the sentence; based on the horrified expressions of everyone present,
they all understood how it sounded.

Still alive…Just how bad had this attack been? And what—Harry had mentioned a snake…the
Order knew that Voldemort kept a massive snake as some sort of pet; Harry had seen it in the
graveyard that night…had he somehow…set it on Arthur? Like a trained dog? Sirius supposed that
the wards on the Department of Mysteries were likely meant for wizards; it might be possible for
an animal to slip through…

The next few hours passed in tense and weary silence. Sirius tried, at one point, to suggest that they
all go up to bed—that seemed like the responsible thing to do. But Fred and George only gave him
incredulous, disgusted looks, as though the mere suggestion of trying to sleep was offensive
(which, Sirius thought, was probably fair). Ginny and Ron didn’t even look at him; Ron had his
head in his hands, and Ginny was curled up silently in the armchair, staring straight ahead into the
fire.

Every so often, Sirius would exchange looks with Harry, who was clutching his bottle of butterbeer
in a white-knuckled fist. It was comforting, to have somebody else on the outside of the Weasleys’
private grief; someone else experiencing the same helplessness that comes with watching others
wilt under a pain you can’t quite touch. At the same time, Sirius got the distinct impression that
Harry himself was in need of some sort of comfort—once again, he felt acutely aware of his own
uselessness as a godfather, how unprepared he was for any of it, like a schoolboy playing at being
an adult.

It wasn’t until ten past five in the morning that the door finally swung open, and Mrs. Weasley
stumbled through, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Immediately, all six of them turned to look
at her—she plastered on a thin, strained smile.
“He’s going to be all right,” she croaked, voice scratchy and raw, as though she’d been crying,
“He’s sleeping, but we’ll all go visit him later. Bill’s taking the morning off work to stay with him,
for now.”

Fred sagged back into his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. George and Ginny stood at the
same time and hurried over to their mother, hugging her tightly. Ron made a noise that was
somewhere between a whimper and a laugh, gulping down the rest of his butterbeer.

Sirius felt limp with relief. Arthur was fine. For a moment, he’d thought…another death…

But no—no, things were different from last time. It wasn’t going to be the same as it was back
then.

“Breakfast!” He exclaimed, leaping to his feet, “Where’s that bloody house-elf? Kreacher!
KREACHER!”

The slimy little wretch didn’t show—figured.

“Oh, forget it, then,” Sirius tutted, scanning the kitchen, “So it’s breakfast for—let’s see—seven…
Bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast—”

Harry stood from the table and hurried over, helping grab some plates from the cupboard. He had
just turned around when Molly plucked the dishes from his hands, set them down, and pulled him
into a fierce hug.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, in a weepy sort of voice, “Thank you. Thank you—if it hadn’t been for you,
they would’ve never found him in time…would’ve taken hours, and by then—” She pulled back a
bit, shaking her head as though to dislodge the thought of what she’d been about to say. “Well, but
thanks to you he’s alive, and Dumbledore had time to come up with a cover story for why he was
there—it could have been a nasty mess; I mean, just look at what happened to Sturgis…”

She released Harry, turning to Sirius next. To his surprise, she reached out to take both his hands in
hers, gripping them tightly.

“And thank you, Sirius, for looking after the children—I would have been worried sick
otherwise…”

“It was no trouble,” Sirius assured her, taken slightly aback by the fervid gratitude in her voice,
“Really—I’m just glad I was able to help. You’re all welcome to stay here as long as you want, if
you’d like to be a bit closer to St. Mungo’s.”

Molly’s eyes filled with tears, which she blinked away. “Oh, could we? I’d be so grateful—
Arthur’ll have to stay in the hospital for a bit, it would make things so much simpler to be closer…
of course, that might mean we’re here for Christmas…”

“Brilliant!” Sirius said, enthusiastically, “The more the merrier!”

Molly beamed at him, sniffling a bit even as she smiled, and then reached for an apron and insisted
on helping with breakfast. Ron and Ginny began to set the table; Fred and George were huddled
together, speaking in low voices. Once the bacon had begun to sizzle in the pan, Harry came to
stand beside Sirius, fidgeting with the sleeve of his pyjama shirt.

“Sirius,” he mumbled, voice strained, “Can I talk to you for a second? Er—now?”

Sirius frowned, but nodded, following Harry into the dark pantry. The boy continued to fidget,
glancing around anxiously as the door swung shut behind them. Sirius cast a quick lumos to
illuminate the space.

“Harry?” He asked, gently, “What’s going on?”

“I—there’s something I need to tell you.” Harry took a breath, then began to speak all at once,
words coming out in a rush.

“In the dream, I wasn’t just watching—I mean, I was, but I was also—I was there. It was like—
like I was the snake, like I was seeing everything through its eyes, like I could feel…” he shook his
head, helplessly, “It felt like I was the one attacking Mr. Weasley.”

Sirius nodded, slowly, watching Harry’s face. The boy was clearly upset; guilty and afraid and
anxious and looking to Sirius as if he’d have the answers. As if he’d know exactly the right things
to say.

“Did you tell Dumbledore this?”

“Yes,” Harry said, bitterly, “But he didn’t tell me what it meant. Dunno what I expected—he never
tells me anything anymore…”

“Well…I’m sure that if it was anything to worry about, he would have said something…”

“But that’s not everything,” Harry whispered, furtively, “Sirius, I…I feel like I might be going
mad. When we were in Dumbledore’s office, right before we took the portkey…there was this—
this moment where I looked at him and…it felt like I was the snake. Like I wanted to hurt him.
And my scar hurt really badly…”

Sirius tried to keep his face from betraying the unease he felt, at that. Harry’s connection to
Voldemort was not something that any of them understood, not really—even Dumbledore seemed
to view the pains in his scar and the strange visions as a sort of puzzle to solve, something he had
never seen the likes of before…but what Harry was describing—it almost sounded like…

“I’m sure it was just—some sort of echo, the aftermath of the vision.” Sirius assured him, “The
dream was still fresh in your mind, and—”

“It wasn’t that,” Harry interrupted, voice taut with frustration, “It felt like—like there was
something inside me, trying to get out—like there was a snake—”

“Look, you’re exhausted,” Sirius cut him off, speaking firmly, “Once you’ve had a bit of breakfast
and a few hours’ sleep you’ll feel better, alright? And then after lunch you can go and visit Arthur
with the others.” He reached out, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder in what he hoped was
something approximating a fatherly gesture. “You’re in shock right now, Harry. You’ve just
witnessed something terrible, and you’re blaming yourself for it, but you shouldn’t. It wasn’t you
that attacked Arthur—in fact, if you hadn’t seen it, he might not even be alive right now…you
saved his life, so try to stop worrying about it for now; you’ve done everything you can.”

Harry did not look very reassured—his only answer was a sullen shrug. Sirius stared at him,
helplessly, trying to figure out what else he could say—but then Molly called from the kitchen that
breakfast was nearly ready, and with no other ideas for how to cheer up his godson, Sirius simply
clapped him on the shoulder and led the way back out to join the others.

A spot of breakfast—that was all Harry needed. A spot of breakfast and rest, and things would go
right back to normal.
 * * *

Thursday 19th December 1995

Remus arrived back the following afternoon, while the others were out visiting Arthur at St.
Mungo’s. This was convenient, as it gave Sirius ample time to catch him up on everything that had
happened the previous night. They sat in the kitchen, where Remus nursed a cup of tea as Sirius
spoke.

“Christ,” he muttered, once the story was over, “And Dumbledore already knows all of this?”

“He’s the one who sent them here,” Sirius confirmed. Remus sighed, wearily, scrubbing a hand
over his face.

“So?” Sirius asked, leaning forward over the table, “What d’you think?”

“About the dreams?”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t reckon it could be…”

“Possession?” Remus frowned. “I’m not sure…I never studied possession outside the context of
spirituous apparitions, and Voldemort’s human...well, as far as we know, at least. I’m not sure how
it would work.”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, frowning, “Yeah, and it’s not like Harry was actually there—physically, I
mean. So…it’s got to be something else, right?”

“Maybe…” Remus trailed off, staring down into his cup of tea. “It all comes back to the scar, I
suppose…based on what you’ve told me, both Harry and Voldemort should have died that night in
Godric’s Hollow, but neither of them did—it’s as though the spell connected them instead…but
I’ve never heard of that happening.”

“I don’t think anyone has,” Sirius muttered, darkly, “But I’m pretty sure Dumbledore knows more
than he’s letting on.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. What else is new?”

They sat quietly for a bit, both lost in thought. Finally, Remus yawned.

“I’ll have to research it,” he said, standing, “But not right now. I’m knackered—barely got any
sleep, Moody wanted us staking out some pub where he thinks vampires have been meeting with
death eaters…”

“Oh—right, yeah, go on then. Molly and the kids’ll be back soon, I told them they could stay for
the holidays.”

Remus levitated his mug into the sink, smiling tiredly. “That sounds nice.”

“Doesn’t it?” Sirius perked up a bit, “I was thinking—we should decorate the house, the way the
Potters always did it…give Harry a proper Christmas, y’know…”
“Mm.” Remus bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Whatever you want, Pads.”

Sirius tilted his head back, craning his neck to catch Moony’s lips in a kiss. He reached up,
twisting his fingers in the messy curls, and—

“Did you just yawn?”

“No—” The end of the word turned into a drawn-out sigh, as Remus tried to stifle another yawn.
Sirius raised a brow, and the taller man grinned, sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he laughed, “It’s not you—I really am knackered.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius swatted him away, “Go to bed then, before you damage my fragile ego.”

Remus grinned, bending down to press one last peck against his lips before heading out of the
kitchen and up the stairs.

Sirius spent the rest of the afternoon planning out Christmas decorations, trying to figure out what
they would need—tinsel, and those strings of lights Mrs. Potter always used…holly wreaths,
mistletoe…a tree, of course—he could probably recruit Mundungus for that…

By the time the others had returned home and Remus came downstairs for dinner, Sirius was in a
very good mood. It dampened, slightly, when he realised that Harry had gone straight up to bed—
too tired to come down and eat, Mrs. Weasley said. Sirius couldn’t help thinking about the way
Harry had acted the previous night—frantic and anxious and guilty.

“D’you think he’s alright?” he asked, as he lay in Moony’s arms that night.

“Hmm?”

“Harry.”

“Oh.” Remus sighed. “I dunno. Probably just needs a bit of time to work through things. He
witnessed something really awful; I think I’d be more concerned if he was acting normal after all
that…”

“Yeah…d’you think I should try and talk to him about it?”

Remus was quiet for a bit, thinking. Eventually, he murmured,

“Give him a bit of space, first. I don’t think it’ll do any good to crowd him if he wants to be alone
—he’ll talk to you when he’s ready, if he needs to.”

So Sirius took Moony’s advice, and gave Harry space the next day—which the boy took full
advantage of, shutting himself up in the drawing room while the rest of them decorated. Sirius
remained bright and cheerful, hoping that a festive environment might draw Harry out of his funk.
It didn’t work; Harry didn’t even come down to eat lunch.

By the time evening fell, Sirius resolved to speak to Harry the next morning if things hadn’t
improved. But in the end, he didn’t need to—Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place around 6
o’clock, having decided to skip her family’s ski trip in favour of spending the holidays with her
friends. Sirius wasn’t sure what she did exactly, but the next morning Harry seemed much happier,
and threw himself into helping decorate the house. Sirius was so pleased that he couldn’t stop
smiling.
“Your dad loved Christmas, you know,” he said, as they charmed never-melting icicles to grow
from the doorways—Sirius had just taught Harry the spell.

“He did?”

“Oh, yes,” Sirius nodded, smiling fondly, “It was his favourite time of year. Well—except maybe
for quidditch finals.” He laughed, and Harry watched him, eyes full of hungry curiosity.

“What did he—why did he like it so much?”

Sirius’s heart gave a little twist—Oh, Prongs, he couldn’t help thinking, I wish you could be here.

“I think it was because of your grandparents. They’d always go all out on the decorations, with a
massive tree every year, and lights and tinsel everywhere…Effie was famous for her Boxing Day
parties; everyone loved them. And her mince pies—I still dream about them, sometimes. And
Monty made everyone laugh with his stories…he’d always gather us in the living room after
Christmas dinner, and we’d play charades in front of the fireplace…”

“That sounds nice,” Harry said, wistfully. When Sirius looked down, the boy was staring out the
window at the flurries of falling snow, with a sad sort of smile on his face. “I didn’t…I never really
had a real Christmas. Not ‘til I got to Hogwarts.”

Sirius had to swallow the anger that rose, uselessly, in his throat—if it weren’t for Dumbledore’s
insistence that Harry needed them, he would have wrung Petunia and her horrid husband’s necks
himself.

“Neither did I,” he said, and Harry turned to look at him.

“Really?”

Sirius smiled wryly, gesturing to the Black Family tapestry on the wall behind them. “You’ve met
my mother—sort of. Christmas was all about showing the other pureblood families how poised and
perfect we were; it was never what I would call joyful…until I met your dad. James was always so
enthusiastic about the holiday—it was contagious.”

Harry swallowed, looking down at the ground.

“What about my mum?” He asked, quietly.

Sirius finished charming the icicles and lowered his wand, thinking.

“I was never as close with Lily, growing up…we didn’t become friends until our final year at
Hogwarts, I’d say. But once I got to know her, your mother was one of the kindest people I’d ever
met—we spent every Christmas together after we left school…all of us, James and Lily and Remus
and—” Peter. “—and me. She was a force to be reckoned with, that Lily—kept us all in check
when the festivities ran amok…and she had a special knack for gift wrapping, and decorating the
tree…”

When he looked back at Harry, the boy was watching him, still with that same wistful expression.
Sirius swallowed and reached out, throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he smiled, tightly, “I’m sure you don’t want to listen to an old man reminisce…I just—”
he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m really, really happy that you’re here for Christmas, Harry. I…I
know I’m not…I mean, I’ll never be…”
“I know,” Harry said, quietly, “It’s ok. I’m…really happy to be here, too.” He smiled, tentatively,
and Sirius had to fight back the tears that jumped into his eyes.

“Ah, c’mere, kid.” He pulled Harry into a hug, squeezing him tightly, and mumbled into the bird’s-
nest hair, “I really bloody love you, you know that, right?”

Harry hugged him back, glasses poking into Sirius’s shoulder. “Yeah,” Harry mumbled, voice a bit
shaky, “I know.”

* * *

Wednesday 25th December 1995

It was, undoubtedly, the best Christmas that Sirius had had in fifteen years. Everyone was in high
spirits on Christmas morning, as the children all exclaimed over their many gifts. Sirius and Remus
had bought Harry a set of illustrated instructional books—Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use
Against the Dark Arts—which he seemed delighted with, thanking them profusely and even
bringing one down to the breakfast table to flip through. The mood was dampened, slightly, when
Percy sent back the handmade sweater he’d received from his mother; Molly cried in the kitchen
for half an hour, but eventually Remus was able to soothe her. Sirius had no clue when he’d gotten
so good at that—the boy he remembered from Hogwarts would flee the room whenever somebody
started sniffling.

In the afternoon, everyone went to visit Arthur at St. Mungo’s. Remus tagged along, as Molly had
let him know that there was a newly-bitten werewolf in the same ward as Arthur, and suggested
that the man might like someone to talk to. Sirius stayed behind at Grimmauld Place, which might
have otherwise made him a bit gloomy—but in the end it worked out in his favour, as he’d planned
to meet with Mundungus to arrange a surprise gift for Moony. Dung stuck around for a bit, and the
two of them spent an hour playing a drinking game which Mundungus insisted that he’d learned
from a group of trolls in Knockturn Alley. By the time the others returned they were both in very
high spirits—Molly frowned disapprovingly, but allowed Mundungus to stay for dinner,
nonetheless. Afterwards, Sirius gathered everyone in the drawing room for a game of charades.
They divided into two teams, and by the end of it everyone was in stitches and no one had
remembered to keep track of score.

Eventually, everyone shuffled off to bed, stuffed full of mince pies and eggnog. Sirius bid
goodnight to Harry before climbing the stairs up to his bedroom, leaving Remus to finish a
conversation about healing charms with George.

By the time Moony cracked the door open, Sirius had already changed into pyjamas, and was
sitting cross-legged on the bed. The Smashing Pumpkins album that Remus had got him for
Christmas was spinning on the record player, opening track just starting up.

‘Time is never time at all…you can never ever leave…without leaving a piece of youth…and our
lives are forever changed…’

Remus shut the door behind him.

“You know, the muggles use something called CDs, now.”

“And yet you’re the one who bought me a record.”

Moony’s lips twitched. “Guess I was feeling nostalgic.”

‘Believe in me…believe, believe…that life can change, that you’re not stuck in vain…’

“Anyway, my record player still works just fine,” Sirius sniffed, as Remus settled down beside him
on the bed.

“Mm, that it does.”

They sat side by side, listening to Billy Corgan’s nasal whine.

‘We’re not the same, we’re different…’

“I have your Christmas present,” Sirius said.

Remus cocked his head. “I thought we weren’t doing Christmas presents.”

“You got me the record.”

“Yeah, but that was just…”

“Trust me, you’ll like it.”

Remus sighed. “Alright, then. Go on.”

Sirius grinned, pulling out a small paper box, complete with a festive little bow on top. “Ta-da!”
He passed it over, and Remus snorted sceptically, but opened it all the same. As he looked down at
the contents, his eyes widened; a slow smile crept across his face.

“Padfoot…is this…?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” Sirius said, smugly.

“Where did you—?”

“Mundungus.”

“Ah. Should’ve guessed.”

When Remus continued to stare down, without moving, Sirius asked hesitantly,

“Is it…alright? I know you don’t really…drink, anymore, but I thought…”

Remus shook his head, and leaned forward, gripping the back of Sirius’s neck to pull him in for a
kiss.

“It’s bloody fantastic,” he said, smiling.

Twenty minutes later, they were both pleasantly high, sleepy and relaxed on the bedspread. Remus
was lying sprawled across the centre of the mattress, with Sirius using his stomach as a pillow. On
the record player, the album had run past the scratchy rock songs to some of the slower numbers.
Sirius closed his eyes, listening to the dreamy keyboard as a new track started.
‘Ain’t it funny…how we pretend we’re still a child…softly stolen…under our blanket skies…’

Remus was running fingers through his hair, playing gently with the curls.

‘And rescue me from me…and all that I believe…’

“Do you remember that one Christmas?” Sirius asked, “At Hogwarts?”

‘I won’t deny the pain…I won’t deny the change…’

“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, love,” Remus murmured, “There were a few…”

‘And should I fall from grace…here with you…will you leave me too?’

“Sixth year,” Sirius said, “When it was just us.”

‘Carve out your heart for keeps in an old oak tree…’

“Yeah,” Remus breathed, and Sirius could hear the smile in his voice, “That was a good one.”

‘And hold me for goodbyes….and whispered lullabies…’

“I was terrified.” Sirius murmured. He felt Remus shift beneath him, and when he opened his eyes
the other man had propped himself up on his elbows.

‘And tell me I am still…the man I’m supposed to be….’

“What?” He asked, frowning, “Why?”

‘I won’t deny the pain…I won’t deny the change…’

“Why d’you think?” Sirius wrinkled his nose, “Because I was in love with you, idiot.”

‘And should I fall from grace…here with you…will you leave me too?’

“Oh.” Remus lay back down, “Really?”

‘Will you leave me too?’

“Yeah,” Sirius said, softly, “I mean…I was still figuring it out. But I was.”

‘Too late to turn back now…I’m running out of sound…’

“I think I always was.”

‘And I am changing…changing…’

Remus breathed in, a short, sharp sound.

‘And if we died right now….this fool you love somehow…is here with you…’

“Yeah,” he whispered, after a moment, “Me too.”

‘I won’t deny the pain…I won’t deny the change…

And should I fall from grace…here with you…

Would you leave me too?

Would you leave me too?’

* * *

Saturday 11th January 1996

It got worse, after Christmas.

Sirius didn’t know what he’d expected—it always got worse. He’d learned that lesson in Azkaban,
hadn’t he? Grief followed joy like a wounded dog; limping, wary, quick to bite.

He’d known, of course, that Harry would be returning to Hogwarts at the end of the holiday
season. But it wasn’t until Molly began discussing the best way to transport the children back to
school one evening over dinner that it truly sunk in how little time they had left. Sirius listened to
her rattle on about the Knight Bus, feeling the joy bleed from him as he thought about everyone
leaving, about being stuck alone again in his crypt of a house.

He knew he’d still have Remus. He knew that. But Dumbledore wanted Moony to try and liaise
with the werewolf pack he’d once helped break away from Greyback on the January full moon, and
the trip was set to take a week…Sirius couldn’t stop himself from remembering what had happened
the last time Remus left to meet with werewolves. How he’d walked out the door, and never come
back.

At least—not until it was already too late.

He did his best to hide his dark mood. But it was hard—so hard, especially when he had to fight the
instinct to cringe away from any happiness.

What’s the point? Whispered that old, familiar voice in the back of his head, They’re all going to
leave you. It’ll only hurt worse later, the more time you spend with them now…

Sirius found himself spending more and more time hidden away in Buckbeak’s room, tossing dead
rats at the hippogriff, pretending each one was Peter.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you, boy…” Sirius murmured, sullenly, as he watched Buckbeak
happily snap the rodents out of the air. The hippogriff made a little chirping sound and stretched
his wings, fluttering them slightly and sending a gust of wind over Sirius’s face. He closed his
eyes, trying to imagine that he was flying.

He couldn’t.

By the time the final day of school holidays rolled around, Sirius was thoroughly miserable.
Knowing that the others could sense his dreadful mood did nothing to abate it—if anything, it
made him feel worse, certain that everyone was eager to leave him and his moping behind. So he
was already having an awful day when he wandered downstairs that afternoon and discovered the
one thing guaranteed to make him feel even worse—Severus Snape, sitting at his kitchen table.
“What the fuck?”

“Eloquent as ever, Black.”

“Sorry—I thought we’d already gotten rid of all the ghouls in the house.”

“Sirius,” Molly hissed reproachfully, bustling in from the pantry, “Severus is here to speak with
Harry.”

“Alone,” Snape added, darkly.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” He sat down deliberately at the kitchen table, at
the opposite end from Snape, and crossed his arms.

“I’m here on Dumbledore’s orders,” Snivellus bit out, glaring. He shoved a letter across the table,
which Sirius glanced down at. It was short, to the point; Dumbledore had sent Severus to speak
with Harry about learning Occlumency, so that he might shield his mind from the visions that he
seemed to be receiving from Voldemort. Sirius scanned it quickly, then looked back up.

“Don’t care,” He said, breezily, “It’s my house. I’ll sit where I like.”

Molly tutted and shook her head, but wisely chose to stay out of it, saying weakly,

“I’ll run and fetch Harry, shall I?”

And with that, she hurried away, leaving the two men alone at the table. If looks could kill, they’d
have both been goners.

After a few minutes of tense silence, the door swung open. Harry stepped through and froze
immediately, taking in the scene.

“Er…”

Snape turned to look at him, greasy hair sliding out of his eyes.

“Sit down, Potter.”

“Don’t order him around,” Sirius snapped, “This is my house, Snape. You don’t have any authority
here.”

Snape’s face went bright red, mouth so pinched that it nearly disappeared. Harry sat down beside
Sirius, awkwardly.

“I was meant to speak with you alone, Potter,” Snivellus said, voice dripping with disdain, “But
Black—”

“I’m his godfather,” Sirius interrupted, harshly.

“And as I already told you, I am here on Dumbledore’s orders!” Snape sneered, “But suit yourself,
Black, I know you like to feel…involved.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius growled, leaning forward in his chair.

“Oh, nothing. I’m just sure that it must be frustrating, being unable to do anything useful for the
Order.”
Sirius briefly entertained the idea of transforming into Padfoot, just so that he could leap across the
table and bite the man.

Snape went on, smugly, “The headmaster sent me to inform you, Potter, that he wishes for you to
study Occlumency this term.”

Harry stared at him, blankly. “Study what?”

Snape’s smug little sneer twisted viciously, as though he could think of no greater satisfaction than
having a leg up on a fifteen-year-old. “Occlumency, Potter. The magical defence of the mind
against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.”

Next to Sirius, Harry stiffened.

“Why does he want me to study Occ—whatever?”

“So that you can defend your mind against external penetration, obviously.” Snape drawled, “You
will begin private lessons once a week, and you are not to tell anybody what you are doing, least of
all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Harry frowned at the older man’s condescending tone, “Who’s going to teach me?”

Snape raised a brow, as though it were obvious.

“Me.”

Harry went pale, turning to Sirius with a panicked look in his eyes—Sirius responded immediately.

“Why you?” He growled, “Why can’t Dumbledore teach Harry himself?”

“I suppose because it is a headmaster’s privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks,” Snape replied,
lip curling, “I assure you, I did not beg for the job.” He stood, addressing Harry once more, “I will
expect you at six o’clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking
Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.”

He turned, billowing black cloak making him look like some sort of greasy, oversized bat.

“Hang on,” Sirius said, straightening in his chair.

Snape turned back, with a sour frown.

“I do have places to be, Black…unlike you…”

“Let me get to the point, then,” Sirius said, standing, “If I hear you’re using these Occlumency
lessons to give Harry a hard time, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“How touching,” Snape replied, voice dripping with disdain, “But surely you’ve noticed how very
like his father Potter is?”

“Of course I have,” Sirius said, proudly.

“Well, then I’m sure you know he’s so arrogant that criticism is seemingly unable to penetrate that
thick skull of his.”

Sirius shoved back his chair, yanking out his wand and striding up to Snape before he could even
think about what he was doing. He’d be damned if he was about to stand in his own home and
listen to a vile little man like Snivellus spit on the memory of James and insult his son.

“Sirius!” Harry cried, alarmed. Sirius ignored him.

“I’ve warned you, Snivellus,” he hissed, “I don’t give a shit if you’ve got Dumbledore convinced
you’re reformed—I see right through you—”

“Why don’t you run along and tell him that, then?” Snape sneered, “Worried he won’t think much
of the advice of a man who’s been hiding away in his mother’s house for six months, while the rest
of us are out risking our lives?”

“Oh, a great risk that you’re taking, I’m sure,” Sirius scoffed, “Tell me, how’s Lucius Malfoy these
days? He must be thrilled to have his lapdog working at Hogwarts…”

“Speaking of dogs,” Snape shot back, “Did you know that Lucius recognised you last time you
risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform…
gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn’t it?”

Sirius raised his wand, curse on the tip of his tongue, when—

“NO!” Harry shouted, shoving in between them, “Sirius, don’t—”

“Are you calling me a coward?!” Sirius roared, trying futilely to wrestle Harry out of the way.

“A bit slow on the uptake, there,” Snape hissed.

“Harry—get—out—of the way!” Sirius growled, using his free hand to shove at his godson’s
shoulder.

Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open. An entire flood of Weasleys poured through, followed by
Hermione and all smiling broadly. In the centre walked Mr. Weasley, beaming down at his family.

“Cured!” He announced happily, “Completely cured!”

The entire processions froze in the doorway as they caught sight of Snape and Sirius – wands
drawn, expressions full of murderous rage – and Harry, standing helplessly between them with his
hands outstretched.

“Merlin’s beard,” Arthur said, smile falling away, “What’s going on?”

Snape lowered his wand, and Sirius reluctantly followed suit, though he still hadn’t ruled out the
option of transforming into Padfoot and attacking that way. He continued to glare at Severus as he
brushed past the Weasleys, pausing at the door to glance back at Harry.

“Six o’clock Monday evening, Potter.”

And without another word, he was gone.

“Did something happen?” Mr. Weasley asked again, eyeing the wand in Sirius’s clenched fist
warily.

“Nothing, Arthur,” Sirius said stiffly, “Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends…”
He strangled the rage in his throat, forcing a smile onto his face. “So…you’re cured? That’s
amazing, really great news…”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Molly jumped in, guiding her husband into a chair, “Healer Smethwyck worked his
magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake’s got in its fangs, and Arthur’s learned
his lesson about dabbling in muggle medicine, haven’t you dear?”

Apparently, Mr. Weasley had allowed one of the assistant healers at the hospital to experiment
with something called “stitches” on him—Remus had relayed the story to Sirius after their visit to
St. Mungo’s on Christmas, shaking his head in exasperation.

(“Of course the stitches would tear, if he sat up and started trying to move around at once…”)

Arthur, for his part, nodded meekly.

“Yes, Molly dear.”

Sirius did his best to match the Weasley family’s joyful mood as they ate, laughing loudly at Fred
and George’s jokes and smiling as he listened to Arthur recount all he had learned about muggle
medicine in the course of his “stitching” experiment. It was Harry’s last night at Grimmauld Place,
and he wanted to make it a good one.

But Snape’s words continued to echo in his head, lingering, joined in by the cold voice in the back
of Sirius’s own mind…

He’s right, you know…you’re a useless bloody coward, doing nothing but moping around the
house…Snivellus spends more time with James’s son than you do…and you’ve wasted the time you
did have feeling sorry for yourself…

Remus was out on a mission with Shacklebolt, and didn’t get home until long after everyone had
gone to bed. Sirius heard the quiet creak of the door opening, the soft pad of footsteps across the
floor. He lay awake, listening to the muffled sounds of Remus undressing for bed.

“Are you still awake?”

“Mmm.”

Remus wrapped an arm around him, pulling Sirius to his chest.

“You alright?”

“Mm.”

Remus kissed the back of his neck, pressing his face into Sirius’s hair. He fell asleep like that,
eventually; Sirius listened as his breath became deep and even.

He lay awake for a long time.

* * *

Sunday 12th January 1996

When Sirius plodded into the kitchen the next morning, Tonks was there. He froze, blinking; she
was sitting next to Remus, laughing at something he’d said. As Sirius watched, she reached out to
grip his arm.

Sirius walked in, and they both turned to look at him, smiling.

“Morning,” Remus said, gently, sliding a plate of eggs across the table towards him.

“Hi, Sirius!” Tonks grinned, enthusiastically, voice far too loud for how early it was—Sirius
winced, stifling an irritated frown. “Remus was just telling me about some of the stuff you guys
used to get up to at school—I can’t believe you’re the reason they have all those wards around the
clocks!”

Sirius raised a brow at Remus.

“I’m pretty sure that one was Moony’s fault, actually.”

Remus shook his head, scoffing.

“I wasn’t the one sneaking down and changing the time by two hours every night!”

Sirius felt a slow smile begin to creep across his face—and then Tonks laughed, loud and braying,
and the smile dropped. Did she have to be so bloody loud? And why was she even here?!

Oh, Sirius remembered, Right. Tonks was part of the guard escorting Harry and the others back to
Hogwarts—Tonks and Remus. What an odd pair.

“So…” Remus said, clearing his throat, “Molly told me that Sniv—Severus dropped by last
night…”

Sirius grunted in response, shovelling a bite of eggs into his mouth. Remus frowned.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“What’s the point?” Sirius muttered, darkly, “I’m sure you’ve already heard it from Molly.”

“Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Why? So you can remind me not to lose my temper with your esteemed colleague?”

Remus grimaced. “When have I ever defended Snape? I’m asking you because I want to hear what
he came to talk about, and I trust you to tell me the full story, you grumpy git.”

“Fine,” Sirius muttered, “He came to tell Harry that Dumbledore wants him taking Occlumency
lessons.”

“Occlumency?” Remus’s brow furrowed, “For the—?”

“Dreams, yes. Or—visions…whatever they are. He wants to make sure Harry’s able to defend his
mind.”

“Makes sense,” Tonks chirped, sipping on a mug of coffee that she almost certainly did not need, if
the way she was already bouncing her leg under the table was any indication. Sirius frowned.

“Maybe,” he said, darkly, “But he wants Snape teaching him.”

“What?” Remus asked, sharply.

“Yeah,” Sirius stabbed at his eggs with his fork, lowering his voice, “I may have got into it a bit
with ol’ Snivellus…dunno what Dumbledore’s thinking, he’s clearly awful to Harry. You
should’ve seen the look on the boy’s face…”

“Well…” Remus said, slowly, “It’s certainly not ideal…but it is a good idea to have Harry learn
Occlumency; if his mind really is somehow connected with Voldemort’s, he’s in even more danger
than any of us realised…”

“I doubt he’ll learn anything useful from Snape,” Sirius muttered darkly, scowling. Remus gave
him a reproachful look.

“I hate him as much as you do, Sirius, but we need to think about what’s best for Harry…”

“I am thinking about what’s best for—”

As if summoned, Harry suddenly stepped into the kitchen, Ron and Hermione trailing close
behind. Sirius fell silent immediately, eyes still locked on Remus. Tonks spun around in her seat,
waving them over cheerfully,

“Oh—sit down, dig in! We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, haven’t we?”

They’d be taking the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts, leaving shortly after breakfast. Sirius felt his
heart sinking lower in his chest as the clock ticked on, reminding him without a single ounce of
sympathy about how soon he’d be left alone once more.

As everyone bustled around the house, grabbing trunks and ducking into bedrooms for last-minute
searches for misplaced clothes or books, Sirius pulled Harry aside.

“Here,” he said, quietly, shoving a hastily-wrapped package into his godson’s hands, “This is for
you.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, frowning down at the wrinkled paper.

“Just a way for you to let me know if Snape’s being a prick with these lessons—no, don’t open it
in here!” He glanced around, furtively—Mrs. Weasley was just a few feet away, arguing with the
twins about something. “I don’t think Molly would approve,” Sirius muttered, “But I want you to
promise that you’ll use it anytime you need me, alright?”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, slowly, tucking the package into his pocket. Sirius sighed, feeling some of
the anxiety uncoil in his chest.

“Right, then.” He grasped Harry’s shoulder, forcing a smile onto his face, “Time to go, eh?”

They moved back into the entryway, where everyone else had congregated.

“Take care, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, sweeping Harry into her arms. Mr. Weasley joined them,
smiling as he shook Harry’s hand.

“Keep an eye out for snakes for me!” He joked, chuckling.

“Right—yeah.” Harry turned back to Sirius, opening his mouth to say goodbye—before he could,
Sirius grabbed him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Look after yourself, alright?” He mumbled into the familiar messy hair, “You know where to find
me, if you need me.”
He let go, and in the next second Harry had been swept out the door, which slammed shut behind
him with a heavy, final thud.

* * *

Molly and Arthur were gone, by the time Remus got back. They’d left for the Burrow almost
immediately so that Mr. Weasley could recuperate at home. Sirius didn’t blame them—Walpurga
Black’s screaming and Kreacher’s muttering weren’t exactly conducive to a ‘restful environment,’
which was what Healer Smethwyck had said Arthur would need.

It was early afternoon when the front door opened, still light outside. Sirius hastily shoved the
bottle of firewhiskey he’d just picked up into an empty drawer, spinning around as Remus walked
into the kitchen.

Tonks was with him. They were laughing.

“I mean, who decides to transport a cauldron of babbling beverage on the Knight Bus?!” Tonks
asked, giggling helplessly.

Remus shook his head, grinning. “It’s not funny—I don’t ever want to hear another limerick
again.”

“Hello,” Sirius said, stiffly.

“Oh, Sirius!” Tonks greeted him, as though only just noticing that he was there, “Listen to this—
you’ll never believe what happened—”

“Yes, I heard.” He cut her off, “Babbling beverage, Knight Bus…I take it Remus was forced to
speak in limericks?”

“All the way from Wales to London!” Tonks cackled, head thrown back. Sirius raised a brow.

“I told Tonks she could stay for lunch,” Remus said, moving further into the kitchen to put the
kettle on, “Are Molly and Arthur still around?”

“No,” Sirius said, flatly, “They left.”

“Oh. Just the three of us, then?”

“Looks like it.”

Tonks glanced between the two of them, smile fading a bit.

“Er…I don’t have to stay…”

“No, it’s alright,” Remus assured her, giving Sirius a hard look. Sirius stared right back, crossing
his arms petulantly over his chest.

“Yeah, it’s alright, Tonks,” Sirius said, without looking away from Remus, “Wouldn’t want to
force Lupin here to eat alone with a grumpy git like me.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake—is that what you’re on about? Merlin, Sirius, I was joking—”
“No, it’s fine, I get it. S’not like anyone else wants to spend time with me, either.”

“Um.” Tonks’s smile had faded completely now, and she was glancing between the two of them
uncomfortably, “I can just go…”

“No—really, Tonks, it’s fine. Sirius here is just throwing a temper-tantrum.”

“Don’t patronise me, you dick—”

“—Then stop acting like a fucking child!”

“I’m going to go,” Tonks said, backing out the door, “Yep, I’m just gonna—yep.” She gave a jerky
little wave and scurried off, and a few moments later they heard the sound of the front door
slamming.

“There, are you happy now?” Remus yanked open the cabinet, scowling, “I thought you liked
Tonks.”

“Not when she’s hanging around all the time,” Sirius seethed, “It’s bloody annoying—she’s always
so fucking loud, and she never sits still—”

“That’s funny,” Remus slammed two mugs down on the counter, “Because I was going to say she
reminds me a bit of you, when you were young.”

“Oh, right, and now that I’m old and decrepit she’s much better company, I’m sure—”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it! Stop trying to twist everything, fucking hell.”

“I don’t have to twist anything, it’s perfectly clear what you mean—”

“And what do I mean, Sirius?” The cabinet door banged shut, “Please, enlighten me as to what it
is, exactly, that I’m meant to be saying right now! What is it that you’re upset about—that I’m not
spending time with you? If that’s the case, then what the fuck am I doing in your house, hmm?
Why the fuck am I spending my bloody afternoon arguing with you?”

“I don’t know!” Sirius shot back, voice rising, “Clearly, there are other places you’d much rather
be—”

“Clear to who?!” Remus shouted, spinning around, bracing both hands on the kitchen table, “Clear
to who, Sirius?! Because I’m not anywhere else—I’m here, with you! I’m here because I want a
life with you, but if you just want me to stand around and watch while you fucking bury yourself,
then I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Sirius recoiled, hunching in on himself. “What? I’m not—burying myself.”

“Really?” Remus asked, challenging, “That’s not what this is? Because honestly, sometimes it feels
like you want to be miserable just because it’s—easier, or something.”

“You think this is easy for me?!”

“I know it’s not!” Remus was shouting again, “I bloody know it’s not—that’s the fucking point!
It’s so fucking hard, and we’re supposed to be doing it together, but sometimes it feels like I’m the
only one fighting for us anymore!”

“I am fighting—”
 “But for who, Sirius?! For James? For Lily? For fucking—ghosts?” He released a sharp, hysterical
laugh, “But they’re not even that, are they? So what are you fighting for, huh? Why do you act like
you’re living for them, when I’m right fucking here! What more do you want?!”

“I want to talk to James!”

It was a howl, ripped from his throat. Remus stared at him, shocked—and then Sirius was crying,
ugly, wracking sobs that shook his entire body.

“I—I want to talk to Prongs, I need him—”

“Sirius…”

“I’m fucking everything up with Harry, I know it, and I don’t know how to fix it—and I’m—I’m—
I’m fucking losing my mind in this house, Remus, and I need James, I need him, I always had him,
even when I was stuck here—he was always there—and now I’m stuck here again and he’s not,
and you’re always gone—everyone’s always leaving—and I—” He gasped for breath, chest
hitching, face damp with tears, “I can’t even blame them, because I want to leave me, too.”

Remus was standing in front of him now, cradling his face in those scarred fingers. Sirius stared up
at him, helplessly.

“I’d want to leave me, Moony,” he said, voice cracking, “If I were you.”

Remus hugged him, tightly, to his chest, and Sirius cried into his shoulder, shaking. He could feel
Moony’s hands, rubbing his back, stroking his hair.

“Well,” Remus murmured, gently, “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not me then, isn’t it?”

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "the killing moon" by echo & the bunnymen; first smashing
pumpkins song is "tonight, tonight"; second one is "galapogos"!

please don't judge me for doing the song-interspersed-in-a-conversation thing twice i

am only human and the lyrics made me feel things

also now that i have finally written the ending i can promise u that the fic DOES end
on a happy note but it IS bittersweet i'm gonna hurt u first sorry guys :/
 'Til the End
Chapter Summary

love u guys <3

Chapter Notes

cw: a smidge of some old homophobia + related feelings (thanks walpurga)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I just want to see you

When you’re all alone

I just want to catch you if I can

I just want to be there

When the morning light explodes

On your face it radiates

I can’t escape

I love you ‘til the end

I just want to tell you nothing

You don’t want to hear

All I want is for you to say

Why don’t you just take me

Where I’ve never been before

I know you want to hear me catch my breath

I love you ‘til the end

I just want to be there

When we’re caught in the rain

I just want to see you laugh not cry

I just want to feel you

When the night puts on its cloak

I’m lost for words – don’t tell me

All I can say

I love you ‘til the end

Saturday 14th February 1996

“You should’ve let me come with you,” Sirius muttered, mopping the blood from Remus’s arm.

“It’s—ah, careful!” Remus hissed, wincing as Sirius’s knuckles brushed across his bruised ribs—
broken, no doubt, beneath the deep purple mark bleeding across the skin. “It’s not up to me.”

“What’s Dumbledore going to do, drag me out of the forest?”

“Don’t, Sirius, please.”

“You used to let me come with you—”

“Before the Ministry knew you were in London!”

“But we wouldn’t be in London, would we?”

“I can’t do this right now,” Remus slumped back onto the pillows, scrubbing a hand across his
face. “Please, can we just…not? Right now?”

Sirius scowled, reaching for the bandages to begin wrapping Moony’s arm.

“You splinched yourself, Remus.”

“Only a little.”

“I could’ve at least helped you apparate back—I’m not Madam Pomfrey; I’m rubbish at healing
open wounds.”

“No,” Remus murmured, “But it’s much nicer having you run your hands all over me…”

When Sirius glanced up, Remus was smiling down at him, a slow, sleepy smirk. Sirius huffed,
shaking his head, and went back to wrapping the cut on Moony’s arm.

“I just want to help you,” he muttered—but he was quickly losing steam.

“You are helping me,” Remus said, softly.

Sirius made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “You know what I mean.”

“Sirius,” Remus reached out, gentle fingers brushing against his arm. “I’ll be okay.” He moved his
hand down to rest above the deep cut on his forearm, which had slowly stopped bleeding. “See?
It’s already healing.”

* * *

“Why did you stop taking Wolfsbane?” Sirius asked, later, after Remus had slept through the
afternoon. They were sitting in the kitchen, where Remus was inhaling his third cheese toastie.

“Hmm?”

“Didn’t it—I mean, isn’t it supposed to help?” Sirius fidgeted with the mug in his hands, looking
down at the table, “And you could…y’know, stay here…”

Remus swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s a highly technical potion,” he said, carefully, “I’d have to find a brewer, and I haven’t got the
money for that…”

“Remus, come on. We’ve got plenty of money.”

“You’ve got plenty of money.”

“Yes, and it’s not like it’s doing me much good sitting locked in a vault! You know if you need
anything—”

“But I don’t need it,” Remus shook his head, “I’m perfectly fine apparating to the forests.”

Sirius raised a brow, looking pointedly at the new bandages and bruises that littered his body.
Remus flushed.

“I am,” he insisted. “Besides, it’s not like it stops the transformation—I’d still be breaking myself
every month turning back.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t have to apparate—”

“Just give it a rest, will you?!” Remus snapped, turning back to his food and ripping off another
bite of his toastie. Sirius frowned, stung.

“Fine,” he muttered, shoving his chair back. “Here.” He withdrew a box from his pocket, throwing
it down onto the table in front of Remus’s plate, “Happy Valentine’s Day, wanker.”

Remus blinked, shocked—guilt flashed over his face, but Sirius was already spinning around,
storming away.

“Wait!”

Sirius ground to a halt halfway through the door.

“Why?” He asked, sourly, “You clearly aren’t in the mood to talk.”

“Just—hang on, Padfoot, I—”

There was the sound of the chair scraping back, and a moment later Moony’s hand was on his
shoulder, gently coaxing him to turn around.

“Hey,” he said, quietly, “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t even realise, I lost track of time…”

“It’s just a chocolate frog, Remus,” Sirius said, stiffly, “It’s no big deal.”

“No, but…” Remus sighed, heavily. “I would have got you something. I want to get you
something.” He tugged a hand through his hair, agitated. “It’s just—it’s been so much, with
everything over Christmas, and the werewolves, and Harry—the prophecy, all these fucking
missions…”

“I get it,” Sirius said, trying to keep the bitterness from bleeding through, “You’ve been busy.”

Remus made a small, exasperated noise.

“Just—c’mere, you prick.”

He pulled Sirius towards him, roughly, but the kiss was gentle—warm and sweet and soft, so that
before he could stop himself, Sirius was melting.

“Mm,” he hummed, once Remus had pulled away, “That’s not fair.”

“No?”

“No. How’m I supposed to stay mad at you when you go ‘round snogging me like that, Moony?”

Remus snorted with laughter. “You make me sound so calculated—I just wanted to kiss you, you
idiot.”

“Really? There was no…ulterior motive?”

Remus bit his lip, one hand cupping Sirius’s cheek, the other settling on his hip. “Well…” he
smirked, “That depends…are you still angry?”

“Oh, furious,” Sirius breathed, as Moony’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, “Just
absolutely livid, Moony, you have no idea…”

“Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Remus murmured, voice low in his throat.

Sirius grinned, wrapping his arms around Moony’s neck.

“No,” he said, “We certainly can’t.”

* * *

Wednesday 10th March 1996

“Haaaaaappy birthday to youuuuuu…”

Remus groaned, shoving his head into his pillow.

“Happy birthday to youuuuuuu…”

“Shut up, you absolute wanker!”

“Haaaaappy BIRTH-day dear Mooooonyyyyy…”

Sirius lay his head on the pillow, so that he was singing directly into Remus’s ear.

“Happy birthdaaaaaay….tooooo….youuuuuu….”

Remus shifted slightly, cracking an eye open and raising a brow as Sirius dragged out the last note.
Eventually, he ran out of breath; Remus groaned in relief.

“Finally.”

“Oh, quit your moaning, I waited until you were awake.”

“Yes, but I could have gone back to sleep…”

Sirius laughed, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Come on, Moony, it’s my favourite holiday! You have to celebrate with me.”

Remus finally rolled over, yawning as he squinted up.

“I thought your favourite holiday was your birthday?”

“Mm, was it?”

“Tosser.” Remus yawned again.

Sirius made pancakes for breakfast using a cooking spell that Molly had taught him, and they ate
side by side at the kitchen table.

“So, I was thinking we could listen to that new album by the one bloke you like—what’s-his-
name, TV-Head—”

“Radiohead?”

“That’s the one.”

“Are you talking about The Bends? That’s been out a year already.”

“Yes, but you haven’t owned the album before now, have you?”

Remus shook his head, sipping his coffee with an exasperated smile. “Is this your way of revealing
my birthday present?”

“Maybe. Part of it. I’ve also picked up something from Mundungus…” Sirius wiggled his
eyebrows, and Remus laughed.
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“Why? D’you have somewhere to be?”

“I—No, I suppose I don’t, for once…” Remus narrowed his eyes, “Was that your doing?”

“Maybe.” Sirius grinned, “Now c’mon, let’s go listen to Mr. TV-Head moan about how he hasn’t
got any friends.”

“Radio—oh, whatever.”

Sirius laughed as he tugged Remus out to the hallway, hand in hand, tromping up the stairs when—

“Tainted!”

The word was hissed from his mother’s portrait—when they turned, the curtain had flown up, and
Walpurga was glaring at their intertwined hands with hellfire in her eyes.

Sirius froze.

“Tainted, impure, disgusting, vile wretch—”

His legs were stinging, the ghost of old wounds. Moony’s hand was a stone in his.

You are tainted…

“Oh, fuck off,” Remus muttered, letting go to yank the curtain shut. The hissing voice was
silenced, abruptly.

Tainted, just as he was…

“Sirius?”

He shook himself, realising that Remus had come back over. His hand was stretched out,
tentatively, while Sirius’s own arms lay limp at his sides.

“Sorry—” he swallowed, reaching up to tug his fingers through his hair, “Sorry, I just…” He
searched helplessly for words, but found them all stuck in his throat. She was dead, his mother was
dead—she’d been dead ten years, so why did he—why did he still feel—

“Hey,” Remus said, softly, “Are you alright?”

Sirius reached for the joy that he’d felt just a moment ago, the careless smile he’d worn as he
tugged Remus towards the stairs. It was Moony’s birthday, and he wanted to be happy, not—stuck.
Not sick to his stomach, for no reason at all.

“I’m fine,” he said, willing his voice to remain steady, “I’m ok, I just—it just surprised me.” He
sighed, deeply, pressing his hands to his face. “Fuck. I really hate this house.”

Remus was silent, for a bit. Then his hand settled onto Sirius’s shoulder, gently.

“Let’s get out of here, then.”

Sirius looked up.

“What?!”
“I mean it,” Remus said, firmly, “Let’s leave.”

“I…but…you…” Sirius shook his head, utterly speechless. “What happened to it being too
dangerous?”

Remus grimaced. “It is dangerous…but…” He glanced briefly towards the covered portrait, then
back at Sirius. “I hate this bloody house, too.”

Sirius found a slow, hopeful smile creeping across his face. “You mean it?”

Remus hesitated—then nodded. “Yeah. The flat’s still got all the wards on it—let’s go there. I’m
sure one day can’t hurt…”

Before he could say anything else, Sirius had flung himself into Moony’s arms, hauling the taller
man down into an enthusiastic kiss.

“Christ,” Remus blinked, once he’d pulled away, “Happy birthday to me.”

“I bloody love you,” Sirius gushed, grabbing his hand again, “C’mon—let’s go!”

* * *

It was strange, in the flat. Dusty. It still smelled wrong. But it was certainly better than Grimmauld
Place—Sirius was beginning to think that anywhere would be better than Grimmauld Place. And
besides, once he was curled up in Moony’s arms on the sofa, he couldn’t smell anything but
Remus.

They’d brought the record player with them, for old time’s sake, and it spun on the coffee table as
they passed the joint back and forth. Sirius inhaled deeply, sucking the smoke into his lungs. He
was already pleasantly buzzed, feeling heavy and weightless at the same time, and a bit like
something was fizzing in his blood.

“You’re lovely,” Remus murmured, watching him. Sirius hummed, passing the joint over and
laying his head against Moony’s chest.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he sighed. Remus inhaled, exhaled; his chest rose and fell.

“Fuck,” Sirius breathed, sighing again, “I wish we could just…stay here, like this, forever.”

Remus hummed in agreement, a low noise in the back of his throat. Sirius could feel its vibrations.

“Wish we never had to go back to that house…that the whole world would just…disappear….”
Sirius mumbled, nestling further into Remus’s shoulder. There was a long pause, during which his
mind began to drift, hazy and warm…

“Maybe it could,” Remus murmured, words barely a whisper.

“Hmm?”

Remus cleared his throat, shifting.

“We…we could always leave.”

Sirius blinked. He pulled back slightly, brow furrowing as he looked down at Moony’s face.

“What?”

“We could leave,” Remus repeated, and now there was a desperate spark in his eyes, “I’ve—I’ve
thought about it. While Voldemort’s still weak, we could just—get out, Sirius, we could go to—to
France, or…I dunno, fucking…America, anywhere—”

“Stop.” Sirius was recoiling, pulling away—Remus reached out, grabbing his wrist.

“Just—listen, just think about it—”

“No!” Sirius ripped his arm away; the rage took him by the throat. “How can you say that? How
can—how can you even think that?” He let out a strangled laugh, “You want to—what, to just
leave? To abandon Harry, like—”

Like you abandoned me.

He needed to go. He needed to get away—he was so angry that he could scream, that he could
punch Remus, that he could draw blood. Part of him wanted it, that old familiar itch for a fight—
wanted the release of violence, wanted Remus to shout at him, to say he was selfish, and hateful,
and not worth the pain. Wanted to hear every dark fear that haunted him spoken aloud, so that the
words would be out between them, instead of stitched into his brain.

But Remus just sat. He slumped, helplessly, on the sofa—Sirius was across the room, standing by
the fireplace. He didn’t know when that had happened.

“Say it,” Remus croaked, “Go ahead. I’m a coward, I know, but I—” his voice broke, and Sirius
realised with a shock that he was trying not to cry.

“Remus…” The anger was bleeding out of him, dripping like poison, and he hated himself—hated
the way he let it possess him, control him. He was moving, crossing the room; he needed to be
closer, he needed to apologise, he needed—

“It’s happening again,” the words were awful, but Remus repeated them anyway, “It’s all
happening again. I can’t—I can’t—”

“Moony,” Sirius was kneeling, now, in front of the sofa, begging.

“I can’t do this again.” Remus looked at him, finally. His face was half-dead, shattered, all edges.
“I lost you once, and it almost killed me. Please, please don’t ask me to do this again.”

“Moony,” the word was soft on his tongue, an offering, “You’re not going to lose me. No—look at
me, please. I’m not leaving you. I could never leave you.”

Remus made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Sirius gripped his hands.

“No, listen to me. Listen to me. I love you.”

“Sirius, please—”

“I love you. They—they buried me, Remus. They buried me. Twelve years, and they took
everything. My…the memories, the happiness, my—my mind. But they couldn’t take this. They
couldn’t touch it. Twelve years, and every day I loved you.”

Remus was crying, now. Sirius could feel the hot burn of tears on his own skin, but he kept
speaking.

“I loved you. And it—fuck, it killed me. It hurt so badly, and it kept me alive. On the days I
thought my heart would just—would stop beating, would give out, there was still you, and I
couldn’t stop loving you. I couldn’t even try.”

“Sirius—” The word was torn from Moony’s throat. He was sliding off the sofa, kneeling on the
floor. They were face to face, foreheads pressed together, cheeks salty with tears.

“Nothing on this earth could take me from you, do you understand?” He was touching Remus’s
face, catching the tears with his thumbs, “Not the fighting, not this war—if I died, I think I’d love
you even then. Don’t you understand? I can’t leave you, not if I tried, not if I wanted to.”

“You can’t know that—”

“I can. Remus, when I go, it’s going to be with you at my side. I promise you.” He kissed the tears
on Moony’s cheeks, “I promise.” He caught his hand; he kissed the scars on his knuckles, “I
promise.” He kissed his temple, his shoulder, his throat. “I promise, Moony. I promise.”

Eventually, they settled. Eventually, they picked themselves back up. Eventually, they curled up
once more on the sofa, limbs tangled, skin pressed together. Sirius tucked his head into the crook
between Remus’s shoulder and neck. Remus lifted a hand, running gentle fingers through his hair.

“I love you,” he mumbled, voice still a bit rough from the tears.

“I know, you moody git,” Sirius muttered back, smiling, “D’you reckon we should lay off Dung’s
weed for a bit?”

“Might be a good idea, yeah.”

They both laughed—it was shaky and weak, but laughter nonetheless.

“Merlin, we’ve become such saps in our old age.”

“Speak for yourself,” Remus said, sniffling, “I am the picture of stoicism.”

Sirius snorted. “Alright, birthday boy, keep telling yourself that.”

They lapsed into an easy, sleepy silence, and for a few minutes Sirius did nothing but lie, warm and
content, in Remus’s arms. Then—

“Oh!” He jerked up, “I nearly forgot!”

“What?” Moony’s brow furrowed; he squinted, blearily. The sun was setting outside the window,
and the orange light fell directly across his face when Sirius shifted.

“Your birthday present!” Sirius exclaimed, “I nearly forgot!”

Remus raised a brow, glancing pointedly at the stubbed-out joint in the ashtray, the record that was
no longer spinning on the player.

“No—your actual birthday present, those were just…” Sirius waved a hand, dismissively, sitting
up and feeling around on the floor for his trousers. He found them, grabbed his wand, and turned to
Remus.

“Give me your ring.”

Remus frowned. “What? Why?”

“It’s a surprise, you idiot. C’mon—give it here!”

“Alright, alright!” Remus passed it over, eyeing the wand in Sirius’s hand warily. Sirius grinned,
slipping off his own ring, holding both of them in the palm of his hand. He pointed his wand, took
a deep breath, and—

“Corpromiscue.”

There was a flash of heat as the rings burned, momentarily—and then cooled. Sirius passed
Remus’s ring back, saying,

“Here—now, hold it to my chest…”

He demonstrated, pressing his own ring over Moony’s heart. The other man followed suit, still
watching with that wary look in his eye.

“Corpromiscue.” Sirius repeated, tapping each ring in turn. There was the same flash of heat—then
nothing, as the rings returned to normal. Sirius slipped his back onto his finger.

“What did you do?” Remus asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Put it back on!”

He did.

“There,” Sirius said, smiling, “Can you feel that?”

“I—” Remus frowned, glancing down. “…Is that…?”

“My heartbeat,” Sirius said, feeling suddenly shy, “And I can feel yours.” The ring on his hand was
warm, thumping gently, like a faint, second pulse.

Remus stared down at his hand, wide-eyed. Sirius watched him, anxiously, waiting for him to
speak—but he remained silent.

“Is it…” Sirius swallowed, smile slipping from his face, “Is that okay? Sorry—I should have asked
before I did it, I just wanted it to be a surprise—took me forever to get the spell to work, I had to
sort of cobble some together, but I just thought—”

“You made that spell?” Remus looked up, blinking.

“Well…yeah,” Sirius shifted, self-consciously, “Gave me something to do all day, researching.

And I just…I dunno, I wanted to sort of…have you with me, in a way. Y’know, for when we’re
not…together. This way I can still—I can still know you’re alright.”

“Sirius…”

“But if it gets annoying there’s a way to undo it—I mean, there’s going to be, I’m still working on
the counter-spell. Probably should have figured that out before I cast it, I see that now, but I was
just—”

Remus kissed him, stealing the words from his lips, the breath from his lungs. Sirius made a small,
surprised noise in the back of his throat, and Remus stole that too.
“Don’t you dare undo it,” he breathed, once they broke away. He was smiling, cheeks flushed.
Sirius smiled back.

“You like it, then?”

“I love it,” Remus said, fervently, “I love you. That’s two bloody spells you’ve invented for me,
you know that?”

Sirius swallowed, trying to catch his breath. He reached out, taking Remus’s hand in his; palms
pressed together, fingers intertwined. Hearts beating side by side.

“Of course,” Sirius murmured, feeling slightly mesmerised, “I’d do anything for you, Moony.”

* * *

Monday 22nd April 1996

“Sirius!”

“What, what is it—did you find Kreacher? He wasn’t in the attic…”

“No, it’s Harry.”

“What? What about Harry?”

“He’s called through the floo—he’s in the kitchen!”

“What?!”

Sirius followed Remus back down the stairs, as fast as he could. He hadn’t heard from Harry in
months, even though he’d given him James’s old mirror. If he was calling by floo, something must
really be wrong…

“What is it?” He fell to his knees in the kitchen, staring down at his godson’s face in the fireplace,
“Are you alright? Do you need help?”

“No!” Harry assured him, quickly, “It’s nothing like that…” He glanced away, looking slightly
abashed. “I just wanted to talk…about my dad…”

Sirius turned to Remus, briefly, but the other man looked just as surprised as him. Before either of
them could ask any questions, though, Harry was talking, words all spilling out in a rush.

“Look, I had this occlumency lesson with Snape the other day, and he got called away and left me
alone in his office and there was this pensieve and—I didn’t mean to snoop about, really, but I sort
of accidentally just…well, I saw this memory.” Harry paused, sucking in a breath, “It was a
memory of my dad.”

James. Sirius had to remind himself to breathe. A memory of James…but if it was Snape’s, it
couldn’t be anything good…
“It was from when you were my age, I think. You’d just finished your OWLs, and you went
outside and you were sitting under this tree and…and Snape was there, and you all—you attacked
him.”

Sirius felt cold. He was pretty sure he knew what memory Harry had seen—considering what it
looked like in his own mind, he couldn’t imagine how bad it must’ve seemed from Snape’s
perspective…

“You and my dad were hexing him, calling him names…there were a whole bunch of people
watching, and my—my mum was the only one who tried to stop it.” He stared up at them, eyes
pleading. “Was that…did that really happen?”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. There was an awful ache growing in Sirius’s chest as he
stared down at his godson’s desperate face. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to
do. It was so, so incredibly unfair—James had left so much good in the world. Why did Harry have
to see the bad?

Finally, Remus sighed. “Harry…” he said, slowly, “I understand why seeing that would be…
upsetting, but you have to understand that your father was only fifteen—”

“I’m fifteen!” Harry interrupted, features darkening.

“Look, Harry,” Sirius tugged a hand through his hair, anxiously, “It wasn’t…Snape’s perspective
isn’t exactly the whole story. He gave as good as he got, most of the time—and he was especially
awful that year, creeping around with his death-eater wannabe friends…I mean, you know how
horrible he is.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, sullenly, “But he just attacked Snape for no good reason, just because—well,
just because you said you were bored.”

Sirius cringed. “I’m not proud of that…”

He felt Moony’s eyes on him—after a moment, Remus said,

“Look, Harry, that year…it was a rough year for all of us. The war was starting to heat up, and
things were…there were other things going on as well. We were kids, and we weren’t perfect. A
lot of people looked to your father as a leader—your father and Sirius, and they’d put on this show
of overdone confidence—if they sometimes got a bit carried away—”

“If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,” Sirius muttered, raising a brow. Remus’s
lips twitched into a smile.

“He kept messing up his hair,” Harry said, quietly, voice cracking.

Sirius snorted; Remus huffed a laugh.

“I’d forgotten he used to do that…” Sirius murmured. Remus leaned forward.

“Was he playing with the snitch?”

“Yeah.” Harry blinked, then frowned, “Well…I thought he was a bit of an idiot.”

“Of course he was a bit of an idiot!” Sirius shook his head, smiling fondly, “We were all idiots!
Well—not Moony so much.”
Remus rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t exactly telling you to lay off Snape,” he shook his head, “Even when you took things too
far.”

“Yeah, well…” Sirius glanced away, “Not that time, at least…”

“And,” Harry cut in, before Remus could respond, “He kept looking over at the girls by the lake,
hoping they were watching him!”

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, he always acted like a prat whenever Lily was around—he was mad for her,
couldn’t stop himself from showing off to try and get her attention…”

Harry looked miserable. “How come she married him? She hated him!”

“Nah, she didn’t.”

“She started going out with him in seventh year,” Remus explained.

“Once James had grown up a bit,” Sirius added.

“Grown up a bit?”

“Yeah,” Sirius shrugged, “We all had to, eventually, but your dad…” He swallowed, trying to stifle
the emotion rising in his chest, “Your dad had a lot of people…leaning on him, I think. Especially
as we grew older. It sobered him up a bit, made him more mature.”

“Lily came around slowly,” Remus reminisced, with a small smile on his face, “But I think she
started to see that it wasn’t all a show for James…that most of the stuff he did wasn’t for attention,
not really, but for his friends…even when he didn’t always do the right thing, his heart was in the
right place.”

“Even when he was hexing Snape?” Harry muttered, sceptically.

“Yes,” Sirius said firmly, “Even then.”

Harry still looked unconvinced; Sirius sighed, saying,

“Look, Harry, your father was the best friend I ever had, and he was a good person. A lot of people
are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.”

“Yeah, okay…” Harry mumbled, “I just never thought I’d feel sorry for Snape.”

The discussions turned to occlumency after that—Sirius and Remus were both horrified to discover
that Snape had ended the lessons he was supposed to be giving Harry purely out of spite, despite
Dumbledore’s warnings that teaching the boy to protect his mind was of the utmost importance.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much they could do—in early April, Harry’s Defence Against the
Dark Arts club had been discovered by Umbridge. It was all Fudge needed to accuse Dumbledore
of plotting against him, and the Hogwarts headmaster had been driven out of the school under
threat of imprisonment in Azkaban—so now he, too, was a wanted criminal. Umbridge had been
made the new Hogwarts Headmaster, and it wasn’t as if Harry could go to her and complain about
Snape stopping his secret occlumency lessons…

They managed to get Harry to promise that he’d try talking to Snape, though the boy seemed
absolutely appalled by the idea (and honestly, Sirius didn’t blame him)—but the conversation was
cut short on Harry’s end when he heard someone approaching and had to sever the apparently
illicit floo connection.

“I wonder why he didn’t use the mirror…” Sirius muttered, later that night.

“Hmm?”

“James’s mirror. I gave it to him, before he went back to school…told him to use it if he ever
needed to speak with me…”

“Oh.” Remus frowned, brow furrowing as he thought. “Maybe it was…confiscated, or something?

Or he might have misplaced it—you saw the state of his room when he stayed here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sirius smiled, weakly, “S’pose…”

Remus glanced up from the book he was reading, taking in the anxious expression on Sirius’s face.
With a sigh, he shut his book and stretched out a hand.

“Hey—c’mere.”

Remus tugged him down onto the sofa, and Sirius curled up next to him.

“Try not to worry—I know Umbridge is horrid, but he’s at Hogwarts. He’ll be alright. And clearly,
he knows how to contact us if he really needs to.”

“Yeah…” Sirius frowned, tipping his head back against the sofa cushion. “I could bloody kill
Snape, though…”

Remus chuckled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I know. Me too.”

“D’you think we…I mean, did we say the right things?” Sirius frowned, chewing on his lip. “I just
—I can’t stand the thought of him thinking…it’s James, Moony, it’s his father, and I just—I don’t
know how to show him how…brilliant he was, how—how kind, and just…” he blew out a breath,
deflating. “He’s missing so much. So much. And he deserves to know him, to know everything
about him, but it’s so hard to talk about…”

“Hey,” Remus said, gently, “Hey—look at me.”

Sirius did. He was beautiful.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said, softly, “We’ll tell him, Sirius. We’ll tell him everything. It’s not
—it’s never going to be enough, I know that, but…he will know James. We’ll make sure of it.” He
smiled, gently. “Alright?”

Sirius sighed, a long exhale.

“Alright.”

* * *

Sunday 19th May 1996

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Sirius said. Remus glanced up from where he’d knelt to tie his shoe.
He stood, slowly.

“You don’t…have to. I mean, I’m not going to force you.”

“But you think I should.”

“I—” Remus frowned, brow furrowing. “I’m…honestly not sure, Padfoot.” He sighed, running a
hand through his hair. It was getting long, shaggy, curling down around his ears—and he never
combed it properly, so it always looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed. Sirius loved it.

“You…you told her everything, right?”

“Well…” Remus glanced away, “I mean, mostly…She doesn’t—she’s sort of cut herself off,
y’know. From the wizarding world. I don’t think she knows what’s been happening with…
Voldemort, or anything.”

“Right,” Sirius mumbled, chewing on his lip, “Okay. But you—you told her about me? And
Wormtail?”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded, “I sort of had to. I mean, we didn’t really…keep in regular contact,
y’know, but I think it still gave her a fright when I disappeared. And she knew you’d escaped, with
the muggle news…”

It had been sheer dumb luck that Remus had ended up staying overnight in the flat a week before to
be closer to an Order assignment in London—sheer dumb luck that Mary had picked that night to
call, to try and check in. Apparently, she’d been struggling to reach Remus for months—she
berated him over the phone for moving without telling her, as she only had the phone number to
the flat to keep in contact. When he’d stopped answering any of her calls at the end of the previous
summer, she’d feared the worst. And apparently, she’d told Remus that she’d very nearly given up
—her call to the flat that night was just a passing whim, a last-ditch effort, a final shred of hope that
he might answer.

Now, she wanted to see Sirius.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he repeated, staring at the mirror that hung in the hallway, “I
don’t…know if I want her to see me. Like this.”

“Like what?” Remus moved to stand beside him, arms circling him from behind. Sirius stared at
the lines on his face, the sunken bags under his eyes, the grey in his hair.

“Just…” he gestured, helplessly, to the man in the reflection. “I’m not…who I was. I won’t be the
person that she remembers.”

“She’s changed too, you know.” Remus said, quietly.

Sirius shrugged, and looked away. For a moment, they were both silent.

“You don’t have to go,” Remus said, “But she wants to see you.”

Sirius swallowed the lump that had, for some reason, risen in his throat.

“I know,” he sighed, heavily, “I think…I want to see her, too.”

 * * *

Mary cried. She cried a lot. She shouted, too, and hit him, once. But eventually, they ended up side
by side on the sofa, leaning against each other’s shoulders in a way that felt achingly familiar—
though if Sirius had once had a memory of sitting like this, together, then it had already been lost
long ago.

“So…Darren?”

Mary laughed—her voice was still a bit raw from crying, but her smile was bright. There were
lines around her eyes now, skin gently creased with age. Remus was right—she had changed, too.

“Yeah,” she sighed, happily, “Who would’ve guessed? We both ended up with our first loves…”

Sirius frowned, crinkling his brow. “Weren’t you my first girlfriend?”

“Yes, but I said first love, didn’t I?”

“Oh…yeah, I s’pose…”

Mary twisted to look up at him, frowning. “Was he not? Sorry, I just assumed…”

“No—no, I mean…yeah, he was. I’ve never—I mean, there’s never been anyone else, really.”

“Yeah,” Mary sighed, settling back against his shoulder, “There was always something about you
two…”

“Mm.” Sirius nodded. The sun was beginning to set outside the window; they’d been in the flat for
hours, doing nothing but talking.

“There was someone else, though,” Sirius said, abruptly, “For him.”

Mary stiffened.

“Did you…” His throat was dry; he licked his lips. “Did you know that?”

“I…” Mary hesitated, for a moment. “Yeah. I guess I did, sort of.”

And he knew he shouldn’t—he knew he shouldn’t, but—

“Did you ever meet him?”

Mary sighed, looking back up. “Have you talked to Remus about this?”

“…Yes. I mean—we did. When I first…” He swallowed, glancing away, “When I first…got back.
The mug—he was still. Here.”

“Oh,” Mary breathed, “Oh, I see…” She sighed again, deeply, “Oh, love…that must’ve been very
hard. For both of you.”

Sirius didn’t know what it was about the softness of her voice that kicked tears into his eyes, but
suddenly he was blinking, trying not to cry.
“Did you know him?”

Mary shook her head. “No, I can’t say I really did…I knew Remus had someone, but—well, you
know how private he is. And especially after…everything that happened, it was like pulling teeth
just trying to get him to talk to me, those first few years…” She frowned, eyes far away, lost in
memory. “I think he just wanted to…forget. We both did, for a long time.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, dully, “I understand.”

Mary caught sight of the look on his face and frowned, reaching out to take his hand.

“Sirius,” she said, gently, “I know it’s probably not my place, but if it makes a difference…I don’t
think he ever…stopped loving you. But you have to understand how that affected him—how it
affected both of us. I still had Darren, and my family, but Remus—he didn’t have anyone.” She
shook her head, something like guilt bleeding across her face. “I mean, I tried to be there for him,
as much as I could…as much as he’d let me…but after it first happened, I was just—I think we
were both just trying to keep from drowning. And I couldn’t save both of us. He needed someone—
someone else.”

“I know,” Sirius said, trying not to choke on the words, “I’m—I’m happy. That he had someone.”

“Oh, love…” Mary laid her head against his chest. She’d cropped her hair short; the curls no
longer tickled his chin. “You don’t have to be happy. None of it is anything to be happy about.
You just need to try and understand, alright? That’s all any of us can do.”

“Yeah…” Sirius nodded, slowly, “Yeah, I s’pose you’re right.”

“I usually am.” Mary smiled at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to give him a quick
squeeze. Then she glanced out the window, at the setting sun.

“I should probably head home soon…Rachel and Darren’ll be getting back from the cinema…”

“Rachel…your daughter?”

“One of them.” Mary grinned at him, “The oldest. She’s just turned six.”

Sirius shook his head. “Can’t believe you’re a mum…”

“Me either!” She laughed, shaking her head, “She’s such a handful…so much energy, always
shouting or jumping or climbing about on something, makes me feel old…”

Mary’s eyes lit up as she talked about her daughter; Sirius smiled, watching her.

“Reckon she’ll be in Gryffindor, then?” He asked, nudging her shoulder, “Like her mum?”

“Oh.” Mary blinked, smile falling, “Oh, no. I won’t be sending her to Hogwarts.”

“Oh—sorry, I just assumed…but, hey, there’s nothing wrong with being a squib—”

“She’s not a squib!” Mary snapped, frowning, “She did her first magic when she was four.”

“Oh.” Sirius’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Then…why…?”

“I’m not sending her to that bloody school,” Mary said, quietly—but there was a steely note to her
voice, an edge. “Anything she needs to know about magic, she can learn from me. I’m not going to
see my baby girl chewed up and spit out like—”
She broke off, abruptly, but Sirius could hear the words anyway.

Like we were.

She shook her head, as if to rid herself of the thought.

“Anyway,” Mary turned back to him, “I’d think that you of all people would understand—after
everything.” She nudged him, smiling tightly, “We know well enough to stay away from bloody
wizards, don’t we?”

Sirius swallowed. “Er…what?”

“You…I mean, you and Remus, you’ve moved out of this flat, gone into hiding…you’re…it’s…to
get away from all that, isn’t it?”

Sirius wasn’t sure what it was in his face that gave him away, that made Mary straighten up and
level him with a hard look.

“Sirius, isn’t it?”

“I…it’s…complicated, Mary.”

She stared at him, eyes flickering rapidly across his face. “Complicated. How?”

“Well, I mean, there’s Harry to think of…I’m still his godfather, you know, and somebody needs to
look out for him—”

“But he’s at Hogwarts, he’s got Lily’s family—”

Sirius snorted. “And a fat lot of good that’s done him.”

“What does that mean?”

“I…”

“No, Sirius, tell me. What does that mean.” She was staring at him, hard, something desperate
behind her eyes—like she already knew. Like she was begging him not to say it.

“I…” Sirius sighed, looking away. “Merlin, Mary, do you really not know?”

“Know what.”

He shook his head, shoulders slumping. “Voldemort’s back.”

There was a minute of silence. Then two. Then,

“…What?”

“It’s true,” Sirius sighed, “He—he’s already tried to kill Harry. Three times, now. To finish—what
he started, all those years ago.”

“No,” Mary shook her head, horrified, “That’s not—he’s supposed to be dead. Everyone said he
was dead.”

“They were wrong.”

“No.” A small, desperate noise escaped the back of her throat. “Then—you’ve got to get out,
Sirius. You’ve got to take him and leave, you’ve got to—”

“That wouldn’t work, Mary. D’you really think Voldemort wouldn’t find him? That he wouldn’t
do anything to track him down?”

“I don’t know!” She snapped, wrapping her arms around herself defensively, “But you can’t—tell
me you’re not fighting Sirius. Tell me you’re not—again—”

He stared at her, helplessly, and said nothing. Mary stared back, features twisting. And then,
abruptly,

“Fuck you,” she spat, “Fuck you, Sirius! Do not tell me that you’ve escaped from prison just to
throw yourself back into the middle of another godforsaken war!”

“What am I supposed to do, Mary?! He needs me, Harry—”

“You’re supposed to live, goddammit! You’re supposed to be smarter than this, you’re supposed to
learn from your bloody mistakes—”

“I have learned!” Sirius scowled, voice rising, “I’ve learnt that Voldemort will stop at nothing to
see Harry dead, I’ve learnt that none of us will be able to live in peace so long as he’s at large—”

“It’s not your job to save the fucking world—”

“I’m not trying to save the world, I’m trying to save Harry—”

“You’ve always been like this, throwing yourself into the bloody fire—”

“HE IS ALL I HAVE LEFT OF JAMES!”

Sirius was standing, hands curled into fists, heart pounding. Mary was standing, too; for a moment,
the burning anger cracked.

“Sirius…”

“I have to, Mary.” He said, voice shaking, “I have to.”

She shook her head, looking away. The silence stretched between them, wrapping fingers around
both their throats.

When Mary spoke again, her voice was softer, resigned. “And…Remus…?”

Sirius nodded, stiffly. Mary slumped back onto the sofa, burying her head in her hands.

“God…” she murmured, “I hate that. You have no idea how much I hate that.”

Sirius sat next to her. After a moment, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“He’s still got her eyes, you know,” he said, quietly. When Mary looked up, her face was streaked
with tears.

“Yeah,” she croaked, “I remember that.” She wiped roughly at her eyes with the back of her hand,
sucking in a shuddering breath.

“I’d like to meet him, one day. I think.”

Sirius smiled, heart thumping painfully against his ribcage.

“He’s going to live with us,” he said, “Me and Remus. When it’s all over.”

“Yeah?” Mary asked, sniffling.

“Yeah.”

“That sounds nice.” She smiled, tremulously. “Maybe I’ll come and visit.”

“You should.” Sirius nodded, picturing it, “You could bring Darren, and the kids…we could—I
dunno, have dinner or something. I want…I want him to know about his parents. About his mum.
And you—you knew her longer than any of us…”

Mary nodded, slowly, chewing on her lip. After a moment, she turned to him, a pleading look in
her eyes.

“I can’t…I can’t be involved in this, Sirius.” Her voice shook, a bit, on his name, “You have to
understand. I’ve got the girls to think about, and Darren…”

“I know,” Sirius said, quickly, “I know, that’s—I’m not asking you to—”

“No, I know you’re not. But I mean…any of it. Not if there’s any risk…”

“Oh,” Sirius blinked, “Yeah. I…I understand.”

Outside, the sun had nearly disappeared; the sky was a bruise, purple bleeding into blue.

“But…” he took a breath, hesitating. “When it’s all over?”

Mary met his gaze, sad and exhausted and smiling, anyway.

“Sure, Sirius,” she said, “When it’s all over.”

* * *

“How was it?” Remus asked, once Sirius returned. They were lying in bed, arms tangled together,
holding heartbeats in their hands. Outside, the moon was waxing. The stars were bright.

“Good,” Sirius said, quietly, “It was hard, but…good.”

“Good,” Remus whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I’m glad.”

They lay awake together, silently, as they did so often. After a few minutes of silence, Sirius
pushed himself up onto an elbow, so that he could stare down at Moony’s face.

“What d’you want to do?” He asked, “When this is all over?”

“Hmm?”

Sirius waved a hand, gesturing vaguely. “When…y’know, when it’s safe again.” He took a breath,
lying back down. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“No…” Remus said, softly, “No, I don’t think I do either…”

“Where will we go?” Sirius moved a hand across his chest, tracing the scars on the other man’s
shoulder. Remus hummed, thinking.

“Somewhere quiet,” he said, “Somewhere small. Cornwall, maybe; near the ocean…”

“No—” Sirius stiffened, heart jumping into his throat. Remus, who had been twisting lazy fingers
through his hair, froze, going tense along with him.

“Sorry—” Sirius forced himself to relax, “Sorry, it’s just—”

The waves, crashing…the sound of the water…the biting wind, the way it tried to swallow him—

“I don’t want to live by the sea.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, softly, “I didn’t think.”

Sirius curled into him more tightly, nudging his head between Moony’s shoulder and neck. Remus
lifted his hand, and began stroking his hair again.

“The forest, then,” he murmured, “Somewhere we can run. We can live in a cottage…grow a
garden, maybe…”

“And Harry,” Sirius mumbled, into his neck. He felt the shift in Remus’s jaw as he smiled.

“Yeah,” breathed, “We’ll have a room for Harry. He can spend the summers with us…
Christmas…”

“We’ll get a tree from the forest,” Sirius suggested, “It’ll have to be one of the ones with Christmas
trees.”

Remus laughed. “Sure,” He agreed, “A cottage near a forest with Christmas trees.”

“And a village,” Sirius said, “We can open a pub.”

“A pub?”

“Or a bookstore.”

“A bookstore.”

“Or a record store.”

“Sirius—” Remus was laughing; Sirius could feel the vibrations in his chest, his shoulders. He
grinned.

“I haven’t decided which yet. Maybe we could do all three.”

“All three?!”

“Yeah! Moony & Padfoot’s Spectacular Emporium—everything you could ever want or need:
stories, music, beer…”

“And who exactly would be coming to our Emporium? The forest creatures?”

“No, you tosser—” Sirius smacked him, lightly, on the shoulder, “The villagers. That’s why we’d
 need to be by a village.”

“Got it,” Remus laughed, shaking his head, “A cottage in the village near the forest.”

“And our Emporium.”

“And our Emporium.”

“Good.” Sirius smiled, settling back against Moony’s chest, “I’d like that.”

Remus leaned down slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’d like that, too.”

They lay together, side by side. Their hearts beat. The moon shone. The stars glittered. Sirius held
a love like a universe, beautiful and dark and bright, tucked impossibly in the space behind his ribs.
He looked up, into the eyes of the man who had placed it there, and saw the same infinity reflected
back—despite everything. Because of everything.

For a moment, forever stretched between them, threaded into blood and breath and bone.

Eventually, Sirius closed his eyes. He fell asleep to the sound of Moony’s heart, the steady beat of
it wrapped in his hand.

And when he slept, he dreamed.

Chapter End Notes

song at the beginning is "love you 'til the end" by the pogues (same as the og)!

hi guys :') this endnote is probably gonna get long fair warning

i'm honestly not really sure what to say except thank you all so much for like...coming
on this ~journey~ with me (that feels so cheesy lol but it really has felt like a journey
in some ways!) this fic really just started as a fun little way to pass the time and grew
into an absolute monster (628k words?? how??). i never intended to be posting daily
updates, but it ended up being such a fun challenge and really pushed me as a writer to
accomplish something that i literally never knew i could do, and a lot of the
motivation came from all the amazing support i received in your kudos, comments,
messages, tik toks (yes i find them and watch them...i am always lurking), etc -- so
thank you all so much for just...engaging with this fic and creating a little community
<3 made me feel like an elderly woman shuffling out on her porch every night to feed
the feral neighborhood cats i loved it

AND of course the biggest biggest thank you to my beta reader, Vi, for correcting all
my misuse of british-isms and teaching me a bunch of new words!! you've been
amazing to work with and the fic would not be nearly as polished without you <3

also wanted to give a shoutout to closetfascination for the amazingly detailed and
thoughtful comments they left on every chapter (which it seems like many others
besides myself enjoyed!!) and for compiling a playlist of all the songs in this fic,
which you can find here
 if you'd like to continue reading my writing, you can keep an eye on another
perspective, where i'm hoping to post a few more oneshots over the next few weeks as
i find the time to write them :) i am also writing a dorlene fic, which you can check out
here if you're interested!

and if you ever want to say hi, you can find me on tumblr

Works inspired by this one

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!