Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Love is shit.

You get your heartbroken, life fucked up, thoughts all crossed. It dehumanizes you until all that’s left is dry skin and bare bones. Love will leave you stranded and numb with no sense of living or desire to love again. 

At least that's what happened to the girls who dated Sirius.

One look at his devilish charm and you were captivated. Utterly swooning for a sharped jawed, foggy-eyed, french pureblooded, mischievous boy who strode with pride and flirted with anything that so much as breathed. 

Loving him was the easy part. But getting him to love you back, that's a different story.

Sirius gave you a run for your money. He was a gentleman, played the part until he got bored, never intentionally broke a girls’ heart, it just sort of happened. He’d tell himself, this is the one, and then feel no connection. No attraction. Nothing. So then he’d cut the thread, send the lady on her way with mascara-stained cheeks and a runny nose, adding one more name to his list of people he’s disappointed. 

Sirius did believe in love. He’d read all about it in the muggle fairytales and fables once hidden under his bed. His cousin, Andromeda, had secretly gifted them to him knowing his mother would never approve of such unrealistic idealizations. The lines in those books taught him about that silly term, convinced him that it was something worth fighting for. Those were the same stories he was forced to watch burn in a fire, each page crinkling as the flames devoured its poems. The irony was comical but did that mean that love would treat him the same way?

To Sirius, all love was like that in a fairytale. He pictured it as a sickle in your throat, a heave of your lungs, a twist in your mind that made sunspots dance around the room. That it was the thunderous throbbing of your heart that shook your entire body, making it feel like the world was crumbling beneath your feet. 

The funny thing about love is that it makes you feel whole even when you know you’re empty. It fills you with its rapid rushes of adrenaline and melting desires, the best version of a drug one could take. But that’s also why it’s so deceiving. Sirius was too clouded by expectations to ever realize this. Maybe if he’d known, it would’ve spared him such heartbreak. 

But sometimes it takes heartbreak for someone to realize how good they had it.

So far he’d had no luck. Every girl that came his way never gave him a taste of that thrill he desired. All they did do was want. Want commitment, want attention, want more than he could give. Sirius hated being overpowered or pushed, his parents were doing that plenty. 

For now, he had his friends: James, Peter, Remus. They were all he needed. 

James was like his brother, they were practically attached at the hip. He was noble to a fault, wore his heart on his sleeves, and was madly in love with a girl who hated him. Also overly obsessed with Quidditch to the point where he might give up Evans and marry his broom. 

Peter was an old friend of James, crept his way into the group by default. Sirius liked the boy…more like tolerated. He was helpful for pranks, small enough to sneak around with, cracked the best jokes at the worst of times. A bit of a coward though which got on Sirius’ nerves. He did kick arse at Wizards Chess, the only thing he took pride in. 

Nonetheless, Peter was a marauder and Sirius would protect him with his life. That's what marauders do.

Then there was Remus. 

This boy was probably the strangest wizard Sirius had ever known. He spent all his time in the library, sucked up to every Professor, got the best marks, disappeared at random times, cursed like a sailor, had a horrible temper, could eat the whole feasting table, basically acted like an eighty-year-old nan, and still managed to be the brains behind every wicked prank. Remus was a mystery but fucking hilarious. 

He loved books, food, chocolate; enjoyed the vinyl Sirius put on his player. Remus had the best smile, crooked and soft. He was tall, lanky, scarred from head to toe. Ironically, something out of a fairytale.

And to top it off he was a werewolf. How fucking cool is that! There was no reason to be scared of him; he folded his socks for Merlin's sake. 

And to finish off the marauders was Sirius. 

He was the Hogwarts playboy, rule-breaking, Black family disgrace, muggle music-loving wizard who happened to be really smart but cared more about his reputation than grades. He knew every constellation and star, memorized all of the lyrics to any Queen song ever published, had a tendency to put on black eyeliner and nail polish, wanted to get a tattoo but was too much of a wuss to do so, stacked rings high on his fingers but never anything silver so Remus wouldn’t get dizzy, liked putting his hair in a bun, and smoked until his lungs were bare.

He’s a lot to take in but worth the amount. 

And to top it all off he’s a bag of damaged goods looking for love in a sea of perfect people who think they can give him what he wants.

Truth is, Sirius might act all tough like he doesn’t give a shit but really he's a scared, lonely, beaten young boy who would die for his friends and carries a heart that will love you more deeply than known to man. 

So that is the real Sirius Orion Black.

And this is his story.

Chapter Text

Monday 1st September 1975 

“This is ridiculous.”

“C’mon Potter, it’s just some friendly competition.”

“No, Black, we’re not doing this.”

“You just know you’re gonna lose.”

“I would not!” he gasped.

“Fine, three galleons,” Sirius proposed, extending a hand, his patience withering. “That is, unless, you’re too scared.”

Sirius could see the temptation lurking in James’ eyes. The boy was never one to turn down a challenge but was also never one to commit to something he knew he couldn’t win. Sirius, however, was always up for anything. No matter the price, he was willing to do whatever it took. Pity how that would be the reason for his downfall.

His extended hand was itching to be shaken, for a challenge to be set, for a prize to be won. But it was more than just the challenge that excited him; it was the risk, the thrill, the chance to prove his worth. Sirius thrived on validation.  

James narrowed his eyes as he studied Sirius’ expression, glasses sliding down to the bridge of his nose but a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and just like that everything seemed to change. “You're on,” he confirmed. The two boys shook hands with a firm grip and the bet was placed.  

“Should I dare ask what are you two getting yourselves into now?” came a smokey voice as their cabin door slid open. Sirius didn't need to look up, he recognized the boy from his trainers. Its rubber soles were scratched and muddy, cream fabric stained with dirt, laces having come undone and fringing at the ends. He never tied them and when he did they just unraveled, making him trip. 

A smile crept across Sirius’ face as he eyed the shoes. Still hasn’t changed. 

Remus was leaning against the door frame, tattered trunk in hand, overcoat draping to his midthigh. Clothing never quite fit him. It was either too big or too small but Sirius happened to like oversized things on him.

“Well Moony, if we told you then we’d have to kill you,” Sirius stated nonchalantly.

“Top secret business, if you know what I mean,” James smiled, wiggling his eyebrows.

Remus just let out an airy laugh, placing his bag on the overhead and seated opposite the two. He’d gotten a bit taller, developed a few new scars that crept up from the collar of his robes. Other than that he was the same old Moony. 

Remus let out a sigh as he sank into his seat, body relaxing. “How's the summer been, lads?” 

“Quite alright,” James nodded. “Dad’s been tied in with the Ministry, so I spent most of it with Mum and Pete.”

Remus turned his attention to Sirius, expecting an answer from the boy who always dreaded that question, “how's it been?” How do you think it’s been? Sirius felt the fresh scar on his calf burn, pulse-quickening, and a faint yelling still trapped in his ears. His toes curled in recollection, body tensing. 

Those horrid two months that Sirius was forced to spend every year with his family were like going mad in an insane asylum. Your head became clouded with voices and demons who brainwashed you from the inside, filling it with the usual darkness that Sirius had spent his entire life trying to avoid. It was absolute torture but, of course, he couldn’t tell them that. He couldn’t risk being seen as a trainwreck.  

Sirius put on a fake smile, his posture straightening. “Well, I-” Their cabin door bursted open and a very disheveled Peter just so happened to stumble inside, saving Sirius from having to come up with a pool of lies. His body untensed . 

“Hiya Pete,” James grinned.

The boy gave a tired wave. His lifeless blonde hair was scruffy and cheeks were flushed, exhaustedly sucking in and out breaths. The tie around his neck had been loosened and he collapsed onto the seat next to Remus, giving a big sigh of relief. 

Sirius raised a suspicious brow, his mind going directly to one particular thought which made him cringe but Peter croaked a laugh and rolled his eyes, instantly seeming to read Sirius’ expression. “Piss off Black,” he managed to spit, dusting off his robes and flattening its wrinkles. “I forgot my wand at home and that’s why I’m late, so get your filthy mind out of the gutter.”

Sirius held up his hands in defense, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“What. Is. That.” James pointed a finger and Sirius followed it to a silvery tinted pin that rested on Remus’ coat. It was hidden by a pocket flap but revealed through a beam of sunlight which made it sparkle. 

Sirius’ eyes widened. “You did not,” he gasped. Remus shrunk in embarrassment.

Peter intriguingly turned to have a look and eyes rounded when he saw. “Is that-?”

“Remus fucking Lupin, you did not!” Sirius and James were now on their feet, excitement coursing through their veins. 

Remus sighed, tucking the pin farther under his fabric. “I didn't choose to, they never even asked me, bloody McGonagall.” 

The smile that devoured Sirius’ face was something he’d never felt. It was a mix of pride, utter shock, and happiness all mixed together, stretching to both corners of his cheeks. He smiled so widely his face began to hurt but he didn’t care. To think that one of their own, a marauder, was now a Prefect. Surprisingly, Sirius couldn't even think of a single joke or mocking statement to hit the boy with, his mind completely baffled. Remus was officially written into history whether he liked it or not.    

“Our little Moony,” James cooed, whipping a fake tear from his cheek and holding a proud hand to his heart. 

“He’s all grown up. Soon he won't need us anymore,” Sirius sighed, eloping James in a hug as they both sobbed over their newly Prefected friend. 

Remus only shook his head at their mocking exaggeration. “Soppy gits,” he muttered, ultimately unamused.

“This is gonna be great for pranks,” Peter chimed but still Remus remained uneased. Sirius and James, however, hadn’t even thought of this. Immediately, they shared a knowing glance, eyes lighting with a twinkle of mischief. 

Remus shrugged, “Suppose I’ll only stand it cause of Lily.” The mention of her name made James perk up, back straightening like a board and grin forming. 

Sirius slapped a hand to his forehead which ran down his face as he slumped back in his seat and whined. “Now look what you’ve done Moony. We know better than to mention the L-word in front of Potter.” Sirius scolded Remus who chuckled in his seat, all while James remained chipper and seated himself as well. 

Ever since they were thirteen, James hadn’t been able to shut up about Lily Evans, a know-it-all redhead in their year. Sirius excused the obsession, everyone had crushes, but as the years went on and his lovestruck gaze continued, James seemed fairly intent on marrying the girl which Sirius found to be absolutely mad. No one as remotely sane as Evans would ever fall for James fucking Potter.

“Well if Lily’s a Prefect…” James’ eyes drifted into his thoughts, wheels turning. “And you’re a Prefect…”

Sirius buried his head in his hands. Here we go again… 

Like a lightbulb had turned on in his mind, James snapped his head around so fast his glasses almost flew off. “So you can put in a good word for me!” Before Remus could object, James tackled him in a hug, ruffling his hair and giving him a proud kiss on the forehead. “You’re the absolute best Moons!”

“James I really don’t think-”

“Evans adores you so if you say I’m-”

“Just because we’re both Prefects doesn’t mean-”

“And I can finally ask her out without her throwing a-”

Sirius groaned into his hands as his friend flattered on. “Someone, for the love of Merlin, change the subject before his head explodes in pride.”

James gave a chuckle, “Pride and love are two very different things, Black.” 

“If I have to deal with you fantasizing about Evans for another year, I’m gonna hex you before she has the chance.”

“There is nothing wrong with a bit of visualization.” 

Sirius eyed him, his mind bewildered. “You’re obsessed with her mate, it’s scary.”
Even through the lack of faith and judgment, James didn’t listen. He just took in a breath of possibility and flashed his charming smile. “She’ll come around.” If only everyone had the optimistic mentality of James Fleamont Potter.

***

Sirius darted straight to his bed, throwing his luggage carelessly to the side and jumping on his mattress whose springs squeaked on impact. He burrowed his head in the sheets and inhaled deeply, the glorious scent of home filling his lungs. I missed you. Displaying his arms widely, Sirius clung tightly to his bed, ignoring the teasing laughs from his friends.

“Maybe if you treated your girlfriends like you did your bed, they’d stay longer.” 

Sirius snapped his head up, glaring at Remus who stuck out his tongue as he unpacked. 

“As it so happens Lupin, I am a single man,” Sirius spoke proudly.  

“Only cause Marinette broke up with you before the end of term,” he teased.

“First of all, she did not break up with me, I broke up with her.” Sirius held up a finger in correction.  

Remus gave him a sympathetic tap on the head as if he was a child. “Whatever you say, Black.”

Sirius felt his cheeks burn up. “James!” he whined. 

“Remus’ right, she dumped you,” he replied without even looking up from the broom he’d been tending. 

Sirius slapped a hand to his heart and gapped his mouth in shock. “The betrayal!” he gasped. James simply tutted but Remus gave him a cocky smirk. Of course, Remus was right, Remus fucking Lupin was right about everything. Even through that boys’ stubbornness and need to prove Sirius wrong, he admired Remus’ abilities. That didn’t mean he was going to give him the satisfaction. 

Sirius reclined back on his bed, hands tucked under his head, his muscles flexing. “Well, so what if she cut me loose? I’m better without her.”

“You sulked in the loo for an entire week,” Remus reminded.

“You made us go down a different set of stairs when she was coming which made us late for Transfiguration,” added James.

Peter chimed in, “You called her a toad, and then she hexed your skin gre-”

“ OKAY , I get it!” Sirius flipped his pillow over so that it covered his ears, hating hearing about his encounter with rejection. For some odd reason, Sirius always liked being to one to end a relationship. It made him feel more in control, something of which he had very little in his life.

Remus laughed, “If you can’t handle a breakup that you didn’t initiate, then you shouldn't date.”

Sirius felt an unexpected annoyance brewing in his chest. Remus always knew how to push Sirius to the very edge just before he cracked but never let him break. He’d let Sirius do that on his own. “Coming from the guy who's never had a fucking girlfriend.” The words just seemed to slip before he had the chance to stop them and Sirius regretted them instantly. The room fell quiet.

Remus not having a girlfriend wasn’t what made Sirius freeze, James stop mending his broom, or Peter’s breath hitch. It was the reason why . Why he never dated, why he never asked a girl out, why he turned down every offer. I mean, girls loved him. Remus was probably the most boyfriend material out of all the marauders. Sadly, it was that he just didn’t want to hurt anyone. 

It pained Sirius to think that his friend didn’t want to love because of a problem he couldn’t control. Remus, more than anyone, deserved a fairytale type of romance.

Sirius sat up slowly and turned to his friend, eyes guiltful. “Moony, I’m-”

But before he could finish, a pillow was flung at his face, sending him flopping backward. Sirius, stunned at first, wasn’t sure what that meant. Living with Remus was like walking on thin ice; you never knew when the floor might cave in. The last time Sirius had gotten into an argument with Remus he’d been sent to the Hospital Wing with a broken jaw and Remus with a bruised fist. Arguing was evidently their form of communication. But as Sirius lifted the pillow that had covered his face and looked up at Remus whose honey eyes had turned a sharp crimson brown, the twisted grin that the boy held gave him the answer he needed.

Sirius’ grip tightened around the pillow, fingers sinking into the cotton case. He grinned back as the tension eased.

All four marauders glanced amongst each other before James jumped on his bed and cupped his hands over his mouth. He blared, “PILLOW FIGHT!” And the war had begun.  

The night was a heap of laughs and feathers, sharp pains in the sides, and ruffled hairs. They ran and yelped, throwing pillows and tackling each other to the floor. Remus had managed to pin Sirius down while James and Peter attacked him with tickles. His body jerked and squirmed, screams tangled in laughs ripping out his throat. His eyes watered and chest heaved, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. 

He missed this. Being with his friends, feeling alive again, feeling like himself. At home, it was like a prison. Only moving when told, speaking when asked, fucking breathing when given air. Azkaban couldn’t compare to the Black family home. But here at Hogwarts, in the dorm that he shared with three of his most cherished friends, Sirius Black didn’t have to be afraid. 

He could finally be free.

Chapter Text

Monday 8th September 1975

“Rise and shine!”

Sirius jolted in his sleep, mind drifting into consciousness. “Oh, bugger off Potter,” he groaned, head sinking back into his pillow.

James yanked open his curtains, the golden sunlight pouring in like urns and burning his eyes.

Sirius flinched and drove farther under his blankets. “Fuck you,” he threw, throat groggy and dry.

“Well aren’t you just lovely in the morning, isn’t he lovely Remus?” James teased.

The boy chuckled, the sound of pages being flipped from his bed, “The loveliest.”

James gave a satisfactory nod, proceeding to prod Sirius’ cheek with his finger, making him squirm. “Wake up wake up wake up,” he droned repetitively, though his annoying calls couldn’t be heard over Peter’s deafening snores. 

“Why're you wakin’ me up and not Pete?” Sirius asked, words slurred in tiredness, one hand trying to feel around for the curtains so he could draw them closed and seal himself off from the world.

“Pete doesn’t have Quidditch practice.”

“We haven’t even started the season, let alone tryouts, there is no practice you dolt!” Sirius whined, hand slumping down and giving up on searching. 

James pulled off the blankets which hugged his chilled body, pushing them to the far end of the bed so he couldn't reach them. Sirius was left laying shirtless and simply in his boxers, head furrowed in his pillow, hair a heap of tangled knots spanning over his face. 

“Well if you want to keep your position as Beater, then I suggest you get off your lazy arse and start practicing. Your swings are getting sloppy, I can tell.” James folded his arms and watched in amusement as Sirius snapped one eye open, glaring at him deathly.

“I hate you, Potter,” he growled, having finally adjusted to the unwelcoming light as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Love you too Black,” James teased, winking with a cheesy grin and helping him to a stance.

The fall air was crisp and minty, the wind carrying the smell of fresh pine and burnt wood from the Forbidden Forest. Sirius liked flying, particularly beating, but he hadn’t the energy, especially not at six in the bloody morning. 

James, however, was wide awake and highly energetic as if he’d downed three cups of coffee, a shot of fire whiskey, and taken a drag from one of Sirius’ cigarettes before they’d left. But funny enough, that's how James always was.

That boy flew like lightning strikes on his broom, darting faster than Sirius could process. Watching him was impossible and it rattled your skull when you tried. He was nothing more than a gust of wind, a flash of messy raven hair, goggled eyes, and red robes zipping past your face and leaving you breathless.

“I’m going for Seeker this year,” James announced proudly, once they’d finished their early practice and seated at their table. He buttered a slice of toast with a sliver of marmalade. “Lang finally graduated and the spots available. Reckon I can get it if Wood doesn’t try out too.”

Sirius slumped over his bowl of porridge and black coffee which stemmed in the hazy morning day, warming his face. His eyes hung in exhaustion and he gave a yawn, the room falling completely quiet for just a few seconds before going back to its usual noisy chatter as his hearing regained. Sirius’ bones and limbs were sore from the early trip around the pitch, mouth prominently dry and lips flaky.

“Looking swell Black,” Marlene teased over his ruffled hair and bagged under eyes as she sat herself down beside him. 

“You try getting up at six in the fucking morning, see how you turn out,” Sirius grumbled, making Marlene snort as she reached for an apple. He held his coffee, soaking in the warmth it radiated onto his skin before raising the mug to his lips and downing half of it. Instantly he felt his stomach rejoice in the steaming liquid, caffeine slowly working its way into his bloodstream.

“Potter dragged you out?” she asked.

Sirius nodded. “Fucking wanker,” he muttered under his breath, taking another sip as his mind drifted to sleep. Sirius was in a sour mood and it wasn’t anyone's fault, he’d just been keeping a lot of things bottled up lately.

“Hey, it was a productive morning,” James sided, the crunches of his toast seeming obnoxiously louder. 

“Well I need my beauty sleep,” Sirius protested, his eyes sweeping up to meet James’ who were glistening behind his round glasses. “All of this-,” he said, motioning to his face. “-doesn’t come naturally. I need at least eight hours of rest to properly function.”

Marlene snorted, taking a large bite from her fruit, “Can't argue with the princess James, you know better.” Her mess of crimped blonde hair was tied back, showing off her newly pierced ears which Sirius eyed in admiration, counting at least five golden studs. 

He’d always thought of doing it but the idea of stabbing his ear with a bladed weapon as blood gushed from his wound didn’t sound quite pleasing. He wouldn’t mind the blood, blood was never an issue, it was the pain that got to him. But Sirius felt like doing something spontaneous, something uncomfortable to get him out of his shell and mind away from his summer trauma. On the plus side, it sounded brilliant and would definitely piss off his parents! 

Potions was about the most eventful class that day. Everything else he’d slept through, though James did nudge him to take notes and at least pretend to be paying attention but he never did. They were brewing Draught of Living Peace, a quite useful potion that relieved anxiety. Sirius reminded himself to nick a vile of it before class ended; things like these which made life a bit less scary were always needed. They were, after all, living in warring times.

“Y’know, I don't think we did this right,” James admitted, scratching his head as he examined their brew. 

Sirius rolled his eyes, mind completely bored, “Yeah no shit.”

Their potion wasn’t exactly coming out the way Sirius had hoped. Theirs was a mildewy green, almost black, and smelled like goblin piss, though in their books it stated it should be a milky white and emit a silvery vapor. Obviously, they’d done something wrong.

Sirius’ childishness and distracted mind combined with James’ fairly smart brain but tendency to drift off and admire Evans wasn’t the best pairing when it came to Potions or anything that required academic focus in general.

Sirius quirked his head in study at their draught as he watched it sizzle while James carefully read the instructions of his book. He took what looked like powdered moonstone and sprinkled it inside but instead of it sinking easily, the potion just gave a startling bubble as it very harshly consumed the powder.

James gulped, hesitantly dipping in his spoon and mixing the containments counterclockwise. The potion was thick and moved stiffly, its fumes nauseatingly strong.

“James?” Sirius whispered, leaning over to speak into his ear though eyes widely fixated on whatever the hell was in their cauldron. “This looks like Draught of Living Death.” They weren’t supposed to learn about it until next year but Sirius recognized the odd smell and greenish coloring from the textbooks he’d been forced to read over the summer. His mother always liked him being one step ahead.

“No it's not,” James denied with a semi-nervous laugh, but when he pulled out his spoon, half of it had melted off. Both boys were left gaped at the sight. 

“It just disintegrated our spoon,” Sirius whispered. At the same time, their gazes moved to the book in James’ hand, eyes skimming over the title and slumping once they read it. Draught of Living Death. “You fucking idiot,” Sirius muttered, rubbing his temple as James quickly placed a lid over their cauldron, acting as if nothing unusual had happened at all. 

Professor Slughorn paced around the pairing tables, examining each cauldron with a satisfied nod. “Well done Miss Evans and Mr. Snape!” he heard Slughorn praise at the table in front of them. James perked up, ocean eyes locked on the back of Evans’ head, her flaming curls tied up in a bun, Severus standing statue-like by her side. Sirius couldn’t help but scuff.

He secretly prayed that class would end or the old man would trip and pull a muscle so they wouldn’t have to explain why their potion was pretty much deadly. But he did come, James and Sirius standing incredibly stiff, lips both a line. 

The Professor scrunched his nose at the awful smell. “Mr. Potter, Black,” Slughorn nodded in acknowledgment. Most of the students had turned to watch, all the girls gawking at Sirius who intentionally ignored them but secretly loved the attention.

He internally cringed, wishing he was anywhere, anywhere, but there. But of course, he played it off smugly; his tie loose around his neck, hair messily tied back, white dress shirt a bit untucked, and smirk playing his lips as Slughorn very cautiously lifted the lid from their cauldron. He didn’t even open it fully, recognizing the brew almost instantly.

“It was a simple mistake Professor,” James said while cheekily grinning, noticing how Slughorn eyed them both as if they were idiots, which they were. 

Sirius very much wanted to comment with, ‘yes, we’re that stupid as to have mistaken a peace draught with a death draught, yes, Potter wears glasses and still can’t bloody read, and yes, I will currently be banging my head against a wall because of how fed up I am with life,’ but refrained from doing so.

“Yes, well, simple indeed,” Slughorn repeated. He looked as though he wanted to say something else but bit his tongue, muttering something under his breath as he wobbled away, expression perplexed.

Once the man had left from an earshot distance, greasy-haired Snape turned instantly around, always taking any opportunity to snarkily mock the marauders, specifically Sirius. “Looking a bit pale Black,” Severus teased, expression giddy but giddy didn’t suit him. It just made the boy look distorted and unwell. 

Sirius clenched his jaw but spoke with a raised chin. “Just a flawless complexion,” he boasted.

“Too bad your looks don't match your brains, only a moron would mistake a peace draught with a death draught,” he spat, front hairs falling to hood his eyes.

Sirius laughed, “I’d say the same but you have neither.”

From behind them, Peter could be heard snickering and Remus completely lost his shit which he did a horrible job at concealing, as his messy laugh was all anyone could hear. Sirius, however, wanted nothing more than to punch the boy square in his god awful nose but, of course, his pridefulness got the best of him and he just stared into Severus' beady eyes with utmost poise.

But nosey Evans, always having to ruin the fun, whipped her head around and scowled at Sirius. “No need to be cruel Black.”

“Well how about you keep your boyfriend in check,” he snapped back.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” she hissed sharply, cheeks flushed as bright as her hair in embarrassment, voice high pitched and oh so annoying. Lily tugged at the sleeve of Severus’ robe, both turning back around but the Slytherin boy gave one final, almost threatening, glare. Sirius wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“That is my future wife Black, you could at least be a bit kinder,” James whispered with a playful tone, saying it so matter factly as if he’d actually marry the ginger.

Sirius looked at him with an irritated glare, seriously considering shaking the oblivious boy by the shoulders until he snapped out of this fantasy. “Oh bugger off Potter,” he groaned, not sure how much more of this Lily nonsense he could take.

***

“Ow! OW, Moony!” Sirius yelped, squirming beneath Remus’ hold.

“Just sit still.”

“It hurts!”

“I haven’t even done anything.”

“But what if it hurts?” Sirius asked, hypothetically. 

Remus sighed, quite fed up with Sirius’ complaining. “Well of course it's gonna fucking hurt, not like I’m jamming a knife through your skin.”

Sirius gulped, “Just…be gentle.”

“How about you settle down or James’ gonna do it,” he snapped, patience withering. Sirius looked over to James who was leaning by the doorframe, holding a hand to his mouth in nausea, eyes rounded in worry.

Sirius only had two options since Peter had fleeted as soon as he’d mentioned the word pierce and Marlene was off doing girl stuff with Mary and the ginger: There was Remus, who had fairly steady hands yet zero patience or tolerance for complaining. Next was James, who had lots of patience but hated blood and couldn’t hold himself to hurting his friend, even if Sirius was asking him to. 

I’ll take my chances with Moony.

Sirius scooted closer to the edge of the bathroom counter, the marble cold under his thighs, chin raised as Remus’ long, boney fingers cupped his face, steadying it. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he drew dots on Sirius’ lopes, marking the placements. 

“Take a look,” he ushered, once the dots were finalized. 

Sirius turned his head, looking at his ears in the reflection of the mirror, quite surprised at how centralized they were. Fours dots, two for each ear, ‘the more the merrier,’ as Sirius had described it. “Perfect,” he grinned, legs swinging in anticipation.

“Alright, now c’mon.” Remus turned Sirius’ face back, hands treating him gently. He picked up the needle that was waiting to be wielded, its metal glowing with a flashing shimmer against the dim lighted bathroom fixtures. James visibly shrunk at the sight of the small weapon. For someone so fearless, he sure was a wuss when it came to the little things.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Remus laughed. “But Black’s the one who wants it.”

“Are you sure you want this?” James asked, now redirecting his speech to Sirius. 

He thought, imagining the look of astonishment in Regulus’ eyes but face of stone as he tried to conceal his please. Then he imagined the insults and curses of his parents, the mortification that screwed their lips and clenched their grips tightly around their wands as they prepared their list of spells to dawn upon his soon to be shriveled and slashed body. But in the end, it would all be worth it. 

Sirius nodded in certainty. 

“Okay then,” Remus sighed, gripping the needle between his thumb and forefinger. “Ready?” he repeated for reassurance, eyes giving off a look of genuine concern. Remus could see right through him, knowing fully well that Sirius did spontaneous things for stupid reasons, never knowing the true nature behind any of them, only that they had to be done and stemmed from family trauma. 

For someone so scarred, so beaten by his family, for someone who should try to lay low and not act out, Sirius did anything and everything that would guarantee a backlash. It was his method of pushing the darkness away, sort of a reminder that he was nothing like his family. As if the more he changed about himself and disappointed his parents, the less likely he’d be to follow in their footsteps.

As expected, Sirius gulped down his nerves and nodded, screwing his eyes shut. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, was all that ran through his head as Remus pricked his skin, sliding the metal through his ear. Sirius held his breath, his muscles seeming to clench at the sharp pain which doubled at the second prick, then the third, and by the fourth, a sudden wave of dizziness had clouded mind. His head throbbed as if his heartbeat was somehow trapped in his skull. It was somewhat bearable until a loud splat hit the bathroom counter and Sirius’ eyes snapped open.

“Moony?” Sirius called, voice slightly trembling.

James stepped forward, “Is that-?”

Siris felt a tug on his lopes but his mind still swam, the room seeming to sway from one side to the next. Splat…splat splat splat! Sirius began to panic when the corners of his sight began to close in, like white flashing lights blinding his vision but he did not speak, he just waited for his body to give up and pass out but it never did.

James stepped forward. “Should I do something? Do you need a towel, I- I think we have extra? Shit, that's a lot of blood.” James, wide-eyed, began frantically rushing around their small bathroom in search of rags, wanting to help in whatever way he could.

“Can someone tell me what's happening?” Sirius asked, hating the fact of having to sit and wait while James panicked and Remus said nothing.

“Potter, Black, relax, it's only a little bit of blood,” Remus eased, his body and tone completely calm.

Sirius presumed the boy was used to blood, having to deal with it every month and all. But comparing his little piercings to Remus’ transformations was in no way the same. Once a month like clockwork, Remus had every bone in his body broken as the wolf clawed its way out, flesh left in ruined pieces by the end of it. So after that reminder, Sirius stayed quiet and didn’t complain anymore. If Remus was strong enough to have put up with the pain every month since he was four, then so could he.

“Right, Potter you can look now,” Remus sighed, setting down the needle and rubbing the back of his neck.

James perked his head up from a cabinet he’d been searching. “Hey it doesn’t look half bad!” he grinned.

Sirius, lightheaded, turned to have a look which took a while as he tried to stabilize his perception, the room slowly stopping its sway, his vision clearer as the white flashes eased. The counter, when he skimmed it, was stained in puddles crimson blood but Sirius didn’t even acknowledge them. He was used to blood, just not pain.

His reflection was a blur but after a bit of squinting, Sirius gasped. His ears were unidentifiable through all the blood and throbbing redness that crept up his neck. But in the spread of blood were four perfectly fitting earrings which Sirius had nicked from Marlene. Two silvery tin studs stuck through each of his lobes and another two of the same color, except they were small hoops, clipped at the helixs’ of his ears.

Sirius couldn't help but boast at the sight. With the right leather jacket, messily tied back hair, half untucked shirt, tightly fitted black trousers, doc martins, matching chunky rings, and burning cigarette dangling from his lips, he’d look so fucking cool!

Chapter Text

Saturday 13th September 1975

All Sirius heard that morning was James. 

James boasting about tryouts, James fantasizing about being a Seeker, James stretching in their dorm, James strategizing and overthinking every possible outcome of that day when the whole bloody school already knew that he’d easily get in.

Sirius didn’t want to admit it but he was equally as anxious; actually having gotten up at a decent hour, showered, tied up his hair, grabbed his broom and bat, and downed a massive cup of coffee in the Great Hall before James lugged him away and they descended towards the pitch.   

It was already filled with an overwhelming number of Gryffindors, some former players, some new, each varying in ages but all surprisingly tall and well built. The boys, and Marlene, were crowded in a bundle, laughing and joking, shoving each other playfully around like brothers. When Sirius and James approached they were drawn into the crowd, receiving pats on the backs and pepping spirits, everyone reminiscing from old times. But there was a steamy competitiveness in the group. After all, there were only seven spots available and with the number of players there, loads would be leaving without a title. 

“Potter!” came a thick Scottish call from one of the boys amongst the group. Sirius turned as if the name was his own, seeing a tall, burly, scruffy brown-haired boy emerging from the crowd. The players parted ways as he walked.

“Wood!” James exclaimed, displaying a cheeking grin as he also stepped forth but you could see the heat rising in his eyes. 

Liam Wood, sixth year, former Gryffindor Chaser, the best Hogwarts had seen in decades. That was until James came along and everything changed. 

“Not surprised to see you here,” Liam said, his Quidditch robes fitting snugly against his broad chest and shoulders, broom clutched in his left hand. “Going for Chaser again I suppose?” he assumed, almost mockingly but kept that charismatic tone.

James stood up a bit straighter, never once letting his smile fall. “Actually, I’m hoping for Seeker,” he corrected. 

There was a subtle tension in Liam's body but it faded as soon as it came. He asserted himself with a half step forward. “Well how funny, I’m going for that position too.” 

James’ smile twitched. “Brilliant!” he blurted and Sirius cringed at his friends’ over-enthusiasm. Play it cool Potter, fucking hell… 

James and Liam had been sewn into a rivalry right when James had gotten on the team in his second year. Liam’s reputation for star Chaser was crushed by James’ fast agility and perfect plays which earned him high praise and glorification throughout Hogwarts. Liam was cast into a shadow but got the female attention that James lacked, specifically from the one girl he wanted most. 

Sirius couldn’t deny it, Wood was a fantastic player, but Potter, well- James Potter was like lightning. You never saw him coming and when you did, he came with a bang, his speed and destruction leaving you breathless.  

“A shame how there's only one Seeker per team.” Liam sighed and shook his head, though Sirius could very clearly see the flicker of evil joy in his eyes. “Guess that means one of us will be stuck with Chaser again.” His eyes lifted to meet James’ looking quite manic. “But I heard Evans has a thing for Chasers.”

He didn’t know what had done it but something about Wood, something about his tone, the way he pettily looked at James as if he was his prey had struck a nerve and Sirius defensively stood by James’ side, starring Liam down (well, more like up, Wood was a good five inches taller), his gaze threatening. 

Liam flicked his eyes over to Sirius, scanning him up and down expressionless, then back to James. He extended a hand. “Best of luck.” His smirk was sickening.

James smiled, that charming, friendly smile, sliding his hand into Wood’s. “Oh, I won't need it.”

You could practically taste the tension in their handshake, how the two eyed each other with ruthless competitiveness all while grinning through clenched teeth. But Sirius stood protectively by James’ side, ready to beat the shit out of that boy when James gave him a cue. Much to his disappointment, he never did. 

Thankfully, Madam Hooch and unexpectedly Professor McGonagall came just in time. “Gather ‘round boys, and uh- McKinnon,” Hooch announced, with a clap of her hands which silenced everyone. “Now, just because you made the team last year does not guarantee you a spot this year, is that clear?” 

The group gave understanding nods.

“Right then, we’ll do a few drills to pick the weaklings out of the bunch. It’ll be like a normal game so play your very best. There will be no second tryouts. The chosen players assigned to each position will last until the end of the year, results will be posted on the board outside my office on Sunday.” 

Hooch motioned for McGonagall to step forward, which she did, hands elegantly resting by her abdomen and gaze skimming the crowd of players. James flashed her a smile and Sirius threw her a wink when her eyes landed on them both, making her stop, purse her lips, then shake her head in a mixture of boredom and irritation, expression saying, ‘I don't know how much more of those two I can take,’ which was the effect James and Sirius had been going for.

She cleared her throat, “If you don’t already know, Mr. Lang has graduated, leaving the title of Captain open since he didn’t appoint someone else to take lead in his absence. As Head of House, I will be appointing the new Captain. I will be taking into account not only your skills but academic performance, behavior, and prior records.”  

Sirius immediately turned to James whose eyes were growing wide in hopefulness. James would be the perfect Captain. Quidditch was one of those things the boy treated with utmost care. It was a part of him, it’s what made James, James. The one thing standing in his way was Liam fucking Wood who Sirius was very much considering shoving into a duffle bag and tossing into the Great Lake. 

“Alright, boys- and McKinnon,” Madam Hooch rubbed her hands together in eagerness. “Take your positions and let's get going.”

Everyone took off on their brooms, Sirius and James exchanging playful slaps at the back of their heads and teasing laughs before mounting their broom and flying their separate ways.

In the stands, from whom Sirius could recognize, were Peter, Lily, and Mary but no Remus. Sirius’ heart stung a bit. He never expected the boy to come since Quidditch wasn’t an interest of his but somehow Sirius always hoped that one day he would. Guess this year wasn’t one of those times.

James, of course, had spotted Lily from a miles’ distance, her flamming curls twisted into a braid and petite body sitting promptly upright. “Hey there Evans,” he waved while doing looping tricks in the air to show off as his raven hair swerved wildly in the wind and goggles stuck tightly to his face, enlarging his eyes. “Come to see me play?”

The ginger looked up, face bothering when she saw who’d called. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter, I’m here for Marlene,” she replied.

“What?” James asked, holding a hand to his ear as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I said, I’m here for Marlene,” she repeated a bit louder.

“Sorry love, still couldn’t catch that,” James joked while trying to act genuinely confused but a smile broke through his flattening lips. Lily just rolled her eyes and turned back to Mary while James admired her from his broom. Lovestruck tosser.

Marlene and Sirius were playing on the same side, across from them being two others whom Sirius didn’t recognize but he had nothing to fear. Sirius and Marlene were the Gryffindor Beaters. Their pairing was practically destructive and no other duo could compare. Nonetheless, Sirius was intent on giving it his all, beating was the only time where he could release all of his internally burning rage that he’d been keeping bottled up for so long. Other than cigarettes and listening to his records, this was his method of coping. Was it unhealthy, yes, but did it work, also yes.

In the center hovered James who was directly opposite of Wood, both boys indeed playing as Seekers and exchanging bone-chilling glares. 

Sirius took in a steady breath, tightening the grip on his bat, steadying his broom, closing his eyes, and then snapping them open when the Bludgers and Snitch were released, Quaffle was thrown, and a whistle was blown. The game had begun.

Sirius was a maniac on the pitch, forceful swings sending vibrations up his arms but with each hit he sent a Bludger hurdling away into the distance until it came straight back, feasting for more. He’d forgotten how exhilarating it all was; his speed breaking the wind, bones cracking with each swing, eyes darting left and right as his senses pricked for incoming Bludgers. 

His heart pounded as his body fueled in adrenaline, the caffeine he’d had for breakfast now kicking in and making his brain buzz the way nicotine did on his pulse. 

From the corner of his eye, Sirius could see James speeding around the upper head of the pitch, focus locked on the small fluttering Snitch which zipped quickly around but James was quicker. Not far behind him was Wood, tailing the end of James’ broom, almost wanting to knock him off but you had better chances of Dumbledore saying yes to a date than getting James to fall off. 

James Potter never fell off his broom.

There were some cheers from the stands, mainly Mary and Lily supporting Marlene whose obnoxious claps and girly laughs were all Sirius could hear. Peter carefully watched Sirius and James with big innocent eyes, throwing a thumbs up or wave whenever one of them came into sight which Sirius took comfort in. Still, he wished Remus was there.

The tryouts ended when James victoriously caught the Snitch, holding it up proudly above his head to which everyone applauded and Sirius yelled, “YES POTTER!” with a cheeky grin. 

By the end of it, his entire body was sore, shoulders aching from thrusting his bat but never having properly stretched as James had advised, Quidditch robes clinging to his body as droplets of sweat trickled down his forehead, and loose strands of hairs having escaped from his bun and curling at the ends. He looked like a mess but at the same time, was devilishly handsome, to say the least.

Sirius descended to the ground and exhaustedly jumped off his broom but maybe a bit too harshly because then he felt it. It was like a tear, two hands forcefully pulling his skin apart. He was sure he heard the sound of it, like ripping a piece of parchment. The scar on his calf that had been taking its sweet time to heal was now open. 

Sirius froze, his body completely stiffening when he felt the cool blood oozing down his calf, soaking his boots. The liquid slipped into the fabric of his socks and spread outwards. Soon he was drenched in his own blood. 

Sirius couldn't move, he couldn't speak, suddenly the memories flooded back. They were like pictures of an old muggle film flashing before his eyes. 

His mother was there, her wand extended outwards, darkness lurking in her sadistic smile. He saw her cast it, a pale grey color resembling a clawed hand reaching towards him. He saw his father watching almost in amusement, he saw himself mouth to Regulus, “Run,” and his brother mouth back, “No.”

He recalled hearing his wrenching scream, how it clogged his throat, silencing his speech. He felt all the pain devour his body, rendering him paralyzed as tears wheeled in his eyes which rendered him blind.

Sirius remembered thinking that he was going to die, wishing he did. You know you’ve gone to shit when you want life to end and haven’t even tried fighting for a better tomorrow.

Almost instantly, James was at his side. He was saying things Sirius couldn’t understand, his mouth moving but no words came out, at least none he could hear. Apparently, he was walking through the pain, next thing Sirius knew he was in the locker room, having collapsed onto a bench. 

His entire leg felt like it was being torched, the most agonizing fire having been ignited in the depths of his skin, leaving it pulsingly raw.

James crouched in front of him, desperately trying to meet his eyes. 

Sirius just stared horrifyingly into the abyss.

James held his hand and squeezed it but Sirius did not react. It was like he was slowly dying in a body whose cries for help were being muffled by a hand over his mouth. Someone was holding him back.

But then James felt it, he felt the wetness of Sirius’ trouser leg, he saw the blood that had seeped through the fabric and onto his fingers. He stared at his hand, how it was covered in fresh, crimson red blood. He looked at Sirius in panic but acted without hesitance.

James pulled up Sirius’ left trouser pant, rolling the cuff upwards but that's when reality kicked in and Sirius stopped seeing his past, now realizing how dire his present state was.

He grabbed James’ wrist before he had the chance to see his scar. “No!” he seethed, voice choked and sore.

James gaped at him wide-eyed. “Sirius-”

“No, James- … fuuuck, just leave it!” The pain was traveling upwards, heating his neck, pulsing his veins, and slowly tightening his throat. It felt like he was drowning, only ten times worse.

“Sirius you’re bleeding! How long have you had this for? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Why didn’t I tell you? That was probably the stupidest question Sirius had ever heard. He didn’t tell James because James didn’t need to know. Sirius didn’t want him to know because of the expression on his face. That look of horror mixed with pity and rage. That look of betrayal. Sirius hadn’t told James because of the guilt, because of the embarrassment. 

Of course, he knew that Sirius came from an abusive home, this wasn’t the first time he’d come to school with a scar. But someone like James, someone who came from such a lovely, wonderful family wouldn’t know Sirius’ pain. Explaining his scar to James, explaining anything to James would be like talking to a wall, he just wouldn’t understand. So why expose yourself to someone who can’t even relate?

Sirius couldn’t meet his furious eyes so he spoke to the floor, his words sharp. “James, I want you to leave.”

After some internal contemplation and worrying stares, James left, leaving Sirius alone in the Quidditch locker room to drown in his own pitting misery.

***

He limped his way back to the Gryffindor Tower, skipped dinner, hauled himself up the aching staircase where he dragged himself into their dorm bathroom, body exhaustedly leaning against the door as he slid his way down to the chilly tiles and sulked. 

Sirius was close to being done, just saying, ‘fuck it,’ and giving up on life. What did he even have to keep him going?

But these depressive moments came in sudden flashes. Somedays he’d be fine and everything would seem perfect. He’d be laughing with his friends down in the common room or strolling lazily outside, soaking in the beautiful sun which radiated heat onto his cold body. But other days he wouldn’t feel like getting up or eating, so he’d draw the curtains to his bed, cast a silencing spell, hide under a mountain of blankets, and cry.

If only pain had an off switch. 

It wasn’t long before he heard creaking footsteps approaching from the outside, then a knock.

“Just go away,” Sirius sighed, head exhaustively falling back and hitting the wood with a thud. 

“Sirius, open the door,” a voice commanded. It was Remus.

He wasn’t expecting Remus, he’d assumed James, but never Remus. That boy, in all the five years he’d known him, never once involved himself in Sirius’ family issues. Remus just gave him exactly what he acted like he wanted, which was space. Sadly, Sirius always acted like he wanted to be left alone and mope on his own but truthfully he wanted to be held, to be comforted. James was always there, he always offered but Sirius was too stubborn, too afraid of seeming weak to accept it.

He opened the door just enough to let the boy in. Remus sat down comfortably in front of Sirius, paying no mind to his open wound or the blood that stained his skin and clothes. Instead, he spoke to him directly, the eye contact strong which Sirius couldn’t meet. “What happened?”

“You know what happened,” Sirius huffed, rolling his eyes. 

Remus continued to stare. “Show me,” he ordered and somehow, Sirius found himself pulling up his pant leg and exposing his torn flesh. It wasn’t a clean cut but jagged and deep, as if sculpted with a serrated knife. Remus slightly cringed but Sirius displayed no reaction, he was used to it.

Without warning, Remus pulled out his wand and scooted closer, taking hold of Sirius' leg and pointing the tip of his wand at his calf. 

He tried to pull back. “Moony, it’s fine-”

“Don’t bitch, I know pain,” Remus snapped and Sirius didn’t argue.

He casted the spell wordlessly and Sirius felt his entire body ease, all the clenching pain seeming to lift as his gash sewed shut, leaving a thick silvery line in its place. Sirius let out a shaky breath, his body visibly relaxing. “ Hoooly shit… Thanks Moony,” he gasped, a relieved smile turned up the corners of his lips. 

Remus gave a nod but his gaze was still concerned. “James is worried.”

“I know,” Sirius admitted, feeling a bit guilty that he’d snapped at him back in the locker room.

“He’s better at this whole…comfort thing,” Remus said blankly, his focus awkwardly shifting around their small bathroom.

Sirius was now able to look at him, examine him, trace the scars that bridged his nose, wrapped his throat, and slit his brow. If the ones he had were anything as beautiful as the ones Remus wore, then Sirius was lucky to have them. His smile turned into something softer, more genuine. “You’re right, he is.”

Remus met his stare, shook his head, letting out a messy laugh as he got up and brushed off his trousers. “Then I’ll tell him you’re moppy arse is okay.”

The boy left, leaving Sirius alone in their compacted bathroom to realize that he did in fact have lots of things to keep him from falling over the edge.

Chapter Text

Saturday 20th September 1975

“Hey Evans, did you hear? I got Captain and Seeker!” James grinned, proudly wearing his new robes which had, Potter, 7, embroidered with golden thread on the back. 

“Yes Potter, I think the whole bloody school knows,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. 

As expected, James had gotten his prime post on the Quidditch team. The marauders had found out when they’d been rudely awakened at seven in the morning to a frantic James bellowing, “I BLOODY DID IT!” to which he received a congratulating groan from Peter, an aggressively thrown pillow from Remus, and a, “Fuck off!” from Sirius who hated being woken, especially on the weekends.

“And I expect you’ll be at the game in October to cheer me on?” James asked, batting his eyelashes swooningly.

Lily sipped her tea, seemingly bored. “Well of course I’ll be at the game, I’m in Gryffindor for Godric's sake.”

“Gingers,” Sirius whispered as he leaned over to Remus, shaking his head. “Feisty ones they are.”

The boy mumbled some sort of response but wasn’t paying much attention and Sirius didn’t expect him to. After all, today was one of those days.

Remus was awfully quiet that entire breakfast, robotically flipping the pages of his battered paperback, thick shadowed circles hanging under his eyes which were glassy and dull. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, a haunting aroma cradling his worn-out features.   

“Have you eaten?” Sirius asked concerningly.

Remus shrugged, keeping his head down and focus drawn to the pages of his book. “Not hungry.”

“You should really eat something.”

Remus shoved him off, as per usual. “Maybe later.”

“It’s a ‘you know what’ today,” Sirius reminded discreetly. He’d memorized every full moon date for the next five years but not even that was enough.

Remus tensed, tightly gripping the spine of his book, anger itching beneath his fingers as his jaw clenched and knuckles grew white. “Yeah Black, I’m aware.” 

Sirius saw this but didn’t care. He grabbed a spare plate, piling on toast, eggs, sausages, and a roll, then sliding it over to Remus.

He pushed it back, voice raspy and irritated. “Told you, 'm not hungry.”

Sirius heard this but still didn’t care. He took an empty mug, filling it with boiling water then taking a chamomile tea bag out of a saucer and dropping it inside. He knew how sweet Remus liked his tea so Sirius drizzled in an excessive amount of honey, so much so that it made his teeth ache just looking at it. 

He slid the mug over to Remus who slid it right back. “Are you deaf Black? I told you I’m not-”

“Eat something,” he interrupted, pushing the plate and mug closer to Remus who glared at him with dark, fuming eyes. Sirius replied with nothing but a stern look. 

Giving up, Remus lazily picked up a slice of toast and ate it, his crunches slow and face nauseated as he chewed and swallowed. Remus never ate before full moons or even the nights before, probably because he threw it all up afterward but Sirius could only assume. Still, he wasn’t going to let Remus starve himself, the boy was skinny enough as it was, purely skin and bones.

All-day, Sirius found himself leaning back on the legs of his chair to peer over at Remus whose head would either be resting in his hands or mind indulged in a book. Sirius noticed his minor flinches when parchments fell or steps were too loud. He saw Remus’ head turn when he heard someone coming even though they were miles away. He saw his slow, aching paces from class to class, how he scratched his arm until it was raw, cracked each of his knuckles, broke his quills from gripping them too tightly, tapped his foot and bounced his leg in impatience, and anxiously stared out the window as if awaiting something.

Sirius noticed the little things. 

Oh how badly he wanted to hold that boy until he calmed down, stroke his hair, and rock him slowly the way Sirius wished he were treated as a child but during full moons, he trod on eggshells. Even the slightest misstep could send Remus in a raging fit. The last thing you wanted to do was upset a werewolf. 

So Sirius stayed quiet and kept to himself, paying close attention to Remus’ uneasiness throughout the day, and prayed that the boy wouldn’t suffer too much that night. Give me the pain, Sirius begged to whoever granted those types of wishes. Let me suffer, not him, please… 

It was only when Remus mysteriously slipped away that Sirius remembered what the other marauders had planned and instantly his mood flipped.

“I got the book.”

“I got leaves.”

“C’mon we’re gonna miss it!”

“Oh settle down Black, we’re right on time.”

James, Peter, and Sirius gathered on the floor of their dorm to attempt what they’d been planning for the past three years. They’d studied every Latin text, memorized the incantations, collected all the ingredients which might have broken over twenty school rules but that was the least of their concern. The point was that on that very night, three boys would attempt something unimaginable for their age. But what was a marauder without a bit of mischief?

Peter handed out a single mandrake leaf to each of his friends, James storing the rest away in his trunk knowing they’d need them later. Sirius held the thin leaf between his fingertips, treating it like fragile china in fear it would wrinkle and ruin the spell. His legs bounced anxiously as he watched the illuminating moon inch towards its peak in the dusty black heaven. What a beautiful thing it was that had cursed so many.

James flipped open the book, Obtaining the Animagi, stopping at, Phase 6: The Mandrake. 

“We already know what to do,” Peter huffed, as he watched James read. “Made us study the book front to back.” 

It was true, James had made Sirius and Peter memorize all phases of the Animagus training, reviewing the book each night before bed. Sirius didn't put up a fuss, he’d gladly review it ten more times if it meant helping Remus. Peter, however, wasn't too keen on the whole idea. It took a great deal of persuading from James and the more harsh threats from Sirius to get him to compensate. But in the end, Peter sought all the risky ingredients like the mandrakes from the greenhouse, phails from the Potions classroom, and the three chrysalis' from a Deaths-head Hawk Moth which he happened to cross upon during a rummage through the Potions storage cupboard. 

As the moonlight began to shine through their window and creep towards them, Sirius’ heart scrambled in nerves. This is it, it’s finally happening! Don’t you dare screw this up Sirius! Don’t. You. Dare. 

James peered outside, the milky light repelling against his tanned skin, then held up his leaf, declaring a toast. “Ready boys?”

Peter and Sirius held out theirs in response. 

“To Moony,” Sirius announced, with a proud smile.

James beamed and Peter nodded. “To Moony,” they repeated back. 

In unison, all three boys opened their mouths and placed their leaves delicately on the surface of their tongues. It had a horrible taste that absorbed the saliva in Sirius’ mouth, making his tongue itch in discomfort but it was done. One month, here we go.

***

That night, Sirius lied awake in his bed, curled up in his blankets as he awaited it. But there were no sounds, not even the rasping of branches or a breeze against their window. The earth was completely still.

He had this little habit of waiting until he heard a howl before falling asleep. It sounded strange, why stay up until you hear the anguished cries of your best friend? Well, the answer was quite simple. If Remus was forced to stay up and wait until the wolf took over then Sirius would too, at least until Remus was free from the initial pain. He took comfort in knowing that the boy was over with his transformation once his muffled screams died out and a tranquil silence settled over the Hogwarts grounds, only to be greeted with a long, chilling howl.

But for some reason, Sirius did not hear any screams or howls nor was he met by some sort of sixth sense. This only made the pit in his stomach sink deeper. 

Remus, fucking stubborn Remus always tried to fight it; the wolf, the pain, the moon, everything. It would be much easier, much quicker to just let it consume you, but no, Remus fought. He fought the darkness, the cracking of his bones, the elongating of his limbs. He fought until he could not fight anymore. 

Even though it was foolish, it was one of the many reasons why Sirius viewed that boy with such admiration. Why whenever he was in a dire state, his first thought was, what would Moony do?

Remus Lupin was a true warrior.

So Sirius waited, and waited, the full moon peacefully settled in the night sky as he waited some more. His heart palpitating against his ribcage as his breaths became shorter, and shorter, and-

Sirius froze.

There it was. The cry of defeat.

Sunday 21st September 1975

That morning when dawn broke, Sirius was the first up and ready, hair messily pulled back in a bun, throwing on a muggle band tee, chained earrings, ripped jeans, and docs. He practically sped through breakfast, waited very impatiently knowing Remus wouldn’t be up until mid-day, then skipped lunch so he could make his way towards the Hospital Wing. 

After a bit of stalling from Madam Pomfrey, Sirius was allowed entry with the promises that he would be, “quieter than a mouse,” for which he followed by locking his lips and throwing away the key. 

Remus was sleeping soundly in a cot, features softened now that he was unconscious. He had a few new scars that were patched up; one on his shoulder, a second by his ear, and a third on his cheek. His chest barely rose and lips were tinted blue, smudges of dried blood left on his skin which was paler than a ghost. From afar, his opaque complexion and lifeless body could've been mistaken for dead. 

As Sirius looked upon his sickly friend, instead of facing a wrenching heartbreak, he only felt rage. He hated seeing him like this, so...unmoving, vulnerable, alone. Well, he wasn’t alone now. Sirius made sure that he was always there before Remus had the chance to open his eyes. Loneliness was a common thing that many were burdened to live with, Sirius knew, he lived with it his entire life. It was practically his shadow. But he would never allow Remus to have a taste of that depression, not ever.

Seating himself on a chair beside the bed, Sirius carefully watched that boy as he slept. He broke bit by bit as fresh blood soaked through Remus' bandages and his frail body lay motionless. At least he's not alone.  

It wasn't long before James and Peter made their way up, greeting Sirius with a silent wave, James carrying some treats for Remus, and Peter clutching a wonkily crafted card to which he displayed on the boys’ bedside table. 

They made it just in time as Remus began to stir in his sleep, eyes moving slowly beneath his lids, flinching from the harsh sunlight. Sirius waited patiently as his friend began to awaken, lashes fluttering open and boney fingers slightly twitching. He gave a stretch but winced which made Sirius' stomach tighten. Soon a soft smile twisted the corners of Remus’ lips as his eyes drifted over his friends.

“It's getting a little creepy with you lot staring at me when I wake up,” he mumbled, voice croaked and dry. Sirius instinctively handed him a glass of water which he accepted gratefully and downed in three large gulps.

“We can’t help it,” James shrugged with a cocky smirk. “You’re too irresistible to look at.”

“Fuck off,” Remus chuckled, voice still strained.

“How'd you feel?” Sirius asked, noticing his stumble winces when he tried to move.

“Like shit but what’s new?” he responded nonchalantly. 

Sirius always respected Remus’ brutal honesty but sometimes he felt like the boy joked about his pain as a means of downplaying how much it really hurt.

“Brought you some chocolate,” James said as he handed the boy a few chocolate frogs.

Remus smiled, “Cheers mate.”

They sat and joked for a while, Remus insisting that the others eat some of his treats for which James replied by saying, “Moony, we brought it for you, now stop trying to be a fucking angel and eat it you shit.” 

Remus just flipped him off and picked at the wrapping. Sirius noticed that he never ate much on nights that had gone badly, it was a tell. He’d noticed lots of signs throughout their years and wrote them all down so he’d never forget.

1. If Moony doesn't eat that means the transformation was bad but if he’s hungry that means it went well
2. If Moony hides his winces that means he’s in pain (a LOT of pain)
3. If Moony doesn’t smile that means shit went down and he needs comfort
4. If or when Moony does seem okay then he really is okay and I can stop adding to this fucking list

Sirius was still waiting for #4 to happen but only time would tell. 

Soon enough, Madam Pomfrey ushered them out. “He needs rest boys,” she reminded strictly, making her way to Remus as she fluffed his pillow, checked his wounds, and scooped up the bundle of chocolates that sprawled across his sheets.

Sirius hauled himself up and exited the drawn curtains with James and Peter but gave Remus one last shy glance. The boy looked back and gave him a tired smile. The Moony smile. Sirius loved the Moony smile. 

He gave Remus a small wave before making his way out.

***

“We need to get a move on this whole Animagus thing.”

“There's nothing much we can do until the next full moon.”

“That is unless don't I swallow the leaf before then.”

“You’re not gonna swallow it, Pete.”

“You say that now.”

Sirius paced impatiently along the length of their dorm, his mind bustling with ideas on how to help Remus. Every month that went by was another month that he had to be in pain with no one to help him through it. Remus shouldn’t be alone on the scariest night of his life, Sirius wouldn’t allow it.

“Sirius, mate, sit down,” James eased. 

But Sirius couldn’t sit down, he couldn’t just sit and wait, he had to do something. He’d spent his entire life waiting; waiting for an opportunity to escape, waiting for someone to save him, waiting for his family to fucking care. Eventually, Sirius realized that waiting did absolutely nothing, it was for the weak and incapable. 

James had gotten up, placing a gentle hand on Sirius' shoulder, his simple touch seeming to make the agitated world a little bit clearer.

“We can’t just- we can’t stay here and do nothing!” Sirius cried. Unexpected emotions began to stir inside him and choke his words but he pushed them down, far, far down. “Did you see him, Remus, did you? James, he practically looked dead! While we’re here, he- he’s there, he’s suffering-”

“Sirius,” James whispered, his voice tranquilizing. He always wondered how James could silence someone so swiftly, take the words right out of their mouths before they had the chance to finish them. A gift passed from his mother. “We have been working on this for three years, it’s not like we’re doing nothing.”

“But Remus will-”

“Remus will be okay for the time being. He’s strong but we can't lose focus on the matter at hand.” James was right and Sirius hated to admit it. “We have to get through this month with no setbacks,” he announced. “And that means no swallowing the leaf-” James turned to Peter, “-and no worrying about what’s ahead.” He turned back to Sirius and greeted him with those soft, nurturing, pale blue eyes. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

Sirius sighed, then nodded, accepting the unwelcoming truth. We’ll get there when we get there.

Chapter Text

Friday 26th September 1975

Sirius thought it would be simple. How hard could it be to keep a leaf in your mouth for an entire month? Well, when you sleep in a dorm with three other boys, are on the Quidditch team, snog girls, have to eat three meals a day, brush your teeth twice, all while keeping it a secret, then yes, it's very hard.

It had only been six days since the full moon and the number of times Sirius came close to choking on his mandrake was far more than deemed reasonable.

Sometimes he'd laugh so hard that the leaf would get sucked back and clog his airway. Of course, only James and Peter knew the real reason why Sirius' face was turning all shades of red and purple. So when Remus would perk up, see Sirius choking, and then rush to his aid, Peter and James would tackle him to the floor long enough for Sirius to run to their bathroom and force the leaf back up. It was a nauseating process but stopped them from having to waste another month restarting their transformations.

It came to the point where Sirius, James, and Peter stopped laughing. They stopped cracking jokes, stopped pulling high-risk pranks, stopped singing, dancing, any form of exercise that would cause their leaves to be choked on. Meals were less cheerful, three-fourths of the marauders had stopped drinking, eating, records were rarely ever played, and the Gryffindor Tower was no longer filled with wholesome adolescence.

Life became dull.

This was all a challenge in itself but Remus, dear old thought to be oblivious Remus, took notice of their sudden quietness.

"Okay," Remus sighed, slamming his book shut during a hazy, awkward breakfast, causing the others to jolt. "What is up with you three?"

Peter, James, and Sirius all exchanged confused glances, pretending they didn't know what Remus had meant. Let's just say that acting wasn't one of their strong suits.

The boy waited impatiently for a response with raised brows but none of them spoke. His eyes flicked to Peter's goblet. "Pete, you haven't touched your Pumpkin Juice. Come to think of it, you haven't touched it in a week."

Peter gulped. "I- I haven't?"

"No you fucking haven't," Remus snapped in annoyance with piercing eyes.

"But...what if I don't want to?" Peter's voice was trembling. Remus was especially scary when he targeted individual people.

"Pete, you love Pumpkin Juice," he said pointedly.

Peter gave Sirius and James pleading looks, unsure of what excuse to use. Sirius just widened his eyes slightly, signaling for the boy not to crack under pressure.

Remus, seeing Peter's plea, whipped his head around to Sirius. "What did you do to him?" he demanded, motioning to Peter whose face had gone white.

Sirius held up his hands in defense. "I didn't do anything!"

"You broke Peter," he accused.

"I did not break Peter," Sirius objected dramatically.

"Fine, then you broke Peter." Remus redirected his attention to James.

"I did no such thing!" James gasped, clapping a hand to his chest in hurt.

"Well someone broke Peter!"

"No one broke me!" the small boy exclaimed, overpowering Remus' voice and making everyone else grow quiet. They'd never heard him yell before. "I just-" he shrunk in his seat, nibbling on his lip. "Am on...a diet."

Sirius almost choked on his leaf, snorting so loudly it tickled at the back of his throat. His laughter was burning at the inside of his cheeks making his nostrils flare and lips line. He could tell James was struggling too, his face had gone as red as Evans' hair.

"A diet?" Remus repeated, a faint stun in his tone.

"Yes," Peter gulped, shrinking in his seat as his cheeks flushed. "A diet."

"Oh." Remus settled down, feeling eerily embarrassed for having pushed the confession out of him. "Well, um, that's great Pete," he nodded encouragingly.

Peter gave a weak smile and turned to pick at his food.

Remus didn't probe further about their odd behaviors, having distanced himself from the other marauders for the rest of that day. Sirius hated it, the distance. It had taken him years to get Remus to open up, to trust him. That boy, unlike James, wasn't an open book. He never told the marauders about his furry problem, probably never would've unless Sirius hadn't figured it out late into their first year. From that moment on, Sirius had promised himself he'd always find a way to make Remus smile or expelled a soft laugh.

The most wasted of all days are ones without laughter so you could expect why Sirius felt even gloomier than usual when his humor and childishness had to be suppressed.

***

Peter had swallowed his leaf.

They'd practically been falling asleep in History of Magic to the ongoing drones of Professor Binns on the same old over-explained revolutions when several high-pitched hiccups pricked at Sirius and James' ears. The two boys shared a confused glance then slowly turned around to see Peter's flushed face and bulging eyes as he stared at the two in panic.

Remus was in the back with Lily so Sirius was able to whisper, "What now Pettigrew?" to which Peter replied by opening his mouth. It was completely leafless.

James groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead which ran down his face while Sirius continued to leer at the boy with infuriated eyes, fists clenching in rage. Peter you fucking idiot!

James had opened his mouth, about to pull his leaf out when Sirius quickly grabbed his wrist. "What the hell Potter!"

"We can't just continue if Pete doesn't have his leaf."

"Yes the bloody fuck we can," Sirius argued.

"Sirius, we're doing this together, remember?" James reminded, seemingly calm after what just happened. "All for one and one for all," he nodded assertively.

Sirius just gaped at him in exasperation. "James, what the fuck?"

He shrugged, "Some muggle saying."

Sirius opened his mouth to speak in protest but it was too late, James had already taken out his mandrake, crumbling it up into a small ball between his toned fingers. Sirius couldn't fathom what James just had done. Groaning, he pulled out his in response, irritation burning in his throat as he felt the leaf break to his touch.

Another month wasted.

Sirius couldn't even look at Peter the rest of the day, his mere presence already enraging, to say the least. How could he have been so careless, so stupid?! This process was far past his needs, it was for Remus. Couldn't the boy just get a grip for once and do something meaningful for a change?

The extent of his anger was never inflicted onto Peter, Sirius couldn't hold himself to being anything like his parents. Instead, it just went to smoking.

Yes, smoking is bad, but we're all addicted to something that ruins us.

For some it's drinking, others it's toxic relationships that they think they can fix. People might starve themselves, chase a lost love, live on caffeine, never sleep, slit their wrists, or be silent and let their pain consume them. For Sirius, it's lighting nicotine and poisoning his lungs until they're dry and weak. That's just how he numbed himself.

After skipping his afternoon classes and seating himself on their ledged nock, Sirius cracked open a window and held his cigarette lightly between his knuckles. It dangled loosely but he knew how to wield one without it slipping.

With a snap of his fingers, the cigarette lit and Sirius pressed the end to his longing lips and sucked, holding the smoke in his mouth and letting it travel down his throat as he inhaled. His eyes rolled back into his head. A headache that he didn't even know he had went away, shoulders easing as his body slumped.

The smoke was hot as it drew into his lungs, like air moving past a fire. It burned the softness of his lips, making them chapped.

The nicotine rush was a small high, a faint lightheadedness that made Sirius' perception haze. It never lasted long but was pleasant enough to get him on.

When he removed the cig from his lips, blowing out the plums of thick smoke, his mouth went dry and his mind begged for more. He fed his craving with another drag, feeling the same rush that faded as soon as it came.

Their door creaked open and Sirius could hear approaching footsteps. Not in the mood for talking, he turned his head, gazing outside at the grounds. Still, he saw James through the reflection of the glass.

"Those things'll kill you," he said flatly.

Sirius flicked the spent ashes out the window then took another drag, mind in too much of a blur to care. He let the silence grow thick.

"It's not his fault," James sighed, scratching his mane of static hair.

Sirius tutted. "It's always his fault." His voice was rough and aged, smoking did that to him.

"We knew we wouldn't get it on the first try, that's expected. We'll start again in October on the next full moon."

Sirius didn't respond. He couldn't let James ease him down like he always did, he wanted to be angry, he wanted to hold a fucking grudge.

Remus deserved better than this. He deserved to have people there for him, why didn't anyone care about this?

Sirius was right, Remus deserved someone, but no one would ever care. Mainly because in their lives, the marauders would always have one constant: Sirius would try, James would ease, Peter would disappoint, and Remus would be alone. That's just how their stories were written.

***

Supper was the same boring silence. Sirius bruited and passed the occasional deathly glare to Peter whose eyes never lifted from his plate. James tried to cheer up his friends by talking Quidditch and Halloween plans but never got so much as a smirk from anyone so he soon gave up and joined the wordlessness. Remus had been gone all day but finally rekindled, sitting quietly beside Sirius and tapping his foot. Tap, tap-tap, tap, tap tap tap tap...

He didn't seem lost or phasing out nor irritated but almost...expecting? Sirius couldn't put his finger on it but the look was neither in the present nor immersed in thought.

He didn't think much into it, lazily pushing his food around, never in the mood for eating after he'd smoked. It took away the taste.

The Hall seemed to replicate the same depressive state as the marauders, only some hushed chatter but nothing too loud. It was as if everyone was waiting for someone to crack yet no one knew who.

Midway into supper, there came a faint fizzing in the distance, as if traveling through the walls. It made Sirius, and a few others, perk up but there was nothing there yet the sound grew louder.

Suddenly, the entrance doors bursted open and a small object flew inside, reeling everyones' attention and earning a few gasps. It had red stripes and a twined tail which seemed to be flaming at the end. It swerved around the Hall in looping motions like James on his broom until exploding near the end of the Gryffindor table with a deafening BOOM, causing seventh years to duck and loud shrieks to expel amongst the students. Then, a burst of white dust sparkled down over their heads, like millions of shimmering stars having fallen from the sky.

Sirius was amazed as he leaned at the edge of his seat, eyes completely entranced by the small spectacles that floated down. They were absolutely breathtaking.

Soon another whizzing sound came from the Hufflepuff table, everyones' heads turned, another explosion, more bright colour, this time a sunny yellow like morning rays. It melted down onto the second years and instead of receiving startled cries, the children only smiled brightly in awe.

More cracking and popping erupted from every corner of the Hall, bursting eardrums as blinding sparks filled the large room. The explosions had everyone on their feet, the Hall and array of reds and golds, greens and sea blues, the most marvelous canvas to be ever painted.

Sirius hadn't realized it until the sound reached his ears but he'd been laughing. So had James and Peter, all three of them were expelling loud, eye-crinkling, body-shaking laughs that filled their chests with a flooding warmth. They laughed like rain, pelting harder and harder, their cheeks balled and minds spinning the way Sirius had felt from his afternoon drags.

It had been too long since he'd felt so overtaken with unexpected happiness, having forgotten about the grudge he'd been holding as his head snapped around to catch another eruption of stars. The entire week had been plasters of black and white but now all Sirius saw was colour. They reflected in his eyes, dancing against his pale skin, blending themselves into his complexion.

From an outsider, it was no wonder why Sirius had everyone falling in love with him, it said it all in his smile. Far past his looks and charm was life itself. He was wild and free, wonderfully chaotic, a perfectly put-together mess. He was a child trapped in a young man's body, with vintage eyes, a beautiful mind, and a loving soul.

Little did they know his heart would soon dance with rainbows.

It was all such a haze, loud sounds that deafened his hearing, body toppling over in fits but he caught a glimpse of a scarred smirk, washed-out curls, and mischievous eyes, and soon it all made perfect sense.

Remus fucking Lupin was always full of surprises.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 1st October 1975

I see the bad moon a-rising

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin'

I see bad times today

Don't go around tonight

Well it's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise

"Sirius, turn that bloody record off!" Remus whined, voice muffled as he dove farther under his sheets.

"I'm gonna use Incendio on your turntable," James threatened, reaching a hand out from behind his drawn curtains in search of his wand, knocking over books and his glasses in the process.

Peter didn't dare to object, having been a silent ghost for the past few days since he'd swallowed his Mandrake. Sirius didn't feel much pity. Let him feel bad, he's the one who screwed up.

Dancing his way to his messy drawer, Sirius shoved around clothes that were practically spilling over the edge until he found a 'clean' dress shirt. He smelled it and an odorous stench burned his nostril hairs. Sirius gagged, throwing the shirt across the room and searching James' drawers instead.

"For fucks sake, it's seven in the goddamn morning," Remus groaned as the vinyl continued to spin.

"Don't be a sour wolf Moony," Sirius joked in a babying voice.

"Go fuck yourself, Black," Remus threw, peaking his hand out just enough to flip him off.

"Gladly," he winked.

Since the beginning of term, Sirius had been marking off the days until he could finally be rid of the first exhausting month and relish in the next. October, since he was a child, had always been his favorite time of the year. Not only did it include Halloween, parties, secretive snogging, endless pranks, and the start of the Quidditch season, but it brought back fond memories of him and his brother hiding out in their gardens and eating sweets as Sirius charmed toys to float around their heads. He'd spell neon wigs onto ancient portraits, act out renaissance plays, throw a sheet over his head and pretend to be a ghost, anything possible just to hear Regulus's spilling laughs.

His entire life had been spent hiding in the shadows and waiting for his parents to whip out their wands and make him drown in his own wrenching screams, so October was his month to have a childhood, something of which he was stripped away from before he had a chance to know what it was like.

Once the other marauders had irritatedly woken up and Remus charmed the player to stop spinning, the four made their way to the ground floor, Sirius ten times more chipper than the rest. Even though there was nothing special about that day, Sirius couldn't contain his enthusiasm and cheeky grins, entering the Hall and breathing deeply as the smell of pumpkin spice and crisp fall leaves reached his nose.

"Morning McKinnon," Sirius greeted, kissing Marlene on the top of her head before seating himself.

She eyed him skeptically with a playful smirk, "What's got you all chuffed?"

"October," Sirius replied simply, the name sounding so pleasant but pleasant things never lasted long. The glorious day that Sirius had been thriving in would only crumble. At least in 1975 when they were in the midst of a war, pleasant days were always diminished.

So when Sirius reached for the coffee kettle but heard a startling cry from across the Hall, his heart dropped into his stomach. He knew that cry, it was a war cry, he hated war cries.

A hushing silence settled amongst the students as everyone froze. You could see the fear on their faces, how they waited in apprehension for the events to unfold. Nowadays, war cries always followed by an attack. Something horrible, something deadly, something that you just had to wait for. Oh how much Sirius hated waiting.

A copy of the Prophet had reached Lily and Sirius saw the horror fill her eyes as if someone had been slaughtered right in front of her. She clutched the paper, a trembling hand covering her mouth.

James instinctively placed a gentle hand on her arm, his touch speaking the words he couldn't form. Her eyes widened, tipping the paper over so he could see. James too was left in shock.

He peered up at Sirius, then to Remus, then back at Sirius, then down to the Prophet and gulped, licking his dry lips are the air grew thick. He studied the paper, a reflection of moving pictures appearing in his glasses but he did not speak. No one did.

Sirius anxiously snatched the paper from James' hold, flipping it over and reading its contents.

He stiffened.

Clutching the Prophet tighter, it crinkled in his grip. His heart was hammering, suddenly so immersed in...all of it. He couldn't peel his eyes away from their faces, the destruction, the heading that was bolded, the horrific quotes that pounded out of its ink. They taunted him, made him want to read more, but he couldn't. No...no no no no-

The paper was taken out of his hands by Marlene who brought it close, Mary leaning over her shoulder to read as well. Her gasp was sharp, piercing through the Hall and making everyone tense. Their once youthful, lively eyes were now petrified.

Sirius was still processing it all, mind registering as the Prophet continued to be passed around, and around, and around, but he was still stuck, still thinking. The world was moving too quickly and he was just there, phasing in and out, the war scrapping at his feet.

SOUTHERN SCOTLAND VILLAGE MASSACRED, FAMILIES LEFT IN BLOODIED PIECES - SUSPECTED WEREWOLF ATTACK? ARE THEY A THREAT TO THE WIZARDING WORLD? WHAT PRECAUTIONS SHOULD BE TAKEN? IS THE MINISTRY DOING ENOUGH TO KEEP THESE MANIC BEASTS IN CHECK? "I saw fur...dark lurking eyes...all I could hear were their screams...claws...they're dead because of them...they're to blame...it's a pack of them...they're dangerous...it happened so fast...so much blood...they're all killers!"

Every inky printed word recited in Sirius' mind, picking away at his sanity. Then he remembered Remus and the guilt he must be feeling but he turned only to find that the boy had left, slipping through his fingers.

***

From that day forward, the castle was no longer the same. People seemed weary, uneased, always traveling in pairs, waiting for another attack, for more blood. Everyone was on their toes. Something was coming, they could feel it. Again, they had to wait.

Sirius never saw Remus, when he did he just slipped away, always out of grasp. Everything was falling apart, slowly, bit by bit the world was going up in smoke.

Defense Against the Dark Arts poured even more fuel into this blazing fire. They sat in their afternoon class, waiting for a professor to show but no one did. That was until every textbook, in unison, flipped open to the index and a tall man strutted up the isle desks.

He dressed quite formally; a black suit, black loafers, black dress shirt with a silver pocket watch that clipped to one of his buttons. Everything about him was dark and mysterious; hair tied back in a bun, a scruffy beard that made his face weather-beaten, inky eyes, jewelry that pierced his ears and hugged his striding fingers. But his skin was warm, tanned, like having been baked in the sun.

"The name's Atticus, you can address me as Professor Reeves." His voice was hoarse, like Sirius' after a long smoke. "Chapter 56 of your textbooks please." He was so commanding, dictating, and yet everyone followed his orders even though they'd only just finished chapter 11 last week.

Sirius knew what to expect when he flipped through the thick pages and rested on the assigned chapter but still, it made his mouth dry, a lump forming in his throat. The graphic was over-exaggerated; snarling teeth, vicious claws, bloodshot eyes that raved a hideous red. Why must they always make them look like monsters?

Immediately Sirius' eyes went to the boy at the table next to his and James'. Remus, whose body had stiffened, clutched the spine of his book until his knuckles grew white. His dilated pupils traced each curvature of the beast whose arched back and prowling paws seemed ready to jump out of the page.

Every student in that classroom was horrified but deadly silent as Atticus stood dominatingly at the front with his hands buried in his trouser pockets, posture regal, gaze scanning his students' petrified expressions.

Sirius's mind taunted him, reciting the title over and over again until his toes started to curl.

Chapter 56: WEREWOLVES The Man Killing Beasts

Throughout the entire lesson, Sirius would sneak glances at Remus whose numbed eyes were completely fixated on the professor. He didn't move a muscle, there was no trace of any emotion in his features. He just sat and stared with a firm grip on his quill but an empty parchment.

Though only the history on the creation of werewolves was taught, Sirius could definitively see the resentment Atticus had. The way his jaw clenched and words sharpened at certain points in his lecture. The way he rubbed the surface of his pocket watch and checked its time after every few sentences. His teachings sided on the negative; how the 'half-breeds' never listen to the Ministry's demands on registration, how they are 'wild' and 'have no remorse on full Moons.'

Sirius' hatred for the man grew stronger by the second but something about him was so strange, so luring. He was almost like a comforting darkness.

When the bell rang and the class was dismissed, Atticus waved them off saying they'd be, 'covering werewolves for the next week,' and assigned the first ten paragraphs for reading.

Remus was the first to dart out and almost left unnoticed if the marauders hadn't been keeping a watchful eye on him the entire lecture.

"You okay Moons?" Sirius cautiously asked once they'd caught up to his pace and were well down a lengthy corridor.

The lanky boy nodded, focus trained to the floor, back hunched. "I'm fine."

James, Sirius, and Peter exchanged worried glances but Remus just gave a dry laugh, rolling his eyes at their seriousness. "We were bound to learn about werewolves at some point, it's no big deal."

"Yeah but you're actually, you know," Peter gestured, whispering the last part. "One of them."

"You don't have to act like it's such a burden Pete," Sirius snapped, half of his annoyance stemming from the Mandrake incident and another from the boy being so fucking oblivious.

"It is a burden," Remus stated flatly.

The other marauders paused, Sirius feeling like a dagger had just been thrust into his heart. "Remus..." he called out, but the boy had left and Sirius foolishly let him go, again, slipping.

***

While Sirius would've normally gone after Remus, this time he didn't care. He was just so tired of chasing people. He wanted nothing more than for someone to stay but no one ever did.

Sirius walked mindlessly around the school, across the grounds, up the millions of moving stairs, then somehow finding himself in the dungeons, then outside the stone walled Slytherin common room entrance. He just stood there, waiting. Merlin, he hated waiting.

"Sirius?" a young, comforting voice questioned.

He turned, seeing Regulus approaching, and felt his agitation settle. Though the closer he got the more easily Sirius could see his face. He looked sick, tired, heavy shadows circling his eyes, skin far paler than deemed healthy. His brother was only thirteen and yet he seemed aged, worn out, exhausted. War did that to a person.

"Hey Reg," Sirius grinned, trying his best to seem cheery.

Regulus didn't appear the slightest bit content, almost disappointed. "What are you doing here?"

Sirius opened his mouth to answer but hadn't the faintest idea what to say. His mind was so buzzed, nerving, such a blur that one second he was walking lazily by the Lake, and the next he found himself strolling through the chilled, dimly lit dungeons in search of his brother. It was less of a search, more of a hope that they'd cross paths.

"I assumed you read the Prophet?" he asked, chest tightening in recollection.

Regulus nodded.

"Are you okay?"

"Why would you care," he snapped but regret flashed in his eyes. He recoiled, shrinking.

Looking into Regulus's hollow eyes, Sirius scorned himself. He'd never been there for him, he'd never been a proper brother. He'd been sulking about the world falling to bits but never stopped to think about his little brother, how scared and alone he must be?

Sirius, in a daze of confusion and mixed emotions, extended a comforting hand but Regulus flinched. Before Sirius could properly react, his brother was gone, slipping through his fingers just like Remus had.

Chapter Text

Friday 10th October 1975

Hogwarts was still shaken but just like every other attack, they pushed it aside. Always pushing, always trying to forget, to pretend.

Sirius hated that they were ignoring all the death but, then again, they needed the escape. Just a bit of false reality. This wasn’t their war to fight, they were only kids, innocent children who just so happened to be stuck in a crossfire.

They deserved some happiness, even if under it all was a void ready to swallow them whole.

The school was currently buzzing with Quidditch, the first match of the season, Slytherin vs Gryffindor. This was already a heated pairing but Sirius held an unknown hatred and resentment for the house which made this win evermore dire. 

Slytherin was no longer Slytherin to Sirius. It was,  “Toujours pur!”  bellowing in his ears. It was the thick disgraceful blood that ran through his veins. It was his mother towering over him with that manic look in her eyes of rage and disappointment.  “Insolent! Pathetic! Where is your nobility, Sirius!”  Her words were always trapped in his head, reminding him that no matter how hard he tried to fight, to escape, to shake her off, she’d always be there, waiting.

So he  had  to win this match - win this war he’d been trapped in his entire life - or at least die fighting.

“Merlin James, slow down,” Sirius laughed as he watched James down an entire goblet of purely black coffee so rich, he could smell its caffeinated beans from across the table.

The boy gasped for air once he’d finished, coughing a bit, but smiled as he whipped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “I have to be fully energized Black, no time for slacking, this is the big game!” he declared with the most youthful grin displayed, speech coming out rapidly as his body and mind buzzed in adrenaline.

“James, you practically run on sugar, I think you’ll be fine,” Marlene sided but James ignored them both as he contently poured himself another cup. That wasn’t even touching on the fact that he’d had been carb-loading for the past week, now having a plate full of saucy pasta, more than what Moony usually ate which was  a lot.  

“Merlin Potter, you’re eating more than Remus,” Marlene gasped as James helped himself to a second serving. 

He twirled his fork in his mountain of spaghetti, scooping it in his mouth and slurping the noodles all while keeping strong eye contact with Marlene to tease her. 

“James, that's disgusting,” she gagged, glaring at him in nausea.

“It’s for the match,” he protested with a mouthful of food, sauce smeared over his lips like a toddler.

Marlene was going pale. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“If you are then do it now, I don’t want you puking on your broom.”

She stuck out her tongue, face scrunching, James replied with the same. Oh, how those two bickered.

“Hello boys, Marls,” Mary greeted, approaching the three with a bounce in her step, a high-pitched clacking of heels against stone as she walked. 

“You look…” Sirius started, surveying her attire with a sly smirk, “…festive.” 

The girl had red and gold ribbons tied in her hair, wearing one of Marlene’s old Quidditch sweaters which draped to her knees, so big that it worked as a dress, accompanied with black fishnets, and red stilettos. The bright colours against her cool-toned skin made her look radiant, sunny.

Mary held her head high, tossing her curls back confidently. “It’s only appropriate that I dress the part,” she insisted. 

“Well I think you look smashing Macdonald,” James nodded with a supportive grin. 

Mary blushed, batting her eyelashes swooningly. Leave it to James Potter to flatter the ladies. “Well, I just came to bid you all good luck,” she said, her smile so rich and bright, like rays of sunshine making her silky midnight skin go golden. She gave Marlene a warm hug, kissing her on the cheek and waving James and Sirius goodbye before gracing down the hall. 

Marlene’s eyes followed her departure until the girl was past sight view. Sirius observed her, seeing the way Marlene's eyes sagged in longing. How a small, almost pained sigh escaped her lips.  Strange.

The pitch was packed. Stands seas of red, gold, silver, and green. Banners flapped in the strong wind, students cheering and clapping rhythmically for the match to start. The commentator, Finnigan Klaus, was riling everyone up, making his usual sarcastic comments to which McGonagall's reprimandations could be heard in the distance. 

Their excitement only fueled Sirius as he mounted on his gear in the locker room which was clamored with the seven Gryffindor players. 

Sirius was quite content with their team this year, though it had been the same as the years prior. There was James as Seeker and Marlene and Sirius as Beaters, three of the best in Hogwarts but he wasn’t one to boast. Then there was arse case Liam Wood as Chaser alongside the Welsh twins, Lance and Arrow. The three of them were a fine pairing; fast, quick reflexes, precise throws, and loved showing off. Keeper was Alexander Gavin, the most sarcastic bloke Sirius had ever met, never failed to make someone smile. 

“Okay, gentlemen-” James announced, reeling everyone’s attention as the loud chatter died down, “-and the lovely McKinnon,” he added, throwing Marlene an air kiss who tisked at his cockiness. “I want to say a few words.”

“Just don’t get emotional Potter,” Alexander joked, leaning on his broom with a cheeky grin.

James clutching a hand to his heart, whipping away a faked tear. “I can’t make any promises,” he sniffed.

“Just get on with posh boy,” Liam sighed, folding his arms. Merlin, that boy pissed Sirius off.

James winked, hopping onto one of the benches so he towered over everyone else. Standing up a bit straighter, he took in a preparing breath. “I don’t want to bore you with some sappy speech-”

“But you used to practice them so many times in the shower,” Sirius interrupted, making the team crack a chuckle.

“Haha you’re hilarious Black,” James imitated sneeringly. “Anyways, practice has been brilliant, all of you have been brilliant!” he boasted, a sincerity in his tone. He smiled radiantly down at everyone. “I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder to be Captain of such a talented team. And I know I can be a pain with practice and formations and all that crap but…” his words trailed off as he grouped himself, eyes full of love as if he was a mother and everyone else were his children. “I truly love each and every one of your sorry arses.”

There was silence as everyone soaked in his words, nodding respectfully and replying with small smiles. James really knew how to work a crowd, always one for dramatics.

“Fucking hell Potter,” Alexander sighed, giving a forced laugh as he turned around and rubbed his watering eyes.

“Dammit James, you made Gavin cry,” Lance groaned. 

“Shame on you Potter, you know he’s sensitive,” Arrow jokingly scolded with an attempted serious tone.

“Fuck off,” Alexander sniffed through a choked breath as Marlene rubbed soothing circles onto his back. “Just got something in my eye that's all.”

James leaped down from his post, gliding over to Alexander and slinging an arm over his shoulder, then ruffling his hair. The two shoved each other playfully, like brothers. “We’re gonna win this,” he assured, bouncing on his toes, the distant sound of chanting from the pitch sneaking into the locker room. “So let's go out there and kick some Slytherin arses!” James yelled to which the whole team erupted into a fit of cheers, staggering out, mounting their brooms, and taking off.

The sky was sheeted in thick grey clouds, like a storm brewing, but shards of sun peeked through the mist, forming circles of light that danced around the grass. 

“And here they come folks, the fellow Gryffindor team!” Finnigan announced into his megaphone.  

Sirius took his post in the sky, steadying himself on his broom, twisting the grip on his bat. The air was thick, moist, he could smell the rain but it was distant. His gaze skimmed the stands, searching through the flashes of shimmering gold which blinded his sight. 

He spotted his friends. Lily and Mary were decked in obnoxious Gryffindor attire, Peter lazily swayed from side to side, and Remus was bundled in a puffy coat which hugged his limp body, sandy curls flapping in the wind. 

Sirius’ eyes were then attracted to someone else in the stands, so prominent against the lively colors. He looked bored, eyes misty, but fitting in his formal black suit. Beside Professor Flitwick who seemed to be speaking animatedly up at him, Atticus kept a cold, stoned, structured gaze, that same silvery pocket watch clutched in his right hand. 

Sirius would’ve observed longer but his attention was peeled away when the Slytherins flew onto the pitch and his sight grasped onto a pair of green robes, opaque skin, and jet black hair. He stared in shock.

“Slytherin Seeker, little Black is on the pitch!”

“Mr. Klaus,” McGonagall snapped, her tone warning from beside him. 

“Slytherin Seeker,  Regulus  Black is on the pitch,” Finnigan corrected, with a subtle smirk.

Regulus is a Seeker?  He’d never told Sirius, then again, Sirius was never around much. His little brother looked so small in the distance, flying upwards and across from James, the two sharing acknowledging nods. 

Sirius felt a sharp pain tighten his chest, a saddened pain. It ached his heart. Did Regulus not trust him enough to share the news, cause this was big news?!  He’s…a Seeker, he’s a bloody Seeker.  It repeated in his head, like a new conclusion each time. Sirius couldn’t peel his eyes away from Regulus, frail, emaciated, boney Regulus who floated in the air and kept a straight posture. But he forced his eyes away, remembering the goal, remembering the stake at hand.  Don’t let him distract you, focus Sirius, focus…  

He cracked his neck, rolling each shoulder and shaking off Regulus from his mind. The opposite Slytherin Beaters snarled at him and Marlene, nostrils flaring with a sickening gaze that sent shivers up his spine but Marlene only gave a small, unimpressed laugh. 

“Madam Hooch steps onto the pitch,” Finnigan announced, tone thrilled. “The Snitch has been released, Bludgers are off, and…Quaffle has been thrown!” 

Sirius watched as a ball was thrown into the air, Liam having dove for it, and a fluttering ball of gold zip around the pitch, James and Regulus taking off like lightning bolts.

Then came the Bludger. Sirius tightened his grip, licked his dry lips, felt his heart stop as his arms reclined back and swung forcefully, a loud  CRACK  ripping through the silent air. 

“What a swing from Sirius Black! See that ladies, the man has more than just looks.”

“Klaus, control yourself!” McGonagall reprimanded strictly.

“Sorry Minnie,” the boy winked.

It was all flashes of green and red before his eyes, the wind breaking against his body and the tingling feel of robes brushing against his ears. Sirius’ mind was going haywire due to the smoke he’d had just before. It always energized him, got his blood pumping, and heart palpitating. An easy substitute for caffeine. 

Finnigan was grinning from ear to ear, megaphone clutched tightly in his hand. “James Potter, Gryffindor Captain, spots the Snitch. Bloody hell he’s fast!”

McGonagall shook her disapprovingly, rubbing her temple as her patience withered. 

Sirius was tailing Ambrose, Slytherin Chaser when a Bludger came into sight. He pulled back on the head of his broom, halting quickly enough before the ball smacked the back of the Slytherin’s broom, sending him spinning dizzily and tumbling off. 

“Marlene McKinnon strikes a bludger and- OH! Right into Greengrass! Shit, is he okay?” the commentator gasped.

“FINNIGAN!” McGonagall screeched.

“Sorry, right, no foul language, my bad.”

Everything went as planned. The twins and Liam were racking up points, tossing the Quaffle back and forth in the formation James had instructed, then thrusting it forward to which it soared through the air and into a golden hoop, enacting cheers and hollers from the stands. Alexander comically picked at his nails, stretched lazily, and yawned, seeing as the Gryffindor team was too competitive and quick to let the Slytherins score. James and Regulus were neck and neck but Sirius couldn’t catch much of them, only ever spotting glimpses of tangled red and green before they went out of sight. Marlene and Sirius flew and thrusted their bats, tailed Slytherins, and sent Bludgers flying their way.

It was like they’d planned it, but nothing ever went as planned, not in this era, not even with James Potter as Captain.

It started when Sirius had beaten a Bludger outwards, a perfect hit, but then it turned. It turned so quickly Sirius flinched, jolting on his broom, breath being sucked back. He watched it pierce through the forceful wind and knock into Arrow who dropped the Quaffle he had clutched under the pit of his arm and into the hands of a Slytherin Chaser. A point was scored for the other team, sending an uproar of cheers, claps, and waving banners.

What the fuck?  Sirius snapped out of his stun, taking off in a burst of speed in direction of the Bludger but just as he was about to hit it, it turned on its own, targeted to the back of Marlene’s broom. It sent her toppling over, a single hand gripping the middle of her broom as the rest of her dangled off but she got back up with an elegant swing of her leg. 

Marlene McKinnon always got back up.

Bludgers just kept coming, turning unexpectedly, movements jagged and spontaneous, something he’d never before seen. Sirius sped on his broom, chasing after one that had been tailing Wood. If it were any other occasion, he would’ve let it knock the wanker off but the Bludger had been bumping his broom mercilessly. Bludgers never concentrated on one individual player, their sole job was to knock off as many people as they could.

“Bludgers are- fuck, FUCK! Bludgers are really going at it folks!” Finnigan shouted. Not even McGonagall scolded him because she too was at the brink of nerves.

Gasps tore through the crowd as everyone in the stands were standing at the edge of their seats, pilling on top of one another to get a better look at the pitch which was a swarm of sporadic Bludgers.

This wasn’t right. Something in Sirius’ gut told him that it was all off. Everywhere he looked was someone else being knocked off, bumped, spinning, hurtling to the ground, or clutching on for dear life yet it was only the Gryffindors.

Sirius’ mind was spinning, the dry air closing his throat. His heart trembled, teeth clattering as his ears pricked to the sound of furious bustles but he caught on to the devious smirks written on the Slytherin players' faces and knew. Merlin did it piss him off.  You’ve got to be kidding!

Everything after became such a haze. Slytherins won, he heard the announcement but his thoughts were too compromised by his fuming rage to act properly. Players departed to the ground, Slytherins flooding the grassy pitch, swarming, celebrating, their cheers like yells that banged at Sirius’ skull, mocking him. 

Gryffindors lost. They lost. He lost. 

Sirius’ breathing was heavy, curses spilling from his lips like an open dam as he marched towards James but amongst the sea of reds and greens Sirius saw Regulus and for a sly moment, felt his anger ease. He was proudly holding a small Snitch in the glove of his hand with the most beaming smile displayed as his mates gaped at him in awe, patting his shoulders and slapping his back. Sirius hadn’t seen his brother smile properly in years.

He couldn’t help but stare, his fists unclenching, the surrounding noises thinning as he watched his brother. 

Regulus’s smile thawed when their gazes locked, both brothers freezing but the world continued to spin around them.

Sirius felt his brows ease, a warmth stir in the pit of his belly as he gave a congratulating grin. Regulus just watched him curiously, almost surprised.  But Sirius continued to grin because his brother, his baby brother who used to ride wobbly on brooms that were barely inches off the ground was now a Seeker who’d caught his first Snitch. 

Though Regulus had a stone expression displayed, there was the faintest crack in his lined lips, a quiver, an upturn in the corners. His eyes softened and for the first time, Sirius saw him, Reggie Black, the real and raw little boy he’d grown up loving.

Sirius wished he could push past the swarm of players and scoop his brother up, holding his close as he spun him around, never letting him go.  I’m so proud of you,  he wanted to tell him.  I’m so fucking proud Reg, don’t you ever forget that…

But of course, they were from two separate worlds and in a matter of seconds their heads turned and eyes unlocked, drifting back into their hideaways as, once again, they’d been torn apart. 

***

“Those fucking cheating shits!” Sirius growled, slamming the door to their dorm behind him once they’d filed in. He ran a hand through his tangled hair, yanking through the knots. His skin was bubbling, burning, a fire igniting beneath his flesh that agitated his body.  Fuck I need a smoke. 

“They were tampered,” James sighed, slumping in bed.

“More than tampered.” Remus huffed, “Did you see the way they tailed your brooms?”

“Could it have been Snape?” Peter asked, face full of worry.

Sirius let out a hoarse laugh, it strained his vocal cords. “That whole fucking house probably conspired it.” He wanted to hit something, punch a wall, preferably a window. He wanted to see it shatter, feel the shards splinter his knuckles. He had to get out his anger, feel pain. He needed a distraction. 

James saw his restlessness, that look Sirius got when his pulse was skyrocketing. So he got up, treading lightly, attempting to place a soothing hand on his shoulder but Sirius shoved him off. He didn’t want to be touched, he didn’t want to be comforted.

James backed away, instantly, giving Sirius his space.

“Well, what’re we gonna do?” Peter asked. 

“Hex the pants off of them, that's what,” Sirius rasped, cracking each off his knuckles, filling the tense room with sharp  POPS.

James watched Sirius wearily, a temptation of holding him close to his chest rising but he refrained. Instead, he shook his head, “No one’s getting hurt.” 

“Oh stop being such a saint Potter!” Sirius spat, tired of James trying to be a peacemaker every fucking day. Couldn’t he just let loose, do something reckless? Not give a shit about the consequences for once in his bloody perfect life?

“No one is getting hurt,” James repeated sternly. The boy ran a hand down his face, rubbing the corners of his eyes, frustrated but refusing to show it. 

Remus, who’d been leaning against the post of Sirius’ bed, tipped off, striding over to his side of their dorm. “Pete go get some coffee,” he ordered, the wheels in his mind turning. 

The small boy looked at him puzzled.

“Coffee, c’mon, we need something to keep us up,” he rushed, snapping his fingers impatiently. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re doing it now. An all-nighter if we have to.” Remus began to rummage through his piles of books, picking out ones on Herbology, Transfiguration, and Hexes. 

The marauders shared stiff, tense glances.

Remus peered up from the books he’d been collecting. “Well, are you just gonna stand there?”

In a frantic bustle, they each peeled off - Peter getting the caffeine, James pulling out his old prank journal, Remus skimming his textbooks for inspiration, and Sirius so buzzed he didn’t know what to do but rush around as his mind swam. 

Merlin, he loved it when Remus got in prank planning mode. He was so assertive, so dominant, the true Remus Lupin, not some cuddly quiet studious schoolboy that everyone perceived him as.

That night, under the heated pressure of rouged Bludgers and vengeance, prank planning in the boy’s dormitories would be as chaotic as ever.

Chapter Text

Saturday 11th October 1975 

"Time?" James called, feverishly jotting down notes in his journal.

"Midnight," Peter replied, having been sorting through old scraps of parchment.

Sirius reached for his mug, about to take a sip but slumped when he saw there was nothing inside. "Is there more coffee?"

Remus flicked his wand, a pot floating across their dorm, and poured a steaming amount into Sirius' mug.

He grinned, "Thanks, mate."

***

"Time?" Sirius asked, having discarded his nightshirt, the room growing quite hot.

"One," Peter chirped.

Sirius groaned, scratching at his head. "Fuck, find anything?"

"Got a strand of Troll hair?" Remus called from his bed.

"...No."

"Then I ain't got shit." He sighed, opening up a new textbook.

***

"Time," James yawned.

There was silence.

He picked up his pillow, flinging it at Peter which hit him square in the face. "Oi! No sleeping remember?" James reprimanded.

Peter jolted awake, rubbing his tiresome eyes as he squinted at the clock. "Two forty-five," he grumbled, flopping back on his bed.

"Pete no sleeping," Sirius rasped, taking his pillow and throwing it as well. He missed, knocked over a lamb instead.

***

"T...Time," Sirius asked, barely getting through his sentence without his eyes fluttering closed from heavy exhaustion. No one responded but Sirius didn't care. He fell straight to sleep.

***

Loud snores filled the boy's dormitories. James lied on his back, mouth gaped as his chest rose and fell with each breath, a Transfiguration book open on his chest. Peter, at some point in the night, had made his way to the bathroom, he never came back out. Remus, the last time Sirius had checked, was still in his bed, a glowing light illuminating from the inside of his drawn curtains.

Sirius was on the floor, head resting against the footboard of his bed, a Potions book open on his lap. He was indulged in a deep, darkened sleep, his surroundings so tranquil and silent. His dream was vivid, skin feeling quite warm, tanned, like rays were beaming down. His fingertip brushed against tall grass, maybe wheat. The air was sweet, he could taste it, like honey or butterscotch resonating on his tongue. It watered his mouth making him hungry for more.

Then there was a faint yelling in the distance, like a voice reeling him into the real world. It pricked his hearing but he pushed it aside, roaming farther into whatever field he was in, but Sirius jolted into consciousness when a splash of ice-cold liquid drenched his face, startling his heart.

He sputtered out the water, blinking through the droplets which clung to his lashes. His vision was hazy, a darkened blur but a figure was crouched before him.

"Wake up ya nob," Remus grinned, ruffling his damp hair.

Sirius groaned, coughing out some water that had gone up his nose, lids heavy and gazing around their dorm. It was still dark, misty, aroma thick with the smell of coffee beans. Parchments and textbooks covered every open space, his discarded nightshirt in a ball by the dresser. Specks of starlight shone through their window and lit the corners of their floorboards, its brightness stung his sensitive eyes, making him wince.

Sirius heard another splash of water, a squeaking of mattress springs, then James' raspy voice blurting, "I'm up!"

Remus had then entered the bathroom, another splash, Sirius heard a squeal, and after a few moments he came out dragging Peter by his armpit.

"Merlin Moony I can walk myself," the drowsy boy mumbled, words slurred and blonde hair sticking to his wet face.

Sirius' heart palpitating from the cold, the ice water having drenched his bare chest, sending shivers up his spine and numbing his skin. He whipped a hand down his soaked face, flicking the water to the floor. "Was the water really necessary?"

Remus let out a dry laugh, resting Peter on James' bed who collapsed back, knees weak, James wrapping the boy's trembling body in a blanket. "You sleep like the dead, so yeah, it was."

Sirius, who never acted sanely with little rest, glared daggers at Remus who didn't seem the slightest bit intimidated, instead, stepped back, gazing down at his friends eagerly like he had a secret pressing against the seals of his lips, waiting to be told. "I've got it, well- I did it," he corrected with an exhausted grin.

The other marauders just stared at him blankly, bodies wet, cold, and shivering, minds too combusted to form words.

Remus anxiously left, grabbing a book from his bed, flipped to a marked page, then turned it around so the others could see.

The boys squinted, room so dark they could barely read the bolded heading. "Moony, it's pitch black," James pointed out, glasses lying lopsided on his nose, water droplets trickling down his chin.

Remus tossed the book aside, rummaging through his pockets and pulling out a small black pouch and a corked glass bottle.

Sirius observed curiously, lazily pointing to the bottle. "What's that?"

"Bubotuber."

"And what's that?" James nodded towards the pouch.

"Fanged Geranium petals."

"Okay," Sirius sighed, never having been so bemused. "Why the fuck do you have them?"

And so Remus began to explain, taking them through it step by step as if they were immersed in his mind. The more he spoke, the more Sirius grew fascinated. How Remus' brain worked was far by Sirius to understand but the ideas that came out of it, the pranks, the stories it held. Remus was a mystery, an inscribed book written in Celtic numerals that no one could decrypt. Sirius wanted to know all of his secrets, be able to read his battered pages, feeling pride in the fact that he was the only one who could. And he would, someday, but with time...

"Wait but- you did this when?" James asked, motioning to the ingredients in Remus' hands, completely baffled.

"About that..." he hesitated, nibbling on his cracked bottom lip. "I borrowed your cloak to go to the greenhouse," Remus nervously confessed, shuffling his feet.

James waved him off dismissively, "What's mine is yours mate."

Remus gave a relieved nod.

"Wait, hold on," Sirius paused, his mind lagging, still a bit hazy from the abrupt awakening. "You went to the greenhouse?"

The boy nodded nonchalantly.

"Bloody hell it's-" He peered over at the clock, "it's four in the morning!"

Remus shrugged, unfazed at the time, whereas the other three boys stared at him in shock, jaws dropped and eyes rounded.

James was the first to break, a wide smile devouring his lips so big it could've litten the darkened room with its radiance. He rolled out of bed and attacked Remus in a grandiose hug, both of them stumbling back to regain balance. "Moony you're a fucking genius!" James cheered, shoving the boy playfully as he bounced around their dorm, so overtaken in emotion that he couldn't control his dancing feet.

Remus smiled weakly, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck, never one for attention.

Sirius couldn't help but shake his head, completely stunned, staring at the boy as if he were some god. He'd sorted out an entire prank in less than eight hours with no sleep, no help, and no coffee since he refused to drink anything besides tea.

Remus fucking Lupin never ceased to amaze.

***

The boys were able to get a partial rest though James was practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation of the big event. They didn't have any classes but still lulled up mid-day so they could execute their prank.

Clamoring under James' cloak, they shuffled their way to the kitchens which was supposed to be empty. The house-elves always got breaks in between meals where they cleaned dirty clothes or dusted the castle portraits.

"Merlin Moony, could you be any taller?" Sirius complained, so tightly pressed against Peter that he could feel the coins in the boy's buttock pocket making an indentation in his upper thigh.

"Well James is the one who wanted to take the cloak," Remus blamed.

"Oi, if anyone's complaining, it should be me. Practically got Pete's groin up my arse," James huffed, shifting a bit for a less touchy angle.

"Well then move if you're so uncomfortable," Peter snapped.

"There's no bloody room!"

Remus gave an irritated sigh. "Just shut your traps and walk."

They'd made it down a flight of moving stairs, passing by suited armors, then found themselves in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food. James sneaked a hand out from beneath the cloak, tickling a pear that appeared in one of the massive portraits to which a green door handle revealed itself.

They walked through the entrance and emerged from the cloak, tip-toeing inside but settling once the coast was clear.

"Okay, where's the pot?" James rushed, taking initiative.

The boys searched amongst the stovetops, Sirius lifting some pot lids, Remus rummaging through the pantry, Peter peering into cauldrons, and James opening cabinets.

"Did they not make it yet?" Sirius asked, having found not a single preparation of food for that night's supper.

"Wait, I think I've got something," Remus called, carrying out a large gallon-sized jug filled with an orange liquid which slushed from side to side. He set it on the steel island counter, tracing a finger over the label. "Shit, it's in some weird language."

Sirius quirked his head at the scratchy elf writing. Anguis Cucurbita Sucus. "Snake Pumpkin Juice," he recited, the words coming out naturally from a grueling memory of evenings spent forcefully reading Latin texts as his Mother watched stiffly from over his shoulder.

Remus turned abruptly "You can read that?"

"It's Latin."

"You know Latin?" he gaped, with a mocking chuckle.

"One of the many Black family languages," Sirius winked, trying not to show the tension that had stiffened his muscles from the recollecting memories.

Remus didn't probe further, instead, went ahead and pulled out the pouch and bottle. He checked with the others for reassurance before uncorking the bottle and loosening the pouch strings, proceeding to pour both ingredients into the juice. Once the red petals and creamy paste hit the liquid, they dissolved, flaking and peeling as they sank their way to the bottom.

"Pete, grab me a spoon," Remus instructed to which the boy followed suit, retrieving a metal latel which Remus accepted, churning the juice around in circles so everything mixed, the ingredients blending into transparency.

"Reckon that'll work?" James asked, fully concentrated on Remus' slow churns.

"Bloody well hope so," he responded. "I didn't freeze my fucking arse off in the greenhouse for nothing."

***

The execution was the easy part but waiting, that was the most excruciating. Sirius was a mess of bouncing legs, cracking knuckles, and spinning his wand along the length of his fingers as the marauders boringly waited for time to pass. But finally, the moment came where they were able to head down for supper and arrived a great deal earlier than everyone else, eager to see their prank unfold.

Lily goodie toe-shoes Evans, as always, graced down the hall promptly at seven, hair messily done into two long french braids, halting once she saw the boys sitting tentatively upright in their seats, trying their hardest to not act suspicious even though their mischievous smiles and snickers blew their cover. "What have you done now?" she sighed, folding her arms sassily.

"Whatever do you mean?" Sirius asked properly, an innocent smirk playing at his lips.

"There is nothing going on here," James assured.

"Nothing at all," Sirius nodded.

"We just fancied an early attendance."

"You see, we've been trying to be more on time, like Moony," Sirius grinned, patting Remus on the back. The limp boy groaned into his hands, embarrassment burning at his cheeks.

Lily eyed them wearily but seated herself, still quite suspicious. You could never get anything past Evans.

As students began to file in, lively chatter filled the Hall, all so energetically unaware of the madness that was about to go down. Sirius tapped his fingers impatiently on the dining table to the rhythmic beats of Hell Raiser, a vinyl practically spinning in his head, Brian Connolly bellowing in his ears.

She's a hell raiser, star chaser, trail blazer

Natural born raver, yeah, yeah, yeah

Look out!

Sirius' right leg bounced to each vibrating strum of the electric bass, mumbling the lyrics softly as he watched the Slytherin table with eagled eyes. His heart scrambled, its beats almost as loud as the repeating song pounding in his head.

As the last of the late seventh years began to trickle in, the feast was finally displayed, appearing out of thin air on each of the long wooden tables, accompanied by glittering golden plates and goblets which were already filled with the spiked pumpkin juice.

The marauders didn't even touch their food, leaning at the edge of their seats, holding their breaths as they watched a few Slytherins take slips from their goblets, mount slices of beef and greens on their plates, and lightly converse.

Sirius' eyes flicked back and forth to each person that drank, their reactions normal, guess they couldn't taste anything suspicious.

Peter leaned in a bit, whispering, "Moony, I don't think-"

"Just wait, it'll work," he insisted.

Sirius didn't doubt Remus, not for one second, so when he spotted the first trace of a slightly rashed cheek on one of the third years, his eyes widened in elation.

Ever so slowly, more and more Slytherins noticed the odd feeling, touching hesitantly and scratching at their necks as they felt their skins reform.

The first screech from a small first-year reeled everyone's attention, the entire Hall turning their heads and staring stricken. That entire table was a sea of fiery red faces, beginning to swell like balloons, skins blossoming in inflamed boils.

The Hall set off like fireworks in barking laughs, booming so loudly they overrode the shrieks. Sirius doubled over in fits when he saw Severus still obliviously downing his goblet, his face an array of pulsing boils which grew bigger by the second. It was only when Mulciber slapped the cup out of his hand did Severus realize the lumps on his cheeks and nose. Merlin, he looked god fucking awful.

The Slytherin table was a mess of itching rashes, horrified cries, and frantic retreats as their faces bubbled and reddened like cherries. But Sirius' once joyful laugh that took over his entire being suddenly died down when his ears pricked at something more intriguing.

Amid all the chaos was a single laugh.

Of course, the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and even some Ravenclaws were madly howling, the marauders the main source, but no one from the Slytherin table dared even crack a smile. It was, after all, an attack on their kind. But there it was, a mysterious laugh that Sirius was certain to be from coming from them.

Surprisingly, it seemed to override everything else.

It was a beautiful laugh, so bright and blinding like the morning sun, making Sirius flush just hearing it. It was loud and booming but elegant and pleasing to the ears, something so perfectly tuned you might hear on a record. 

But to Sirius, this laugh was different, it did something. It was like reading a poem and letting the verses touch your heart, racing so quickly down a corridor you think you might trip but too fueled by adrenaline to care, hearing music for the first time and relishing in its beauty as an unexpected smile rises your cheeks.

It was a mess of giddiness, tumbling out and invading Sirius' head, pushing every other feeling and sound aside so he could only hear that one. It filled every crevice, every nock in his body to the point where it rode up and down his spine, through his fingers, mixed in his blood, and thudded with his heart.

Sirius curiously searched amongst the sea of redness but didn't have to look far. A boy, untouched by their prank, was laughing at the center of it all. He did in fact wear Slytherin robes, the green quite prominent off of his pale complexion. He was too far to examine but his platinum blonde hair was more than recognizable.

A Malfoy, Sirius presumed, but the Malfoy bloodline, nor any Slytherin bloodline, weren't capable of such raw happiness.

He observed the boy, how he peered around at his mates with crinkled eyes, wiping away tears and clutching his stomach as his entire body shook, amused at the sight of all the erupting chaos.

Sirius stared, having long forgotten about the prank, about the laughter, about the war, about the world.

He just stared...

Chapter Text

Tuesday 21st October 1975

“Good morning you sexy wolf,” Sirius growled playfully as Remus stirred awake, cotton patches covering his chest as a fresh scar slashed from his collar bone to beneath his nightshirt. Remus cracked an eye open to peer at his visitor, groaning when he saw who it was.

“Isn’t he an angel?” James sighed, gawking at Remus dreamily as the boy adjusted to the harsh sunlight.

Remus flipped him off, head buried in his pillow.

“It seems selfish to have such beauty all to myself,” James remarked, shaking his head solemnly.

Remus cleared his throat before speaking, coughing a bit. “James, stop acting like we’re dating,” he grumbled hoarsely, voice coming out cracked and strained like someone had wrung his neck.

Sirius grimaced thinking of Remus screaming until his lungs gave out, the wolf clawing at his vocal cords until it tore through his warrior mask. It made him nauseous, stomach lurching at the thought. Not the wolf, Sirius thought Remus being a werewolf was a beautiful thing, but that didn’t mean he didn’t cringe thinking of him transforming alone in that dafty old shack with nothing but the moon and his screams for company.

Merlin, sometimes he hated the moon.

“So,” James began, relaxing in the armchair beside Remus’ cot, propping his legs up on the mattress as he grinned broadly. “What would the lovely Moony like to do today?”

“Sleep,” he replied without a second thought.

“Then sleep you shall do,” James declared like a royal king, bouncing up from his seat, proceeding to fluff Remus’ pillow and drag his blankets all the way up so they tucked neatly under his chin.

Remus nuzzled in the comforting cot, smiling charmingly, that Moony smile. “Thank you, good sir,” he nodded.

James bowed elegantly, “Anything for our Moony.”

***

Sirius collapsed onto the velvet plush couch of the Gryffindor common room, giving an exhausted sigh as his figure sank into the cushions.

The night prior, the marauders had restarted their Animagus process. Bless James for having been there to calm Sirius down before he gave Peter an entire lecture on the importance of not screwing up again. And as always, Sirius stayed up far after the others had gone to sleep, waiting in a nerving silence until he was greeted by a chilling howl.

The cry startled Sirius a good half hour after the moon had risen. Sometimes he just wanted to storm down to that shack, barge through those rickety splintered doors, and be there for Remus just so he wouldn’t stall for so long.

Sirius understood that the boy faced a tidal wave of pain on full moons but he couldn’t keep on fighting them, it wasn’t healthy. Then again, who was he to judge?

“I bloody hate star charts,” James grumbled, slouching over his map, quill marking up different constellations with sharp, irritated movements. From where Sirius lied, he could tell James was doing it all wrong but he didn't intervene. 

“What’s this one?” Peter asked, turning his parchment over and pointing his quill at what would be Vega.

James threw his hands up dramatically. “How the bloody hell should I know?”

Sirius filled out his chart quite briskly, knowing every star, planet, and constellation like the back of his hand. They were grilled in his memory, carved with a knife, his parents having been the ones to enforce the knowledge. Sirius would deny it if anyone asked but secretly, he quite enjoyed the night, the stars, the moon. It was never a burden to know so much about something so beautiful.

He continued to do his work but felt pairs of eyes burning at the side of his face. He turned his head a bit to the side to see his friends gaping.

James paused, blinking a few times. “Did I die and wake up in heaven?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re actually doing your work.”

Sirius bit back a smirk, choosing not to tell James that he wasn’t doing his work, he was doing Remus.’ He didn’t find it fair that the boy had to go spend a night in hell and then be expected to fill out star charts. Besides, Sirius was a natural at it so it wasn’t much of a sweat on his case. He shrugged, “Moony’s not the only smart one.”

James, who was briefly stunned, snapped out of his trance and nodded contently. “Well brilliant! Finally getting a grip on your life.”

Sirius stopped writing, confused at James’ remark. Finally getting a grip on your life? “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked lightheartedly.

A hesitating regret flashed in James’ eyes but he couldn’t take back his words, they were already out. “You know…” he motioned indirectly, stalling.

“I know…” Sirius repeated, waiting.

James sighed, gulping uncomfortably, setting down his quill. “You just, haven’t been that grounded lately.”

“Grounded?” Sirius questioned, quirking a brow. He gave a tenacious laugh, “Be more specific Potter.”

For a split second, he saw James’ gaze flick to Sirius’ calf where his old wound once laid, now nothing more than a silvery line. But then he looked away, waved him off, pressing a smile. “Don’t worry about it mate, just a mess of words.” 

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek, thinking way more into James’ comment than was probably necessary. But what did he mean, grounded? Sirius was perfectly stable, perfectly sane. So what if he had a few breakdowns, anyone with his life would, it’s entirely reasonable. He was just in a rough patch, he’d get over it, he always got over it.

But that strength only until his problems came crashing down again and he realized how deep into shit he was. Sadly, Sirius was drowning and no one knew it. No one saw him struggle. No one could save him.

He couldn’t concentrate any longer on the chart in his hand, the white star specks seeming to blur through his tired eyes. Sirius rubbed them, rubbing at his exhaustion, his creeping depression. It was always the little things, the snarky comments, the microaggression that got under his skin.

He agitatedly stood up, tossing Remus’ chart to the side, making his way towards the portrait hole.

James perked up, his face falling when he saw Sirius leave, hurriedly fumbling through his mess of parchments to stop him.

“Leave him, James,” he heard Peter whisper, almost beggingly. “Just let him go.”

***

Is it possible to be so drained to the point where nothing feels real?

Sirius couldn’t tell but assumed it was true.

Emptiness is a very common thing. People may not realize how empty they really are until someone shines a light and they can see. Then it haunts them, taunts them, mocks them for pretending they’re fine when they’re not.

People try to ignore it, push the emptiness away but you can't. No matter how hard you try to act fulfilled you’ll always be just another shriveling leaf on a tree, a broken shell on the shore, a burnt cigarette on the side of the road.

Sirius was dissipated. He’d been covering it up with pranks and laughter, foolishly thinking that pretending he wasn’t corrupted would suddenly fix everything.

Well, life isn’t all that generous.

Anyone who didn’t know Sirius would probably laugh in his face at how ‘dramatic’ he was being. How he walked aimlessly through the castle, now feeling utterly alone and useless because of one comment. But it really only takes one thing, one person to throw you off course.

Perfect people with perfect lives will never get it, will they?

Truth is, words hurt.

They can do so much more damage than knives or curses, especially when they come from the people you love. Words have blades of their own that leave invisible wounds only the receiver can see.

If only people knew how many invisible scars Sirius had.

So it now became one of those days where the world seemed so bland, where his body felt off-balance like beneath him were nothing but rocky waves tipping him from side to side. He could practically feel the emptiness in him like a basin in his stomach that had been dry of water for weeks, now rusting, decaying.

The problem with being empty is that you don't always know what to fill yourself with? What will make the emptiness go away? That would be Sirius' greatest mistake, he’d continue to fill himself with all the wrong things until it was too late and he’d realize he’d made all the wrong decisions.

But for now, all he did know was that there was a void that needed to be filled, a basin that needed water. He needed to find some meaning or at least a good distraction.

So Sirius did the only thing he knew how to do since James had hidden his cigarettes and dumped his stash of fire whisky in the boathouse harbor. Shag.

He dived for her lips, eager, hungry, trying to seek some sort of pleasure to ward from his lonesomeness.

Sirius couldn’t deny it, she gave him a rise, not as good as his cigarettes but it was enough. The classroom he’d dragged her into was empty and cold, didn’t even bother locking the doors, enjoying the risky danger of being caught.

She was so small beneath his hold, Sirius having to crane his head downwards to capture her lips but it hurt his neck. Maneuvering, he slid all the parchments off of a nearby desk, hoisting her onto there but the position hurt his back. Fuck this isn’t working.

“Get on your knees,” he demanded huskily, lust circling his smokey eyes as his fingers gripped and squeezed tightly at her thighs.

The girl gladly obeyed, sinking down and fumbling with his belt buckle. Sirius let out a low groan, head tipping back as the hums from her mouth sent vibrations up his body. He grabbed a fist full of her curls, bucking his hips and pushing her further in. She gagged but relaxed her throat, trying her hardest to please.

Sirius let out soft whimpers and breathless sighs, sunspots dancing around the ceiling as a building tension arched his back and curled his toes. That erotic sensation that once took his breath away soon deflated, his distraction now over, now boring.

Sirius felt like he was phasing in and out of reality, unaware of how much time had passed, watching numbly as the girl pulled away, dressed herself, walked hesitantly towards the door but turned to him like she was waiting for something. Why did women have to be so indirect?

He stared at her blankly as he wracked his memory for her name. Fuck, I should start remembering their names.

“Emila,” she replied for him, reading his thinking expression that furrowed his brow, a soft smile turning her swollen lips. She longingly gazed at him with those hazel doe eyes, as if he was actually worth wanting. God, she was so sweet, so innocent, like a delicate fairy. But he ruined her. Why did Sirius always fuck people up, why, why, why…

“Right, of course,” he nodded dazedly, trying to push back his brimming tears.

Emila took their silence as a cue to leave, closing the door gently behind her, her footsteps growing distant.

This time, Sirius was the one to sink to the floor, the world so heavy on his aching shoulders. Merlin, what he’d do for a smoke, for a drink? He wanted to get hammered, completely knackered until he couldn’t walk in a straight line. The Halloween party wasn’t that far off, he could get waisted then. But he couldn’t wait that long, he needed something now.

The emotion pooled up, pressuring his chest. It felt like someone had put weights on his heart. God it hurt, it hurt so fucking much. I’m a screw-up, I fuck up, I fuck everything up! Sirius tensed his body, swallowing down the scream he wanted to release.

Maybe this was how Remus felt? A beast crawling up your throat, ready to tear through? Expect Remus didn’t have a choice but to cave in, however, Sirius did and he chose not to cave.

As his sanity began to crumble and the world felt less bright, he hugged his stomach tightly and scrunched his eyes shut, rocking slowly on his knees back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

Chapter Text

Friday 31st October 1975

“Get your lazy arse up!” Sirius cheered as he ripped Remus’ curtains open. 

The boy dove under his sheets. “Fuck off,” he groaned, sandy curls peeking from under his hiding.

“But Moony, it's Halloween!” Sirius beamed. When Remus didn’t respond, Sirius scrambled onto his bed and jumped up and down on his mattress whose springs viciously squeaked. “Get up, get up, get up!”

Remus’ limp body, still cocooned in blankets, bounced helplessly with each jump. “Black, if you don’t get the fuck off my bed-”

“What, you’re gonna pull a furry wolf on me?” Sirius teased breathlessly as he hopped off the boy’s bed and landed with a stumble to the floor, his legs wobbling like jelly. “Save the costume for tonight's party,” he grinned with a departing wink.

Halloween was the top tier in October. Candy, costumes, pranks, parties, brooding ghosts, caroling portraits, and enchanted pumpkins floating through the halls. Peeves was sure to be throwing rolls of toilet tissue at students and the feast would be held later on that night containing all the delightful treats. There was rich, raw magic on these chilling nights when cackles sang and moonlight glowed in the misty hour which crept near.

But Halloween provided the greatest distraction of all for a boy who, more than anyone, needed a release. After all, it was a day dedicated to pretending, something of which Sirius knew very well how to do.

The marauders also had a special surprise planned for that afternoon, their annual Halloween prank. So after a pleasing breakfast and first morning classes in Charms and Herbology, the four boys crept secretly through Hogwarts halls, sneaking behind a group of pillars to discuss their plan. It was quite difficult, so were all Transfiguration attempts, but they had to establish their route of escape. Though, Sirius did want to get a look at the madness before they fled. 

“Well we’ll leave down this corridor,” Remus advised, running his finger east along their incomplete map. Large portions were missing, classrooms and corridors unmarked, the Whomping Willow being the only landmark scribbled on the grounds, and hidden passageways scattered randomly. Besides that, nothing was on it nor was anything charmed and they still hadn’t tagged the students or teachers to appear on the map whenever they moved. “Then behind that tapestry leads to the girls’ laboratories on the first floor.”

Sirius grinned appreciatively, clapping Remus on the back. “What would we do without you Moony?” 

Remus shoved him off, folding and tucking the map into his back pocket.

Just then, the evening bell wrung and soon students exited their classrooms and bustled along the corridors, tightly packed and unaware of the four boys who had mischief written in their eager eyes.

James squeezed each of their shoulders, ruffled a few of their hairs. “Ready boys?”  

The others nodded in unison. 

The marauders took their posts, staying hidden behind the wide pillars but peering their heads out to get a look at the crowd. Sirius slipped his wand out from the wraps of his bun, hair unraveling to a silky bath on his shoulders, picking up two books and passing one to James. The boys exchanged knowing smirks, tightening the grips on their wand and taking in steady breaths.

Time for havoc to wreak. 

When the corridor reached its peak of flooding students, James and Sirius threw their books into the air and casted, “Snufflifors.” Suddenly, the two books swirled in a grey tornado and materialized into mice but before they could hit the floor, Peter and Remus casted a hushed, “Gemino.” As soon as the two mice hit the ground, their bodies split and began to rapidly multiply. 

A single shriek in the hall started the uproar of screams. Soon students were jumping on their toes, hopping from foot to foot, fleeing to high surfaces, shaking off mice that climbed over their shoes or into their totes. The whole corridor was a mob of identical mice running and squeaking, students scrambling for safety, and professor poking their heads out of their classrooms to see what was the matter.

Sirius laughed hysterically at the chaos but was tugged away by a tight grip around his arm and alarmed by loud hammering stomps coming from the end of the corridor. “BLACK, POTTER!” came a rustic bellow. Sirius recognized that sickening voice, so scruffy, almost as worn out as his skin. Though he didn’t stick around to find out, the marauders were sprinting down a corridor before the old git had a chance to catch them. 

The soles of their shoes screeched against the polished marble floors with each sharp turn, cold air biting their lungs and drying their mouths, calves burning. It was exhilarating, running from danger, the thrill of being chased pumping adrenaline through their bodies. Sirius lived for this adventure, how his heart rapidly pounded in excitement as his legs sprinted in the fleet. How his hair whipped behind him, laughs ripping through his already cheeky smiles. How he leaped and bounced on his toes as he ran, feeling so free and alive amongst his friends.

This was what adolescence was all about.

They came to a screeching halt when the tapestry came into sight and bustled behind it, entering an icy spiral set of spiraling stairs that cooled their burning skins. Sirius tumbled against the wall, breaths coming in short gasps but his glorious smile remained. James had collapsed on the stairs, hands supporting his body up, his raven hair messy, glasses fogged and tangling from the tip of his nose. Peter was resting against a nook windowsill, a light sweat slipping through the neckline of his shirt. Remus relaxed his body on a wall, head leaning against the stone, the veins in his neck throbbing. Although, Sirius could see the crease in Remus’ brow as he tried to hide his winces.  Better not be that bloody hip again. 

Sirius laughed breathlessly, his balled cheeks aching. “You all look like shit.”

“And how is it that you manage to remain so flawless?” James huffed.

“Yeah, not even a hair’s out of place,” Peter pointed out, his face flushed. 

Sirius shrugged. “Moony seems pretty intact,” he nodded to the boy across from him whose curls were only slightly ruffled and jumper sleeves hugged his hands like mittens. It was quite adorable.

“Is that your version of saying I’m also flawless,” Remus teased with a concealed smirk.

Sirius rolled his eyes, unsure of how to counter that comment, pushing himself off the wall and stumbling up the stairs, knees weak and chest heaving in exhaustion. He turned to his friends who were still trying to regain their breaths. “C’mon gentlemen,” Sirius panted, pulling James to his feet and ushering Peter upright. “We’ve got a party to attend.”

***

“Tighter,” Sirius gasped, a hand pressed to his abdomen as he felt his ribs shift.

“Merlin Sirius, any tighter and you won't be able to breathe.”

“Just do it.”

Sirius took in one last breath before James lifted his foot to Sirius’ back, pushing him forward while tugging the corset strings back. The seams tightened and his stomach growled in discomfort, light white speaks dancing before his eyes. He exhaled as much air as he could, James cinching the laces in a pretty bow. 

“There, done,” James finished, shoving Sirius lightly.

He twisted in the confinement but the corset wouldn’t budge, tightly compacting his waist and pressuring his pelvis. He stepped into the bathroom, examining his costume, grinning broadly.  Fuck I look hot.  

“I can’t believe you’re going as her,” James muttered disbelievingly, still trying to adjust to Sirius’ unusual attire. “We were supposed to match,” he whined in his Superman costume, red cape draping to the floor, chest broad against the tight blue suit.

“Well I didn’t want to be Batman,” Sirius retorted, slipping into his boots and pulling up the zipper, attempting to stand but wobbling a bit. He strutted out the bathroom, heels clicking against the wood and announcing his entrance. “I wanted to be Wonder Woman.” 

The red corset hugged his ribcage, a pleated blue skirt with white stars fanning over his hips. Golden cufflinks snaked around his wrists, only his middle fingers being painted in black polish which held chunky rings. But his favorite part of the entire costume was the red thigh-high boots whose material was so silky and sleek it gleamed like rubber. It took him a while to get used to walking in them, tripping and swaying when he tried to stand. Sirius found a new respect for women after he’d attempted and failed at walking across their dorm without falling on his arse.

James stared at him bemused. “Sirius, you look ridiculous,” he stated flatly, adding a dollop of gel to his hair, slicking it back with a fine-toothed comb but leaving a single strand loose and curled.

“I think you look nice,” Peter complimented from his bed with a supportive smile, wearing a fluffy brown onesie with lion paws. Remus, in a shaggy jumper with mixed matched patches on the elbows and loose yarn strings fringing from the hems, was delicately painting brown whiskers on Peter’s cheeks. The two were going as characters from the Wizard of Oz, Peter as the cowardly lion and Remus as the scarecrow. 

“See, I can always count on Pete,” Sirius declared to which Peter lit up and James scoffed, still upset. “Do you have a problem with feminism James?” he asked sassily, balling his fists and resting them sturdily on his hips.

James paused, biting back on his raging feminism as he eyed Sirius temptingly. He groaned, rubbing his temple, “Sirius you look fan-fucking-tastic, sexiest Wonder Woman I’ve ever seen.”

Sirius grinned and nodded satisfactorily, blowing each of his friends a kiss before strutting out the door. 

Costumed Gryffindors were already mingling with red cups in hand, lightly swaying to Sirius’ record which he’d brought down and charmed to continuously play the album of  Electric Warrior , his favorite T. Rex album. 

Heads turned when Sirius appeared in his boots and superhero skirt, exposed skin tingling from the cold fall breeze but beauty is pain after all. Mortification was painted on most of their faces, mouths having gaped as they scanned his attire, completely baffled. Girls noticeably flustered, whispering with wide eyes and throwing him shy waves. 

Marlene broke the tenacious stares with a cat-calling whistle, exclaiming, “Nice thighs Black,” to which Sirius playfully growled at her in response. 

Marlene's costume was genuinely concerning, a plastic knife embedded in her chest, fake blood soaking through her white lace gown. Her cheeks stained in mascara tears, hair damp and stringy, lips smeared with smudged lipstick. But the gory costume paired with her cheerful smile and golden laughs just added to the many reasons why Sirius Black held Marlene McKinnon so close to his heart. She was a wonderfully chaotic mess.

By sunset the party was in full swing, alcohol spiking the butterbeer bowl and bottles of firewhisky being passed around. Sirius was a lightweight, only having had a quarter cup of firewhisky and already the hot and sticky common room was starting to sway.

Frank had retreated to his dorm, giving up on stopping the party when James had jumped on a vintage coffee table and belted the lyrics to  Bang a Gong  using his wand as a mic, slicked hair already falling out of place. 

Sirius breathlessly danced with probably every girl at the party, if not then they came to him. He moved freely like dandelions blowing through fields as the heat of close contacted bodies made his skin burn up, the blasting music ringing his ears and blowing out his hearing. Everyone was either drunk or tipsy, a few people in clusters sitting around the windows or couches; most making out, others drinking alone, few actually talking.

Sirius’ mind was a euphoric bliss as he could finally let go and be reckless in his Wonder Woman costume whose tightly pulled corset strings shortened his breaths. He could feel the blisters forming on the balls of his feet but could honestly care less, continuing to dance and drink about the Gryffindor common room. He'd deal with the aftermath hangover in the morning.

By midnight when the waning crescent moon had taken its form and drunken teenagers either passed out or stumbled to their beds, the remaining few had been dragged by Mary into a circle for a muggle game called truth or dare. 

Peter was passed out in an armchair, wrapped in a wool blanket, the alcohol had gotten to him the quickest. Sirius and James couldn’t stop laughing, they’d simply look at each other and burst out howling fits without the slightest clue as to why? Remus, astonishingly enough, had drunk everything in sight and seemed perfectly normal, still sipping at his cup of butterbeer. Mary was leaning on Marlene, the two girls seeming hazy but giggling uncontrollably. Lily was the more self-conscious of the group, her cup filled to the brim but never having been sipped. She just sat cross-legged on the whisky-stained rug, hairs coming loose from her french braids, Dorathy costume hugging her curves fittingly but she seemed too school girl, too shy.

Sirius wished she’d let loose for once.

“Truth or dare James?” Mary giggled, her words slurred as she took another sip of her drink, grip flimsy and about to slip.

She was a flapper from the 20s, a white feather stuck into her curly hair, pearls cradling her neck and wrists, having slid into a black tightly fitted mid-thigh dress that outlined each curvature of her body. Sirius couldn’t deny it, she looked fucking hot and his droolingly entranced gaze gave him away.

James’ eyes lit up in mischief. “Dare.”

“I dare you to let me write something on your forehead.”

James nodded eagerly, pushing his dark hair back so his forehead was exposed. “Give it your best Mcdonald,” he challenged.

Mary beamed, hurriedly getting up but wobbling a bit, retrieving a marker from the girls’ dormitories. She positioned herself in front of James, taking hold of his face as she uncapped the marker with her teeth and wrote on his forehead with bold lettering. 

Sirius leaned over to catch a glimpse, his vision blurry, crazing alcohol messing with his mind but was able to make out the swaying words.  LILY'S BITCH.  He roared in laughter, head falling back onto the couch, drink almost slipping from his hold.

Lily clapped a hand to her mouth when she saw, letting out a very loud snort. It made Sirius howl even louder upon hearing it.

“Does it look good?” James asked hopefully with a wide grin, completely oblivious to the hysteria erupting around him.

Mary was a mess of giggles as she collapsed back next to Marlene. “Oh yeah, looks  brilliant  James,” she mocked, nodding her head reassuringly. 

He bought her lie, turning to Lily next. “Evans,” he began, a lovestruck daze cradling his eyes, making them soften as if she was the epitome of his world. “Truth or dare?”

Lily contemplated, biting her lips as she tried to take him seriously, though his forehead provoked otherwise. “Truth,” she decided, with a suppressed laugh.

“Will you go on a date with me?” 

She let out another one of those snorts, those beautiful snorts that Sirius was growing quite fond of but maybe he was just too drunk to think straight. They were so unlike Evans, so wild and careless, defying every rule on proper lady laughs. Lily clapped a hand to her mouth again, embarrassed at her outburst. She composed herself, coughing a bit. “No.”

“Wha- can she do that?” James exclaimed, complaining to the rest of the group.

“If it’s the truth then yeah,” Remus countered, taking a swing from his drink, downing it all without the slimmest flinch. Sirius watched him in awe.

As more truths spilled, dares acted, and records played, Sirius’ body felt like it was on another planet. Everyone else was smart, they’d stopped drinking, but Sirius didn’t, his cup was always full. He was at a loss of coordination, one minute laughing uncontrollably and the next completely silent. He assumed that depression and alcohol weren’t the best combinations but at that moment he felt so numb. But this was good, numb was good because it was a distraction. 

But he was only fifteen, he was just a child and this was all so wrong. Not only was it illegal, he was ruining his life but that’s what Sirius Black did and would continue to do. 

If James were sober, he would’ve stopped Sirius, snatched any alcohol from his grasp, told him off for being such a careless idiot but James was too knackered to notice his friend getting up to uncork a new bottle of whisky every so often. No one noticed how Sirius drank because they were all so plastered. The one time he actually drank in front of his friends, they didn’t even stop him.

“Truth or dare Sirius,” Marlene purred.

Sirius’ throat was itchy and dehydrated, he didn’t feel like speaking. “Truth.”

Her tongue poked around the inside of her cheek as she thought, eyes narrowing as she studied him. Her lips twitched in a devious smirk. “Who was your first kiss and leave out no details?”

Sirius thought for a moment, his mind a bit clouded but soon remembered and let out a hoarse laugh, recalling that night one regretful Saturday afternoon in the boys’ dormitories. “Well…” Sirius started, having forgotten about the horrid kiss until now. 

“C’mon mate, we need to practice,” Sirius insisted, almost desperately. He’d never kissed anyone and girls were starting to seem quite tempting. He couldn’t go unprepared when the day came.

“Sirius, no,” James affirmed, waving a dismissive hand.

“But you’ve never kissed anyone and I’ve never kissed anyone so when you think about it, it’s a win for both of us!”

“Sirius, I love you, but I swear on Merlin's balls you will not be my first kiss,” he argued, walking away.

Sirius followed him, whining, “James!” 

“No!”

“Pleeeeeease,” he begged, clasping his hands together pleadingly. 

“No.”

“PLEASE!”

“NO!”

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-”

“For fucks sake!” James blurted in a fit of annoyance, taking a forceful hold on the back of Sirius’ neck, slamming their lips together, teeth clashing. 

Sirius’ breath hitched, the air once flooding his lungs being sucked back to the pit of his stomach as he settled in the grasp of James’ tight hold. 

Sirius dove a bit, intrigued, testing the waters. He kissed back, clasping onto James’ lips but an alarm set off in his head about how wrong this all was so he quickly pulled away, cheeks flushed, eyes rounded, breath ragged, and eerily embarrassed. 

James was frozen, mouth slightly agape, glasses crooked, trying to form words but too stunned by his assertive actions to think properly.

They stood awkwardly in front of one another for a good ten minutes, swallowing the balls that had formed in their throats. Sirius was the first to leave, retreating to the common room and carrying a dreaded silence with him. The two purposely ignored each other for the rest of the day. 

“No way!” Marlene gasped, smiling broadly through her shock.

“That’s- that’s…” Mary repeated, trying to find the words but too baffled to think of any.

Remus groaned into his hands, feeling a secondhand embarrassment. “Please tell me you’ve never shagged.” 

“Merlin no!” James blurted, letting out a barking laugh.

“You two are way too comfortable with each other,” Lily cringed. 

“Hey, it made our friendship strong,” Sirius protested.

“Damn straight,” James nodded.

They both shared a high five.

The game progressed and Sirius’ cup grew dry, the alcohol making him face manic high and lows, so sporadic he didn’t know what to feel. Sometimes he’d forget how to laugh and instead watched stonily as his friends lived, Sirius just sitting quietly, trapped in between two colliding worlds. His memory gave out, so did his conscience, having embarked on a few more truths, maybe a couple of dares but he couldn’t remember much.   

Sirius did recall the feel of a cool glass bottle in one hand, a cigarette in the other, crisp embers from the bud heating his fingertips, whisky burning as it glided down his throat, then some pain on the back of his neck. But soon enough, sounds began to thin and lids grew heavy, his body finally collapsing as the world blacked out and the party ended.

***

Daylight stung his eyes. Sirius could see the morning brightness checkering through his lids and instinctively slapped a hand to his face to shield from the windows waking gleams. 

He moved his tongue around his dry mouth, tasting bits of alcohol and cheap nicotine, the residue of salty chips and vanilla chapstick coming off of his cracked lips. Sirius smelled like a pack of cigs, so potent it tingled his nose. How much had he smoked? How much had he drunk? He felt fine, other than his sensitive eyes, his mind didn’t spin neither was his body sore like a typical hangover. 

Sirius cracked an eye open from under his shadow-casting hand, catching glimpses of empty bottles and cups that strewed carelessly across the floor, tables, and mantelpieces. Balloons were deflated and sagged to the ground, pillows tossed, and various drunken bodies sleeping on couches and loveseats. 

Groaning, Sirius cracked his back and stretched his legs, inching to a seated position but a sudden spell of dizziness washed over him like a tidal wave so powerful he thought he might pass out. His head throbbed like there was an alarm clock setting off in his skull, sight being blinded by black spots. His stomach began to twist, lurch, bubble in nausea. As soon as he tasted the creeping vomit, Sirius darted upstairs, bursting through their dorm and collapsing to his knees just in time for his head to reach the toilet. The smell was vile and trembled his body as more and more alcohol mixed with crappy foods deposited into the bowl, swirling and sinking into the water.

He gasped for air once he finished, coughing madly like someone had skinned the walls of his throat. Merlin, he felt like shit, smelled like shit, tasted like-

Sirius froze, desperately feeling around his mouth, sliding his tongue around his palate and gums but came back with nothing.  Fuck fuck fuck FUCK! 

This was just what Sirius needed, another thing to feel guilty about, another grudge to hold against himself.  Another fucking month wasted.  Merlin, Sirius knew guilt, he knew it like the stars that sparkled in the washed-out night sky. Guilt nipped at his heels, weighted his aching heart, wrapped around his neck like a collar he couldn’t take off. Guilt followed him wherever he went, like a shadow except even in the light it was still apparent. 

Guilt, at that moment, was what made Sirius slouch against the bathroom cabinets, head tipping back until it hit the wood. Oh, the deja vu from when he’d sat on this very chilled floor back in September, Remus before him and mending his wounds. Except now there was no one there to mend him. You might think,  ‘well, he always has guilt,’  but guilt doesn’t mend, guilt only tears.   

Sirius sulked, drowning in his culpability as his shoulders sagged and back hunch but a sharp pain stabbed at the back of his neck, making him jolt. 

He testingly rolled his head a bit but the slightest crane set his skin on fire. Sirius felt gently at his neck, massaging his fingers against the sore skin but was greeted by even more hissing pains like daggers were plunging into his cervical, similar to when Remus had pierced his-

No…no no no no.

Sirius bolted upright, his dizziness somewhere in the past as he desperately rummaged through their drawers   for a compact mirror. He found one under James’ mountain of gel containers, cracked it open, and held it behind him.

Sirius looked ahead at the large bathroom mirror, adjusting the position of the compact mirror so he could see its miniature reflection through the bigger glass. Gulping nervously, he lifted the hair that draped to his shoulders, exposing his neck, then squinted in the dim light to see clearer. He leaned over the sink to get a better look, pelvis hitting the ledge of the countertop.

The inflamed, swollen skin and ink splotches made Sirius’ eyes round in horror.

The stick and poke was jagged and messy, letters varying in sizes and leveling in an odd line like a toddler had done it or a severely drunken idiot. 

Property of James Flemont Potter

Sirius snapped the compact mirror shut so quickly he could’ve sworn he heard the glass shatter. 

He wanted a tattoo, always bragged about getting one, but not this,  never  this! And to top it off, the dolt spelled his fucking name wrong. “JAMES! YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD!” Sirius yelled, storming out of the bathroom to go beat the crap out of his hungover best friend.

Chapter Text

Monday 3rd November 1975

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Sirius woke up in a startle to three grown boys attacking him in his bed, shaking his body until his teeth clattered, ecstatic voices bellowing in his ears. Broad smiles and flushed cheeks coated their faces as they jumped and rolled him around like a sack of potatoes.

“How’s it feel to be sixteen, you old poof?” Remus laughed, ruffling his hair until it laid a knotted, matted mess.

“Like I just got stampeded,” Sirius deliriously replied, heart palpitating from the ambush, throat a bit groggy, and vision still trying to adjust. He rubbed his droopy eyes and slumped himself against his headboard, neck still a bit sore from his tattoo. “What time is it?” he asked, noticing the faint silver light escaping their windows.

“Time doesn’t matter Black,” James declared, his big, blue, bottomless eyes dancing in wonder. “We have our  whole  lives!” 

Sirius had thought about it, the future. He never wanted to part from his friends, never wanted to grow up, and leave the protective barriers of Hogwarts. Looking upon the three boys who crammed tightly onto his twin-sized bed, Sirius couldn’t help but feel so lucky, so grateful. Anyone could have friends, that was simple, but friends who were family,  that  was something special.

If only they knew how much time they had. If only someone could’ve told them to cherish the moments before time caught up to them. Time was such a greedy thing, always chasing the young, the lively, the lovebirds, the dreamers. Always chasing those who need time the most.

A light pecking at their window sent Sirius’ head whipping to the all too familiar sound. His face lit up, stumbling out of bed, greeted by a tawny barn owl who clutched a letter in his beck and thin brown package tied to his foot. Its beady black eyes were like ink wells staring into his soul. Sirius tried to ignore them as he accepted the letter and relieved the package from his talion clutch, the owl flapping its wings and soaring away. 

Sirius felt warmth rush to his chest as he ran his thumb along the wrinkled envelope. She never once forgot his birthday, not in the now sixteen years she’d known him. She was the slim few who still cared, still viewed Sirius as an innocent boy and not some Black family heir. 

Anticipation itched at his fingers as he cracked the seal, slipping out a folded parchment that contained an almost identical match to his fine scripted writing.

Happy Birthday, cuz! Sending love from muggle London. Xo

-Andy, Ted, and baby Dora

Sirius bit back a smile, folded the letter, tucking it neatly in his drawer so he could pin it up later. He then attacked his present, tearing open the wrapping to reveal the most brilliant vinyl cover. The designs were bright and detailed, two crowned lions perched on a mirror, a swan protecting them with its spanning wings. Sirius’ eyes rounded as they skimmed across the laminated words.  A Night At The Opera. Queen.  

“Which one is it?” Remus eagerly asked, the only one who shared his same fascination with muggle rock music.

He turned the cover around, watching as Remus’ expression changed, lips curving upwards as his gaze traveled along the vinyl.

Sirius hurriedly set the thin disk on his turntable, raising the tonearm and moving it to the record’s outer edge, flicking on the switch. The record began to spin and Sirius watched in awe, collapsing back onto his bed with a smile excavated on his lips.

Death on two legs

You're tearing me apart

Death on two legs

You never had a heart of your own

For the rest of that morning, four boys lay dazed, mesmerizingly listening to the same record spin over and over again, never once breaking the glorious silence.

***

Breakfast was the same old choiring happy birthday song, the entire hall pitching in and singing as loudly as they could. While others would’ve shrunken in embarrassment, Sirius held his head high, swaying to the off-tuned, overly dramatic drawls that strained his ears. 

He cockily bowed at the end, elegantly sweeping down and soaking in the applause. 

“Merlin your ego is so big,” Marlene mocked, droningly clapping alongside everyone else.

Sirius flashed her a bright, radiant smile, “And you love it.” He sat back down, greeted by James’ eagerly waiting eyes who was clutching something under the table. “James?” Sirius smirked, the boy looking as if he’d explode any moment. 

James placed a small rectangular box on the table, sliding it closer to Sirius’ front. He eyed it skeptically, wondering if this was just another ploy from James in hopes to gain back his trust. Ever since the Halloween party, he’d been extra nice to Sirius, whispering, “I’m so sorry,” when gaps grew between them, testing removal charms on his neck to try and vanish the tattoo. Truthfully, James had never lost it - his trust - but Sirius wanted him to feel guilty. After all, until he was old enough to get it properly removed, Sirius would have to live with the misspelled, sloppy stick and poke for the next two years.

Though he did love showing it off and his mother would have a fit when she saw.

“You know you still aren’t forgiven,” Sirius reminded, warningly eyeing James as he accepted his present.

James’ shoulders sagged, weighing in guilt. “I’m sorry mate but I was drunk, not even Moony could’ve stopped me.”

“Oh, I could’ve,” Remus chimed, sipping lightly at his tea. “I just chose not to.”

Sirius whipped his head around. “So you’re saying I could’ve been spared from this?!” he exclaimed, pushing up his hair to reveal his god awful tattoo.

Remus shrugged, a smirk gracing his lips as he innocently took another sip of his tea, slurps drawn out and teasing. 

Sirius scoffed, taking the lid off his present, pushing aside the wrapping, then staring puzzled at what was inside. He took it out, lifting it to the light. “You got me a piece of glass?”

It was true, Sirius held a jabbed piece of glass that looked like it had been taken from a broken mirror. Though the edges seemed sharp and deadly, they were smooth as if sanded down.

James said nothing, lips sealed into a line but brows raised in excitement. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an identical piece of glass, holding it to his face and smiling broadly. 

Sirius stared at his mental friend until it occurred to him to look into his mirror as well. When he did, he was met with James’ enlarged face gazing up at him. Sirius gasped. “Holy shit, I can see you!” 

“It’s a two-way mirror,” he blurted, giving a great sigh as if he’d been holding it in for ages. “If you ever wanna talk, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours!”

“This- this, holy shit this is…” Sirius stuttered on his words, unable to say "thank you" in a way that would express the amazement he was feeling. 

“I know, isn't it wicked?” James beamed, able to understand his stammers. “Now we can talk during detentions!”

Sirius astonishingly laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. First a Queen album, now this! So far, his sixteenth birthday was going beyond perfect.

***

All-day, Sirius was showered in bright smiles and, “Happy birthday,” calls, receiving pats on the shoulders and the more skimming, delicate touches down his arms from girls who giggled when they greeted him in the corridors. 

Amongst those was Emila, the sweet innocent girl who Sirius had been trying his hardest to avoid. He could admittingly say that he’d heartbroken her, just another name to add to his endless list. When she flashed him a smile that afternoon, waving a hand she looked much thinner, cheekbones more prominent than the last time they’d met. Her hazel eyes were wide and hopeful but visibly brimming in tears. Again, guilt struck his heart and he turned away, fleeing from the pain he’d so carelessly thrown upon her.

“Midnight Quidditch practice,” James sighed, already fantasizing over the coming plans they had. Remus was on rounds and Peter had some Herbology homework he needed to finish, which allowed James and Sirius the night together. “It’s gonna be brilliant.”

“How’d you even get the pitch free?” Sirius asked, his broom clutched in his right hand, gear heavily mounted as they made their way to the entrance hall. 

James slugged his arm over Sirius’ shoulder as they walked, grinning cheekily. “I have my ways.”

They made it down a set of moving stairs, James discussing his next attempt at swooning Lily, Sirius advising him to proceed cautiously as Evans had picked up the habit of hexing James’ mouth shut. They mindlessly joked around, bantered casually when Sirius’ ears pricked to a soft set of steps following from behind. 

It was a hefty talent he’d mastered, being able to recognize a distinct foot pattern by the way each shoe pressured the floor. All thanks to nights spent hidden in his room, patching up his wounds, back pressed against the door, tentatively hearing every creak and squeak that enacted from the outside floorboards.

He knew his mother’s footsteps, they were fast and quick, agility was her strength and you saw it when she walked. His father’s footsteps were loud, hammering, they shook the house with each stomp. He always wanted you to know he was coming before he came. His brother’s footsteps were soft, quiet, barely noticeable from years spent sneaking around, praying not to be caught.  

That’s why Sirius stopped midway through their pace when those distinct footsteps registered in his memory. He turned to see his brother at the far end of the corridor, his small body smaller in the distance, hands properly behind his back. Although he was too far to see, Sirius latched onto his cold, smokey eyes that gazed in longing. Regulus wanted to tell him something. 

“I’ll meet you outside,” James whispered kindly, giving the brothers their space as he left.

Sirius could only stare as Regulus’s slow, aching pace came closer and closer until he stopped, leaving a large gap between them. His brother let out shaky breaths, anxiously shifted his weight about his feet. “Sirius.” Even his voice was as cold as his presence. 

Sirius nodded in greeting but said nothing. 

Moments like these were the awkwardest, one trying to buck up the courage to speak while the other waited; semi-patient, semi-stressed. They both had things to say, dams filled with endless words, confessions, truths but they were too stubborn, too scared to let them go. 

So the air between them thinned and Sirius’ skin became jittery, he hated silence.

“Happy birthday - I got a tattoo,” the two blurted at the same time.

Sirius and Regulus gave soft chuckles, both exhausted, both in pain. At least they shared something in common.

When their chuckles dimmed, Regulus spoke again. “Happy birthday,” he repeated, words genuine but voice meek.

Sirius felt a warmth rush to his chest, cradling his heart as it swelled. “Thanks.”

Again, there was silence.

Regulus did a double-take, reaction previously delayed. “Wait, you got a tattoo?” 

Sirius lit up, turning around since his hair was already tied back so his brother could see. Regulus stepped closer, taking his time as he read. A small gasp escaped his lips. “Mother is going to scorch it off you, you realize that?”

Sirius nodded solemnly, cringing at the thought. “Did you notice the name’s misspelled?”

“No way!”

“Yep, look again.”

And Regulus did, standing on the tips of his toes to reach Sirius’ height. Regulus blurted a laugh when he noticed the mistake, so unexpected it caught Sirius by surprise. He turned back around, meeting his brother’s enlightened face, a rose color having pigmented his once opaque cheeks. The gap between them was less distant, now only a couple of feet apart. 

Regulus, seemingly more comfortable, revealed what was behind his back. Sirius’ eyes drifted down to a book clutched in his brother’s frail hand, quirking his head to read the title. He felt tears prickle and burn his eyes, the air escaping his lungs and hitching his breath.  Beauty and the Beast.

Regulus scratched nervously at his hand until it was scraping in red lines. “I always felt bad when Mother burned this one, I knew it was your-”

But Sirius didn’t let his brother finish as he’d pulled him into a tight embrace.

He saw Regulus flinch, he felt his tension, the stiffening of his body. He saw and felt it all yet he held him through it. But then he felt Regulus recoil, relax, then sink and slowly wrap his arms around Sirius’ lower waist.

There's something about holding someone, feeling their heartbeat against your chest, the soft  thuds  like drums in an empty cavity. Sirius felt like a protector, his invisible wings wrapping around his little brother who squeezed so tightly as if the ground was crumbling beneath him and he didn’t want to fall through. So Sirius held him, tighter, afraid if he let go Regulus would be lost forever.

At that moment, the rapidly moving world seemed to stop on its axis. Time granted those two brothers a sly minute of peace, a minute to call their own. It was untampered, untouched by war, by death, by the darkness slowly creeping in. 

They were granted a moment to breathe, having been drowning for so long but finally at the surface of the water. 

Oh, the power of a simple hug is beyond the universe's understanding. Not even the poets or historians could conduct some theoretical definition for its miraculous effects. It was, as you might call it, one of life’s many mysteries. 

***

Sirius was in quite a brisk mood after his encounter with Regulus, the world now seemingly greener, more full of prospect. The autumn breeze whisked at his neck, carrying the aroma of landscape, from rain-quenched soils to gloomy black lakes.

Sirius hummed the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody as he and James strolled down to the pitch. Out of all the songs on Night at the Opera ,  something about that one just resonated with him. It bombarded Sirius with a rush of emotion, uncorking parts of himself that had been bottled up for years. After listening to it through, tears were wheeled in his eyes, clouding his vision as he stared at the ceiling in awestruck. That song was a drug. He could listen to it for eternity.  

Sirius made James promise him that when he died, “ Bohemian Rhapsody ,” would be engraved on his tombstone. 

When they reached the pitch it was about dusk fall, beyond them a melting sky of reds and golds that hugged the descending sun, as if they were trapped between night and day. But it got darker by the second, that canvas fading into purples and dark blues. There was no moon to light their path, it was hiding like a coward, just a simple black orb that made the world dark.

But there were stars. Millions and millions of twinkling stars embedded into the pitching night that seemed to go on for miles. Sirius made out the Scorpius constellation, tracing it with his eyes, focusing no longer on the plain in front of him but the beauty above.

He could sense James’ smile expand as he watched him. Soon they were both admiring the heavens. 

Mud and wet grass squashed under their boots, swinging a leg over their brooms, mounting, and then taking off. Well, James took off, Sirius was distracted by a tangled mess of laughs coming from behind. He turned in the dim light to see a group of silhouetted boys exiting the locker room, shoving each other and joking around as they stumbled out.

But in that bundle of voices, Sirius recognized one in particular, a familiar one, a beautiful one. It twisted his stomach in recollection, chest tightening. 

Sirius squinted and there he was, that mess of platinum blonde hair so perfectly parted, slightly curled and untamed, blowing in the chilly breeze. It laid like feathers, voluminous but poised, such a Malfoy style as Sirius remembered. 

The boy wore Quidditch robes, Slytherin of course, broom in his grip. Surely he wasn’t a Beater, Sirius would’ve recognized his competition, especially since they’d only just played the Slytherins last month. However, he had the physique for it. Height, from a distance, seemed somewhat tall, body hidden beneath his gear. Other than that, Sirius couldn’t see much, just a silhouette illuminated from the back lamps in the locker rooms.

Sirius didn’t know how long he’d been staring, presumably a while because suddenly he found himself snapped out of a daze when that same boy was now approaching, friends still behind and calling his name for him to come back.

He found his feet impelled to the sticky soil, unable to move, unable to call for James. His tongue was twisted in a knot, choking his words. Sirius did, however, stand up straight, raise his chin, shoulders broadening. It was that snobby, rich boy tick he had of dominating someone with his upturned nose and wealthy upbringing, though he never meant it on purpose. Remus had told him about it but hadn’t seemed to notice the habit until now.

Sirius’ first instinct was to show authority, act tough even if his feet were constricting him from fleeing. After all, the boy was a Slytherin and no doubt a Malfoy, probably Lucius’s brother or cousin. Nonetheless, he was his enemy, he was on the dark side of this war. But all that preparation seemed to whither when the boy flashed an unexpected smile and extended a hand.

“Hello,” he greeted, voice smoky but smooth, like expensive velvet, something monied and lush and fluid all at once. 

Sirius blinked, swallowing a ball that had formed in his throat. “Hi,” he replied skeptically but didn’t shake his hand.

The boy kept his charming smile, taking no offense to the decline in the handshake. It truthfully made Sirius a bit sick. In a way, he wanted the boy to be ruthless to him, that way they could bicker, have a proper fight.

“You’re Sirius Black, right?” he asked, gazing him directly in the eyes. It sent chills up his spine.

Sirius displayed his arms openly, trying his hardest to lose some tension. “In the flesh.”

The boy chuckled, a sliver of his usual laugh that tightened the knot in Sirius’ stomach. Merlin, he wanted to puke. “Ah, yes, infamous Gryffindor beater. You send half the Bludgers my way if I’m not mistaken?” He spoke so lightly, a hint of wit as if the moment was all a funny joke.

“It is my job,” Sirius shrugged.

“And a hell of a job it is.”

There was something very different about the Slytherin boy, something that took Sirius by surprise. He had a noticeable charm, a sarcastic, quick replying humor that took him off guard. He didn’t know if he liked it or not, never used to such…friendliness. The worst part of it all was that he was venturing blind, no moonlight, no daybreak, just darkness. A mere voice and sudden flickers of dim lamps from behind lightening his hair for a brisk moment were all Sirius could go off of. 

But he could feel the boy’s stare, the pressure and tingle on the nape of his neck that someone was watching him, carefully. 

The boy laughed again, this time a bit nervously, but the laugh was still the same pleasingness that Sirius never seemed to grow irritated with. “Look I- I came here to apologize,” the boy confessed.

“Apologize?” Sirius repeated, bemused. “I just met you.”

“Well the game, last month, some arses tampered with the Bludgers so Slytherin would win. Didn’t take a genius to figure it out but I saw how they tailed your mates. Real fucked up if you ask me.” 

Sirius was stunned. It was one thing to be approached by a Malfoy- well, he wasn’t sure who this boy was anymore, but a Slytherin being friendly, a Slytherin taking the blame, a Slytherin apologizing? Sirius checked again at his robes to make sure he was seeing the house color correctly. He eyed the boy who stood before him, his questionable truth making Sirius uneasy. “What are you playing at?” he probed. Asserting himself, Sirius stepped forward, but only slightly, yet the boy didn’t move, he didn’t flinch, and chilling enough he continued to smile, not the least bit intimidated.

“Calm down love,” he soothed, breaths coming out in foggy clouds. “What, not expecting a Slytherin to apologize?” 

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, expecting a snarky reply to just flow right out but nothing did. He was left gaped, hesitated, standing there and racking his mind for the usual humor he seemed to always carry but was left in a fuzzy blankness like his records when the last song had been played.

The boy kept looking at him, holding his gaze for two seconds too long.

“Oi! Hurry up mate,” his friends called from behind.

The Slytherin boy didn’t acknowledge them, still looking at Sirius, picking him apart bit by bit. The starlight caught him, face softened in a shadow, inviting Sirius in a way he couldn’t quite work out. Once again, his smile glowed. “Happy birthday, by the way.” And with that he gave a departing nod, returning to his friends but walking backward so he still faced Sirius. “See you ‘round pretty boy,” he laughed, that beautiful, beautiful laugh.

Sirius just stood there, paralyzed, watching the boy leave. 

“Black, you coming or not?” he heard James call from high up in the air.

The Slytherin boy’s shadowed figure blended into the night. “Yeah,” he called back, chest still tightened but trickling in a soothing warmth. “I’m coming.”

Chapter Text

Tuesday 18th November 1975

To say that Sirius was anxious was an understatement.

For starters, Sirius isn't an anxious person, he doesn't get anxious or nervous or uneasy because he doesn't allow himself the time to. Instead, he'll do something stupid, something reckless that endangers his life. He does the scary thing first then gets scared later. It's one of his motos.

But right now in the afternoon bustle as he sat in his designated spot at the Gryffindor table, practically overdosed on caffeine and as high as a kite on nicotine, picking at nails while his stomach churned, every so often lifting his gaze to the table in front packed with bruting Slytherins, hoping that the platinum mess of hair he, of course, could only see the back of would turn around, and for some miracle, catch his stare, Sirius was anxious.

"See you 'round pretty boy." Pretty boy? What the actual fucking hell did he mean by, "pretty boy?" You don't just meet someone, be all fucking prince charming and apologetic, then leave by calling the person by a completely wrong name.

Now all Sirius could think of when he looked at himself in the mirror was how some bloke called him, "pretty boy," and it was really screwing with his head.

If anything, Sirius was the only one who could do that. Sirius was the Hogwarts heartthrob, mysterious flatterer that was supposed to leave other people with gaped mouths and no sense in fuck of what to say. That was his thing.

But now all of a sudden this tall Malfoy look-alike, Mr. politeness comes along and steals his thunder. Oh how the tables fucking turn.

Ever since that night on the pitch, it was as if something shifted in Sirius' gut, like one of his gallbladders exploded, leaving him a sweaty, sickly, combusted mess.

The worst part was that he couldn't even find the boy. They shared no classes, never crossed paths, and were in different houses. Bloody hell, even during meals all he could see was the back of his head.

The fact is if they ever were to meet again, what would Sirius say?

He didn't know everything nor did he want to but the point is, Sirius was off. He was just off. He met a boy, the boy took him by surprise, the boy left. That was it. He'd just been a bit on edge lately. No need to make assumptions. End of discussion.

Sirius took in a shaky breath, peeling his eyes away from the back of that wild platinum mane and into the present day.

It was a full moon that night, and except for James, none of the marauders were quite cheerful. Sirius was especially dreading that night, though he tried to stay optimistic, he was slowly losing confidence that they'd be able to pull their Animagus stuff off.

But aside from the Slytherin boy, Mandrake leaves, and overload of school work, what mixed its way into Sirius' churning stomach was Remus Lupin.

From his side, Remus was diligently reading his battered copy of some muggle book Sirius cared no interest for. Though, he could see the droplets of nerving sweat forming by Remus' brows and almost sided with taking a cloth and dabbing them down but refrained from doing so.

Every so often, he'd sneak glances to Remus but never caught his stare. His expression was unreadable, always pretending he was fine and foolishly the others believed him. Sirius didn't.

He knew Remus far too long to fall for his acting trades. Even if he couldn't read his expression he knew that hunched posture, sagged eyes, and chapped lips far too well. He knew that when Remus rubbed his collarbone and scratched at his arm, he was getting angry, or when he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, he was in pain.

They were barely noticeable quirks that Remus did but Sirius could catch them and they spoke louder than any words one could say.

"Think my hair could use some cutting?" James asked, twirling one of his front strands about his forefinger, eyes crossed as he tried to look directly at it.

"James, your hair always needs cutting," Marlene deadpanned, eyeing his untamed raven mane that stood up in odd places as she scribbled down wand movements for Charms. Merlin knows what causes James Potter's hair to be so fucking unmanageable?

"But cutting it isn't going to make it any better," Mary countered behind her mug of tea.

James exaggeratedly gasped as he always did with that coy smirk but gaped mouth and hand clutching his chest in offense. "Macdonald! I thought we were friends?"

Mary shrugged with an innocent smile, "Friends never lie."

"I think I might cut mine shorter," Marlene contemplated.

"Like Anni-Frid!" Mary beamed, running her fingers through Marlene's blonde hair and braiding it loosely so some pieces curled outwards. "You'd look hot with shoulder-length."

Marlene's ears brimmed in redness but no one else seemed to notice but Sirius. "...Yeah, I'll consider it," she managed to softly say, eyes transfixed on Mary's face as the girl mindlessly unbraided and rebraided her hair.

"How about you darlin'?" Mary asked, leaning over the table to catch Remus' attention whose eyes were still glued on his book. "Fancy a trim? I'm real good at 'em."

Sirius turned to the boy next to him, waiting for Remus to respond to Mary who was patiently waiting with that warm smile of hers but knew better than anyone that Remus, just simply, did not give a shit. After a while, Sirius wondered if perhaps he hadn't heard her since his expression was still plain and untampered.

He leaned in, softly whispering, "She asked if you'd-"

"I heard what she said," Remus snapped, voice so deep it was almost unrecognizable. His throat was tellingly dry, words were clogged like he was trying to swallow or suppress something he'd much rather say.

Remus rubbed at his collarbone, that slow, pressured movement Sirius knew all too well. He instinctively shut his mouth and leaned away but continued to watch him, carefully.

"Could you trim mine?" Peter intervened, breaking the heavy silence.

Mary peeled her solemn eyes away from Remus and brightened them when they settled on Peter. "Sure thing love."

The boy chipperly grinned and James ruffled his lifeless blonde hair. Peter attempted to duck but was still tackled, hair statically standing up almost as madly as James' by the end of it.

"What d'you reckon Evans?" he nudged, admiring the fine art he'd created with Peter's hair. "I could be a stylist."

But Lily didn't respond, which was quite normal, except this time Sirius could hear her mumbling incoherent words in that thick midlands accent of hers that he could never understand. She and Remus always spoke so improperly, it drove Sirius and James mad just trying to catch what they discussed in the common room.

"These manky fuckin' gits," he heard her choppily mutter. "Utter maggots." Sirius could hear the diligent and forceful flips of pages from her newspaper, peering up to see Evans with that concentrated gleam in her eyes as her pupils flicked back and forth along the moving words. Her small hands clenched the Prophet so tightly the pages were crinkling, edges slowly tearing.

There had been a small attack on a muggle village that morning, only a few casualties. The Prophet hadn't written much on it, only printing a short headline that appeared in the depth of the back page. Lily was feverishly scanning the paper, searching for any bits of information but the Ministry released nothing much.

"Pity isn't it," Mary painfully sighed, gazing at Lily's copy, hands continuing to work with Marlene's braids.

Lily let out a stressed breath, shaking her head as she reread the same few sentences over and over as if between the lines was more to the story than what was already released. "And they do nothing to stop it."

"Well they've got loads on their plate," Marlene reminded.

Lily's cheeks started to burn up, jaw clenching as her teeth grinded. "Muggles are always a second thought to them."

"I'm sure they'll get 'round to it."

She barked a laugh, almost madly. Sirius could see the patience withering in her crazed green eyes. "Like shit they will!"

The table grew quiet, Mary paused her braiding, James stopped messing with Peter's hair, even Remus gazed up from his book. Little Miss Prefect Evans suddenly curses...well that's a sight. Sirius was officially intrigued.

Mary spoke tenderly but cautiously. "Lils, relax."

"Relax my fuckin' arse," she scoffed, ignoring Mary. Her face was disgusted, reading the Prophet as if it were filled with scumming filth. It was that look his mother gave whenever she passed some muggle-born family or saw Sirius wearing his Gryffindor sweaters. That look of utter appall.

"Evans, I'm sure the Muggle Ministry will deal with it," James reassured, trying to settle her stress but he only made it worse.

Those blazing green eyes of hers shot up from the Prophet and snapped at James who'd fully retreated. "Deal with it?" she spat, expressing a mixture of mortification and shock. Lily got up, snatching her tote, then stormed off, Daily Prophet still tightly gripped in her small hand.

Sirius could make out the crumbled image of the Minister giving a press release but it was gone as Evans had rounded the corner and dashed away. Of course, it wasn't long before Severus caught sight of her bouncing red curls and darted up to follow.

Sirius turned back to the group, expecting to see pity but all he got was blank faces. No one knew how to react because no one had ever heard Lily Evans curse or seen her throw a fit. Yes, they'd been surprised when she'd let loose at the Halloween party but that was different. It was typically James or Sirius who made the dramatic exits but never Evans. She was poised, punctual, not one to broodingly dashing off.

This however was a new side to Lily that Sirius somewhat admired. Shame that the only person who cared to comfort her was a slimy git with oversized tarp robes.

***

Sirius liked walking alone. It was his time to think, reflect, plan out his week...who was he kidding, he hated that shit.

Sirius walked alone when there was nothing else to do but be alone. He couldn't lie, strolling outside was a pastime he very much enjoyed. But in this gloomy Scottish weather where rain pelted down outside and not even a peak of sunlight could be seen, he had no choice but to stroll the echoing castle corridors with nothing but his thoughts and moving portraits for company.

On any other occasion, he'd be alongside James but the boy was serving detention with Madam Pince for charming Lily's usual pick-up books to ask, "Will you go out with me?" and "Don't worry, I've already got reservations at the Leaky Cauldron."

Usually, he'd piss Pince off so he could also be in detention with James but Sirius hated the Library and would rather swim with the Black Laked Squid than shelf battered books for two hours.

Peter was with the girls and if Remus wasn't moping off somewhere then he was probably getting ready to leave for the Whomping Willow. Sirius had considered visiting Reg since they were finally on good terms but his brother was doing Potion revisions with Slughorn.

This left Sirius, once again, alone.

He walked, made mental notes of passageways they could add to their map, counted every crack on the paved floor, talked to some stiff knights who only held up their chins and ignored him, and brushed his hands along the many tapestries.

Sirius kept himself entertained until he eventually got bored but just so happened to stumble down the right corridor when some loud whispering pricked at his hearing.

"Lily it isn't a matter of consequence-"

"Consequence? Consequence?! These are people Sev, families were killed, children were killed! Why doesn't anyone seem to care?"

"Lily, they're Muggles, they don't matter."

"MY PARENTS ARE MUGGLES!" Lily screeched. Sirius peered from around the corner to witness her rounded eyes watering. "My sister is a muggle, I'm a muggle-born, last time I checked your father is one too so don't you dare stand there and tell me they don't matter!" Her cheeks were red in rage, a finger threateningly pointed at Severus' face. She was being towered over by a tall mass of darkness but her voice was strong and dominating enough that Sirius could see Severus shrinking.

"Pick a side, Lily. There's a war going on, the last place you want to be is on the losing one."

"I will do no such thing!" she argued, voice now trembling. Sirius was sure she'd breakdown at any moment, her bottom lip violently quivering but he stayed behind sight's view and watched quietly from the shadows.

"Ever think that those mudbloods had it coming?"

Her face went pale. "Sev..."

"Did you?" He took a half step forward but Lily stayed frozen. "They're like chess pieces Lily, pawns. You must sacrifice some to protect the king."

"Pawns are still vital to the game," she countered.

"But they're weak." This time, Severus took a full step forward but Lily took one back. "The real warriors are the rooks, the knights, the bishops, the king. A world with only them is the greatest world of all."

Lily's voice thinned, hands shaking by her sides. "And what about the queen?"

Severus paused, scanning her up and down, something new filling his eyes that Sirius couldn't understand but it chilled his bones. It wasn't loving or affectionate or angry but...

"The queen can either sacrifice herself or stay with the king."

"You do realize that the queen is the most badarse of them all." Sirius stepped from amidst the shadows, strutting towards the two who'd turned at the voice. Lily's expression tinted in relief whilst Severus was as cold and bare as stone. "The king hides behind the queen, needs her to survive. Without the queen, there is no game and everyone would die," he stated cooly, hands properly behind his back as he glided closer. "Moral is, the queen doesn't need the king."

Severus huffed. "That has nothing to do with this."

"Well, aren't we talking about chess?" Sirius ditzily replied with a coy smirk. From behind, he caught a glimpse of a smile from Lily.

"How about you stuff your nose somewhere else, this doesn't concern you."

"Whatever do you mean?" Sirius probed, quirking his head. He began to prance around Severus until he stood between him and Lily, so light on his feet and oblivious to the annoyance in Snape's inky eyes. A trick of his to lightening any mood was being indirect as fuck. Surprisingly, it worked every time. "I quite fancy a game of chess. Bet I could beat your arse any day." Sirius gave a very charming grin, winking cockily.

The boy stared at him bewildered. "Anyone ever told you you're-"

"Beautiful, stunning, an angel from heaven," he interrupted, batting his eyelashes playfully. Severus' flaring nostrils and clenching fists only encouraged Sirius further. "My, my, would look at the time," he gasped, pulling up his sleeve to check the imaginary watch on his wrist. "Don't you have a hair appointment right about now to clean up that grease of yours?"

Severus' mouth gaped, blank stare darting between Sirius and the small body of Evans who he'd been protectively standing in front of. The silence was only filled with the impatient tapping of Sirius' foot but finally, Severus scoffed, then turned on his heels, greasy hair whipping around, and left dramatically down a corridor, his black robes dragging behind.

"Why did you do that?" Lily demanded once he'd left, arms now crossed.

Sirius turned to face her. "Do what?"

"Help me?"

"He was being a git, I'd do it for anyone."

She stared at him. "But you hate me?"

That left a sting in Sirius' chest. Lily looked up at him, flourishing lime-coloured eyes narrowed and brows sewn, confused, and perusing his every feature.

Was Sirius really that horrible to her? He'd never intended it so. She was- well, she was Evans; James' lifelong love quest, ginger know-it-all who gave the snappiest replies and was never amused by any of their pranks. She only ever spent time with Mary, Marlene, and Severus, never took any interest in the marauders besides Remus, and spent all her days cooped up in the Library. 

She was the first to raise her hand, first to finish a potion, first to master a spell, first to everything. She did it so simply, so perfectly and for a muggle-born, it was especially impressive.

Lily came from that life, that plain, magicless life, and got accepted into the most prestigious wizarding school in all of Europe, having to face the backlash from pureblooded supremacists but still managed to prove them all wrong.

So truthfully, Sirius didn't know what there was to possibly hate.

He looked into her eyes and let his soften, keeping his tone calm and giving a soft smile. Not a cocky smirk or obnoxious grin but a genuinely raw smile. "I don't hate you," he simply spoke. "If anything, I might idolize you."

Lily froze, blinking a few times. She searched his expression, probably waiting for that mocking laugh or snarky comment but nothing came. Sirius was being completely truthful. "Did you just- just compliment me?" she questioned, her cheeks rising in half-smile.

Sirius laughed, "Don't make me repeat it cause it's never happening again."

"Well I'll gladly accept it," she nodded, oddly satisfied.

It was a moment Sirius never would've pictured, the two of them, Hogwarts' know-it-all ginger and rule-breaking playboy actually having a civil conversation.

"Evans," Sirius called as the two made their way to the Gryffindor Tower.

Lily turned to look up at him.

"Back there, my 'queen' reference, I was talking about you."

She smiled and it was like the sun was trapped in a single woman alone. "I know." Lily turned back and promptly walked forward at a quick, snappy pace.

Sirius lagged behind, feeling for the first time in a long time like he was truly happy.

Lily halted from far up, snapping her head around so fast her flaming curls whipped upwards like a gust of wind had broken through them. "Well c'mon, I have rounds to get to," she ushered, sassily resting her hands on her hips.

Sirius didn't suppress the grin that washed over his lips as he jogged to catch up, attempting to sling an arm over Lily's shoulder but she swatted him away and punched his arm.

"Don't get too comfortable Black," she warned.

Sirius rubbed his sore arm, gazing down at her. "Wouldn't dream of it, Evans."

***

The three boys didn't speak, they didn't remind the others about what to do because they knew and were sick of giving false hopes. They just sat quietly and waited for the moon to rise, staring at the wooden floor and holding their crinkly leaves.

Sirius grew up in a home where his parents constantly tried to maintain their superior status amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They'd order him and Regulus to learn the piano, memorize stars in the celestial hemispheres, become fluent in five languages, study the art of chess, and even take ballet lessons.

But one thing in particular that Sirius grew up being forced to do every night was read.

Now Sirius couldn't just read any book, it had to be bible verses.

The funny thing is that his parents weren't even religious. Sirius was just expected to know everything and one of those things was the BC Era and it just so happened that the Bible contained everything one needed to know about that time period.

Of course, his parents didn't order him to just read. No. He had to memorize.

So instead of being able to soothingly sleep, at 10 pm curfew Sirius was expected to be washed and in bed with some ancient scripture open on his lap, diligently reading. But when you recite verses for your entire life, you pick up a thing or two.

One of these things was praying.

It was an old habit that Sirius hadn't done in many years. The last time was when he was around nine or ten. It had been a rough night with his parents, the memory was fuzzy but he knew he was scared and for some reason found himself hiding behind his bed, kneeling with his head against the mattress, and hands clenched so tightly together he thought a vein might pop.

Sirius never knew the proper way to pray, recalling the phrase, "kneeling before the Lord," so that's why he always kneeled. Besides that, he spoke as if God was simply standing before him and they were chatting over some tea and biscuits. It was quite casual.

He prayed for frivolous things; protection and safety from his parents, love from someone in the future, peace for him and his brother.

He prayed for things he knew he'd never get but somehow praying gave him a sense of tranquility. It was like a comforting blanket, putting your trust in someone else for a change instead of having to carry all that weight yourself.

After a while, Sirius stopped because he found no point in doing so since none of it came true.

But at that moment, under the milky light of the full moon, Sirius Black prayed that for once in his fucked up life, he could do this.

He could be like the knight in his game of chess.

He could be valorous and chivalrous. He could help someone other than himself. He could give and take nothing back. He could be completely selfless for him, for Remus.

It's just one month. Help me out here, clear my mind, protect this fucking leaf, possess me if you have to, or whatever it is you do. But do something. Please...

Sirius sighed, placed the leaf in his mouth, and silently went to bed.

Chapter Text

Saturday 29th November 1975

“WAKE UP!” Sirius furiously shook James by the shoulders until he swore he heard a joint pop. “James mother fucking Potter, WAKE UP!”

James groaned deliriously, blankets wrapping him snugly. He attempted to sit up, all hazy and confused with a wild head of hair, but only fell off his bed with a heavy  thump  to the floor. When he managed to find his glasses somewhere on his nightstand, wobbly placed them on, squinted outside, then squinted at the time, he immediately took off his glasses and collapsed back into bed with a dramatic sigh.

Sirius turned abruptly. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sleeping you dolt, it’s 2 am.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, James would get up eventually. Instead, he crossed the room, pulling back Peter’s curtains. “ Peter,”  Sirius sang in a high, Victorian accent like those women who wore puffy ball gowns and pampered white faces. “ Peter Pettigrew…”  He began to prod his cheek but the boy, whose mouth was gapped and snoring deeply, didn’t even twitch. Sirius groaned, then took in a deep breath. “ PETER FUCKING PETTIGREW! ”

Peter’s eyes snapped open, startled in sweat, and darted his gaze every which way until it landed on Sirius’ mischievously grinning face. “Morning babe.”

He blinked. “Sirius…what the fuck?”

Sirius shrugged, kissing his two forefingers and pressing them to Peter’s temple. “Now get up you shit.” He turned on his heels, leaving Peter in bemusement, skipped over to the next bed, and cleared his throat before bellowing, “MOONY WA-”

“I’m already up,” Remus calmly interrupted, drawing back his curtains to reveal his perched body against his headboard as if he’d been awake all along. 

His curls were only slightly tousled and his nightshirt was wrinkled but his eyes, fuck, his bloodshot eyes made Sirius’ heart just halt. If it were possible to paint something in exhaustion then Remus’ eyes would be the canvas. It was as if someone had smeared soot under his lids and then left it to slowly fade. 

Annoyance bubbled up in the pit of Sirius’ stomach, wanting nothing more than to shove a sleeping draught down that boys’ throat so he could get some fucking sleep. But then Remus smiled that fucking Moony smile and Sirius felt all his anger whither into a thin stringed line, forgetting what he’d been so upset about in the first place.

“It’s snowing,” Remus acknowledged with that smart quirk of his brow.

“IS THAT WHY YOU WOKE ME UP? BECAUSE OF SOME BLOODY SNOW!” James yelled from his bed.

Sirius grinned, partly because of the weather then partly because of that fucking smile that always got him so twisted and gitty. “Right indeed, now get your arses up so I can play in some god damn snow!” 

***

It was truly a sight. Four boys all bundled up in coats that made them look double their size, hats smushed on their heads, mittens, scarfs, squeaky rain boots, all because James refused for them to go outside in the ice-cold climate without proper apparel. 

But Sirius didn’t complain one bit because once they’d squeezed under James’ cloak, sneaked outside after hours at three in the morning, and emerged onto the empty grounds, Sirius couldn’t help but feel warmth rush to his freezing cheeks.

It was as if they were trapped in a snow globe, the entire earth sheeted in a foot high of whiteness, small flurries sprinkling down and coating blue spruce trees. The night was black and silent and he could hear the snapping of branches from the Forbidden Forest and yet all of it was the most magical thing he’d ever witnessed.

Sirius tossed his head back and stuck out his tongue, greeted by cold, wet flakes that tasted of nothing but everything at the same time. 

Sometimes when his parents were sleeping or locked in their separate studies, Sirius and Regulus would sneak out in their tailored coats and expensive shoes that definitely weren't waterproof and run through their gardens as snow pelted down and coated every rose bush and ancient bench in sight. 

It would be a blizzard and they’d still be out there, silently laughing and giggling and taking back their childhood. They’d slide like skaters on patches of black ice and throw balls of snow at each other until their noses were red and dripping.

Snow bonded him and his brother. It was what Sirius waited for every year. It was his reminder that there could be war and bloodshed and misery but there would always be some light at the end of their tunnel. They could be happy amid all this sorrow.

Offhandedly, Remus threw snowballs that hurt like hell. Sirius swore that under his mountain of jumpers and turtlenecks, bruises were forming. 

“Oi! Moony you’re throwing fucking  ice! ”   he yelped, rubbing his sore arm. 

Remus snickered deviously, tossing an icy ball back and forth from hand to hand.  

Sirius, at one point, sneaked up behind James and snickered, “Hey Potter!” 

James turned and was met by a large ball of heavy snow to the face, knocking off his glasses and sending him stumbling back. 

Sirius laughed and it was like ripples in a still pond after a stone had been thrown in. It radiated outwards through the other three boys who had, up until that moment, been quite drowsy and half awake. But now, they too began to chuckle and soon the ripples of laughter became waves of hilarity. 

“Oh, you're so dead Black!” James threatened with a broad smile as he balled a mountain of snow in his homemade mittens, flinging it in Sirius’ direction who jumped out of the way and ran for cover.

“MOONY HELP ME!” Sirius begged as James chased him through the grounds, getting splattered with wet snowballs that dripped down his neck and seeped into his clothes.

Remus laughed, amused and watching, Peter by his side who was doubling over in hysterical fits once James had lept and tackled Sirius to the floor. “NOT A FUCKING CHANCE!”

It was a fairytale landscape of grey clouds, snowflakes, and a crescent moon. They made snow angels and forts and a snowman who Sirius named Bowie. Even though they ruined the perfect landscape until it was all dirty slush and footprinted, they truly didn’t care. By the end of it, the marauders were cold and soaked and probably suffering from hypothermia but they were also smiling and laughing and living the type of lives you read about in storybooks.

The entire morning they were a mess of sniffles and sneezes and whipping their noses with the backs of their hands. Ironically enough, James was the one to catch a cold, then gave it to Sirius and Sirius spitefully gave it to Remus and Remus was the merciful one of the group and didn’t give it to Peter. 

They sat cold and shivering in the common room in front of the blazing fire that was doing nothing to settle their chills, wrapped in blankets Mrs. Potter had sent them after suspecting they’d been out after the first snowfall of the year.

“I can’t feel my hands,” Peter groaned, palms open towards the fire.

Remus was all nasally and stuffy, hugging his blanket tighter around his shivering limbs. “I can’t feel my feet.”

Sirius would’ve complained that his nose was clogged so much it felt like two feathered quills had shot up his nostrils but his teeth were clattering so much he couldn’t form the words.  

“Mum’s sending some soup,” James sniffed to lift spirits, nose red and cheeks flushed. 

“Bless her,” Sirius thanked.

And it just so happened that the day the marauders were neck-deep in colds, it was the scheduled Diagon Alley trip they’d been waiting for, for weeks. 

So each boy was wrapped cozily in the sweaters Mrs. Potter had owled over with the soup but even through Sirius’ coughs and sneezes, he kept his tongue tightly pressed against the roof of his mouth, trapping the Mandrake leaf from any form of escape. When Sirius promised that he wouldn’t fuck up again, he meant it. Not even a cold would put a damper on his promise.

This was all for Remus, it was all for the greater good. Sirius just had to keep telling himself that.  For the greater good, for the greater good…   

Diagon Alley was crooked and crowded but swarming in life as the holidays approached. Dripping icicles clung from shop signs, the morning crips snow melting from thatched rooftops and storefronts where dried pine wreaths were hanging on doors. Every witch and wizard carried bags and boxes, streets packed and rising in smoke from the cold air.

Each marauder peeled off in separate ways; Remus to Flourish and Botts, Peter to Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop, James to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Sirius just roamed. They’d all planned to reconnect at The Leaky Cauldron where the girls were saving seats. 

Sirius bought a gift for each of his friends, even Evans, which came to him by surprise when he’d spotted a lily flower brooch by the checkout counter and thought,  the ginger might like that. 

He was looking at globed moon displays when glossy black hair hidden under a wool beret appeared in the reflexing of the window pane. Sirius turned around and instantly recognized the small boy wrapped in a lavishly expensive overcoat and cashmere scarf, gazing up and around at the wonderland of Diagon Alley.

“Reggie!”

Regulus stopped, turning on his heels and when his face used to wince at Sirius’ presence now it only remained neutral. Sirius considered that improvement. “That’s not my name,” his brother irritably reminded, his aristocratic voice indignant.

“Did you see the snow?”

Regulus’s eyes lit up for a brief second but then sizzled. He motioned around to the cottages and restaurants that were all covered in sheets of snow, implying a ‘no shit.’ 

“Imagine Mother right now,” Sirius chuckled, picturing his mother aggressively casting cleaning spells at anything that was lightly sprinkled on and ordering Kreacher to shut every curtain that allowed view to the blizzard outside.

Regulus sighed, breath coming out in cold plumes. “She hates the snow.”

“Hates anything that brings joy.”

“Remember when she hexed those muggle carolers to sing like toads?” 

Sirius bursted out a laugh. “Best Christmas ever!”

Regulus's expression was semi-lightened. “I wouldn’t say the  best  but it was highly entertaining to watch as she screamed her head off.”

When their amusement died down, there was a stiff silence as the two stood amongst one another but oddly enough it wasn’t awkward. If anything, it didn’t feel right to part ways, at least not yet. 

“Oi, Black!” 

Both brothers turned to surname only to be met by a pale, freckled-faced young boy whose straw-coloured hair had specks of snow in it and face was distorted by a scowl. Sirius truly didn’t understand why the fuck his brother hung out with Barty Crouch. That kid was the most twisted little shit out there. 

“The fuck are you two doin’?” the young boy spat in disgust, like the sight of two brothers having a civil conversation was something out of the ordinary.

Talking, you incessant piece of shit.  Sirius bit back his tempting words.

Regulus jumped in. “Just wait for me by the Apothecary.”

“I’ll wait here,” Barty dismissed, arms crossed and tapping his foot in impatience.

“Crouch, why don’t you fuck off for a bit, eh?” Sirius groused, flipping the boy off. 

Regulus sighed, grimly. “No, I should go.”

Sirius turned back around, eyes longing. He wanted to ask,  “Why?”  or better yet, tell him to stay but that was pushing their affectionate limits. Instead, he solemnly nodded, giving a meek grin. His brother gave a weak but trying half-smile and moved past to leave. 

Something built up in Sirius like a rope was tied around his heart and being tightened. He knew he and his brother were on decent terms but watching him leave, let alone him leaving with Barty Crouch, just struck a nerve. 

Even though Regulus was going to a potions shop, Sirius saw this moment as his last. Like the future was flashing before his eyes and his brother was leaving him. He still had so much he wanted to say.

But as Sirius’ motto was: Do the scary thing first then get scared later.

He held his breath. “Tu me manque.”

Regulus froze in the bustle of wizards and witches, stiff and unmoving in a sea of rush. Of course, no one reacted the same way because no one else spoke French.

That was the beauty of their native language; they could say what they needed to say without others intruding. Only they had to know the truth. 

Slowly turning around, Regulus’s eyes were rounded and aloof but they were the eyes of a child who’d never heard the phrase, at least not from his older brother. Sirius thought he might’ve regretted saying it as soon as the words were spoken but he didn’t. Somehow, it felt right. Like something long overdue.

Regulus's lips stayed lined, a blank expression but his eyes smiled and they were full. “Je suis là.”

Sirius pouted, then called out again as their distance grew. “Tu me manque!”

“Au revoir Sirius,” Regulus replied with fresh laughter mangled in his words. 

Sirius smiled to himself as his brother left, disappearing in the crowd.  At least I said it.

As he bumped a few shoulders to make way towards James, he spotted from his peripheral vision a slick, black-draped body slipping into the cobblestoned path of Knockturn Alley. Sirius always made sure to steer clear of it, never paid much mind even when he’d been taken in there with his parents. It was cold and dark-natured, not a sliver bit as welcoming as Diagon Alley was. 

The people who roamed there were unusual and dangerous, shops devoted to the dark arts and twisted regimes. So when he locked eyes with a familiar silvery pocket watch dangling from the man's coat pocket, Sirius heard every noise grow quiet.  Could it really be...him?  Though the man was already gone before he had the chance to see his face, immersed into the shadows and Sirius knew better than to follow.

James was waiting for him at the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron with a joyous smile. He clasped Sirius’ shoulder, giving a squeeze before they shook off their colds and entered the loud pub.

The tavern was warm, homey, and a bit smokey, filled with tipsy bearded men, old witches who were drinking sherry, and chattering school kids. In the very back was their group; Mary, Marlene, Lily, Remus, Peter, and some new bloke that Mary was snuggled next to, all having pints of whipped butterbeer and sharing a bowl of crisps.

“Sirius!” Peter cheered, raising his mug, the butterscotch liquid sloshing out and splattering on the wooden table. 

Sirius waved a hand as they approached, then discreetly leaned over to James and whispered, “Is he drunk?”

James bit back a laugh. “Let’s just say, on the verge of it.” 

Mary jumped up, dragging her friend along with her who towered over everyone else. He was muscular and fit with bronze skin and thick black bushy eyebrows that hooded his beady eyes. His clothing seemed so tight against his broad shoulders and Sirius wondered whether the right movement would cause something to rip.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Ivan yet?” Mary smiled brightly, proudly interlocking their fingers. “Sirius this is Ivan, my boyfriend, Ivan this is Sirius, a dramatic rich arse.” 

Ivan extended a muscled hand that could probably knock Sirius out with one swing. “Hello, Sirius.” His accent was thick and rough, Russian without a doubt but nothing about his expression had taken Mary’s attempted joke humorously. 

Sirius accepted his hand but almost yelped when Ivan’s strong grip shook firmly and crushed his slender fingers. “N-Nice to meet you,” he croaked, biting on his tongue. 

Mary bounced on her toes. “Ivan just transferred from Durmstrang.”

“Brilliant!” Sirius grinned, the veins in his hand pounding.

As soon as he was able to escape the tight grasp, Sirius slid along the booth in between Remus and Lily, gratefully accepting a pint of butterbeer.

“Evans,” Sirius subtly nodded, taking a small sip from his drink.

Her hair was up in a messy bun, strands of red curls pillowing down and framing her face. She gave him a discrete smile that only someone as close as Sirius was could’ve seen. “Black,” Lily winked.  

And that’s how they left it.

The conversation for the next hour was solely questions for Ivan, all coming from James who’d grown an obsession for the bloke after finding out he was the new beater for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. They talked and joked and though Ivan had the comedic range of a teaspoon, he still managed to gruff some stiff laughs.

The entire lot of them were drinking, chatting in pairs, and eating greasy crisps, Peter delirious and falling asleep on Remus’ shoulder but all the while Marlene was unmoving. She just sat there with glassy eyes, receded into her own bubble, hugging her mug of butterbeer like it was the only thing left to provide safety.   

Sirius would lightly kick her under the table to get her riled up a bit and usually, Marlene kicked back and told him to “piss off” but this time she didn’t. 

“Marls,” he whispered in a growing concern but Marlene didn’t meet his stare, she just excused herself to the loo but never came back.

James held a fixed, perusing gaze, similar to McGonagall when she eyed Sirius in detention. “Chudley Cannons or Holyhead Harpies?”

“Do  not  answer that,” Sirius warned, knowing how insulted James could get at the wrong answer. 

Ivan stayed stiff in his chair. “I actually prefer the Heidelberg Harriers.”

“Oh so you’re like  European,  European,” James critically analyzed with a nod of his head.

Mary scooped up a dollop of foam from her mug and licked it. “Potter, stop psychoanalyzing my boyfriend.”

“He’s fresh meat, I can’t help it.”

Even though The Three Broomsticks was clamored in people and sounding in clicking mugs and barking laughs, it wasn’t until the ring of the entrance bell caught Sirius’ attention did he look up and-

Fuck.

He almost flew up and out of his seat on impulse if it wasn’t for the sane part of his brain that snapped him out of his startle. 

Sirius tried to sip his butterbeer as a means of distraction, letting the sweet sugar run down his throat as the cold, soaked glass cooled his hand and shielded himself with Ivan’s large body but after weeks of not seeing the boy and beating himself up about the night on the pitch, his temptations got the best of him. 

Sirius' eyes draped up, met with that messy, platinum hair that curled slightly at the ends. He was dressed like those princes on royal muggle tabloids, fine tailored clothing, linings hand sewn but a mix of wealthy and casual. He wore a plain, white collared shirt whose cuffs were rolled to his elbows but tucked in slim-fit trousers that hadn’t even a hair of lint. Nothing was wrinkled or stained, not even a lump in his pockets. Simply refined and sickening to see. 

Sirius wondered how the hell that boy wasn’t shivering due to his lack of coat or warm attire but his porcelain skin wasn’t goosebumped or red in chills but as white as the frost that iced the tavern windows.

The boy lounged by the pub counter, sweet-talking the witch who was tending the bar. Her cheeks were flustered in a blush, laughing girlishly at whatever he was saying and his friends surrounded him like he was an ancient Renaissance painting at an open gallery. 

Even though Sirius could only see his backside - wondering to Merlin if he’d ever properly see his face - it was somewhat comforting to know that all of this wasn’t in his head. Sometimes Sirius wondered whether it had been a dream like he'd never met the Slytherin boy and was just really high that night. 

But he was real, in the fucking flesh. Part of Sirius wanted to punch him in the face, another wanted to get off his arse and talk to him, and the other wanted to keep his distance. His thoughts were clashing, fighting on what to do and what not to do. 

So while he was internally screaming at himself, Sirius could only sit in his seat, trapped in a conversation he’d long forgotten about, and helplessly stare.  

Let's just say, observing the boy talk from another point of view was oddly entertaining. His posture was perfect, never hunched or sluggish, as if a ruler was clipped up his back. But he moved with ease, sat with class, talked with what must’ve been high expression because he never used his hands. 

The witch laughed and laughed, snorted once, and covered her mouth in an apologetic embarrassment but the boy fed off her joy, giving more and more until she was red-faced and wheezing. 

All Sirius could think of was,  a Malfoy with humor? A Malfoy with personality? Is he even a fucking Malfoy?

The boy tricked Sirius left and right and not having a name to put to his face made the moment evermore dire. 

But even in the crowded pub, as his vision was being blocked by smoke from long pipes, waiters balancing stacks high of tipping dishes, little old passing witches with pointy hats that buried their faces, Sirius continued to latch onto that platinum mane and never once let his eyes fall. 

“D’you know him?”

Sirius snapped his head around so fast he got whiplash, receding his stare as if what he’d been looking at was dirty and disgraceful. It truly felt that way. “What?” he blurted. His heart began to palpitate two beats too fast.

Remus didn’t repeat himself, instead, he stared at Sirius with those brown eyes of his that flickered in honey from the crackling fire in the wonky build mantle. It lit up his sandy hair and fair skin making them golden and warm but the other side of his face was shadowed and cold due to the broken oil lamp that hung from above. 

“Never mind,” he dismissed and they both turned in opposite directions, Remus down at his empty pint and Sirius back at the pub counter where the Slytherin boy once stood but was now gone.

He felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Chapter Text

Friday 5th December 1975

There are three things to know about James Fleamont Potter in the James Fleamont Potter: A Guide to Usage and Handling, that Sirius had compiled when he was twelve and bored out of his mind in detention.

1. James  Fleamont Potter is a hopeless romantic for Lily Evans.

2. James Fleamont Potter is a mama’s boy.

3. James Fleamont Potter, with the right persuasion, will do anything you want if a double chocolate chip cookie is involved.

4. James Fleamont Potter loves Quidditch - follow up - James Fleamont Potter HATES losing a match!

5. James Fleamont Potter may act like he’s high and running on Felix Felicis all the time but trust me, that’s just how the arse always is.

This list goes on and on for a good eighteen more pages, front and back, but #4 is the most relevant to Sirius’ current situation.

James was, quite frankly, terrifying before Quidditch games. He’d run around muttering to himself madly like he’d been living on solid black coffee for the past forty-eight hours, which he was.

The night before, James had kept Sirius up planning out tactical strategies and formations, making Remus run muggle probabilities on how successful each of them was deemed to be.

It was probably the first time in his life that Sirius saw Remus wear his aviator glasses, back hunched over a notepad and scribbling some odd Egyptian symbols that scattered around the page. His notes were messy, like all notes he took were, but in the end, there was a “thirty-nine percent” circled aggressively at the bottom of the page, followed by Remus taking off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighing, “James, you’re fucked.”

Let’s just say, James didn’t take it lightly.

It was a long and exhausting night but finally, the morning came and Sirius was able to fuel up on a large mug of steaming coffee while listening to his mates' agonizing rambles.

James had a large scroll at his display, sketching out the pitch and little doodles of each player, arrows indicating where each person would be positioned in splotchy quill ink with a platter of fruit beside him that he hadn’t so much as touched. “But if the twins do the Hawkshead Attack formation with Wood in the center then they’d be able to maintain the Quaffle long enough for Black and McKinnon to blow the Bludgers towards the other Hufflepuff Chasers in a Doublebeater Defence…” At this point, James was talking complete nonsense to himself and Sirius was growing a headache having to hear it. “But the Chelmondiston Charge might be more useful for Gavin who’d do a-”

“Holy fuck James!” Sirius blurted, the migraine pounding in his head growing increasingly more boggling. “Can you just shut your trap for a second and let me drink my coffee in peace.”

James ignored him. “I’m trying to plan out the match which is far more important.”

Sirius sharply gasped. “Do not insult my coffee like that!”

“Might I remind you what happened in the last match?” he hinted, setting down his quill to look Sirius in the eyes. “And might I remind you that I’m the Captain?”

“James,” he sighed, setting down his mug and rubbing his temple. “I really don’t give a damn if you’re Captain or the Queen of bloody England. You kept me up all night listening to your rant and Remus talk muggle crap so I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Now, I ask of you, please, give me some fucking silence while I finish my coffee?”

James scoffed, sealing his lips and muttering some childish insult under his breath, going back to his sketching.

Marlene appeared at James’ side, far away from her usual spot in between Mary and Sirius. Her blonde honey hair was limp and lifeless, tied up and cinched with a rubber band to form a ponytail that cascaded down her back. Crimped strands flew loose and disheveled outwards, almost as matted as James’.

“Hey Marls,” Sirius grinned, leaning over to catch her eyes but they stayed down, trained to the rings on the wooden table that she traced with her finger. Sirius tried again. “Marls?”

Marlene looked up, expression blank and vacant. It was like she’d passed on but her body hadn’t realized.

“HIYA JAMES!” two pairs of deep, witty voices called in unison. The twins appeared, plopping down on either side of Sirius which pulled him away from his words. They both had eager expressions, mischievous but secretive, hands fiddling and legs bouncing in anxiousness. “Guess what?”

James looked back and forth between the both of them, recognizing their telling smirks and glistening eyes, the same type of face Sirius made when announcing a finalized prank. He groaned, rubbing his palm against the back of his tense neck. “What?”

“We have news,” Arrow admitted, a drop in his tone that indicated it wasn’t good news. James perked up, eyes flashing in alert.

Lance and Arrow shared a devious look before Lance licked his lips. “Turns out we aren’t playing the Hufflepuffs, we’re playing the Ravenclaws.”

James stayed still for a good while, staring at the twins in silence before shock leached into his rounded eyes. He looked like he was about to explode. “What?”

“Yep,” Lance nodded, popping a grape in his mouth from the assortment of fruit on James’ plate.

Arrow leaned against Sirius’ shoulder, making himself more comfortable than welcomed but he noticed just then that over the twins’ knitted maroon Quidditch sweaters were two identical pendants. Lance had a black swirl and Arrow had a white one, both hanging on twined chains that were polished and sparkled in the morning sun. Seemingly two halves that if pieced together, like light and dark combined, would form a contrasting circle.

Arrow snuggled in closer and Sirius had the urge to shove him off. “Liam was gonna tell you but we preferred to do it ourselves.”

“Rather fancied to see the havoc unfold,” Lance grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

The twins were exceptionally calm compared to James who’d crumbled up his parchment on the pitch layout. His eyes were buzzing, probably from all the coffee he’d downed without any sleep. “But this- this changes the entire formation!” James cried. “We’ve only ever practiced for the Hufflepuffs, all of our plays were in preparation for the bloody Hufflepuffs! Can they do this? Can they actually fucking do this?!”

“Hooch holds the power,” Arrow shrugged, unfazed. Sirius wondered if either of them ever took matters seriously?

James ran a shaking hand through his raven mess of hair that became even more distressed the more he touched it, pacing back and forth, people were beginning to stare. He tried to take a breath, calming himself. “How much time till the match?”

The twins both checked their imaginary watches, always so synchronized without having to plan. It freaked Sirius out. “No clue.”

James flailed his hands in distress, storming out of the hall.

“But don’t worry Potter!” Lance called out as James rounded the corner, chipperly smiling as his voice projected. “We’re such that pretty little head of yours will figure something out!”

***

Do you know that feeling when someone talks complete shit about you in front of your face and part of you wants to intervene but the other can only stare? You feel impelled and cowardly?

Well, that’s what James had written on his face as Liam and Sirius argued in the Quidditch locker room before the match, heated and red-faced, their voices straining.

Sirius was never good with impulse control. Especially with his parents, he’d always snap back, always had to have the final word even if it costed him a blow. So when Liam started prodding around about how the team was going to lose because James couldn’t keep his head screwed on long enough to formulate some sort of plan, Sirius couldn’t hold himself back.

“Might as well pull out before we make fools of ourselves,” Liam fumed.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Well fuck Wood, thanks for the optimism.”

“He’s Captain and not even doing the bloody job some idiotic professor assigned him to do!” 

Liam addressed James as if he wasn't standing across the room which only infuriated Sirius further. Didn't he have some common decency? Sirius gritted his teeth, feeling his jaw click. “McGonagall isn’t idiotic.”

“Well, she sure as hell didn’t have her glasses on right when she chose him to be Captain.”

“Or maybe you’re just a jealous git,” he spat, anger spiking.

Liam barked a malicious laugh and Sirius had the itching desire of bunching him squarely and breaking that perky little nose of his but he only tightened the clench in his fist. “Oh please! Everything he gets is handed to him on a silver fucking platter.”

Up until this point, James was silent. He’d taken in every insult with a civility only he could hold. But people could only handle the pressure for so long before they snapped. James, inevitably, snapped. “Well then, what’s your plan?”

Everyone turned their heads to see James standing tall and strong with his goggles dangling around his neck and broom handle so tightly gripped that the wood was sure to be splintering his fingers but his face was relaxed, cooly collected. James didn’t look at anyone else but Liam, shutting off all other noises as he slowly stepped forward and Sirius moved out of the way.

“If you're gonna talk shit about me losing my mind and not being a suitable Captain, then what's your plan?” James’ tone was sharp enough to make you bleed and his narrowed eyes were no different. They sought out Liam’s threat and returned it with nothing but silence.

The team waited but Liam didn’t respond, instead, he sucked his teeth and met the eye leveled stare James was so aggressively enforcing.

James stepped closer and closer until there was no room left between them. Everyone held their breaths. You could cut the tension that filled the hushed room with a butter knife.

“You want a plan, Wood? Here’s a fucking plan,” James sarcastically smiled, a wittiness in his suppressed anger. “Rain hell on them. Go ballistic, mad, fucking mental for all I care.” He stepped even closer so his whispering words could only be heard by Liam but by the looks of his paling face, after James had finished, Sirius was sure whatever he'd said wasn't pleasant.

James shoved past to leave, bumping Liam hard on the shoulder right as the Gryffindor team was announced.

Sirius was internally applauding as he followed right behind, flipping Liam off before he mounted his broom.

***

Maybe the fight in the locker room had done their team some good because Wood and the Welsh twins were like firecrackers on their brooms, leaving behind a trail of smoke. Sirius didn’t think they’d ever even dropped the Quaffle since the beginning of the game, Liam having it protectively nudged under the pit of his arm as Lance and Arrow flew on either side for defense.

The Gryffindor team didn’t play in pursuit of victory but were serged by anger like a fire was lit under their arses. It was printed on each of their sweating faces and creased foreheads.

“ANOTHER POINT TO GRYFFINDOR!” Klaus’s voice rattled over the megaphone which was a phrase he’d been saying almost every second.

If Sirius thought Ivan was intimidating in person then he was double that impression on his broom. Sirius gulped down his pride as the large, hunky boy stared him down, bat twisting and tightening in his grip. It was only when a Bludger came hurtling towards his side and Ivan didn’t so much as look at it before swinging his arm outwards so his bat collided with the ball did Sirius think, oh I’m so fucked…

Half of the stands were navy blue and bronze, the other red and gold, but amongst his friends was a Mary who stood out the most, proudly wearing a “Gryffinclaw” sweater. She’d sewn two halves of both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw attire to support both her boyfriend’s side and her own house, ruining one of Sirius’ old Quidditch jumpers that he'd lent her in the process.

The wind was cold and crisp, burning Sirius’ eyes as he sped along the length of the pitch but as soon as he caught sight of James swerving around each of the posting stands, he froze midair.

James' hand was extended out towards the fluttering snitch, leaning in on his broom to increase his speed. His hair flapped widely behind, gloved fingers inching closer and closer and everyone already knew.

They held their breaths.

Sirius didn’t even bother hitting the Bludger that had ramed past his left because his hands were too busy clapping and yelling as loudly as his lungs could bear. “YES! FUCKING HELL, YES JAMES YOU BLOODY BASTARD!”

The stands erupted in cheers, flags waving, and stomping of feet as everyone stood up. A smile tore through James’ face, broad and beaming as he held the snitch proudly above for everyone to see. He spun around on his broom, looping and hanging upside down, doing tricks for ages that only encouraged the applauds further.

Klaus was dancing around the commentator box, McGonagall by his side and clapping her slightly cupped hand with a smile on her poised lips, trying to conceal her thrill. “JAMES POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! 150 POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR! THEY’VE WON THE MATCH!”

In a matter of seconds, the grassy pitch was being flooded by cheering Gryffindors, swarming in with their banners and lion headwear. They clapped and hooted, shoving and congratulating each member of the team. Sirius shook hands and accepted praises from people he’d never met but did it all with his pearling smile and dazzling charm.

There were so many people, so many voices that Sirius almost missed the one boy in the very back who stood postured and refined, hands behind his back and glowing with a witty, golden smile.

Sirius was being shoved around, clapped on the back, talked to, and ruffled by hands he didn’t know but his face was no longer cheering with them. It was still and waiting as his eyes finally met with another.

A sky blue.

“Congratulations,” he mouthed, and even though Sirius’ hearing was being blown out by all the noise, the boys’ words seemed to travel over all the celebration and fill Sirius’ anticipating ears. He could picture it, that same expensive voice that once beautifully laughed, “See you ‘round pretty boy.”

And there his heart went again, palpitating two beats too fast.

“Come ‘ere you knob!” James chuckled, tackling Sirius in an engulfing, energetic hug and ruffling his finely combed hair. Sirius tried to wrangle off and go back to those eyes, those blue, watery, intoxicating eyes that he’d been waiting for what felt like months to see.

But finally, when Sirius managed to slip away and dodged up and around, frantically searching amongst the crowd, the boy was gone. Yet those eyes, like full blue moons, perfectly remained in his memory.

Sirius paused, mouth going completely dry. He realized, at that moment, that something wasn’t right. He wasn’t right.

His stomach felt like it was flipping, like he was going to be sick. Part of him wanted to scream and claw his insides out while the other wanted to hide and never come back out until spring woke the earth.

Sirius was, as you might call it, falling down a rabbit hole. But the funny part was, he liked falling.

In all honesty, he was changing and it wasn’t that he was too stubborn or ignorant or oblivious to see it. It was just that he was scared. Sirius hated change, he hated losing himself or gaining parts that weren’t familiar. He was frightened and confused and until he could realize what this really was, why his heart stuttered like a misgeared clock and palms sweated whenever “pretty boy” repeated in his head, he’d put it off for as long as possible.

That’s just what Sirius Black did.

***

If he was ‘falling’ then he intended to fall until he crashed but Sirius surely wasn’t going to let some Slytherin bloke ruin a perfectly good party.

The common room was blinding in flashes of red and gold fluorescent lights, everyone drunkenly choiring, “We Are The Champions,” over and over until the record fizzed into statics and they restarted the needle. It’s all they played but no one seemed to be getting sick of it.

I’ve paid my dues

Time after time

James was riding his broom around the ceiling, doing all sorts of looping tricks with his tie fastened around his forehead like a bandana while Lily reprimanded him from bellow screeching, “Potter, get down, you’ll break your neck!” and Remus was by her side completely losing his shit.

Peter was collecting money from a bet he’d placed earlier that afternoon on who would win, a sly smirk playing his lips as kid after kid dumped sickles in his waiting palm.

Ivan was on the couch, seemingly unfazed by the Ravenclaw loss as his face was being smothered by Mary who grappled onto his body in a straddling position.

I’ve done my sentence

But committed no crime

Sirius fished the drink table, pouring himself some odd blue liquid that rose a smoky mist. He smelled it before taking a sip and immediately spat it back into his cup, coughing and chugging half a cup of water as it tasted like what imagined would be goblin piss.

“Hey, Lily.”

Sirius lifted his gaze across the room, spotting Lily leaning against a wall and Liam sauntering towards her. There was a light sweat from the heated room dripping from the veins in his neck.

Lily turned, a friendly smile rising her cheeks as he approached. “Wood,” she nodded.

“Would you like me to refresh your drink?” he offered, pointing to the clearly filled cup in her hand.

She pulled the cup closer to her chest, covering the open top with her hand. “No thank you,” she firmed.

A quick flash of panic crossed his eyes as if that wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for. “I saw you in the stands,” Liam mentioned, trying a new approach. He leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice to be flirtatious but Sirius only found it cringing. “You looked ravishing.”

Lily’s green eyes widened in a fluster all the while James tentatively watched from a distance. He’d pulled the tie off his head, crumbling it in a ball and shoving it in his back pocket. His once boisterous smile was now dejected.

Sirius walked over to where he was positioned, dark in a corner, shadowed. “Hey, you alright James?”

He stared for a second longer at Lily and Liam who’d grown closer in distance before taking in a sharp breath and letting his gaze fall. His fists unclenched. James met Sirius’ patient eyes, pressing a trying smile. “Of course.”

Here’s the thing, people think that you’re happy when you smile but it’s the easiest thing to do. Sirius smiled his whole life away and no one noticed the tears in his eyes. So in reality, the eyes are where the truth lies.

When Sirius looked at James, his lips were smiling but his eyes weren’t. In his eyes, he saw a scared, lonely, lovesick boy who was drowning for a girl he’d never even kissed. He saw a boy losing the heart of the one girl he’d ever loved, even when the heart was never his to take. But she’d taken his and didn’t even know it.

Sirius saw all this but didn’t want to prod. Instead, he clasped James’ shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. “Let’s get a beer, shall we?”

And bad mistakes

I’ve made a few

The common room was cramped and hot with teens jumping and dancing and ripping their voices to sing. Sirius was inevitably dragged into the chaos yet couldn’t help but notice that Marlene wasn’t there.

He turned every which way, asked around, even parted a blonde that strikingly resembled Marlene who was in the middle of snogging Lance but it wasn’t her.

No one knew where she was, so as much as Sirius hated doing it, he left the party, being begged not to leave by some drunk, slurring girls but he just flashed a charming smile, kissed their knuckles, and winked, “I’ll be back.”

I’ve had my share of sand kicked in my face

But I’ve come through

At night, the castle was quite serene; footsteps echoing through the deserted, dingy halls as portraits snored, sleeping against their frames. Sirius didn’t even bother taking James’ cloak even though it was after curfew.

Eventually, after half an hour of searching, Sirius found Marlene leaning against the railing of the Astronomy Tower, a half-empty bottle of bourbon being casually sipped. She had that same distant gleam in her eyes from when they’d been at the Leaky Cauldron, only this time, they sagged in sorrow.

Sirius cautiously made his way to her side but Marlene didn’t look at nor acknowledge his presence. Her cheeks were stained, red and glossy from fresh tears. The moon reflected in them.

But like before, as he’d seen in James, the eyes are where the truth lies. And in Marlene’s eyes, there was a battle. There was a war in her head. And from the way she extracted herself from life, she may be fighting but she was losing. It was only a matter of time before she broke.

“Marls,” Sirius whispered, afraid a voice any louder might shatter her fragile body.

Marlene swallowed hard, took a long sip from her bottle, winced slightly before offering it to Sirius. An invitation.

And we mean to go on and on and on and on

Sirius wasn’t much of a drinker depending on his state. Currently, he was doing quite fine and didn’t want to get as plastered as he had at the Halloween party when he’d thrown up his mandrake. But still, he accepted the bottle and took a measured sip before handing it back to Marlene, the alcohol stinging his throat with a sweet touch as it traveled down.

We are the champions, my friends

And we’ll keep on fighting till the end

They stayed quiet, Sirius trying to muster up the right words without sounding like a complete arse and Marlene finishing off the last of her bourbon. She let the empty bottle fall to the floor.

“Ready to talk?” Sirius asked.

Marlene looked out at the castle, the forest, the lake; a distant glow from a window lantern lightening the tips of her hair. She looked as if searching for answers but drummed up nothing.

She shrugged.

We are the champions

We are the champions

Sirius was shit at comforting people, let alone girls. One wrong move and Marlene might cry and the last thing Sirius needed was a sobbing girl at his feet. Fuck, why can’t James be here?

“I’ll tell you,” she suddenly spoke, soft and shaking, purposely avoiding his stare. “But when I’m ready.”

Sirius nodded, watching as the moon lit her sun-kissed skin, making Marlene ghostly and transparent. “I can wait.”

No time for losers

Cause we are the champions of the world

Chapter Text

Thursday 18th December 1975

“Do we really have to do this now?” Peter complained.

“Yeah we have essays to write,” James added.

Sirius waved them off. “You bussy arses need some relaxation.”

James turned his head around. “You consider this relaxation?”

He shrugged. “A form of it.”

Truthfully, Sirius didn’t drag his friends out of bed to go roaming at twelve-thirty in the morning because he wanted to relax. He, of all people, hated getting up at ungodly hours.

Yet if Sirius slept, he’d be alone with his thoughts, and all week he’d been trying to keep himself busy to avoid that exact issue.

There were multiple things he’d been trying to push aside and deal with later like the fact that his mother expected him to be home for the holidays and…him. Sirius didn’t even want to mention the usual name he referred to him by, even that seemed scandalous in some strange way.

But Merlin was it hard not to think about him.

It was impossible for Sirius to sleep and not picture those blue mooned eyes. It was impossible for Sirius to eat and not glance up at the table across from him. It was impossible for Sirius to focus on his work and not hear “pretty boy” echoing in his head. And it was impossible for Sirius to understand why this was happening. 

Sometimes he wanted to curl up in a ball under his heap of blankets and cry. It sounded dramatic, pathetic even but new things never ran well with Sirius. He wasn’t good at “different.” He liked the way things were, always did, and always would. But this…this was toying with him, mocking him in a way.

He didn’t know what this was and he didn’t want to know so Sirius just kept himself distracted until he wore himself out, running from his thoughts for as long as possible.

One of those distractions was this. Four boys crammed under James’ cloak, venturing the hollow halls of their school so they could fill out the map they’d been stalling on finishing.

They ventured as many corridors as they could manage, marking down every classroom, tapestry, portrait, cupboard, and stairwell they passed. James was taking the lead, scribbling and sketching everything down, claiming he was the most “artistically inclined” of the group which Sirius found to be complete bullshit.

“Someone quiz me on Potions,” Peter asked, having been a sack of nerves all week for their Potions exam tomorrow.

“What’s an Invigoration Potion and list the ingredients,” Remus questioned.

Peter groaned, wracking his memory. “Er, it’s- it has something to do with energy.”

“Boosting energy,” Remus corrected, very matter of factly. Sirius couldn't help but smirk.

“Right, boosting energy and the ingredients are…dried billywig stings, scurvy grass, peppermint…” He trailed off, scrunching his face to remember but he let his head fall forwards. “Blimey, I can’t remember.”

“Pete, you’re gonna do great. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” James reassured with a soothing tone, always so optimistic. 

Peter huffed. “You’re one to talk, have the bloody brain of a-”

But Sirius couldn’t catch the end of what Peter said next because something, up ahead, had caught his attention. It was a tall blur but darker against the darkness. Sirius quirked his head. It was still, probably a knight but why would a knight be patrolling? Knights never patrolled?

He squinted through the night, swearing he was seeing something in the shadowed distance.

A pair of footsteps presented and from what Sirius knew about the way he and his friends walked, it wasn’t one of theirs.

Sirius stopped moving.

Remus, who’d been behind him, stumbled to a halt. “Oi! What the fu-” But he paused mid-sentence as his head shot up, ears pricking to the sound.

James stopped too, folding up the map, causing Peter to crash into him.

Instantly, as if they’d all thought the same thing, the marauders shuffled back and pressed themselves against the nearest wall when a body immersed from the shadows and came towards them. Whoever it was walked slowly without sound, gliding like the floor was waxed. No ropes draped behind them but their face was obscured by night's cloak so Sirius couldn't recognize any distinctive features.

Peter leaned a bit forward, squinting. “Who is-”

Remus slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling Peter’s words as he pushed him back and Sirius internally cringed. Pete, I fucking swear...

The marauders stared wide-eyed, holding their breaths in suspense as the shadowed figure began to pass but it hesitated and paused directly in front of them as if sensing a presence.

Sirius heard a muffled gasp from Peter behind Remus’ large, covering hand.

The person turned, slowly, head twisting around until it faced the four cloaked boys.

Even though the castle was pitch-black and Sirius couldn’t so much as see his own two feet, he felt the pressure of eyes watching him, staring at him. It was dark, unwelcoming, vile, sending his heart in a scarce thunder of beats. It was as if the figure could see directly through their cloak and into Sirius’ soul.

The person stayed there, presumably contemplating in silence. Sirius pushed his head closer against the hard stone wall and prayed the person would leave but his attention grappled onto an object in their hand. They clutched it, guarded it in the cup of their palm. It was round but blended into the body so all it appeared as was a lump.

From his side, Sirius saw Remus’ hand recede from over Peter’s mouth and fall back to his side. He could hear his breathing begin to heavy but he gulped, tipping his head against the stone wall so his Adam's apple bobbed. But then Remus swayed in the slightest, most unnoticeable manner as if his knees had given out which Sirius almost missed.

Remus looked as if he was about to faint, a heat pulsing off his arm which was touching Sirius' and that’s when it hit him. He looked back at the lump in the figure’s hand. Silver.

***

The midnight adventure Sirius forced his friends to endure didn’t go as expected but the other marauders had already forgotten about it once they got back to their dorms and collapsed into a drunken sleep. He, however, didn’t.

Sirius had a theory.

It was crazy and stupid and something he couldn’t tell the other boys but it made sense. The more he replayed the scene in his head, the clearer the situation became.

So he laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling still dressed and thinking. He stayed like this the entire night and early day, hands folded on his stomach and eyes stinging from exhaustion as broken fragments of the waning moon shone through his window. Sleep threatened his body, weakened his mind but he couldn’t sleep. Not after everything that had happened or could happen.

It wasn’t until the sunlight broke through his scarlet curtains did Sirius realize he’d made it through the night. So he got up and just sat at the edge of his bed for a while, legs dangling over the side, stared out his window at the rising sun, and wondered what the hell he was doing to do now?

***

First-quarter exams had driven the marauders into a spiral.

Peter carried a Potions textbook wherever he went, nose buried in its pages as he reviewed everything they’d learned on draughts and elixirs. James now guided him by the shoulder whenever they walked after the incident where Peter hadn’t been paying attention to where he’d been headed, reciting the ingredients in a Strengthening Solution, and collided straight into a column.

He gashed his forehead and had to go to the Hospital Wing.

James was gifted muggle flashcards by Remus and took them wherever he went, making Sirius quiz him on the Goblin Revolution and International Code of Wizarding Security. Sirius grew so irritated by James’ constant nagging that he burned his flashcards to a crisp, causing himself to receive a quite ugly hex on his hair that turned it bright pink.

Remus was rarely around; either cooped up in the library with Lily, writing out essays, on Prefect rounds, or reading in the common room. They only ever saw him during meals and back in their dorm before curfew but even then Remus was too busy to talk as his attention was on the book in his hand.

But since today was "his time of the month," Remus was gone even hours before the Whomping Willow. Sometimes Sirius wanted to follow, see where he went or what he did. Yet whenever the idea struck, Sirius would turn to see that Remus wasn't there, slipping away to some part of the castle and never telling the marauders.

Each time it gave Sirius a heart attack, wondering whether Remus still trusted them yet James would just ease the stress by sighing, "It's just how he is mate. Can't change Moony."

Sirius was extremely untidy. He’d performed an extension charm on his bag to allow more room for his millions of books, notes, and papers. This only worsened his untidiness when having to rummage through his bag to find an essay but then siding with dumping everything on the floor and finding it that way.

Organization was never his strong suit.

The boys’ dorm was even more hectic; textbooks strewed across every open surface, scrolled star charts piled on their beds, and essay outlines laid in stacks on their trunks.

They even used a spare wall by the door as their ‘reminder wall’ that contained tons of random sticky notes varying in things like:

Moony, Pince just threatened me with detention if I didn’t get you to return your overdue Herbology books. Please return them, I don’t feel like shelving again. -Love of your life, James

Pete, Potions essay is due tomorrow at noon, don’t forget! -Remus

James, STOP TAKING DOWN MY NOTES! -The magnificent and worldly adored Sirius Black

Sirius, NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU’RE MISSING SHAMPOO BOTTLE! THIS IS AN ACADEMIC REMINDER WALL FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! -Best Quidditch player, James Potter

With all the growing workload in the run-up to Christmas, the marauders couldn’t even catch a breath. For Sirius, it was especially difficult because, on one hand, he hated writing essays but on the other hand, he needed to keep himself busy.

So Sirius made a compromise. While James and Peter were down in the common room writing ten inches for McGonagall on vanishing spells, Sirius decided to put his time to use and test his theory.

It was a surprisingly bright and sunny day which was rare in the Scottish winter. Every window was open, expelling golden urns of light into the dreary, cold castle that Sirius paced.

After walking down the Charms Corridor, up the Grand Staircase, and along the Serpentine Corridor, Sirius stood outside Classroom 3C, the DADA classroom.

The door was wide open, allowing anyone free entry, but inside it was dark and vacant, every curtain sealed shut with tiny gleams of light peeking through the sides. Or at least that’s what he thought until a voice echoed from way back.

“Hello, Mr. Black.”

Sirius jolted, not expecting anyone to have been inside but the hoarse voice proved otherwise.

Atticus, instead of opening one of the many curtained windows, turned on his desk lamp. The bulb flickered, obviously having been used too many times that it was wearing out, and lit a small portion of the room. The professor was sitting in his chair, a mountain of essays scattered across his desk. One was in his hand, along with an inked quill and Sirius wondered how the hell his professor could possibly grade bloody papers in a pitch-black classroom?

“Is this an academic or personal visit?” he asked, setting down his work.

Sirius gulped. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. “A-Academic,” he rushly decided.

Atticus nodded, motioning for Sirius to enter and he did but hesitantly. The classroom was colder than an icebox, hauntingly similar to his own home where his mother didn’t believe in radiators.

The professor leaned back in his chair to reach for a drawer, opened a top cabinet, and pulled out a file. It was thick, bundles of papers shoved inside and spilling out. Did they actually keep records on him? Sirius almost laughed, wondering what fuckery was written up about him over the years.

Atticus flipped through multiple pages; reading notes, reports, exams results, all with this indescribable quirk of his brow that Sirius couldn’t decide was amusement, study, or concern.

Sirius simply stood a fair stance away, in between the many dusty desks, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“You have quite the reputation,” Atticus announced, vaguely impressed.

Sirius smirked. “I make sure of it.”

“Grades are high for someone of your past. Seem to know a lot about what you write, quite passionately about werewolves might I add.”

He would’ve boasted again if only those grades didn’t come from centuries of old, cursed money, private tutors, late nights, no sleep, and a stripped childhood. A pressure struck his chest, tightening the air in his lungs. It wasn't fear but anger. Sirius cracked his knuckles. “The Black Family can only afford the best.”

Atticus didn't comment.

But then Sirius spotted it, the thing part of him had been hoping to find but the other part that froze because this ‘thing’ was what unlocked the door to a whole new realm of possibilities. This ‘thing’ proved his theory.

It was what he’d seen Atticus hold the first time he’d met him, the same thing he saw the man from Knockturn Alley carry, and what he presumed was the silver lump from earlier that morning.

The silver pocket watch laid at the center of his desk, hidden under some loose papers. It was open as if he’d recently checked the time, though its ticks were silent. Frankly, Sirius wasn’t sure the clock worked at all? From where he stood, nothing seemed to be moving yet he was a great deal away and the fact that light was only coming from a single buzzing lamp didn’t help much either.

Maybe it was broken, but, who would keep a broken clock?

“Mr. Black?”

Sirius looked up, now seeing that Atticus was no longer sitting with his record displayed but standing, the folder closed on a stack of student essays.

“What is it that you really need?”

Sirius tried to hide his nerves. “Pardon?” Pardon? Since when the fuck have you ever said pardon?

Atticus folded his arms, pursuing Sirius’ presence which gave him that same disturbing, dark pressure from the shadowed figure. His brows knitted as he thought aloud. “Well your marks are fine, essay’s well written - also I’m still expecting the twelve inches about Pixies on my desk before the break - but other than you being a jokester with a horrid behavior card that could give Peeves a run for his money, I see no academic reason why you’d come to see me.”

Sirius’ breath hitched, palm beginning to sweat.

“That is-” Atticus began, rounding his desk so that he stood a few feet in front of Sirius. The light from his flickering lamp casted a silhouette around his body, “-unless you have something else you’d rather ask?” Atticus knew. He knew and wanted Sirius to say it. Confirm it for the both of them.

His eyes flicked back to the silvery pocket watch lying calmly on his desk. Maybe some things were better left unknown, or at least, left until proper research could be done.

“No,” Sirius dismissed, shifting his gaze away from the watch and into Atticus’s charcoal eyes. “No, I don’t.” And by his professors’ bidding silence, Sirius turned on his heels and left.

But now he had a new mission, one that could either be a dead end or the beginning of a mystery. Find out everything there is to possibly know about that bloody pocket watch.

***

Sirius would’ve never imagined, in a million years, that this day would come but it did and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking in anticipation as the moon began to rise.

For an entire month, he refused to drink, only ate light meals, and even quit smoking which was the hardest thing he’d ever done but he did it.

The marauders knelt in the soil by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, wet mud staining their trousers. The temperature had dropped drastically since the morning, Sirius feeling his goosebumps prickle the surface of his skin and send shivers up his arms.

He counted down the minutes, checking the sky every spare second that James wasn’t going over the plan he’d been repeating for the past hour. The moon, as if spitefully, took forever to rise. Inching closer and closer but never to its full, spotlight phase. Sirius felt like he had two heartbeats, the pounding shaking his entire body. He was so nervous he thought he might puke. God, he couldn’t wait, he couldn’t, he couldn’t...

Yet James’ bright smile was what reeled Sirius back in as the boy whispered, “It’s time,” and he swore he felt his heart stop.

Peter handed each of his friends a crystal phial and silver teaspoon that he’d nicked from the Potions storage cupboard.

Sirius accepted it and his hands trembled as he removed the leaf from his mouth, uncorked the phial with his teeth, and placed the leaf inside. It coiled around in the spall crystal glass, dripping in saliva. With a suppressed yelp, he plucked a single strand of his black, silky hair and delicately slid it into the container as well.

Each of his friends did the same, James having to help Peter pluck one of his hairs since they were so short for his stubby fingers to grasp.

The Animagus process required dew from a place that neither sunlight nor human feet had touched for seven days which was probably the most complicated aspect that they’d figured out.

It was Peter’s idea to pick the very edge of the Forbidden Forest as their location, right where the bundle of trees smushed together into a dark, twisted maze and moss creeped out to form a bushy mountain of algae greenery since no one ever dared go near it.

They’d planned on placing a large trash bin over a fern that had fresh droplets of water on it so that it wouldn’t receive any sunlight or footprints but having a trash bin outside, for everyone to see, would surely draw attention, especially from the groundskeepers.

James had thought of placing his cloak over it, making the bin invisible, but Sirius turned it down.

“James, no.”

“But they won’t see it, isn’t that the goal?”

Sirius slapped a hand to his forehead. “James, we won’t see it, and then not only will we lose the fern, but we’ll also lose your bloody cloak.”

So Sirius spent that entire night cooped up in their dorm, practicing a disillusionment charm until he’d successfully camouflaged James’ broom as the colour of the wall it had been leaning against. James threw a fit, still proud that Sirius had mastered the charm but pissed that he’d chosen his broom, of all things, to practice on.

He had used that same charm on the trash bin seven days prior, watching in awe as a white misty light shined from the tip of his wand and the tattered, moldy plastic went transparent and into a basil green, the same colour as the grass it covered.

Now as the seven days had passed, Sirius casted the counterspell which revealed the trash bin and James lifted it, sighing in relief when the dew splotched fern was still intact.

Each marauder took their silver teaspoons, scooping up a coin-sized amount of dew and pouring it in their phials. The liquid filled the crystal container to the rim, flooded underneath the leaf and hair, creating an odd, dirty water that would somehow turn into a bright red potion which they were to drink on the next electrical storm.

Sirius corked the bottle and stared at it for a moment, letting the reality sink in. The full moon’s white rays reflected on the glass, making it sparkle.

He couldn’t stop the smile that ached his cheeks nor the unexpected tears that prickled his eyes. Sirius tried to push them back but didn’t see the point. After three bloody years of research and studying there he was, one step closer to becoming an Animagus, one step closer to helping Remus.

For once in his life, he'd done something. Maybe he wasn't a screw-up after all? Maybe he was capable of more than just pissing off his family?  

Sirius sighed, running his thumb along the cold, fogging glass. I fucking did it.

Chapter Text

Saturday 20th December 1975

"Pathétique," she spat, looking down upon Sirius as if he were filth. "If you continue to play into this little facade you'll end up dead. Do you hear me? Dead!"

The words, 'no I won't,' got caught somewhere in his throat, mangled in a sob he was biting down. Sirius continued to back away until he hit the wall but his mother inched closer and closer, her wand extended and shaking through all her blinding rage. He had nowhere to escape.

"You're weak. Vous êtes faible!" Her teeth were gritted and there was a mania in her eyes, one that terrorized him to the bone.

"Je ne suis pas faible," he managed to protest in a straining voice but the fear that wrapped his heart said otherwise.

His mother laughed, a sick, psychotic, disgusted, cackle of a laugh that could break glass or send dementors into hiding. She rotated her wand as if thinking of all the ways to stab him with it.

It was then that Sirius looked past his mother, to the entryway of the parlor where his brother stood, stiff and wide-eyed, fumbling with his hands. "Run," he mouthed, begging, pleading. He didn't want Regulus to see whatever was to come next.

His brother froze but didn't contemplate. Without breaking the contact, he mouthed back, "No."

It was then that Sirius realized why he wasn't dead yet. Why he hadn't ended it years ago. Why he let himself suffer for so long. The universe was merciful enough to have provided him with a reason. Reg was his reason.

Sirius turned back to his mother who scowled, it distorted her face most unpleasantly. "Well then, let's see if such a 'strong' boy can handle this..."

But Sirius was ready, he'd always be ready. After all, the gods had made him a shield like that which Achilles bore. Though it may be scraped and dented from spears and double-headed axes it was made from the most impenetrable metals. Not even his mother, who could burden him with the most intricate curses that popped every vein in his wrists, would ever break him. Hurt, inflict pain, rip to shreds? Yes. But never break.

It was someone else who'd do that for him.

And yet, that's the irony. Those commonly misconceived as broken are not fragile because they've learned to battle with loss. Except for some, they're known as resilient. They're the real broken ones because they've gotten everything handed to them on silver platters yet when one thing goes wrong, their entire world crumbles.

That does mean that the "broken" ones aren't broken. They are. They've just become accustomed to the pain. But pain quickly turns to numbness the more you feel it.

His mother gave one last glare before pointing her wand at his leg.

He closed his eyes, allowing a single tear to slip.

She screeched, "LACERO!"

Sirius gasped, panted as the air in his lungs strained, waking up in a pool of sweat. His pulse beat thickly in his veins as if he'd taken one too many steroids. But the panic didn't stop, his fear didn't sustain. Terror shook his body until Sirius was clutching the sheets of his bed, willing his heart to ease. It was just a dream. Pull your shit together, it was just a dream.

But it wasn't. It wasn't just a dream. It had happened. Sirius had lived through that bone-rattling moment last summer, felt the deep slash ride up his calf. He'd let out those screams that tore open his throat, soaring his flesh until he could taste blood.

Sirius wasn't James; he didn't wear his heart on his sleeves and wasn't an open book for everyone to read. He was locked and only ever granted a few people the key. By a few, he meant James. Peter was more questionable than others. Remus didn't even need a key, he could barge in any day and Sirius would let him.

The point was, Sirius wasn't what people saw him as.

The fucked up thing with society is that if you act the way you feel, people will think you're just asking for attention. They'll think you're exaggerating when you say your family is abusive or if you're depressed since they can't see the bruises, the scars, or the numbness in your face; it's all, 'I believe what I see.'

But he was so brave and so quiet and sometimes, they forget he's suffering.

So that's why Sirius pretended because no one would ever believe him. They might show pity as all polite people do but the world would never stop rotating for him. Life goes on, we learn to adapt. So he shoved his friends off when they asked too many questions and eventually they stopped asking.

And if people never asked, he'd never tell.

But Sirius was scared of going back, scared of facing his parents, scared of becoming them so much so that it hurt. It hurt a lot. But he kept it to himself so it wouldn't hurt anyone else.

Sirius' heart stabilized, little by little the sweat on his forehead dried sticky but there was still fear, there'll always be fear. Fear of the unknown and sadly sometimes, fear of your family. Yet in his silent dread, Sirius sneaked a hand from around his curtain, felt for his wand, placed the tip to his heart, and whispered, "Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus."

***

Sirius stayed in bed, refusing to get up, expecting James to drag him out, he even had the whole dramatic scene planned out in his head, but he never did. No one came, actually. Tough love, I see how it is.

He rubbed his eyes, cracked his back, stalled for as long as possible until it became evident that no one was going to force him up, so he woke voluntarily. Their dorm was bare, everything having been packed except for Sirius' side which remained a complete mess. James had picked up a few of his things, folded his clothes, and left them in a neat stack on his trunk along with a plate full of fruit with a note beside it that read, "Eat up, train leaves at eleven."

Sirius put off the packing, ignored the food, and trudged into the bathroom, too lazy to turn on the light so he ventured into the dark but left the door open so some light spilled in.

He changed, purposely left his tie undone and part of his dress shirt untucked to piss off his mother. Though he left his hair down, the wrath of exposing his tattoo wasn't something he was ready to face.

Once he was dressed, Sirius looked in the mirror, looked at himself. He hadn't eaten yesterday, today neither so his cheeks hollowed like small caves deep enough to hold coins. Some might say it was good bone structure but Sirius hated the prominence, how his skin hugged tightly around his skull, making his jawline keen.

But as the silence grew loud and Sirius continued to stare, he saw his mask fade away and didn't even bother putting it back on. In the smudged reflection stood a frail eleven-year-old boy with scars running up his calves and blood on his hands. His tie was done up, suffocatingly tight, robes tailored and lint-rolled, hair combed, face bruised and senseless. Whenever Sirius left Hogwarts, that's the boy he became.

He inhaled sharply, rubbed his eyes, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water onto his face. Ice droplets ran down his nose, seeped into his mouth but he felt nothing. There was no joy, no resilience. Sirius was just cold and wet and so thankful that his friends weren't there to see him flaking.

He left with a soaked face, not bothering to dry off, leaned against the bathroom door frame, and skimmed the mess he had to now pack. Sometimes he hated life, this was one of those times. Wishing the ground would cave and swallow him whole but he had two hours till the train left so he gathered his bearings and got to work.

Sirius didn't bother organizing his belongings, just shoved as much as he could into his trunk and shrunk what was leftover. The one thing he handled with care was his phial - the Animagus potion. There were these strict rules on caring for it; it could receive no sound or sunlight. So he placed it in a wooden box, locked it with a golden key he had on a chain which tied around his neck, and then casted a silencing charm over the box. Sirius shoved it to the bottom of his trunk, piling clothes, books, stationery, shoes, his bat, and records on top so not even a drop of sunlight could reach it.

Tucking the key necklace under his shirt, Sirius closed his trunk and carried it out of their dorm, giving one final salute to the empty room before leaving.

The Gryffindor common room was a rush of chaos as students hurried to get packed and searched for lost belongings under couch cushions and coffee tables. Pillows and throws were strewn across the rugs; tabloids, playing cards, and owl cages scattered across tables and window sills. It was all frantic calls of, "Has anyone seen my peach blouse?" and "I'm missing my bloody wand!"

Sirius was just glad to have spotted his friends by the portrait hole waiting for him, all with their trunks by their sides, mounted in thick coats and knitted scarves that Peter had bought for them.

"Took you long enough," Remus sighed, once spotting him.

"Thought for a second I'd have to bust up there and drag you out myself," James comically added, taking Sirius' trunk for him. "Did you eat?"

"Yeah," Sirius nodded, lying through his teeth. "Great selection of fruits, very appetizing."

James rolled his eyes as they exited through the portrait hole but grabbed Sirius' arm, pulling him off to the side, letting Remus and Peter go on without them. "Are you alright?" he whispered, earnestly.

Sirius slid from his grip, hating where this was headed. "Always am."

"You know, the offer still stands for staying with me, Mum and Dad really don't mind."

"Thanks mate but I'll be fine," he dismissed, shrugging him off.

"You've got your mirror, right?"

Sirius fished into his pocket, pulling out the jagged glass and tossing it up and down into his palm.

James kept heavy eye contact, one that Sirius deliberately avoided. "You call me every night, okay?"

He rolled his eyes, trying to keep a lighthearted tone. "Potter, I told you, I'll be fine. Stop worrying so much, it'll give you wrinkles."

"Sirius," James repeated, clasping his shoulder. Sirius lifted his gaze from the mirror he'd been turning over and over in his hand and up to James' eyes, trapped in his stern stare. It wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "Promise me, please?"

Sirius felt his chest heavy in guilt. He nodded. "Yeah, I promise."

James grinned, though a solemness remained. "Brilliant! And remember, if one night you don't, I'll personally fly down there and kick your arse."

He chuckled, shoving James off. "Not before my mother has the chance."

***

Sirius avoided speaking, avoided the worried glances his friends exchanged. He just leaned his head against the compartment wall and watched as frosted mountains and bare trees sped by, counting down the hours until he had to face his mother.

Time slipped through his fingers and before he knew it, the Hogwarts Express was pulling into the station, engine smoke fogging the window and blocking his view. The loud train whistle was what startled Sirius bolting upright, sending his heart thundering as the present moment dawned on him. "I- I think I'm going to find Reg," he excused, grabbing hold of his trunk and making way to the door, trying not to dwell on Peter's aching blue eyes that watched him leave. "Have a nice holiday lads."

James stood up, hurridly reaching for his trunk on the luggage rack to follow. "Sirius wait-"

But the compartment door slid shut and Sirius was halfway down the corridor before James had the chance to stop him.

As soon as he stepped off the scarlet train, he felt small, no longer Sirius Black - Hogwarts rule breaker - but Sirius Orion Black - family heir. Regulus was there, waiting for him by the side. They exchanged silent nods before grimly making their way into the crowd, going together like they always did.

The platform was crowded with parents hugging their children, bulky trunks that took up too much space, and screeching owls trapped in their cages who flapped their wings, wanting release.

As soon as he grabbed onto the sight of his mother, that low sleek bun, black Victorian turtleneck, pearls drowning her neck and wrists, Sirius felt paralyzed. Just the black of her eyes sprouting in grey seemed to seep into him, fill his throat to choaking. She had this ability to make anyone feel like sap at the bottom of her shoe by her mere presence.

Regulus was the one to drag him over and his mother greeted them both with cold glares. Sirius could practically taste the disapproval when she scanned him, upturning her nose and giving a small huff, then yanking him closer by the arm and fixing his tie until it was suffocatingly perfect. But Sirius didn't fight it.

His mother offered an elbow to the both of them so they could apparate. Regulus accepted it but Sirius was more hesitant.

If he ran now, he could probably make it through the platform brick wall before his mother had the chance to grab him. But the deathly stare she was pressing on him made Sirius swallow his strength. It was controlling, stifling; he couldn't escape even if he wanted.

Sirius took hold of her other elbow and before he had the chance to steady himself, he was being dragged into a swirl that seemed to slow down time. The platform distorted around him, feeling immense pressure from all directions that constricted his breathing and stabbed at his eardrums. The next thing he knew, everything went black and with a hard thump to the floor, Sirius landed on the paved road of Islington, muggle London.

It had turned to night, the Sagittarius constellation reflecting on his moonlit skin while bare trees were frosted and dripping. Patches of snow coated the sidewalk and roofs of parked cars but of course, none of it, not even a drop of snow was on their house. 12 Grimmauld Place was cleaner and plainer than a hot summer's day. It lacked any cheer, any life; could be mistaken for deserted if lights weren't on.

His mother glided up the worn set of front steps, Sirius and Regulus trudging behind. The battered front door flew open upon his mother's arrival, not even having to use the silver twisted serpent knocker, and a gust of cold wind almost swept him off his feet. His mother entered, efficient and quick as if she had somewhere else to be. Regulus tailed her like a lost puppy but stopped when he didn't hear another set of footsteps following.

Sirius stood at the entrance, still on the outside, still able to escape. As soon as he stepped inside, the door would slam shut and he'd be trapped. He didn't want to go inside, that would be him signing his death note.

But then Regulus was there, on the inside, waiting for him. His reason. 

It was the small wave of his brother's hand, gesturing for him to come that sent a rope wrapping around Sirius' heart and tugging him forward. He didn't even register having entered until a loud slam shook the floorboards, causing dust to fall from the ceiling. He was left at the front of a long hallway lit with gas lamps and an overhead chandelier, complete with ornate portraits on the walls who murmured at the sight of him.

Sirius held his breath. It was going to be a very long Christmas.

***

Supper was silent.

He felt so constrained as he looked down at his beef, asparagus, and hand peeled potatoes, yearning to be away from his house; he needed fresh air. His hands were too busy playing with the tablecloth to pick up his silverware.

Their large, cold dining hall echoed in clicking silver cutlery and ticks from the pendulum of their grandfather clock.

His mother dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin after every few bites, chewing silently. His father hadn't said one word to his sons upon their arrival, looking like he hadn't shaved in weeks, the fine lines on his face seeming heavier than before.

Sirius didn't have much of an appetite without his friends by his side, neither did Regulus but his parents didn't comment on their untouched plates. They could care less if the boys starved.

He remembered how shocked he'd been right after the sorting in his first year when the feast began. He'd always been taught to never talk at the dinner table, that it was rude and ill-mannered. So you could imagine his shock after hearing the hall erupt in chatter once the food displayed itself. 

Sirius just sat there, frozen with his cutlery in hand and napkin properly draped over his lap, gazing around wide-eyed and unsure of what he should do. Why are they talking? he thought to himself, afraid that if he joined in, his mother would appear and hex his mouth shut.

It wasn't until he was met by James' friendly blue eyes and soft smile did Sirius realize he'd been living a sheltered life.

"What's wrong posh boy, this ain't fancy enough for you?" Remus had teased with a mouthful of tomato soup.

Sirius blinked, feeling so misplaced amongst all those happy children. "No." And that was the first word he'd ever spoken.

After a gruelingly quiet dinner, Sirius and Regulus were excused, instructed to read the Latin books Kreacher had laid out for them, unpack their trunks, wash up, and be in bed by nine.

His bedroom was the same as he'd left it, a complete mess. After his little exposé last summer where he'd enchanted posters of muggle rock bands and bikini-clad girls on his walls with permanent sticking charms, his mother ordered Kreacher to stop cleaning his room. As a result, just to spite her, he'd boycotted on cleaning his room too so now it remained an atrocity.

His bed, which hadn't been made in four months, stayed in the same state though now there was a pile of Latin books by his pillows, each three inches thick. Sirius ignored them, along with the packed trunk that sat by his study and left to annoy his little brother.

The hallway between both their rooms was long, almost endless. Sirius never understood why his mother had chosen for them to be on opposite sides of the floor when multiple guest bedrooms, studies, bathrooms, libraries, and parlors were wedged in between? It wasn't like they had a shortage of space. Maybe she thought separation equaled privacy but nothing their mother did was ever in their best interest.

Sirius approached Reg's door, knocking twice but it creaked open with the first hit.

"Reg?" he whispered. He'd expected his brother to be at his study, diligently reading the books their mother had ordered for them to read like the perfect son he was but when Sirius heard no response and peaked his head inside, Regulus wasn't at his study. His books were still on his bed where Kreacher had left them and his trunk was still packed.

Sirius felt an alarm set off in his chest, heart beating double its normal speed.

He didn't even bother closing his brother's door which was a strict rule their parents had set and instead went searching each dingy room in their five-storied house.

Portraits, whose oil-painted bodies were crafted by the finest artists in all of France, hung on every wall, leaving none bare. Sirius felt the eyes of each follow him as he sought the dismal halls. Each room was the same, decorated in various shades of green, brown, and silver, clay bowls displayed on mantels, candelabras resting on antique pembroke tables, bergère velvet upholstered chairs perfectly staged and only for show. Not even an arse mark had broken its stiff cushioning.

The floors were replicas of each other and worst of all, none had Regulus.

The thoughts that pondered his head were vile and sickening, the worst possible scenarios that his brother could be in. It was sad that Sirius thought of them but the sadder part was that they could be true. In that house with his family, almost anything was possible.

Sirius was on the second floor, passing their relic room filled with random shit his mother had bought during their trip to Japan when a hiccup cut short startled him from behind. Sirius turned, following the sound which led him to one of the guest bathrooms. He pressed an ear against the door and through the withering wood he could hear soft, suppressing whimpers. His hand was on the doorknob before he'd registered his actions but hesitated on twisting it.

He could vividly picture Regulus curled up in a ball on the chilled floor, knees drawn to his chest as silent tears soaked through his heavily ironed dress shirt but for some reason, the image seemed too fragile to dent.

All his life, he told himself he'd be there for Regulus, he'd be a proper brother but now the moment had come and Sirius just stood outside with his hand on the knob, staring at the splintered wood like a complete coward while his brother was inside, crying.

He makes promises he can't keep.

But his crisis ended when a jet black gleam from the open parlor across the hall caught his eye. It was the stupidest fucking plan that would end in the shittest possible way but he was known for doing all sorts of dimwitted, poorly thought out things. Even more of a case when his friends weren't there to stop him.

Sirius stood in front of the piano he'd played his entire life and even though the fallboard was down he could picture every key and recall the note each hit.

Music was the one thing his mother didn't entirely despise. There were rules, of course, he could only play Dukas, Wagner, Tchaikovsky, Delibes, Stravinsky, or Purcell. Modern and American compositions were strictly forbidden so he'd only ever learned sheets that were written in the 1800s by old white men with curly mustaches. It wasn't the most interesting music he'd ever learned but it was better than nothing.

Yet now, he'd finally be able to put his knowledge to use but this time Sirius would play a song that he enjoyed. One that resonated with his heart.

He lifted the fallboard with the tips of his fingers, blowing off the dust and cobwebs that coated each key. Lowering himself onto the bench, Sirius positioned a foot on the pedal and cracked his knuckles, delicately resting his fingers on the white keys.

Something about being back in this seat felt off like he was the one misplaced in such a regal throne but the soft cries from amid the bathroom reminded him why he was here. This was his opportunity to make things right, or at least, a form of saying, "Forgive me."

He began to play, his fingers having a mind of their own. It was a familiar tune, a safe tune, one that he was more connected to than anything else in the world. His ears pricked when Regulus let out a choked sob, so he pressed down harder, overpowering his brothers' silent tears.

Clearing his throat, he sang.

"Mamaaa, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead. Mamaaa, life had just begun. But now I've gone and thrown it all away..."

His eyes had drifted close, the lyrics embedded in his mind from listening to that one song over and over again in his dorm when the boys had left. He'd lie on his bed, the record spinning and releasing those words, and Sirius would stare blankly at his ceiling as tears streamed down his cheeks. It amazed him how a single muggle could describe his entire life in one song.

"Mamaaa, oooh. Didn't mean to make you cry, if I'm not back again this time tomorrow. Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters..."

Regulus was now crying - hard, so Sirius put more passion, more emotion into every key, every note he hit. 

He remembered his teacher, always looming over him as he played, criticism in every comment. Except on day, before class began, he'd bent down, meeting his eyes, and spoke not of criticism or reprimand but music. "Put all your soul into it. Play the way you feel." He was quoting Frédéric François Chopin.

So with that in mind, Sirius sang as if his mother and father were standing before him. He sang as if Regulus were standing alongside him. He sang for them both.

"Too late, my time has come. Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time. Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go. Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth..."

There were footsteps, high-pitched squeaks from the descending stairs that shook the whole house. It's funny how your mind can distinctly recognize the sound of specific heels clacking against wooden floors rather than others which are merely regular heels. Sirius had, he knew the sound of his mothers' footsteps far too well. She walked with a fit of poisoning anger that made you go stiff. But Sirius didn't, not this time, for Regulus was just in the other room and he'd be damned if his mother witnessed his little brother's breakdown. It's either him or me...I rather it be me.

"Mamaaa, oooh." He inhaled, then belted. "I DON'T WANNA DIE, I SOMETIMES WISH I'D NEVER BEEN-"

"CINCINNO!"

There was a flash of white and then a gasp that clogged his throat. Sirius froze, the pain not quite registering in his mind. He felt a crack in his fingers, then another, then six more. A fiery pain shot up both his arms until it reached his eyes, every one of his muscles tightening, and then he felt it.

Sirius screamed.

The fallboard had closed, crushing his fingers. He tried to pull them out but his joints only popped and caused even more pain to erupt in all parts of his body.

His mother emerged from the shadows, her eyes seeming red but maybe he was just hallucinating. "Have you no respect for the other people in this house!" his mother snapped, her voice like knives slashing his chest. Sirius flinched even though she'd done nothing. Her eyes were wide, bulging, wand gripped so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

He screamed again so he wouldn't cry. Crying was the very last option. If his mother saw a single tear slip, he'd be dead before he could let out another.

"You- you're..." he bit lip, teeth sinking into the skin and slicing it open as he tried to swallow the pain. Sirius could taste the blood as it seeped inside his mouth, the thick metallic resonating on his tongue and gliding down his throat. "...You're c-crushing m-m-my-" He felt like someone was choking him, their fingers squeezing at the sides of his throat, closing his airways. If it wasn't for the blood, his mouth would've been dry.

"Pathétique," his mothers hissed in French, circling him. "I raised my son to be proper! Not to play this foul, mudblood shit!" She was now behind him. It was worse when Sirius couldn't see her because he never knew what was coming, he couldn't prepare himself.

Her breath became hot by his ear. She whispered sickeningly, "Just wait until I let your father know about this."

Sirius felt a hard impact at the back of his head like being slapped with a book or maybe it was a tea tray? Whatever it was, it sent his head hurdling forward, skull throbbing. His vision was spinning as black and white spots danced around the room, blinding him. Dizzying nausea began to brew in his throat but Sirius felt the slightest bit of relief when his mother's clacking heels were heard retreating up a set of stairs.

If his head had cracked, he didn't know, and truthfully, he didn't care. Because under all the pain, all that fear, all that anger he held, he was laughing. And Merlin, did it feel good to laugh.

A door slammed upstairs but then another click and slowly creaked open.

"Sirius?"

He choked on his laughs, cheeks balled so much they began to cramp. "R-Reg...?"

Sirius felt his fingers relieve a forceful pressure, looking down at them through clouded eyes to see they were broken. Each knuckle was throbbing in redness, sprouting in bruised shades of deep purple. It was a horrid sight, bones poking out from under his skin like jagged branches from a pruned tree, but at least he was free and his mother was gone.

Regulus wrapped his arm around Sirius' waist, slung an arm over his shoulder, pulled his brother up, and led them to his bedroom. Sirius' legs were trembling, hands pressed tightly to his chest as his eyes screwed in the dire pain, putting most of his weight on Reg as he limped up the stairs.

And yet his chest still heaved from laughter. He'd officially gone mad.

He collapsed onto his bed, darkness from the night swallowing his room. Regulus climbed in as well, sitting beside Sirius' body which laid helpless and frail. He hesitated, about to reach for his broken hands but instead drew him close.

Sirius immediately stiffened, laughter cutting short in a hitch of his breath. He'd never been hugged before, at least not on purpose. But it felt good, an intentional hug.

Sirius's body eloped in the same coldness as he. His back was being rubbed in small circles and his head was being stroked by skinny fingers. The tip of his nose pressed against a small, young body whose clothes smelled like mint and Rose d'Arabie.

His body relaxed as he sank further into the hug, letting his wheeled eyes release the tears they'd been trying to gate. And that's when his laughter turned to cries, a downpour of salty tears on his silk sheets. But sometimes we need to cry, to stop our hearts from drowning.

And Regulus, sweet, innocent Regulus squeezed his brother's shaking shoulders and held him so closely that Sirius thought the world might burst at how much his heart swelled. It was all too perfect to be real and nothing this good ever entered his life.

"H-Hand me my wand," he croaked, refusing to lift his head from his brother's chest.

Regulus said nothing, willingly reaching for the wand on Sirius' nightstand and handing it to him. He accepted it as soft tears still ran - creating a puddle under his cheek. Not caring if his brother heard, he mumbled, "Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus."

He'd remember this later on, for his entire life Sirius would remember this exact moment and rejoice in it, reliving it over and over again until the memory blurred with age. He'd whisper his brother's name into the empty air and quiver a smile as he had no one to hold him but himself. He'd only ever have himself... 

Chapter Text

Sunday 21st December 1975

James threw a fit when Sirius didn't call.

"You promised you bloody mother fucker! You gave me a heart attack, you incessant piece of shit!"

Sirius just waited calmly as his friend ranted on and on, the little image of James pacing his room through the mirror with his wild hair and cursing his name with every foul word in the book. It was quite amusing, really.

"I was about to use the floo connection and come get you! You can't just NOT call, you- you promised Sirius!"

He inhaled. "I know."

James stared, looking as though he was about to burst. "I know? I KNOW?!"

Sirius couldn't get a sentence in without being interrupted or smothered like the burnout of a cigarette on an ashtray over James' hysteria. He'd seen the reprimand coming; all night he'd heard James' nervous voice through the mirror calling his name, asking over and over, "Sirius? Are you okay?" But he couldn't reply, he couldn't move. His arms were like sticks at his sides, tense and unmoving, wrapped around in bandage cloths.

Regulus had insisted on staying the night but Sirius told him to leave, afraid that if his mother came she'd lash out at him. He also insisted that he was fine, smiling weakly and lifting his limp hands to prove it. He wasn't.

"Something happened."

"Nothing happened," Sirius denied, trying to play it off coolly.

"Why didn't you call?"

He had to bite his tongue to not admit that he'd been a bit preoccupied with a psycho mother and two broken hands to pick up a piece of fucking glass and check in with him. "I went to bed early."

James tossed his back and barked a laugh. "You're so full of it."

The knock at Sirius' door was a savior, being able to excuse himself from the conversation with the promise that he'd call again that night. This time, he would.

His door creaked open and Regulus peeked his head of messy bed hair inside, face tired and rumpled half awake. "How're your hands?"

Sirius tried wiggling them only to feel sharp, needled pains of his bones shifting. He winced, fingers going weak. "Yeah, they're er- doing alright." He noticed his brother's guilt-filled eyes and tried to ease the discomfort. "But they do look wicked all wrapped up," Sirius acknowledged, lifting his hands with as much strength he could summon, turning them around in the light. "Bella won't even come near me at the Christmas party when she sees them. Might think I finally went mad and beat the crap out of someone."

Regulus stayed expressionless but his lips were slowly upturning. "You're not funny."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Piss off."

"Never."

Sirius liked it when they bickered, it was fun and Regulus was good with quick comebacks. They may not have been the most original but they took Sirius by surprise each time. After all, he'd learned from the best.

Regulus stayed by the door, swaying between entering or leaving. He watched his brother debate; standing awkwardly with his hands behind his back, eyes trained to his bare feet which stood out against the dark wood. Sirius sighed. "Viens," he motioned, scooting over to make room.

Regulus didn't even hesitate; darting across the room and into his brother's bed, snuggling at his side. "Be honest with me," Regulus asked and Sirius confided, pulling him closer. "Do you think we'll ever leave?"

He didn't want to lie, not to his brother, but also didn't want to break his heart. Sirius shrugged. "Depends on how hard we fight."

Regulus lifted his head, the morning light constricting his pupils and making the grey more prominent. His eyes were like small storms, the ones sailors fight at sea. "You're avoiding the question."

"I gave you an answer, didn't I?"

"C'mon, be serious."

He smirked. "I already am Sirius." Regulus jabbed him in the stomach. "Ow! Okay, Merlin Reg."

Regulus's eyes were pleading, wanting a truthful answer that Sirius couldn't give. How could he tell his brother no, crush all his hopes, his will to fight? He didn't have it in him to lie but he also didn't have it in him to give up.

Tell him the truth. "Yes." You're lying. "Yes, we'll leave." The relief in Regulus's smile was hope enough. Keep telling yourself that, maybe it'll come true.

***

As if by karma, a paper was slid under his door.

At first, it made Sirius freeze; he'd been hiding out in his room since the night before and even skipped breakfast which he'd never once done but surprisingly enough, no one had come to get him. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was just a copy of the Prophet.

Since he was a child, Kreacher had always slipped a copy under the crack of his door since his parents sheltered him so much that he couldn't even read the news. After Sirius was done catching up on whatever rubbish was printed, he'd slide it back under the door and Kreacher would burn the evidence with a snap of his bony fingers.

Yes, Sirius hated the elf but they had this little habit, a thing between the two. His parents didn't need to know and as much as Kreacher worshipped his mother, he still hadn't told.

He picked it up apprehensively and gave the paper a shake to flatten its creases. The entails were boring as always; ranting titles in dramatic bold to stir the higher class; moving photographs taken too close up and completely out of frame; horoscopes smushed in blotchy ink at the top. It was as interesting as a blank page would've been, just filled with exaggerations and lies to draw in the public. Sirius never believed a word it said.

He scanned to the back where Quidditch reports usually were but instead, he only saw the Minster. Her face was covered by a shielding hand as if ambushed by reporters; ministry security protection on all sides but through her fingers, one could visibly see her sagged face with lenses flashing against her pale complexion.

Minister Resigns After Confrontation On Voldemort's Uprise.

His breath let out. "Fuck."

Even though the war had been declared five years prior, nothing had really happened. People pretended like it wasn't real, that it would just go away. Even here the Prophet was trying to downplay its severity by blasting her resignation on the back page. But then wizards and witches began disappearing, small attacks on muggle-borns and half-bloods emerged, and rumors spread about some Dark Lord - Voldemort siding with pure-blood families. Knockturn Alley got darker and more dangerous, parents stopped sending out their children, people constantly looking over their shoulders, and now the Minister had been thrown from her post. 

The worst part of it all was that Sirius knew where his family lied.

They cared more about the preservation of their precious bloodline than the people who were being slaughtered outside their doorstep. His last name would forever carry the weight and blame of all those innocent people who died during this battle. Even if his family weren't the ones causing the damage, they supported the man who did. It made Sirius sick.

In war there is no good or bad, right or wrong; there are just soldiers, death, and those unfortunate ones who get stuck in the crossfire. Sirius and Regulus were those people.

Every second that went by was another second that the open doors he faced were closing; inch by inch, day by day. His opportunity to escape was thinning. If only the reckless impulsiveness he'd so often used would kick in. But under the watchful eyes of his parents, not even that could save him.

Eventually, the door would close and he'd be stuck.

"Be honest with me...Do you think we'll ever leave?"

"Yes...Yes, we'll leave."

He makes promises he can't keep.

***

Sirius didn't know how long he'd be able to go unnoticed but so far, his parents showed no interest. He attended his usual foreign language lessons with his hands in his pockets and was excused from piano practice due to "health complications," so graciously phrased by his mother. He was able to get by with lunch in his room so other than dinner, he never saw his parents.

Little did he know how slowly time could be killed.

In all the millions of rooms in his home, there was not one that brought him joy. Sure he liked playing piano in the parlor and reading old books about mythology and astrology in their library but he wouldn't want that to be the peak of his life. He wanted pleasure, excitement, love; to wake up every day with someone beside him, someone he could call his. He wanted each day he lived to be new and different.

Money only bought materialistic things; never happiness. Sirius could say this with certainty. Sure it could swoon people over but it's a bargain. Real love cares nothing about how many coins you have in some stupid vault or how much glory your family name is worth.

Love was what Sirius wanted, more than any piano he could play or book he could read.

And while 12 Grimmauld Place was big and beautiful; filled with endless hallways; paintings on every wall; sculptures on podiums; a museum for those dimwitted enough to admire it, it was boring. Very, very boring.

With the infinite time Sirius had, he did petty, childish things like rearranging their bookshelves, leaving gaps in flower bouquets, tilting portraits, kicking rugs so bumps form, and leaving curtains open. Normal people wouldn't care for such rearrangements but Sirius' mother hated it. She could notice the slightest flaw in a vase alignment on their mantle from a mile away. The woman was, quite simply, mental.

Sirius led himself to one of their many libraries, each designated to a specific member of the family. His father and mother had their own on the fourth floor - a floor Sirius nor Regulus were allowed on, the brothers had their own on the third floor, and the one for guests was on the ground floor.

Each contained specifically selected books deemed fit by his mother. Sometimes Sirius would steal books from the guest library and transfer them to his, then leave the books he didn't like for his extended family to enjoy. Instead of having to read crap writings on Latin wars and behavioral etiquette, he could read Popular Astronomy, The Iliad, The Odyssey, Les Misérables, The Twelve Caesars, and Jabberwocky.

If his mother ever found out, they'd be scorched, but thankfully Sirius was good at hiding things.

Though this time he had no interest in the books he liked. Ironically, he was looking for a specifically boresome book his brother would have a laughing fit over if he caught him reading it.

The shelves were high, reaching a foot from the ceiling but in that small gap were dead roses whose petals wrinkled and thorny vines that hung down and cradled a few of the books like maternal protection. Sirius brushed his tightly wrapped fingers along the various broken spines; they were rough and their covers were bubbling from age.

He stopped at the Walter Aragon section, pulling out The Finest Magical Watch Models, which his father had inherited after his grandfather, Sirius II, had died.

He seated himself on a large bergère armchair and displayed the book on his lap. Some of the pages stuck together when he flipped them and the spine cracked viciously as if it had never once been read. Sirius coughed as dust lifted from the old, ink-stained pages and hazed his vision.

The book contained every magical watch made in Europe and Asia, varying from ones that told normal time to others that read the phases of the moon's cycle.

Sirius would rather be caught dead than reading this rubbish but he had loads of time to kill and hoped to learn more about Atticus' pocket watch.

He couldn't lie, the sketches were beautiful. Some were gold encrusted with leaves or polished bronze and decorated in melted wax. Others were simple, carved in Latin biblical verses, foreign words, or a moto. His father had quite a large pocket watch collection so almost all of the ones that Sirius encountered on those battered pages once dangled from his father's pant loop.

There was one he'd come across in the Greek Section that semi resembled the watch he'd seen Atticus bear but their encounters had always been brief, never long enough to obtain a distinct image. Sirius ran the pads of his fingers across the sketch which only showed the exterior cover, not the interior gears; feeling the rough pencil marks that Walter once used. The watch was silver and in the center plate - coloured in a soft, creamy yellow - was a sun whose rays sprouted outwards and eyes were closed, sleeping peacefully.

Beside the sketch was a heavy chunk of smushed text that slanted as if written while drunk. Melted and molded from Zeus' hands himself, a gift for his former lover Lamia - the night-haunting spirit and queen of Libya. Its plating is a mixture of the divine silver from his temple, a single ray of sunlight gifted from Apollo-

"I didn't know you could read?"

Sirius's eyes draped up from the book. Regulus leaned against the doorframe, arms closed and sewn browns skeptical. At home and away from Hogwarts was the only time his brother ever dressed normally; wearing heather-grey pajama pants that dragged to the floor and a white, baggy T-shirt.

"You're hilarious Reg," he dryly sarcassed, closing the book but marking his place by folding a corner of the page.

"No, but in all seriousness, when have you ever picked up a book?" Regulus pressed. "Let alone that rubbish."

Sirius gave a huffing chuckle, getting up and sliding the book back in its spot on the shelf. "I read, okay," he protested. "Just on my own time."

Regulus was a mess of suppressed smirks, enjoying the mockery. "Only children's books I presume? Nothing more than ten pages with big drawings or you'll die of boredom."

Sirius made his way to the door, slapping his brother at the back of the head before leaving. "Don't be a prat."

Regulus laughed, rubbing the sore spot. "Not my fault that I got the brains."

He brooded to his room. "Well, I got the looks."

"We're practically twins."

"Oh fuck off."

"Up yours."

Sirius slammed his door.

***

He laid out on his silk bedspread, arms pinned at his sides, awake as the night carried on. Sirius never knew silence could be this loud.

The fact that every one of his fingers were broken and growing numb wasn't why he resisted sleep; he could sleep. His body sunk gracefully into the mattress, pillow perfectly cradled his head, blankets so warm they could last through a thousand winters. Sirius just hated the comfort, hated that he was settling.

Money bought this life; trembling hands accepting pounds of galleons in exchange for the finest beddings was what provided such comfort. How was Sirius supposed to sleep when everything around him was painted in cursed history?

His parents didn't work for what they had, it was his ancestors' house-elves who busted their arses slaving away while his family took the credit.

It didn't feel right to peacefully sleep on sheets that were bought on a whim because his parents were drowning in wealth when those very elves who'd done all the labor were mounted on plaques by their stairs. It was downright disgraceful. His family was not noble; they were careless and insensitive!

This is why Sirius couldn't be left alone with his thoughts, they practically ate him alive.

CRACK!

Sirius's head shot up at the deafening sound.

CRACK!

A streak of lightning flashed from the grey clouds outside his bedroom window, electrifying his heart like a rapid battery charge. It wasn't until the next flash of white bolts rattled the sky did Sirius feel the coldness of the key around his neck pressure his bare chest; it reminded him. A ball formed in his throat. Holy fuck.

Sirius sprung up, flailing his sheets to the side and stumbling out of bed, and collapsing to his knees by the front of his trunk. Fumbling with the hinges and biting back the pain his fingers screamed, he opened his trunk and shoved aside his mess of boxers, records, and neckties until a rough patch of wood greeted his touch.

Sirius pulled out the box and set it on the floor all while his pulse pounded so furiously he could've been having a seizure. He reached for the key he'd worn for the past two weeks under his nightshirt, holding it with a shaking hand as he inserted it into the lock hole and jiggled it around. The click that met his ears only trembled his hands further as he tipped the lid back and there, in the crystal corked phial, laid his potion.

Sirius didn't even need to raise the container to the streaking light to see that the potion was no longer dirty water with a dehydrated leaf but a blood-red liquid that glowed in the cloak of night.

He didn't even stop to think before grabbing the phail and fumbling around his room for a place to settle. Everywhere he turned was covered by clothes, a broom, toppled books, and ancient dressers piled high in Gryffindor sweaters. Sirius regretted having let his room become this much of an atrocity and without the help of magic, he'd have to clean by hand but his fingers were broken so he was truly fucked.

But time was straining so in an adrenaline rush Sirius grabbed his wand, clearing a patch of ground by kicking away shoes and stuffing stray clothes into drawers. He would've moved his bed but the scratching of the legs against his wooden floors would make too much noise. Granted it wasn't the wisest and safest of all places to do this but anywhere else and his parents would barge in on him. Luckily enough, his mother refused to enter his bedroom; his father, on the other hand, was someone to be worried about.

Sirius couldn't even stop and think as his mind was racing a million miles a minute and his body was still trying to keep up. He drew open his curtains as far as they would go, the lightning propelling against his skin like camera flashes that blinded his vision. The sight was glorious, goldy even. Just the way each bolt shot from the molten stirring clouds and struck the earth was an image he'd forever keep framed in his mind. Not even painters could capture its essence.

The thunderstorm brewed heavier and deadlier, each crack a promise for future rain. Sirius stepped back, eyes still glued to the outside as he placed the tip of his wand over his heart, and spoke, "Amato Animo, Animato, Animagus."

He didn't hesitate to drink the potion before wondering whether he'd said the spell wrong or missed a step, but the blood-red liquid glided down his throat with ease and left the residue of bitterness on his tongue.

Sirius gasped for air after swallowing it in one large gulp, chest rising and falling as he waited for something, anything to happen.

All that filled the excruciating silence were the cracks of thunder and pounds of his heart which grew increasingly louder that eventually, it overrode the cracks. It was all he could hear - his heart - like bangs on a gong or the collision of two metal plates over and over, trapped in his ears until it hurt so badly he felt like he was having a migraine.

Each pound grew so powerful that Sirius had to grip the post of his bed just to stop himself from collapsing. He dropped the phail and it shattered, clutching a hand to his chest which grew tighter with each breath he took. His heart was swelling so expansively that it might burst and leave him in fragments of flesh and blood.

It was a fiery pain shooting through his veins, burning his skin and causing his beats to double as if he had not one heart but two.

Sirius wanted to claw it out, whatever it was, but this was part of the ordeal. He'd signed up for this.

He clenched his eyes shut, seeing flashes of fur, black fur. He could almost feel it sprouting through his skin, tingling at his neck. James explained this would happen; that as soon as one drank the potion, the transformation would begin and they had no way of stopping it. Sirius took the warning lightly, never actually thinking that he'd have no control but James was right and now he felt like he was having a fucking heart attack. Karma's a bitch.

Sirius wobbled to a stance, tossing his wand to the side while that black fur continued to appear in his mind. He breathed deeply until his chest filled to the brim but if he held it in any longer, he was sure to faint.

Readings from the Animagus textbook echoed through his head: You must show no fear for it is too late now to escape the change you have willed.

Sirius shut everything out, emptied his mind, poured out every ounce of fear and tremor that weakened his bones onto the thinning rug beneath his feet. He went blank, even his pain subdued; but without willing it so, an image replaced the emptiness, filling every crevice of his mind.

It was a boy with hair lit like honey in the sun, and within it, glints of gold - the circlet of a god. His beauty shined like a flame, vital and bright, drawing Sirius' attention against his will.

That image was what made him sink to the floor; his body reforming, bones reclining into those with more strength. He did not open his eyes, just felt the sensations of prickling hairs growing from his arms; his jaw clenching as new, sharp teeth pierced through his gums; palms becoming soft and padded.

He began to smell the Cuban cigars rolled with dried and fermented tobacco leaves in his father's study a floor up; the low burning of wax from the candelabras in the parlor across the hall; the scent of alcohol from a beer bummed off muggle somewhere outside. His nose tingled as tons of smells attacked his nostrils, begging for him to define them.

That's when he opened his eyes, seeing that his vision no longer aligned with his window but the top of his trunk. Sirius shifted his weight but almost tipped over when he found himself walking on his hands and feet. He knocked into the side of his bed, head colliding with the metal post as he tried to regain his balance.

But Sirius paused, joints stiffening as he looked around his room to find that everything was clearly visible. He made out every sharp edge and silhouette in the darkness that would've taken him a whole lot of squinting and "Lumos" to see.

Sirius walked around his room- no, more like pranced- galloped- treaded- he couldn't quite describe it but it was so bloody cool.

He crawled under his bed, buried his nose in his open drawers, rolled around in the pile of clothes he'd dumped from his trunk, and- had this weird desire to bark? It bubbled in his throat, itching under his tongue but he suppressed it to not wake his parents.

Sirius was just so...happy. He didn't know what it was but he couldn't stop moving; he was just so restless, so full of energy. He wanted to run- no, sprint! He wanted to jump in the ocean and feel small waves splash against his face or dance in the rain as he hopped in puddles and feet tracked with mud.

His mouth flooded in saliva and felt a wagging from behind that electrified his body. He turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the movement but just ended up spinning in circles.

Eventually, Sirius stumbled across the glass mirror James had given him, tossed aside from the ransacking of his trunk. He approached it wearily and saw his reflection; a wet snout, black fur, smokey-grey eyes. The only thing Sirius could think of as he pursued his new body was, I look so fucking cool.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 24th December 1975

Sirius woke up that hazy Christmas Eve morning in complete darkness. Rain pattered against his window and the sky rolled in thick grey clouds, fluffy like cotton that shielding the sun. He would've mistaken the day for night and continued to sleep if his mother's screeching voice wasn't ordering people around downstairs.

"Espèce d'idiote! I said silver. Pas d'or, ARGENT!" Her words were tight and strained, throat presumably dry from an early morning of yelling.

"Oui madame, Oui madame," a trembling waitress assured.

"Oh don't oui madame me." Sirius could picture the mocking contortion of her face. "Take out the gold and replace it with silver."

There was no response, just the scurrying of shoes across the floor and more aggressive demands.

Shut up, I'm trying to sleep! But Sirius kept the words in the capacity of his head. He groaned, throwing a pillow at his door which landed with a hard thud, then a pillow over his face to drown out the noise, but nothing could silence his mother.

Today was the day he'd been dreading since the moment he'd seen his mother on the platform. Just the thought of seeing them, all of them, made Sirius sick.

One wrong move and they'd hex him on the spot. That was the thing about his family, they quite simply had no mercy or in simpler terms, did not give a shit.

Sirius yawned and got up, dread weighing his pride but in the darkness of his room, sitting at the foot of his bed, was a present. He never got presents.

The package was lopsided and a bit dented from owl talon marks, messily tapped in colourful wrapping paper of candy canes with a large red bow on top. It was a beautifully chaotic mess and he loved it.

He knew it wasn't from Andromeda, she only sent things to him when he was at Hogwarts. Then again, no package ever made its way to Sirius without going through his mother first.

He listened carefully to the outside of his room for any sounds and once confirming that no one was there, he hurriedly grabbed the present and set it on his lap.

Sirius' itching fingers gently tore apart the wrapping, then lifted the lid to a brown paper box. Inside it was a mess of red tissue paper like seas of blood but neatly placed on top was an envelope addressed to him. Sirius.

He picked it up and broke the seal. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the mayhem of slanted words and thick splotched ink on the letter, he knew who it was from.

Happy Christmas Sirius,

Hope they haven't tortured you too badly- sorry, that was fucked up, let me restart. Hope your holidays are going well. Mum made you this when I told her you'd never had one- and yes, she also gave one to James and Peter so don't get cocky and think you're special.

Maybe next year you can spend the holidays or summer here, I know how much you love muggles and all that crap.

Try to make it back in one piece. Miss you.

-Remus

Sirius found his lips melting into a soft smile, running the pad of his thumb over the writing. Miss you too.

He set the letter aside and ventured into the tissue-filled box, hands reaching a soft webbed fabric that entangled around his fingers. Pulling it out and squinting through the dim light, Sirius couldn't help but laugh.

The sweater was knitted in thick green yarn with strings of cheap tinsel wrapping around the entire front and back. Small ornaments hung from gaps in the skitching and bulbs of multi-coloured light flickered like fireflies from amidst the tinsel. A Christmas tree.

It was the most horrendous, cringing, god-fucking-awful sweater he'd ever seen that was undoubtedly two sizes too big, and yet he held it in his hands so gently as if it were a newborn child.

His mother didn't knit or sew, believing it to be a job for the poor. Sirius never thought this. There was something so endearing about owning handmade things, wearing clothing that someone took the time to make for you.

Everything Sirius had was new and stiff, never worn in or beaten. None of his sweaters had loose threads or patched sleeves with mix-matched threading or asymmetrical sleeve lengths.

Sirius didn't have clothing that spoke of home. What he wore was in defiance of his entire family; the leather jacket, torn jeans, graphic rock tee, chunky jewelry - anything and everything that screamed, I'M NOT A BLACK!

The point is, Sirius never knew a mother's love. He'd never been able to answer a question with, "Yeah, my mother made it for me." But this, this, what he held in his broken hands, stroking over the soft knitting, was love. It felt selfish to take it from a parent that wasn't his but he did.

He brought the sweater to his nose, inhaling the sweet scents of pollinated flowers and herbal essence which made the coldness of his skin surge in warmth like palms to an open flame.

It was home. Remus' home.

***

Laid out on his bed were velvet black dress robes and a black suit accompanied with a tie and polished oxford shoes. He ran a hand over the lush fabric, wishing for nothing more than to be able to wear his ugly Christmas sweater with obnoxious lights and spiky tinsel.

Sirius stared at the bare clothing, feeling no joy bubble in his stomach like the holiday typically gave. Oh, what he'd give for a normal Christmas.

His robes fit snugly but his shoes were stiff and unbeaten. The top-lining scraped against his heels when he walked, peeling away at his skin and making every step leave a sting on his achilles. Sirius wrapped his fingers in a fresh bandage cloth, compacting them together so his bones wouldn't shift. Some bruising had started to sprout around his knuckles, deep shades of purple and navy where his joints had dislocated.

After getting dressed, Sirius snuck into Regulus's vacant bedroom and dropped off a horribly wrapped present onto his desk. It wasn't much, just a box of oil pastels he'd come across at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop attached with a small note that said, "Merry Christmas you annoying prick." He even added a wonky smiley face at the end.

He found his brother in their shared bathroom, leaning over the counter on the tips of his toes, and fumbling with his tie. His brows screwed in concentration as he crossed one flap over the other, twisted and looped, then took it all apart and started from scratch.

"You still can't tie a tie?" Sirius teased, leaning smoothly against the doorframe with crossed arms.

"I do," he refuted but the knot he'd created said otherwise.

Sirius rolled his eyes, then leaned off the frame. "Viens ici."

"Non," he denied, arrogantly. "I can do it myself."

Sirius forced him around by the shoulder, tugged him forward by the flaps of his robes, then slapped away the boney hands that still gripped his tie. "Ne soyez pas têtu."

"I'm not," Regulus pouted, watching his brother with big grey eyes like full moons on foggy nights.

If there was one thing Sirius could do, it was tie a tie. His father had taught him quite young, embedding the skill into his palms until it became second nature.

Sirius hummed to the tune of some random carol he'd once heard Remus play on the guitar while he adjusted the tie under Regulus's collar. Technically Remus hadn't known Sirius was listening; the boy was alone in the common room with Alexander's guitar, plucking away at the strings as he rested on an armchair by the fire. Sirius hid in the stairwell, back pressed against the cold stone with his eyes closed as he listened.

Remus played with ease, cords low and deep. The sound was pure and sweet as honey, rich on the tongue. It was like no music he'd ever heard. The notes floated in the cold winter air and reached his ears, soothing the tightness of his heart. It was one of the most beautiful things Sirius ever bore witness to.

Regulus quirked his head. "What're you singing?"

"I don't know."

His eyes softened. "It sounds nice."

Sirius smiled to himself, heart soothing just like it had from that time before.

***

For the first time in a long time, their house felt like home. Soft burning candles lit every room, piano keys echoed throughout the halls, the smell of pine and bathed ham rose from the kitchen, Christmas garland with fairy lights and berries entwined draped along railings and mantels, and bare trees with transparent ornaments which were sprinkled in fake snow sat in shadowed corners.

Even though there were no stockings, bright colours, gifts under the tree, corny decorations, caroling music, mistletoe, gingerbread, hot chocolate, or any of the classic muggle holiday things that he'd seen in catalogs, Sirius was happy to at least get this.

If it wasn't for his mother's harsh, demanding orders to house-elves and waiters, the day might've been relaxing.

The Black family Christmas Eve ball had been going on for centuries. For one night, the entire bloodline plus other sacred twenty-eight families and extended relatives from France would dress up in their finest gowns and robes, drown themselves in jewelry, waltz to Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, and be complete snobs.

The best part was that no one liked each other. Guests shook hands, nodded politely, and smiled through gritted teeth. They'd much rather be anywhere else but when Walburga Black throws a party, you have no choice but to attend. It raises your status to be seen with such a prestigious family but Sirius thought it was total crap.

It was always known that he'd grown up in a "sacred" household - his friends still made fun of him because of it - but people only ever saw what his parents presented. To the wizarding world, the Blacks were perfect. They were charitable, hospitable, gave money to dying facilities, opened their home to fundraiser events, and hosted the most extravagant balls and banquettes.

But behind all that glitz and glamour was nothing but sheer darkness.

The Blacks were not perfect. Yes, they were beautiful, wealthy, highly educated, and talented wizards and witches, but they were not perfect. Nor were they good.

They put up a show, it was all a ruse to maintain their high-class authority. Without it, people would see that Sirius' bloodline was filled with nothing but murderers, traitors, supremacists, racists, the darkest wizards Hogwarts had ever nurtured.

Sadly, no one knew this.

Instead, they saw a picturesque family; a father - buff and kingly, a mother - poised and regal, and two sons - charming and well behaved with striking features and flawless complexions. In reality, they were a broken family; a father - always angry and yelling, a mother - abusive and merciless, and two sons - scarred and afraid of their parents with curses they still haven't healed from.

And this was the family Sirius grew up in. Always peering over his shoulder to make sure no one was following, listening to footsteps through his sleep, never talking during meals, forbidden to be a happy child.

Every so often Sirius would lie awake on nights he'd cried himself dry and wonder, why me?

The moment his mother saw him descending the stairs to the first floor with Regulus shadowed behind, she sped over; a mass of sweeping black lace caping her dress and rich perfume on her wrists.

She took one look at his appearance and bitterly scuffed, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward, her grip so strong it was sure to leave a bruise. She adjusted his tie, making it tighter and tighter, releasing some of the stress as a hostess on his neck.

Sirius's face turned all shades of red but his mother showed no mercy and he showed no resistance; keeping his features completely relaxed as if he wasn't struggling to breathe.

Sirius found that acting unfazed to his mother's abuse was what pissed her off the most, so he did it and found the slightest bit of amusement when her ears steamed in irritation.

"What are you smirking at?" she snapped, flattening the already ironed pads of his shoulders with more pressure than was necessary.

Sirius nibbled at the inside of his cheek, biting back a laugh. "Nothing."

"Well wipe it off your face," she ordered, slapping him on the cheek that was light enough so it didn't hurt but still left a sting from the diamond rings that crammed on her fingers.

Guests arrived promptly and his mother was there, already staged with a glass of champagne casually gripped in her left hand while she greeted people with an air kiss on both cheeks, pressing a fake smile. They brought gifts of wine bottles, expensive French chocolate, boxed herbs, and vase flower arrangements which would either be stored in their winery, returned, or thrown away. His mother only ever kept what was deemed to impress, never anything that brought pleasure.

It was quite an odd moment when Lucious entered because Sirius subconsciously stood on his toes, heart skipping in a stupid hope as he waited for a boy with platinum hair, icy eyes, and a beautiful laugh to follow behind, but no one did.

The only person accompanying him was Narcissa whose blonde locks tumbled graciously down her back like threads of gold from a furnace. Her hand linked around his arm, and skinny finger carrying a gold wedding band with amethyst quartz at its center.

House-elves accepted coats at the entryway, most of which were tossed on them without the slightest care. That was except for Narcissa who, before her husband could throw his jacket away, caught it swiftly, folded it, and handed it politely to the elf at her feet.

In the evening, more guests began to arrive, filling the house with chattering voices and obnoxious laughs. Sirius and Regulus slipped through the throngs of people, sticking with lurking in the shadows than shaking hands and engaging in dull conversation with their relatives.

His mother played hostess well with rich laughs like ripe fruits and refined strides like a goddess, a little too well to the point where Sirius had to remind himself, this isn't how she really is.

Waiters passaged the clamored rooms with clean white rags drabbed over one arm and holding trays filled with hors d'oeuvres or champagne glasses in the other. Sirius denied every dish that passed his nose while Regulus, being the pushover he was, had a mountain of mince pies and baked clams wrapped in a napkin in his hand that he refused to eat but carried for politeness.

The two were loitering by the fire, hot flames warming their calves when Regulus nudged Sirius in the rib. Perking his head up, he spotted a body coming towards them into the soft burning light. Her mop of tight black curls like velvet dress ribbons illuminated with a halo glow and cheekbones raised high on her face which carved pits into her skin. She was taller than Sirius and her complexion shone impossibly pale as if painted with moonlight.

"Regulus, it is quite impolite to carry such food and not eat it," Bellatrix criticized, then snapped her fingers, calling on one of the waiters who bustled over in a matter of seconds. "Take that, throw it away," she ordered and the waiter obeyed, scooping up the napkin in Regulus' small hands which he gave willingly, and hurriedly leaving.

"How's Slytherin treating you, cousin?" Bellatrix asked, tilting her head down to meet Regulus's eyes.

He blinked. "Fine."

"And you?" She lifted her head.

Sirius raised his brows. "And me?"

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose, as if at a rising stench, then repeated, "And how is-" She struggled with the name, saying it as if it were a knot on her tongue. "-Gryffindor treating you?"

He smirked. "It's treating me well." His eyes flicked down to the black onyx ring on her boney knuckle. "I see you're still married."

Where most women would gloat, Bellatrix simply tied her hands behind her back, hiding the symbol of her marriage. "For four years now," she replied, quite stiffly.

"And no divorce?"

"No."

"Still astounds me how Rudolph puts up with you."

"Rodolphus," she corrected but Sirius spoke over her.

"I mean let's be honest Bella, you're no saint." Regulus tugged at the sleeve of his arm for him to stop but he didn't, he never would. The one thing Sirius lacked was a sense of when enough was enough. "I was sure you wouldn't find a man, but hey, miracles happened."

"Be quiet," she hissed, leaning forward.

"I mean if you can find one, I guess there's hope for us all-"

Bellatrix grabbed him by the tie and yanked him forward so close to her face that he could feel her breath on his nose, not warm at all, but chilled like the depths of the sea. "I think you underestimate my abilities, Sirius." She revealed her wand from a strap under the thigh of her dress and dragged the tip up his chest until it rested under his chin. "You will show me respect seeing as I could kill you with one wordless spell and no one would even notice." Bellatrix laughed so only he could hear, baring her rows of pearly teeth. "Isn't that funny? You would be dead and no one would care."

Sirius gulped, paralyzed by the demise and dark magic that cradled her sadistic smile. He couldn't breathe. He didn't even dare.

"If anything, it might be a blessing." Then her lips went cold, jabbing her wand harder under his chin. "Do not tempt me, Sirius." She released his tie and strutted away, greeting guests with a captivating smile and friendly wave as if she hadn't just threatened a boy's life.

***

Supper was formal, more formal than usual, consisting of eleven courses that Sirius had to sit through. He behaved to the best of his abilities but behaving for him was just remaining silent, so that's what he did.

The first course was amuse-bouche, served on floating silver platters that people could accept or deny as they pleased. Sirius denied them all. He didn't see the point in savoring cold caviar and crab puffs when they could go straight to the second main course of grilled steak with rosemary potatoes but at the rate that everyone chewed, the dinner would never end.

They sat in their formal dining room, everyone seated at a long, walnut-wood table with an ivory cloth draped over. Expensive china, crystal champagne glasses, burning candelabras, and poinsettia flower arrangements covered the table so much that you could barely see the person across.

Regulus got dragged over to sit by their Grandmother Irma, leaving Sirius crammed between his Uncle Cygnus and Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus.

About twenty different conversations occurred around the table at once. Turning to his left, Sirius would find himself learning about the latest market raise at Gringotts whereas to his right was an argument over some crap on who'd be the next Minister?

He was stuffed at a crowded table, smelling of crab and vinaigrette, crammed in a high-backed armchair, and losing hours of his life he'd never get back. Someone fucking kill me now.

Before the fourth course began, his father stood, clicking a knife to his glass. Chatter hushed as attentions were drawn to the large, built man at the head of the table with a scruffy beard he refused to shave and a breath of heavy alcohol Sirius could now smell even from yards away.

"I'd like to make a toast." His voice was loud in the silent chamber. "Some of you made long trips to get here, we are happy you could make it. Your home is ours." His face didn't replicate the gratitude of his words. He turned, raising his glass in the direction of his wife. "To Walburga, looking beautiful as always, who planned this whole event and drove me mad because of it."

People laughed but Sirius didn't see what there was to be amused by?

His father straightened, facing everyone this time, and raised his glass higher. Something invaded his body like a new authority, making him broader and dominating as if he were king and they were his subjects. "And to the war. Let us win, let the fools die, let the Dark Lord step to power. He is what this world needs, he will lead us to victory!"

"To the Dark Lord," his mother exclaimed.

"To the Dark Lord!" the rest echoed.

There were cheers, whistles, applauds, raising and clinking of glasses but Sirius couldn't hear any of it. All noises died out, all sensations wilted. He replayed his father's words, again and again, making sure he'd heard him correctly. "Let the Dark Lord step to power. He is what this world needs..."

Sirius's stomach dropped.

And that's when it started. Rodolphus led, rolling up the cuff of his left sleeve, revealing the ghostly whiteness of his skin. But then there was a mark.

The breath died in Sirius' throat.

It was a colossal skull, composed of what looked like black tattoo ink, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. Sirius watched it with wide eyes. It swayed on Rodolphus' skin, alive and deadly, he swore he heard it hiss.

Sirius desperately looked to his parents, hoping to receive the same reaction but instead, he only saw their forearms, their tattoos. He looked at Bellatrix...a snake above her wrist, he looked at Lucius, a snake above his wrist, he looked at Narcissa, her fingers were tracing the lines of her husband's tattoo, he looked at Regulus...nothing. His brother was just as frozen as he.

A tilting vertigo, as if he were drunk. He could not speak or think. Sirius could only stare as more and more people lifted their sleeves, showing off their tattoos as if they were fine art. As if they weren't the symbol of genocide.

Sirius wanted to yell in their faces and shake them by the shoulders but he was too traumatized, too shocked at what he was witnessing.

His family wasn't good, he'd always known that but this...this was different.

As Sirius sat and looked around at who he thought was his family, he finally saw the truth and it horrified him. They're all monsters. But as Sirius continued to look, continued to see dark marks, he realized. He was sitting with them. He was part of this. He was a monster.

Oh god...

The tie around his neck became suffocating, enclosing around his throat until the veins throbbed and breaths cut short. The blood pounded in his ears until everything became a blur of laughs and courses and amuse-bouche. Sirius's nails dug into his thighs to stop himself from leaving and stayed that way until the eighth course.

As hard as he tried to keep his appearance calm, his heart screamed, cried for help but no one heard. He was dying a silent death, caught in a state of silent panic. Always dying but never dead.

He wasn't afraid of death. We all die, whether it be today or fifty years from now. Death, if anything, was a gift because it allowed a person to see the end of war. What he was afraid of was dying on the wrong side. Being known as a loyal member to Voldemort and the Black family heir was worse than any unforgivable curse.

Sirius had spent his entire life fighting against this. How would you feel if the monster you'd been trying to outrun suddenly caught up to you?

That was his demon; his family blood. How ironic that the thing keeping him alive was the thing he hated? Life curses us that way. We can never truly escape our past.

But he'd rather die than become one of them. He had to get away. He couldn't stay in that damned house any longer. He had to leave.

At this point, Sirius didn't care about his mother's rules. He got up slipped away, ran, and tripped up the stairs until he reached the safety of his room. He began to pack.

It was a mess of voices in his head, flashes of the mark in his eyes, cries of his parents in his ears.

His hands trembled as he shoved books, clothes, records, and quills all into his trunk. He didn't even know what he was packing but just took whatever he saw and threw it in. The faster he went, the faster he could leave.

Then cheers, clinking glasses, and soft piano music rose from beneath his floorboards at the party that went on downstairs.

Death was at his feet. It called to him, scraped at his heels, begging for him to go back down. To join the party.

You want it, you know you do.

Sirius shook his head violently, stuffing more things into his trunk. Leave me alone, just leave me the fuck alone!

You're lying to yourself Sirius. You know how your mother feels about lies.

Sirius tripped over the messy spread of sheets that had tangled around his feet. He kicked them off, throwing them back on the bed but the voice in his head continued. It tortured him.

Stop running Sirius. You were born into this, this is who you are. You are a Black, it's in your blood. You were meant to serve, to be with them.

Sirius seized his hair in his hands and yanked it from his scalp, splintered wood digging into his knees as he fell to the floor. He pounded on his head, trying to get the voice out. NO! I'M NOT THEM, I'M NOTHING LIKE THEM!

You are and stop denying it. It'll only make matters worse.

A knock at his door sent Sirius bolting upright. It was probably the first time that his heart stopped at the slow turn of a doorknob. His brother emerged, calm and quiet, horrors from the dinner still smeared across his face. Sirius turned his head away, going back to packing but he could hear Regulus at the entryway, staring.

Sirius couldn't look, he wouldn't look because as soon as he met his brother's fragile, delicate eyes that were now watching him leave - the eyes he'd looked into and promised escape, he was sure to break. And he couldn't break, he couldn't cave because then he'd be back in the clutches of death.

"What are you doing?"

Sirius didn't respond. He couldn't. He just packed, throwing book after book in his already stuffed trunk. He searched his drawers, taking out the secret journals he'd hidden under socks, and letters from Andromeda he'd wedged behind picture frames. He picked apart his room, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but tangled sheets, tossed pillows, crooked frames, old wooden toys, toppled ink wells that stained his desk, open drawers, and a celestial mobile that was still spinning.

But Sirius wasn't satisfied. He wanted to burn it, set flames to his spruce wallpaper, the place where he'd been locked up for sixteen years.

This was a prison, his room was a prison. The bed which he slept in for his entire life was soaked in tears instead of happy dreams. The floor which he stood upon was stained in drops of dried blood instead of rings of waxed wood. The window which he faced was cracked from punching it last year instead of polished from glass cleaner.

His room was filled with the horrors of his life, the pain he'd felt, and the tears he'd cried. He prayed in this room, he went insane in this room, he died bit by bit in this fucking room.

He hated it, all of it.

"Sirius?" And there it was, his reminder. The reason why he wasn't already out the door.

He knew he'd regret it, he knew it was something he'd beat himself up about doing, but he had to. Sirius turned and there they were, those eyes. Those grey, misty, teary eyes that glistened in the poorly lit room. Those eyes that were trembling just as much as his hands. Those eyes that would forever scar Sirius' memory for as long as he lived.

His brother didn't break the contact, voice weak and cracked and no more than a shaky whisper. "What are you doing?" But Regulus already knew. He knew and wanted Sirius to say it. But he couldn't. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't...

Sirius averted his eyes and turned to his trunk, closing the lid and pressing down but it was too crammed to latch. He pressed down harder but there was too much inside, too many memories inside. So he took them out. He broke them.

He threw Transfiguration textbooks at his wall, watching in blinding rage as their spines snapped, then fell. He took dress robes and tore them, hearing the threads snap, snap, SNAP! He crumbled letters into his trash bin, ribbed pages and pages from the books his mother made him read. He emptied his trunk until all that remained was his vinyl, three books, some clothes, and the wooden box he'd kept the Animagus potion in but now used as a container for old photographs.

Regulus didn't intervene, he just watched with wide, observant eyes that wandered across the destruction Sirius caused; ripping, tearing, throwing, breaking. He let it happen, all of it. He stared, and stared, and stared, reaction delayed and not sure of what to believe.

Now his room was really a mess, so much so that he could hear glass fragments cracking under his soles. Sirius felt better, his trunk locked, it was much lighter, and his room looked like shit.

When he was done rampaging, he turned to Regulus and spoke. "Come with me."

He wasn't asking, he was pleading. Their gazes caught, then held. It was a topic they'd always discussed but seemed so uncalled for that it took Regulus by surprise. The final truth of it all. Now it was down for him to decide.

For the first time since the sorting when the hat announced Slytherin and the two brothers had been torn apart by separate worlds, Sirius saw a crack in Regulus's flawlessness. He saw emotion. Real, raw, heavy tears that begged him to stay.

"Reg," he took hold of his shoulders, then cupped his face, a boy so precious and beautiful that for a moment Sirius forgot about leaving, just for a moment. "Please."

Regulus's eyes rounded, those tears now rivers streaming his cheeks. He hadn't seen him cry since they were kids. But Regulus was still a kid. A child. He was just a boy who deserved more than this life, this shitty hand they'd been dealt.

He would regret it. Later on, for the rest of his life, Sirius Black would regret leaving his brother behind. The promise he'd made sprung up in his mind and it weighed his heart in guilt. "Yes, we'll leave."

But before Regulus could decide, the sound of angry footsteps came up the stairs and then a shrill voice from down the hall. In a haze of confusion and working adrenaline, Sirius kissed his brother on the forehead, grabbed his suitcase, shoved past his mother, flew down the stairs, busted through their front door, and ran into the night.

As rain pelted down upon the fine fabric of his robes, he could hear the desperate calls from his brother. He could hear him screaming, "SIRIUS!" with a withering cry caught in his throat.

But he didnt turn back.

As much as it pained him to leave his brother, as he felt the trust Regulus had put in him being ripped away, he couldn't stay in that house. So he just continued running.

People do bad things in order to survive.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 24th December 1975

The clouds cried with him, tears and rain rolling down and splattering in puddles across the pavement. It was a downpour that soothed like a balm to his bruises. They tasted of salt and regret.

Sirius' runs turned to slow walks as the ground became too slippery to tread upon. Street lamps buzzed like dying fireflies, flickering yellow against his frostbit skin. The winter's unbearable cold nipped at his lungs and dried the moisture from his mouth. He shoved a hand down deep in his robe pocket which provided the slightest warmth, the other clutching the handle of his trunk.

The empty Islington streets hung around him like a ghost.

After what felt like hours of walking, Sirius stopped, tilting his head up to face the night sky. He stayed there, for just a moment, feeling the cold water kiss his skin, heavying his clothes as they soaked every last drop.

He understood now, the beauty of rain. How even when the world could be burning at your feet or your heart hurts so much you think you might die, the rain just numbs it all. Sirius closed his eyes, thick drops hitting his lids like broken seashells. He listened to the light drum on trash bins, car roofs, windows, flower pots; splat, splat, splat.

His breath let out and he just stood there, helpless and abandoned, but at least he had the rain for company.

It felt like a knife had been driven into his chest, cutting through flesh and bone, then pulled out with his heart on the blade. He couldn't feel anymore but it's good, not feeling. Sounds don't seem as loud, colours aren't as bright. His world was tainted, drained of its life. But Sirius accepted it. Good, he thought. Let me suffer.

Regulus was his platonic love. The only person who'd seen him at his worst. He was Sirius' reason. But he lost his brother the second he'd asked, "Come with me."

There would be no apologies, no forgiveness. Sirius fucked up and there would be no second chances. He had nowhere to go, home was no longer a place, but if he was being honest, it had never been a place to begin with.

In the end, he only had himself because behind every strong person is a story that gave them no choice.

The clock tower struck midnight. He officially hated Christmas.

Music from an old, static record played from inside an apartment. It sept through the bricks of their walls and out onto the dingy streets of muggle London. Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.

His lips were numb and turning blue, plums of cold air releasing from his mouth like cigarette smoke. Rain filled his shoes, soaked his socks, squashed beneath his soles, deadened his feet.

Sirius considered transforming into his Animagus - dogs were known to maintain warmth from their fur - but he wasn't sure if he could. He was just so, so tired. It was like a dementor had come and drained him of his happiness, feeding off of his depression like a moth drawn to a flame.

Round yon virgin, mother and child. Holy infant so tender and mild.

His name was probably blasted off their family tree, scorched and burnt next to Regulus'. I should go back. I should get him. But he knew he couldn't. His brother was better off without him, safer now. Besides, his mother wouldn't let Sirius step one foot on her doorstep before killing him right then and there. No sympathy. No mercy. Just a flash of green light and it would all be over.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

But honestly, Sirius was considering it. Not for Regulus but for that chance. That small chance that his mother would come out and kill him. As rain pelted down and drowned his soul, death seemed like a much better place to be.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

A horn blew, loud and deafening from behind and Sirius whipped around, his heart electrified. He threw up a hand to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light before a gust of strong wind startled him back and a purple triple-decker bus halted to a screeching stop in front of him. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus.

Sirius froze as a tall, skinny conductor with fading brown hair, dressed in a purple uniform leaped out of the bus and began to speak loudly into the night with a cue card in his hand. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go."

Then he met Sirius' waiting eyes, flashed a crooked grin, and extended a calloused hand. "Melvine Shunpike, at ya service." He'd dropped his professional manner.

Sirius did not shake his hand, just stared at the way it held out in the open air, slightly shaking.

Melvine chuckled, exposing a chipped tooth. "Not one for 'andshakes are ya?" His accent was thick and improper, but there was a roughness to his words like a decaying throat from ages of smoking or drinking. "Oh, you a posh one ain'tcha?" Melvine sneered, pointing a boney finger to the hand-sewn threading of Sirius' jacket. "But why you wet?"

Sirius just stood there, shifting uncomfortably in his polished, rain-filled shoes. "It's raining," he deadpanned.

"Then why don't you 'ave an umbrella?"

He didn't respond, just glared at the man in front of him whose ears were quite protruding, unsure if he was slow or just stupid? "Listen, how much would it be to get to Cambridgeshire?"

"Thirteen sickles," said Melvine, "but for fourteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get a 'ot water bottle and a toothbrush in the colour of your choice."

Sirius rummaged in his trunk, extracted his money bag, and shoved some gold into Melvine's hand. He counted each coin one by one in his palm, then turned on his heels and entered the bus, leaving Sirius standing alone in the cold. Melvines' weatherbeaten voice echoed from inside. "Well don' just stand there, c'mon."

The bus was far more grandiose than it appeared from the outside. There hung a crystal chandelier from the roof which swayed but was covered in cobwebs. Instead of seats, half a dozen brass wheeled bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. One wizard, who gave off the smell of heavy fire whisky, was sleeping in a cot, snoring loud and drunk.

"Where you 'eading?" Melvine asked, posting himself at the front by the driver as Sirius had seated himself on one of the beds. It squeaked under his weight.

"You wouldn't know where it is."

The man gave a horse laugh which made Sirius grip his trunk tightly. "Ernie 'ere knows everything. Just give 'im a name and 'e'll get you there." Sirius looked past Melvine and saw another old man with static grey hair and round owl glasses sitting in the driver's seat. He appeared to be sleeping.

"The Potter's residence," Sirius replied without thinking as if that was his home all along, but it wasn't.

Melvine gave a devious grin that cracked the skin of his dry lips and tapped on the glass behind him. "'ere that Ern, the Potter's residence!" he half-shouted.

The old man jolted up, woken from slumber, then pulled back hard on a gear that made the engine roar.

"'old onto your 'at posh boy," Melvine winked.

Sirius wasn't expecting his entire life to flash before his eyes when Ernie slammed his foot on the gas and the bus sped forward like a bolt of fresh lightning.

His stomach practically flipped when his body was thrown back, head bumping against the mattress of the cot behind him before gripping onto its metal railing for support. He looked out a dark window, seeing them roll past scattering bushes, wastebaskets, telephone booths, and trees. His eyes bulged as the bus mounted the pavement and swerved through traffic, but never hit anything, not even a single mailbox.

While Sirius held onto the bed for dear life, Melvine didn't budge, standing surprisingly steadily with his arms crossed. He scratched the scruff of his growing beard. "Woss your name kid?"

Sirius was too caught up in his nerves to fully understand the question. "R-Remus Lupin," he stuttered, saying the first name that came into his head. If the Ministry was looking for him, a runaway, he didn't want to make it too easy for them.

Melvine gave a nod but didn't seem completely satisfied. "Why you out so late? It's Christmas."

Sirius' head was now throbbing in migraine as his cot bumped from wall to wall and the man's questions weren't helping him from staying conscious. "Why do you care?" he huffed, now tasting brewing nausea in his throat.

"Well you're wet, alone, dressed all posh, got your knuckles wrapped up, and are carrying a fancy trunk; wanna make sure you ain't a felon."

He sprung his head up. "Why would you think I'm a felon?" Sirius flailed a bit too loudly, trying to raise his voice over the deafening screeches of the bus's wheels against wet roads.

Melvine shrugged, "You look like one."

"Well, what the fuck does that mea-"

The bus skidded to a stop and Sirius' grip slipped from the railing of the bed, his body thrown forward and smashing against the front wall. His face squished against the glass panel before peeling off as he collapsed to the floor.

"We're 'ere," Melvine announced, mindlessly stepping over Sirius' sprawled body.

He groaned through the aching of his sore back but stumbled up, a wash of dizziness swaying his mind. His legs felt like jelly as he wobbled down the steps, eyes adjusting to the darkened night. A long way out was a dim-lit, three-storied manor surrounded by woody forests and grassy hills. Just the sight of it put Sirius' heart to rest.

He turned around to thank Melvine for the ride but when he did, there was nothing there but an empty street and his trunk which sat by his feet.

It only drizzled now, a light patter on the cobblestone pathway. The closer Sirius got, the clearer he could see the growing vines that snaked up the exterior walls and dripping lance leaf coreopsis which spread in beds across the wet grass. The manor was surrounded by gardens filled with apricot trees and strawberry plants. He could almost smell the sweetly baked cherry pie and pre-roasted turkey from the kitchen.

Sirius awkwardly stood on their Roman-arched porch and stared at the Christmas wreath which hung from the door. Berries and pine cones, the festivity made him sick. His fingers wrapped around a bronze lion knocker, but he didn't knock.

He was drenched and shivering and probably looked like shit. He'd never once spoken to James about his family, and now this? Sirius knew they had no boundaries, no lines to be crossed but this was so much more. It was like everything he'd kept hidden, all those secrets and lies were now there, on his front porch, waiting for James to finally see.

Sirius didn't know if he could deal with that exposure, that vulnerability. For someone so sure of himself, he didn't know who he was. He felt smaller than a grain of sand, uncomfortable in his own skin.

But he was already at rock bottom, how much farther could he fall? If it were James, I'd be there for him. Sirius knocked.

There was silence and the whisk of a breeze against branches. In those few seconds, the world felt so quiet, so still. As if the earth just took one second to stop and breathe.

Stairs creaked from inside with the muffle of voices, then footsteps grew louder and a thumbturner was twisted. Click. The door slowly opened and a cold wind from the night blew in.

Sirius kept his head down, suddenly ashamed, as if the faces of all his relatives and ancestors surrounded him, revealing the snakes on their forearms. But only those possessed can see their demons.

A body loomed over him, broad-chested and muscled. A slender finger caught his chin and raised it. James stared down at him, hazel eyes as dark as tawny whiskey.

Just when Sirius thought he'd cried himself dry, something in him shifted. All that guilt he kept buried in the pit of his stomach suddenly rose. He couldn't have held it in if he tried, so they came spilling in a wave of tangled emotions. As soon as that first tear slipped, James pulled him to his chest and Sirius found home in his arms.

"James, darling, who is it?" his mother called, voice sweet like nectar but wrapped with age. She appeared by his shoulder and gasped when Sirius came into view. "Sirius! Oh, heavens, MONTY!" she yelled, the name traveling up the stairs of their foyer. Euphemia dragged them both inside and slammed the door shut.

James' nightshirt now stuck to his chest, soaked from the wetness of Sirius' clothes, but he didn't seem to care. "Are you okay?" he asked, urgently, holding Sirius' face in the warmth of his cupped palms.

He couldn't find the words, they were lost, back on the Knight Bus or on the streets of Islington. But James knew, he read him like a book and didn't need confirmation. He pulled Sirius in again and his trunk fell to the floor. James kissed his head and held him so tightly as if Sirius were a cup of water in the palm of his hand that might drain through the cracks of his fingers.

James whispered into his hair, being strong for the both of them. "You're here now, I won't let them take you."

***

Euphemia prepared a bed for Sirius in a guest room across from James but he couldn't handle that separation, even if they were just a door away. So together they stayed in James' room whose pride practically painted the walls with all his Quidditch posters and shelves piled in trophies. Side by side, they laid on his bed in silence. So many questions hung in the air but James was too afraid to ask them.

Sirius' mind drifted back to Regulus' screams, his call, voice slicing through the night like a knife through the heart. "SIRIUS!" He squeezed his eyes shut and willed for the memory to end but it haunted him.

James rolled onto his side and Sirius felt his stare burning at the side of his cheek, but he couldn't meet it. His eyes reminded him too much of Regulus'.

***

From Christmas to boxing day, then New Year, and all the days in between, Sirius didn't get out of bed. His body was so tired but restless that he couldn't sleep, so just blankly watched the ceiling fan spin in endless circles as his thoughts ate him alive. All nights were the same; James staring and Sirius thinking, bodies so close yet so far. Their gazes never once met.

He refused to eat and refused to sleep but Sirius allowed the hunger and exhaustion to consume him. Even when James begged him to have some tea and crackers, he averted his eyes and fell back into bed. I deserve to suffer.

Euphemia had mended his broken fingers and dried his damp hair, Fleamont contacted the Ministry and Dumbledore, James gave him clean clothes and unpacked his trunk, and Sirius let them. Why fight? He thought, What good did it ever bring me?

Dumbledore brought a social worker from the Department of Magic Law Enforcement. Her black hair was pinned back into a tight bun that scarcely reminded him of his mother. "She's on our side," Dumbledore assured but ever since Christmas Eve, Sirius trusted no one.

The woman asked him everything from how his day began to how it ended, bringing up questions he hadn't even thought of himself.

"Did Voldemort come?"

"No."

"Are you sure he wasn't disguised?"

"Yes."

"What did the mark look like?"

Sirius remembered Rodolphus' sleeve rolling up, that ghostly skin, and then swaying tattoo. He remembered the pride on his face; that big, boasting smile as he showed it off around the table. Sick bastard. "It was a snake coming out of a skull, black tattoo ink. It moved too." Speaking of the memory was like reliving a nightmare.

She wrote down every word he spoke but then paused, tensing like a cold hand touched her neck. She cleared her throat. "Did you...did they ask you to-"

"No," Sirius interrupted, firm and quick without so much as a second thought.

She sealed her lips shut with a small, apologetic nod. "Can you name all the people who had the mark?"

The woman was asking him to turn in his entire family. "Well...there's my cousin, Bellatrix, and her husband, Rodolphus."

She scribbled feverish notes on her clipboard. "Who else?"

My parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, everyone I ever loved and gave my trust to. "I don't remember."

"Just think," she pushed.

"I don't remember," Sirius lied, hands fumbling on his lap. He knew. He remembered each of their twisted faces and twisted marks, etched into his brain. Moments like those you don't just forget. But he couldn't tell her, a part of him wouldn't allow it.

"Sirius." She leaned forward, clipboard resting on her thighs. "I need you to tell me the truth, no holding back. The Ministry could do a lot of good with this information."

Well, the Ministry never once saved me from them. His hands felt warm. He peered down to see that another was holding them. James. He gave a small squeeze of reassurance. Sirius swore, sometimes he didn't deserve a friend like him.

He met the woman's eyes, the softest brown infused in green as if they held the harvest of spring. Sirius let out a breath, easing in the circles James traced on his palm, and told her everything.

***

It wasn't until Sirius and Euphemia were alone in the kitchen while James and Fleamont had left to get groceries did he feel the slightest bit tranquil. He watched from a bar stool as she baked, rolling out the dough onto her floured countertop, a Christmas apron covered in chocolate stains and cinnamon. Light from outside their bow windows spilled upon her in urns, brightening the walnut brown of her hair and turning it bronze.

She sang to herself as she baked, a sweet tune like chime bells that ring in the afternoon breeze. She sprinkled more flour over the dough, then spices and some peppermint, folding it all together until it was dotted in colourful specs.

Sirius gazed at her and thought, James is the luckiest son in the world.

"Sleep well dear?" she asked, peering up from the dough she now buttered with a pastry brush.

He felt the bags under his eyes hang heavier. "Yeah, but James snores so..."

Euphemia lightheartedly laughed but it was impossible to miss the discolouration of his skin and the red veins that sprouted to his pupils. Insomnia's a bitch that way. "Yes, he gets it from his father I'm afraid."

"He never snores in our dorm?"

She smiled to herself. "Well, we're always more comfortable in our own beds aren't we?"

Sirius' face went still. He gulped. I never was.

As if she'd heard his thoughts, Euphemia turned, that cheery flush in her raised cheeks which fell the minute she saw his expression. She paused, then realized, guilt painting her face. "Oh darling, I'm so sorry, I- I didn't think-"

"It's fine," he interrupted and waved a dismissive hand, not wanting her to fuss over a matter so silly. "Always hated my bed anyway. Glad I left." He tried half-laughing to ease the mood but it was too forced, too hard on his throat that soon he couldn't stop.

It was just like the first night he'd come back home, Sirius' hands all broken and losing his fucking mind on the bench of the piano.

So now he laughed and laughed and his voice broke a million times over. Euphemia set down her dough and took off her apron, rounding the counter to where Sirius sat. He hid his face in his hands, body shaking as he laughed and cried and laughed and cried. He was a mess of broken glass that cut his fingers every time he tried to pick himself back up.

Sometimes the pain is so much that it comes to the point where you can't even control it. It consumes you and then drives you insane. But your caving does not mean you're weak, it means you're human.

Sirius's mind scrambled because of course, this would only happen to him. He was the one to have a shit family, to lose his brother, to lose himself. God just hated him at this point, threw all the leftover crap he'd taken from other perfect people, and served it to him on a silver fucking platter.

Euphemia watched from a distance, heartbreak in her eyes as she witnessed a boy so young and so full of life destroy himself in a crazed spasm.

Fuck. He was forced to grow up too quickly.

Sirius stuttered an apology, nose running and cheeks wet. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry- shit. I'm not crazy I swear, I just- I just can't-"

But Euphima's arms were already around him, holding his frail body like he was the most precious thing in the world. "Don't you dare apologize. Our home is your home."

And at that moment, Sirius finally felt a mother's love.

***

The holidays had ended before they'd begun. Euphemia apparated the boys to the platform which was crowded in trunks on luggage trolleys and families gathered hand in hand.

Sirius tried not to watch as mothers kissed their sons or fathers hugged their daughters, the smiles on their faces too rich to be real. Something about it just felt heavy on his heart so he kept his eyes trained to the cracks of the floor. Just another reminder of something he couldn't have.

Discreetly, Sirius rolled up his sleeve to peek beneath the fabric. It had become a force of habit to check during every spare moment, making sure that no tattoo magically appeared. He'd physically tear his skin right off if it ever did.

Just as he lifted the hem of his sleeve, James seized his wrist with the tightest grip that could crack his bone. "You aren't them. You won't get it, so stop looking."

He wanted to say, you're wrong. I am them, but the steam in James' eyes died the words in his throat.

Sirius sped so quickly on the train he almost tripped. The last thing he needed was an encounter with Regulus or his mother but thankfully, neither had been on the platform. Students poked their heads through compartment windows, waving at their families as the train departed the station in a cloud of thick gray smoke.

James and Sirius found Peter alone in a cabin, his hands playing on his lap.

Sirius ruffled the boy's straw hair. "How's it going, Pete?"

Peter slapped his hand away. "Fine," he rushed, blue eyes instantly darting to James who'd seated himself next to Sirius. Peter raised his eyebrows in some hinting way and James only shook his head.

Sirius watched the two in bewilderment. "Am I missing something here?"

They exchanged glances, Peter urging James with those raised brows again but James denying him with wide, rounded eyes.

He rubbed his temple and reclined in his seat with a soft groan from the soreness of his shoulders. Merlin, he needed a smoke. The silent bantering of his friends wasn't helping very much. Oh for fucks sake. "Hello, remember me, the guy who doesn't talk in bloody sign?" Sirius sassed.

James sat up a bit straighter, pressing his lips tightly together as if to seal off a question that pricked under his tongue. Eventually, Peter gave in. "Did you do it?" he blurted in a rush of released breath.

"Do what?" Sirius asked, not following.

Peter motioned his hands in some implicative way as if the answer were obvious. "You know..." he drew out, eyes staring so heavy on Sirius that his skin began to tingle.

"Pete, I wouldn't have fucking asked if I knew."

The boy huffed then took in a breath of composure, speaking each word slow and articulated enough that a squid could understand. "Did you finish the Animagus cycle?"

"Oh, yeah," Sirius nodded, nonchalantly.

The other two both snapped straight in their seats. James gripped Sirius's arm, fingers indenting into his skin. "Are you shitting with us?"

"James-" Sirius began, peeling away each individual finger until his arm was released. "-I wouldn't shit about a thing like this."

Peter blinked. "Holy fuck." His eyes were as wide as sapphire stones. "We- we, fuck! Oh my god!" He was standing now, chubby hands running through his blonde hair.

Sirius leaned over and whispered in James' ear. "You fucking broke him."

"Yeah right, he got the bloody cursing from you," he replied, shaking his head in displeasure.

"Oh, like you're more of a saint?"

In refute, James batted his lashes fondly which whisked to touch his brows. Sirius shoved his face away and laughed. Annoying prick.

Peter was practically hyperventilating but smiling all at the same time, like a rainstorm in the sunlight, it was quite a sight.

"Okay, Pete, just breath," James soothed, easing him down by the shoulders until he sat.

But Peter was as high as a kite, beaming like a giddy, lovestruck fool. "We did it!"

"Yes Pete, I think it's been established," Sirius smirked.

And then Remus was there in all his messy glory, leaning against the compartment door with those untied trainers and that oversized jumper. He had a fresh scar that pierced his bottom lip, lined with dried blood, but it seemed to be healing. "Nice holiday lads?"

All three boys turned their heads, gazing at Remus with their prior smiles and flushed faces. Sirius' faded. Nice holiday? But then it struck him. He doesn't know.

James tensed at his side, looking to Sirius for an answer but he simply stiffed a grin. He didn't have it in his heart to ruin the happiness in Remus' honeyed eyes. Something so beautiful shouldn't be broken. I'll tell him later. "Yeah, the best."

Chapter Text

Friday 16th January 1976

"Wait- so the earth isn't flat?"

"No Black, it's not."

Sirius blinked, compelled with shock. "What the fuck!"

"I know," James sighed.

He looked at his friends in desperation. "Why did my mother not tell me this?"

"Cause she's fucking demented and doesn't know geography," Remus bluntly stated. James sent him warning glares but he simply flipped him off.

Sirius gaped, still not understanding this fucking revelation. "But- but WHY?!"

"I don't know mate, tell that to Christopher Columbus," Remus shrugged, leaning into his armchair at ease.

He scrunched his face. "Who?"

"A racist."

Sirius didn't know how to respond to that. "I've been living a lie," he whispered, now overanalyzing everything else he believed to be true.

James came over and patted his shoulder. "Sirius, it's okay, loads of people find this kind of stuff out later in life. Hey, when mum told me about the menstrual cycle, I was shocked. Like did you know girls bleed for a week every month?"

Peter grimaced.

"And, AND they don't die! How can they bleed for a week and not die," he exclaimed, blue eyes going wild.

"James, you never knew this?" Remus deadpanned, not the slightest bit fazed.

"You really think I would've messed with Evans if I'd known she was bleeding? Bloody hell, no wonder she rejects me."

Sirius bit back a laugh. "Yeah, cause her bleeding is definitely the reason."

***

Sirius wouldn't deny it, the past couple of weeks had been rough. His friends didn't expect him to be chipper all the time but they also didn't want him to fall into a depressive hole. So they kept him busy with small tasks like games of exploding snap or going on broom rides after morning classes. Even though they didn't admit it, it was Remus' idea to get him up and doing things.

Sirius would whine and complain when Remus would draw open his curtains and drag him out of bed for breakfast, harsh light from the sun burning like torches on his eyes. He'd instantly reach for the dirty dress shirt he'd worn three days in a row but Remus would rip it out of his hands and shove a clean one at his chest.

"I'm not dressing you, now put that on," he'd order, then proceed to fling him a pair of trousers and white socks before heading out the door.

Sirius would brute while changing but secretly he was grinning. Remus cared and that was enough.

He had his fits of crying where he'd lock himself in their bathroom, turn on the shower handle, and sit alone in the tub while he showered in his guilt. Just that water sprinkling down and soaking his clothes was enough to calm his panic attacks. They never got as far as hyperventilation and even then they weren't that bad.

It was funny when Sirius thought about how panic attacks were just normal now, like brushing his teeth or drinking water. He'd grown accustomed to the seven o'clock hour where his throat would close and eyes would water and the dingy bathroom would become his new home until Peter knocked on the door and complained he had to pee.

It was easier not to think of his brother and forget he was a runaway. One day he'd face the real world but for now, he'd settle with pretending.

The full moon was tomorrow and Sirius couldn't sit still. His heart raced like rockets in his chest, causing his legs to bounce impatiently as he sat at the foot of his bed and stared at the door like a dog awaiting its owner.

He'd check the clock every minute he wasn't checking the doorknob, waiting for it to twist. But ten minutes turned into an hour and an hour turned into two and suddenly it was four in the afternoon and James and Peter still hadn't arrived.

The door opened and Sirius sprang up. "Where the bloody hell were you?" he bombarded.

James leaped out of the way. "Holy shit Black, let me at least walk in!"

Peter trailed behind, hanging his head and Sirius attacked him next. "And where the bloody hell were you?"

The boy opened his mouth but then closed it, thinking better of himself than to speak.

James set down his satchel on his bed and kicked off his shoes. "Relax Sirius, Pete got in trouble with Slughorn, I was just waiting for him to finish his detention."

He snapped his head around to Peter who was creeping towards his bed, trying to go unnoticed. "You got detention?!" Sirius was stunned, to say the least. Peter, tiny little Peter whose afraid of his own fucking shadow got detention. Now that's a marvel.

James nudged the younger boys' side, mischief in his grin. "Tell 'em what you did."

Peter scratched the back of his neck, ear brimming red. "Well...I- I may have exploded someone's potion."

"Whose potion?" James probed, grinning madly.

His voice went quiet. "...Snape's potion." Peter then scrambled to state his defense. "He called me a puny slug, okay! I had good reasons. All I wanted to do was screw up his draught so I dropped in some red spiders but they interacted with the dead petals, and well..." He shrunk like a hermit retreating into its shell. "I- I really didn't intend for an explosion, it just sort of...happened."

Sirius paused, his previous anger defusing. "You know, I don't think I've ever been prouder of you being such a dolt."

The boy perked up and gave a bashful grin.

"Okay," James interrupted, clapping his hands together, "as much as that was a bonding moment, we have more important things to do."

It was stupid that they hadn't done this earlier, with the full moon being tomorrow and all that, but Remus was always around. Not that this was a bad thing, they loved Moony, but to practice transforming, they needed at least an hour to themselves.

Thankfully he and Lily had a prefect meeting with McGonagall which was supposed to take thirty minutes but knowing Remus, he left thirty minutes early.

"I volunteer to go first," James rushed, throwing his hand in the air.

Sirius scoffed. "Potter, you can't volunteer yourself."

James stuck out his tongue and without warning, leaped in the air. His arms elongated and horns grew from his head like jagged tree branches. His warm skin tanned darkener to a coat of coffee brown fur. His feet turned to hooves and clacked against the wood of their floors like tap shoes. Sirius had to crane his neck up to meet James' eyes and was faced by an enormous four-legged reindeer.

"You're a reindeer!" Sirius beamed and Peter gawked at his side, entranced by the regalness of his Animagus.

James - the reindeer huffed, shuffling his feet but the animal was so tall that its antlers scraped the low ceiling of their room. He backed up but hit Remus' bed, then shuffled to the side and knocked over a lamp. Its bulb shattered and shards of glass scattered across the floor. The more he turned the more things broke and tore and shifted and spilled.

Sirius ran up to the animal with steady hands. "Shit, James, stop moving!"

He did, freezing in his place just before his hind legs stepped on Peter's chessboard. The younger boy held his breath and then scurried to pick it up. Sirius let out a sigh and backed away, giving James room as he transformed back. He did, but his antlers didn't quite leave. They remained on his head like the crown of a giant and tipped him from their weight, but James didn't seem to notice. "I am not a reindeer!" he fumed, storming forward and pointing a threatening finger at Sirius. "I'm a fucking stag!"

Sirius held his hands up in apology, voice going high-pitched, "Okay, alright, you're a stag! Merlin, relax." James' ears still flushed red in anger but he backed away, brushing off the dust from his shirt. "Bambi," Sirius muttered under his breath but James heard and it was the final straw. He leaped at him but Sirius was quicker, grabbing Peter by the collar and shoving him in between. "I volunteer Pete!"

Peter tensed as if a ghost had passed through him, stuttering, "I- I don't know, m-maybe you should go."

Sirius rolled his eyes and gave him a light shove. "C'mon Pete, just do it."

James held up his antlers so he wouldn't tip. "Don't let Sirius pressure you. Just breathe and go when you're ready." He gave an encouraging smile, one that could light up a million sea caves, but Peter only wryly half-grinned.

Sirius went to move some things out of the way so they wouldn't have another 'James' incident but Peter pulled him back by the sleeve. His head hung shamefully. "I don't need much room."

The other boys backed away and waited as Peter shuffled nervously and breathed deep breaths. The room was silent except for Sirius' impatient foot-tapping which grew insistent to the point where James jabbed him in the ribs and shushed him.

Peter scrunched his eyes shut and balled his small fists, and miraculously his body shrunk down and down, and just when Sirius thought he couldn't get any smaller, he did. Peter's clothes turned to short brown and grey peppered furs. His arse grew a tail and his ears cupped, blushing pink. Sirius stared at the floor where a small, chubby rat stood.

He burst into laughter.

"He's a- he's, he's," but Sirius wheezed so viciously, he couldn't finish his sentence. He clutched a hand to his stomach as it cramped.

"Sirius!" James scolded, slapping the back of his head but Sirius couldn't feel a single fucking thing.

Tears pooled in his eyes and he wiped them away, still chuckling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry but holy shit," he gasped, drawing in a long, needed breath. "Pete, I'm sorry, I just- fuck you're a rat and I'm an arsehole and I'm sorry."

"Pete I think you look adorable," James cooed but Peter stayed incredibly stiff and silent.

"Okay, my turn!" Sirius blurted, rubbing his hands together in preparation. He didn't give Peter the time to change back or James the chance to step out of the way. He visualized the dog in his mind and that's instantly what he became; gums growing fangs and palms to soft pads.

His friends stared at him in half-shock, half-amazement.

"Oh my god, you're adorable!" James squealed, falling to his knees and ruffling the dog's fur. He scratched just the right spot behind Sirius' ear, making him wag his tail in pleasure. It unwinded a knot that had been living within his chest and for the first time, he barked. It felt incredible.

Sirius transformed back, standing dazed with the cheekiest fucking grin as his chest rose and fell. Though when James saw him, he snorted.

"What?" he questioned, patting himself down to make sure no fur was left.

James pointed a finger at his arse and Sirius followed it. He gasped. Son of a bitch! His black tail still wagged behind him. "Shit!" Sirius swore, spinning around to catch his tail but it kept on slipping from his reach. "Shit, shit, SHIT!"

James rushed to help but his wide antlers knocked into the bars of his four-poster bed and sent him tumbling backward. His head smacked against the wooden floor and Sirius' swore he heard something crack. "FUCK!" James shouted. There was no blood but by the way his eyes screwed shut and jaw clenched, he was in a shit ton of pain.

Sirius hurried to James' aid, lifting his head onto his lap. Peter squeaked viciously by his side but didn't seem to be changing back. As he brushed the raven hair away from James' forehead, the door creaked open, and in stepped Remus, head furrowed in a broken-spined book.

The other two boys and rat stopped dead.

Remus kicked off his old trainers and dropped his heavy tote to the floor, weighted with textbooks and star charts. The heat of stares must've triggered a sense on his neck because Remus' body stiffened and eyes trailed up. His book fell from his hand, along with his jaw.

No one spoke, no one moved, as if the slightest weight shift would cause an explosion. The others just watched as Remus took in the whole scene; the furry tail, the massive antlers, the rat. His brown eyes didn't seem adjusted but they also didn't seem surprised either. Slowly, the setting sunk in, and his back straightened. Remus let out a quiet sigh, boredom written in the blankness of his face. "Do I want to know?"

Sirius blinked, swallowing the ball in his throat. He didn't understand why Remus was so calm? "There's a rat in our room, I have a tail stuck to my arse, James has antlers coming out of his skull, and that's all you ask?"

Remus rubbed his temple as a headache grew. Wherever full moons drew near, his body turned brittle and aching. Sirius knew he wasn't up for their nonsense. "First of all, you and James do the stupidest shit that I've learned to not ask questions. Secondly, I get my skin clawed out once a month, you think I'm scared of a fucking rat?"

Sirius didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. Remus' lack of interest wasn't making the moment any easier to explain. So in an impulse, he lifted James' head from his lap and transformed into his Animagus.

Remus stumbled back until he hit the door.

The dog barked and wagged his tail playfully, treading in circles around Remus' feet. The boy looked down, tripping a bit to not step on his paws. His brown eyes were wide with shock.

Sirius transformed back and sat by Remus' feet, a manic grin playing his lips. "What do you think?"

He was speechless and lingered his gaze across his friends. Oh, what Sirius would give to know the thoughts passing through his head.

James was quick to act, awkwardly picking up his wand and pointing it at Peter. A blue-white light manifested from the tip and the rat rose from the ground, twisting madly in a gray knot. Limbs, arms, and then a head sprouted until his body regained complete form and landed with a thump to the floor. 

Peter groaned, his hair disheveled. "Ow, that fucking hurt!"

Remus watched, lips slightly parted in a baffle. He seemed even taller as Sirius gazed up at him, prettier too.

"We- um...we've become Animagi," James explained sheepishly, having propped himself against the footboard of his bed.

"Why?" he asked, flatly.

Peter smiled from the floor. "So we could help you during full moons."

The colour left Remus' face until he looked impossibly pale.

"We want to go with you," Sirius said eagerly, trying to ease the opaqueness of his skin, "for tomorrow's moon."

He caught Remus' knees wobbling, but only for a moment. The boy looked at the brink of collapse. His adam's apple bobbed. "No."

Sirius sat upright. "No?"

"No, you're not doing that."

"Leave it mate," James shushed but Sirius couldn't understand why Remus wouldn't want this? He was frustrated, enraged even. They'd done all the research, for what? Just to throw it all away over their friend's stubbornness.

Sirius stood now, facing Remus with a hard stare. "Well, why the bloody hell not?"

"Because I could kill you!" Remus shouted, his anger unleashed like a bottle uncorked.

James and Peter flinched at his outburst but Sirius remained calm, he'd dealt with his fair share of crazy. Remus didn't scare him, nor did the wolf.

The tall boy paced, eyes lashing madly. "Do you realize how fucking insane this is?!"

"We've done the research, we know what to expect."

"No, you don't!" Remus cried. "When the moon comes out, I'm not me anymore. Don't you get that?"

"Moony, it's okay, we've studied this stuff for years," Sirius reassured. "Werewolves don't hurt other animals, only humans."

Remus scrunched his face, waving a frantic hand as he paced. "You don't know that. I could hurt you, I could kill you! I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did. Bloody hell, you can't possibly expect me to be okay with this?"

Sirius knew it was risky, he knew he could die but death didn't scare him. If a few werewolf scratches meant that Remus wouldn't be alone, then he'd do it. A million times over, he would.

"We know what we're getting ourselves into," Sirius said firmly. "We know you could claw our fucking eyes out and eat us alive but we know you won't." He stepped forward and seized Remus' hand, it was calloused and boney but warmer than sand on hot summer days. Remus didn't fight the touch and willingly let Sirius place their hands, together, over his heart. "You feel that?" He pressed lightly on the boy's chest, his heart beating strongly against his ribcage. "That doesn't go away whether you're human or a werewolf. You'll always remember us, you just have to listen to it instead of your conscience."

Sirius let his hand slip from their binding and it instantly felt cold. Remus' hand lingered a bit over his heart, but eventually, it too fell to his side. His solemn eyes gazed over his friends, brimming in tears. "I don't deserve this."

"Of course you do," Peter objected, voice so strong for a boy so small. "We're sick of you looking half-dead in the Hospital Wing and worrying every full moon on whether or not you've bitten off a limb. Do you know how scary it is to see you unconscious? Well, I'll tell you, it's pretty fucking terrifying! This isn't some joke Remus, we did this for you. We want to be there and make sure you won't hurt yourself or that you're not alone. You deserve that!"

The other boys stared at Peter, stunned. He'd whisked all words from their mouths, leaving them completely breathless. For once, Peter didn't fuck up and it was a bloody miracle.

Remus chewed his lip. "I hate you all." But in his teary eyes, there was love, so much love that it could fill the entire Black Lake.

Sirius grinned. "Is that a yes?"

"No." He shifted his weight, "But it's not a no either."

Sirius bounced on his toes as a trill fired the blood in his veins. He charged at Remus and attacked him in a hug.

"Get off of me," he laughed, squirming uncomfortably. "You smell like a wet mutt."

***

Saturday 17th January 1976

The next day, Remus didn't speak at all. Sirius could see the progression of his nerves as their day carried on and time elapsed. His palms became sweaty and would leave stains as he rubbed them off on his trousers. At dinner he barely ate, just pushed his mashed potatoes around until they turned soupy.

Lily leaned across the table, face full of worry. "Remus, are you alright? You haven't eaten."

He grunted a "yes" but she tisked and came around, placing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. She flinched, hand receding. "Remus, you're burning up!"

He set his fork down. "Yeah, I'm not feeling the best."

Lily eased her eyes sympathetically, dabbing a napkin to his sweaty skin. "Darling, you should go to the Hospital Wing. You look like you're about to faint."

"I'll take him," Sirius blurted, springing up from his seat.

"Me too," James added, secretly having his cloak tucked under his arm.

"Me three," Peter chimed.

Lily could sense something odd but bit her lip, kissing Remus softly on the cheek before helping him stand. The marauders walked out of the Great Hall, supporting Remus up as he wobbled slightly.

"You'll follow close behind," he instructed, feet dragging as he walked. "There's a knot on the trunk, you have to push it to get in."

"Don't worry, we've got the cloak." James held up the invisible fabric. "We'll just tail behind you and Pomfrey."

Remus nodded, grimly. He paused at the door of the Hospital Wing before entering. His hand ghosted over the knob but he turned. "Are you sure about this?"

Even though Remus was speaking to them all, his eyes were on Sirius and his answer didn't flaunter. "Yes."

"What you're doing is reckless. It can get you killed."

Sirius shrugged. "Nothing we can't handle."

Remus rolled his eyes and entered the infirmary.

***

After an hour or so, Remus came out with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, and the other marauders were ready, hiding under the cloak. Since it was a bit crammed with all three, Peter had to transform and sat on Sirius' shoulder.

They started down the sloping lawn toward the Whomping Willow. The sun was sinking fast now; the sky had turned to a clear, purple-tinged gray, but to the west, there was a ruby-red glow which cast a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds.

The Whomping Willow was a hazard, to say the least. Its branches clenched like knuckles and slapped against the earth to prevent anyone from coming near. McGonagall shrunk down until her human body was replaced by a yellow-eyed tabby cat and darted forward, slithering between the battering branches like a snake, and placed her front paws upon a knot on the trunk. Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook.

She, along with Remus and Pomfrey, entered the depths of the tree through a hollow opening. The marauders shuffled close to follow.

The opening led them through a long passageway, dimly lit with torches that flickered against the earthy stone. After what felt like ages of walking, they reached a door whose wood seemed dented from a forceful punch. Remus entered and just before Pomfrey could cast the locking spell, the other marauders slipped through. The door closed behind them and they were left in a cold, slanted shack.

Remus was sitting on a cot in the corner of the room. His legs bounced. "Are- are you there?"

James pulled off the cloak that covered them and Peter transformed back. The three looked around the cottage, horrified. This was no protective chamber, it was a cage. Every window was bordered with thick planks of wood, sloppily hammered in nails; curtains and bedding were torn to shreds; the floor was warped and bucking; wallpaper was peeled and streaked in claw marks; all furniture was either broken or toppled over. The only thing still standing was the cot Remus sat on but even that had a lopsided mattress and crooked legs.

"Moony..." James breathed, looking deeply troubled as he took in every inch of the room.

"Homey isn't it?" Remus chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He hugged his knees like a small child.

"How can they let you stay here?" Sirius griped, appalled by the mess his friend was forced to live in. The entire shack just screamed YOU'RE A WEREWOLF AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE!

Remus shrugged, speaking so simply of his cursed life. "Better than registering and having to leave with the Ministry. At least here I'm not in chains."

Sirius' heart broke. At that moment he swore he'd do anything for Remus. He'd fight from daybreak to nightfall until the world saw him as the angel he was, not some animal that possessed him once a month.

"How long till you change?" Peter asked, suddenly.

Remus rubbed at his neck and wiggled his legs a bit, testing the strength of his muscles. He winced slightly. "Not long, give it ten minutes." He looked up nervously, a sudden panic flashing in his eyes. "I'll warn you now, it won't be pretty. I might scream, I will scream. You'll probably hear my bones break too."

"Don't worry, we know what to expect," James assured but Sirius could tell his stomach was already churning; the boy couldn't handle blood. James' greatest weakness was his friends because his humble heart couldn't watch them suffer. So having to sit through Remus' transformation would be the most agonizing thing he'd ever endured. Not only for him but for Sirius as well.

He could feel the moonlight pour through the boarded windows and smooth over his feet. As if by the push of a button, every vain in Remus' neck exploded. They turned blue and throbed until he seemed to choke on his breath.

Sirius ran to him, holding his shoulders but Remus pushed him back. "No," he rasps, gritting through his teeth. "C-Change."

James and Peter do but Sirius shook his head, desperately wanting to be there, to help. He wanted to ease every crease in his brows, hold his trembling body until the wolf ripped its way out. He couldn't lose someone else, not again.

Remus' eyes screw shut, then snap open and burn a bright yellow. "GO!" he shouts.

Sirius freezes, a frustration clogging his words so he nods. Letting go of the boy's shoulders, he stands, but Remus falls off the cot at his feet. He stares as Remus hunches and clutches his stomach, his shirt discarded. His spinal cord jabs through his skin and elongates his body, tearing away any humanity he had left. Remus lets out a vicious scream.

Sirius stumbles back, eyes so wide they could fall out of their sockets. After tears had wheeled in his eyes, staring at Remus who was cradling his ripping body, he transformed.

Sirius - the dog stayed stiff by James' side. The three Animagus' watch helplessly as the moonlight consumed their friend to drowning. They sit through his cries and yells which are so loud, his throat should be bleeding. Finally, the suffering ended when sharp claws grew from Remus' fingernails, face molded into a snout and sharp jaw, hands turned to skeletal paws, and a howl echoed through the shack.

A wolf stood before them, yellow eyes blazing like miniature suns and limbs as thin as sticks. His toes sink into the ground and the wooden floorboards creak under his weight. The wolf gave a stretch but then paused, sniffing the air at the new scents. He turned to the three animals invading his territory and growled as he prowled closer, ready to attack.

James was quick to submit and bowed his head, antlers scraping to the floor. Peter followed, chin tucking down. Sirius, however, growled back and stepped forward until he's at the wolf's feet.

James' frantic voice appears in his mind, as if by telekinesis. "Sirius, what the hell are you doing?!"

The wolf snaped its jaw and loomed over the small dog who'd be easy to crush in his deadly grip. But Sirius stops growling and lies down, rolling over on his back and showing his belly. His tail wags playfully and his slobbering tongue hangs from his mouth in a semi-grin.

The wolf hesitates and quirks his head at the animal by his feet. His growls too die out and his face becomes less contorted in fury. Sirius could almost hear the wolf's thoughts; friend, pack.

The marauders safely led the wolf outside and into the Forbidden Forest where the trees clumped like bindings of sage. Sirius could tell that it was the wolf's first time outside because every step he took was cautioned as if waiting for a trap. He'd growl whenever the dog would come too close or lead the pack without him but Sirius would simply wag his tail playfully and round his gray eyes like moonstones. The wolf would watch him hungerly like prey.

They ran, far and fast, rustling fallen leaves and splashing through streams as they chased the barren wind. The Forbidden Forest was foggy and chilled, earth covered in knotgrass and thorns. They played near a clearing of pansies and coral bells which the wolf seemed to enjoy, sniffing at the various flowers while Sirius rolled around in the fields until his fur was smeared in mud. James tried eating a few but coughed them straight up and Peter weaved between the tall stems.

Sirius felt more alive and refreshed than ever as he danced around the forest. The wolf occasionally scratched at his body, wanting full release from the human inside but Sirius would howl and the wolf - distracted - would join, together singing to the stars.

Eventually, the sun broke through the thick trees and the wolf grew tired. Every step he took was tenser as his muscles retracted into one of a human. When they reached the shack, the wolf's howls mangled with Remus' screams. His spine bent and snapped back into place, claws sinking into his fingers.

Sirius grimaced as he watched a beast turn into a boy.

Soon, Remus stood there, naked and glistening from the sweat of his body. His legs wobbled as he tried to stand but caved and collapsed to the floor, dragging himself to his cot.

The marauders changed back and Sirius rushed to Remus' side. The boy cradled his body into a ball. He looked at the verge of death but was smiling weakly. A Moony smile. "That...that was incredible," he breathed, voice broken and raw.

Sirius brushed away the damp curls that stuck to his forehead. He couldn't look at Remus the same, not after witnessing him go through hell and still be smiling. "You remember?"

Remus nodded. A weak finger lifted. "P-Pass me a rag. I love you all b-but I'm fucking naked."

James laughed, draping a blanket over his body. "Nothing I haven't seen before," he winked.

Remus chuckled but then coughed dryly, sounding like an eighty-year-old smoker with rotting lungs. Peter lifted a glass of water to his cracked lips and he drank a few small sips.

Remus hugged the blanket tightly around himself. "You should go, Madam Pomfrey will be coming soon."

James and Peter departed with a wave and slipped under the cloak but Sirius lingered behind, feeding Remus his water and making sure he had no wounds. He didn't, which was a bloody miracle.

"Black, I'm fine. Go, you're holding the others up."

He stayed crouched by his side, fingers playing with Remus' hair. "They can go without me."

"You're being silly, go."

"No."

"I've done this a million times before. I'm fine, sincerely."

"Well before I wasn't here but now I am. I'm not leaving you."

Remus sighed defeatedly. He shifted onto his side and gazed at Sirius carefully, eyes going soft. In the morning light, they were like pools of honey, as golden as the sun. "Was it scary? Was I scary?"

Sirius shook his head firmly, eyes trailing along the beauty of his scars. "No, you were beautiful."

Chapter Text

Friday 30th January 1976

"Why do I have to come?" Sirius whined as James dragged him by the sleeve down the first-floor corridor.

"Because you're my wingman and if Evans has the urge to hex me I can use you as my shield."

He nods, tripping over his feet. "Fair point."

It wasn't hard to find Lily since she took the same route to the Library every Friday morning before afternoon classes. It was quite creepy when James had told him this, wondering why the fuck he knew which way Evans walked after lunch when he couldn't even remember where he left his glasses each morning? But then again, that's just James.

As expected, Lily was there, side profile facing towards them as she talked to a friend in the hall. Her upturned nose was dotted in fading freckles and she wore a light green daisy dress under her robes. Sirius' eyes flicked to the person she spoke up to but stopped dead in his tracks, so did James.

Liam towered over Lily, back hunched so he could meet her large green eyes. He listened attentively as she spoke, nodding his head on occasion. Though his body language changed, back straightening slightly. He then moved closer to Lily, knowing the pairs of eyes that watched them tentatively.

Liam knew what he was doing and used it to his advantage. The best way of getting to James was hitting on the one girl he had eyes for since the first year. He was impenetrable but Lily was his weakness.

You fucking prick, Sirius muttered in his mind and barely noticed the once tight grip on his sleeve slip.

The smile ran away from James' face, leaving his eyes hollow and lips slightly parted. Hope shed from his heart like winter leaves, dying a slow and painful death. Seeing the person you want with someone else just makes you wonder, "Am I not good enough?"

Sirius wanted to slap that mentality out of James' mind. The boy was losing himself trying to hold on to someone who didn't even want him back.

James breathed in sharply, averting his stare. "Oh, I- I actually forgot. I have a meeting...with McGonagall." He turned around, as if ashamed of what he was looking at, and rubbed at the back of his neck until it bruised. "I'll see you later mate." And James was off, head hanging as he walked.

Sirius did a double-take. In all the five years he'd known James, not once had he seen him hang his head. His Animagus wasn't a stag for no reason. The boy never trusted his fears, that's why he was so strong. When he fell apart, he pulled himself back together and that was true courage.

James could lead crowds, armies of wizards, but all that power diminished over a fucking girl.

He could be conquered by her, of all things. Her.

Sirius turned around, eyes setting back on the red-haired girl whose arms were crammed in books. Liam had said something funny because her chest heaved and cheeks balled, as flushed and rosy as peony petals.

Them being together, quite frankly, unsettled him. Sirius could care less about who Evans dated but of all fucking people, she had to fancy Liam. Not only was he an arse but a creep who cared solely about himself and of course, his body count.

His jaw clenched but instead of letting Liam flaunt, Sirius puckered his lips and whistled, then half-shouted, "Oi! Ginger snap!"

Lily whipped her head around at the wisecracked voice, expression hardened but her scrunched brows softened upon seeing him. Not entirely, but just enough for Sirius to tell she didn't entirely despise him.

She excused herself from Liam but before Lily could leave, he grabbed her hand, spun her back around, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Sirius cringed, thanking Merlin James wasn't there to see, or else he'd simply throw a fit.

Lily giggled girlishly and bid him goodbye but as her back was turned, Liam threw Sirius a deathly glare. He had that 'go fuck yourself' look.

As much as Sirius truly wanted to beat the crap out of Wood, he didn't, ignoring the boy and setting his attention on the girl walking towards him. She seemed refreshed and gitty but sealed her lips tightly and raised her chin to assert some authority. "Hello, Black."

He chuckled as his eyes trained downwards. She was quite small, pocket-sized, but feisty nonetheless. "Evans," he greeted, giving a curt nod and adding, "Happy birthday."

She quirked a brow, taken back. "You remembered?"

"Impossible not to, James won't shut up about it."

She rolled her green eyes, pursing her lips. "If he pulls a stunt in the Great Hall, I'll burn his broom."

Sirius shrugged, giving away nothing. "Can't make any promises." He then remembered James, how he left in such a hurry. From the way his eyes had dropped to the floor, Sirius wondered if the surprise he had planned would happen at all? "So, what's Liam got with you, eh?" he nudged her playfully, raising an implicative brow.

Lily blushed a deep red and picked at her nails, eyes fumbling anywhere but to him. She bit her lip but Sirius caught the smile she hid. "Oh, he...he just came to wish me a happy birthday."

He wasn't dumb, he knew flirting when he saw it. "He kissed your hand."

Her eyes flick upwards. "So?"

"So," Sirius takes a breath, laying out the cards for Evans to see, "what bloke that 'just wants to be friends' kisses a girl's hand? If that doesn't scream 'I'm lonely and wanna get fucked' I don't know what does?"

Lily's once tamed expression fumed in appall. She straightened as stiff as a board and crossed her arms. A wall formed between them. "A gentlemen, that's what," she snapped in defense then surveyed Sirius. "Though you wouldn't know would you? Mr. 'I snog every girl I see.'"

He let out a short laugh but it was rough on his throat. "I am plenty a gentlemen."

"Oh, really?" she mocked, taking his words as if they're jokes. "Gentlemen don't poke fun at women on their birthdays just because a person of the opposite sex was being nice to them. Ever think that maybe he was just being a good person? Or was that too fuck-boy of him?" She takes a step closer, staring into his soul. "Am I so vulnerable that any guy who talks to me just wants to get in bed with me?"

Sirius clenches his jaw. "Evans, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

He knew he'd regret saying it, come across as soft but Lily just knew how to press all the wrong buttons until you cracked. "I mean, I don't want you to get hurt. Liam's an arse and a fucking tool and cares only about his rep. I'd rather you date Peter than a git like him."

Lily pauses, the rage once fueling her eyes sizzling. "You care," she breathes, saying it more to herself than to him.

Sirius rolls his eyes, internally scorning himself for letting the ginger into his life. "I'm looking out for you, that's all," he states.

She smiles then, like a blooming rose. "Oh don't try to hide it, you care about me."

"I tolerate you."

"You care and soon that care will turn to friendship."

Sirius barked a laugh, nervous beyond belief. "We are not friends."

"Fine, then what are we?"

He opened his mouth to answer but was left hanging. Nothing came to mind as quickly as he'd hoped. Damn it.

Lily smirks, patting his shoulder. "You think on that Black." And she headed to the library, a skip in her step.

Sirius rubbed at his temple and laughed to himself. After all those years of groaning at Evans' name, she was rubbing off on him. He wasn't entirely opposed to calling her a friend but still hated her for driving James' lovestruck heart mad and hanging out with a prick like Snape.

But Lily brought life with her. She had a heart of gold and eyes of nature and a soul that could love even the darkest of people. Sirius didn't deserve that but he had it and wouldn't give it up for the world.

He made way for the Astronomy tower where his next class was, shivering at the drop in temperature and waving at passing portraits, but a voice caught his attention that skidded his feet to a halt.

"Hey there."

Oh god. His stomach tightened until it cramped but not in fear, in recognition.

The Slytherin boy was there, sitting cross-legged on a marble bench with an open textbook on his lap. Sirius stared for so long that his eyes began to water because, for the first time, he's actually seeing him, all of him. There was no distance between them, no darkness to cloak; the morning beamed brightly upon the boy until he shined like a million suns.

Sirius' breath left his lungs, gaping at the cold shock of his beauty.

His skin was like moonlight, incredibly porcelain. He had no blemishes or beauty marks, as blank as a canvas. There was no life in his lips, simply beige and missing their rosy pigmentation.

Everything about him was so plain and bare like grains of sand on the beach, washed of colour from the tide.

Yet every curve of his muscle, strand of his hair, cut of his jaw, hollow in his cheeks seemed molded from clay. He was like those statues at the Louvre Museum, the left side of your face that looks better than the right, your reflection in a pond which ripples from spring breezes. He was surreal and had sunlight trapped under his skin. 

Grains of sand might be simple but they hold fragments of the most exquisite stones.

Sirius caught his cheeks burning in unexpected jealousy but then there were those eyes. Fuck, those eyes.

With everything having gone on in his life, he'd forgotten about the boy and the effect he had on him. But then it was all there again, crashing down like a monstrous wave he couldn't have run from even if he tried. "Hi," Sirius breathes, the entirety of his mind losing its wits.

The Slytherin boy tilts his head slightly to the side, watching him thoughtfully as one might admire a painting at a gallery. "I don't believe we've had a proper introduction?" He smiles up at Sirius, as calming as a cup of herbal tea on a rainy Sunday morning. "I'm Elio."

Elio. He could think of a million other names that could better suit the boy but the more he tossed it around his head, the better it felt. It fit, oddly.

His chest tightens, briefly. "Malfoy?"

Elio's expression stuttered. "Pardon?"

"Elio Malfoy?" Sirius repeated. The last thing he wanted was to associate himself with the one thing he ran away from.

The boy shook his head, stiffly. "Hermes." The surname came out raw on his tongue, bitter. It was like Sirius when he said Black, carrying a story behind it. One that held a lifetime of tears and pain.

Oh. In a way, it made sense. Elio was too full of life to be a Malfoy. Sirius scorned himself for not realizing earlier. Hermes. "Like the god?"

Elio rolled his eyes as if having heard that question all his life. Annoyance looked well on him and it gave Sirius something to use. "Yes, like the god."

They regarded each other for a moment. Then Elio stood and buried his hands in his pockets boyishly. He was casual and relaxed in a baggy white t-shirt, light-wash jeans, and cream trainers. Not one bit of him screamed Slytherin. If anything, he looked quite...normal.

Elio nodded in the direction Lily had left. "Was that your girlfriend?"

Sirius grips himself together. "Who, Evans?" He laughs airly but gulps when Elio steps a bit closer. "Please, the last person she'd ever date is me."

The boy runs his eyes along Sirius' face, soaking in every ounce he could manage. "I doubt that," he says, softly, but almost to himself.

The air between them grows thin and Sirius feels the blood rush to his ears. He wanted to look away but he couldn't. His core wouldn't let him. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Eye contact is a dangerous thing because it can set your soul on fire. No wonder Sirius' was scorched.

He sees something change, something, in the blue hue of Elio's eyes. It was like when Remus reached a section of his book he had to read over or Peter when he got checkmated. It was a brief moment of rethinking, of noticing something that hadn't been there before.

But what was there to rethink when looking at Sirius?

The afternoon bell rang before he had the chance to figure out what. The corridors flooded in with students who spilled from their classrooms like pours of water down a drain. Elio gets further and further lost in the sea of people but Sirius doesn't try to fight it. He lets them be pulled apart, wants it more than anything so the throbs in his chest could subdue.

Elio licked his lips, bouncing slightly on his toes before giving a curt nod. He looked giddy and fresh, like having gone for a dip in the lake. You could see the adrenaline rush in his eyes, those impossibly blue eyes.

He gives a breathless laugh, more of a sigh, and it's like music trapped in a single sentence. "See you 'round pretty boy."

He turned on his heels and left down the east corridor towards the dungeons but this time, Sirius found the strength to reply. "That's not my name," he reminded him, hoping his voice didn't sound squeaky.

Elio waved an acknowledging hand as he walked, "I know-" but you could hear the smile as he said his name, "-Sirius."

And he just stood there like an idiot, breathing so heavily as if he'd run a mile. He was winded and confused and his name on Elio's tongue felt too good to describe but when the boy was gone, Sirius felt his stomach churn even more as if being tied in a thousand knots.

And he gets them, those stupid fucking butterflies.

***

Students sprawled on blankets and pillows at the highest level of the Astronomy Tower, gazing up at the night sky with their star charts in hand and telescope lenses pressed against their eyes. Professor Sinistra walked around each clump of children, a monocle raised to her eye, scrunching her nose at charts she didn't quite like. She had tasked everyone to fill in their charts on the sky viewing while also paying close attention to the way Jupiter was rotating.

James showed up and worked silently but his surprise for Lily never came. "Next year," he'd said but there was a loss of hope in his words.

Sirius tried his hardest to concentrate as he looked through the dinged hole of his telescope but his vision blurred, unable to focus on the white specks that dotted the sky. He pulled away and rubbed at them, then tried again but still, the night just appeared as night, nothing more.

In truth, Sirius didn't even need the telescope. He knew every star placement and constellation that mapped the sky like the back of his hand but for some reason, he couldn't remember a single fucking thing. All those grueling years spent laying on the cold stone of his garden and memorizing the sky became unetched from his mind.

He pointed a finger at the northern quadrant of his chart, knowing a constellation was supposed to go there but couldn't remember which? Ursa Major? Lyra? Lupus? No, Lupus is on the eastern side. Or is it southern? Sirius pounded at his head, internally screaming at his stupidity. OWLs were at the end of the year and if he couldn't get an O on the one subject he actually knew, he was sincerely fucked.

Sirius set aside his work and laid down. They'd borrowed pillows from the Divination classroom so they smelled of sage and mahogany. He intertwined his fingers and rested them on his stomach, letting his lids flutter closed as he took in a deep breath of winter frost and quill ink.

He peaked an eye open to check up on James and his heart couldn't help but clench when he found the boy peering up at Lily who sat at the other end of the tower. Her hair was drawn back but a few curled strands loosened and fell to curtain her face as she studiously filled in her chart. Her robes were discarded so her dress fanned elegantly over her thighs, accentuating every curve of her body.

Sirius wouldn't deny it, Evans was beautiful. And even though there was a sky full of stars glistening above them, James was staring at her. Only her.

"She's not seeing him," he imparted, face softening. "She might have a crush or whatever but they're not together, you still have a chance."

James blinked, never once letting his gaze from Lily fall, and the last thing Sirius saw before closing back his eyes was the faint trace of a smile gracing the boy's lips.

The bare sliver of the moon etched into the darkness as he dozed and it was the most time he'd had to think in hours.

To put it simply, nothing made sense. The world was flat and the sky was white and his life was a mess of blue eyes and blonde boys tricking his sanity as sea nymphs do to sailors. He was standing in the rain, drenched and drowning, unsure which way was left or right, what lies ahead or but drifts behind?

It was as if Sirius was floating outside of his body, drifting up and not grounded to the world. But that lightens of his being only ever happened when he saw him.

He felt as together as a broken mirror, as surfaced as a sinking ship. His world was tipping and he tipped with it.

Sirius wished life came with an instruction manual because it would be a lot fucking easier to figure out than the mess his sleep-deprived mind was supposed to solve.

Part of him wanted to put everything to rest, just throw it all in a fire like his mother did with his books. He wanted an easy way out. But that would mean forgetting all the memories and losing all that giddiness his heart kept dancing with. Sirius would have to forget Elio and his fucked up mind didn't seem to allow it.

As much as it confused him, as he confused him, it felt good. And good wasn't something he got very often.

Chapter Text

Saturday 14th February 1976

Valentine's Day is lovely for those who have partners of their own; who can be spoiled with cheap candies, wilting flowers, and creepy arse teddy bears that watch you while you sleep.

That morning they'd scramble out of bed and burst into the Great Hall, jumping into the open arms of their beloved. They'd never have to worry about being alone because they're young and in love but that's the deadliest combination.

Then there are the single folks whose hands remain upheld and hearts have been broken too many times over. One side of their bed would always be cold and their lips would remain forever virgin.

That morning they'd sulk out of bed and brute into the Great Hall, glaring in envy at those who had someone since they didn't.

Screw that Roman emperor who killed those two men, screw the church for honoring their name. They're the reason all those lonely people feel even lonelier once a year.

***

The castle was in theme and Flitwick was hard at work hanging red and pink rose vines along mantles and staircase railings. Portraits choired in You Make Me Feel Brand New by The Stylistics and ghosts dressed in renaissance while carrying baskets of petals which they tossed sinisterly over lone students.

Just out of curiosity, Sirius 'coincidently' passed the bench where he'd crossed paths with Elio but much to his dismay, the boy was not there.

The polished marble was now dusty and sunlight was replaced with shadows. The nook looked so dull without the life the boy gave it.

White-winged love letters flew around the high ceilings like miniature angels, soaring to their designated innamorato or innamorata. Packs of girls stood in huddles as they gushed over their boyfriends' poetic writings but as soon as they caught a whiff of Sirius' after-smoke aroma, their heads shot up and jumped to fix their hair, those once drooled-over letters slipping carelessly from their hands.

Sirius had never been the sort to shy away from attention but when it came to a taken girl staring at him lustfully, he didn't engage. He was no paramour. A heartbreaker? Macker? Arsehole? All yes. But never in a million years would he be involved in an illicit relationship.

He never cheated. Not once, not ever.

Sirius had enough self-respect to know he wasn't some dirty mistress which is why he kept walking past the group of girls whose eyes still surveyed him sinfully.

Being bored out of his mind, Sirius charmed every flower arrangement to spray water at anyone who passed and almost died of laughter when Snape came by and got completely drenched by a group of white angel's trumpets.

Something about the grease from his hair meeting clean water did not mix well, so the boy ended up looking like a dirty oiled parsnip and Sirius completely lost his shit.

He might be your typical womanizer who broke hearts like a sport and couldn't hold down a girl for more than a month but, aside from all the pranks and vulnerable teen girls he liked toying with by talking to them just to see their cheeks fluster, Sirius quite enjoyed the sappy holiday.

Having grown up in a home where love was a gift you rarely got, he found nothing wrong with an entire day being dedicated to expressing affection.

Only the girls who'd stuck around long enough knew how much of a hopeless romantic Sirius was. He'd give them their expensive jewelry and make out lazily in the halls, spilling out honeyed words as if his tongue were a poet and she was his muse.

But there was a small part of him as he walked down those halls that hoped a girl might step in his path and ask him out. He hated being a life-support for everyone else and politely fucked male gender standards.

For once, he wanted to be cared for. He too was someone worth loving.

Sirius awaited the night when he'd dance around half-drunk in his boxers to some fizzing record with his girlfriend in the apartment they shared, shutting out the world for just a few moments as they defend their hearing and wore out their feet.

Oh, what he'd give to have someone, to take their hands in his, leaning towards their lips while whispering, "You're my fucking fairytale."

But the irony. He had trust issues yet wanted to let someone in. He hated commitment yet wanted to settle. He was like a colourblind man trying to see red and green, always wanting that one thing that wasn't in his nature to find.

Sirius couldn't go that extra mile, thus the reason he now walked alone, hands shoved in the pockets of his ripped jeans, trying his hardest not to act like desire was killing him.

But he wanted it, so fucking badly.

He wanted to spoil someone in gifts, hold their hand in the halls, play with their hair in class, sleep in their sweatshirt and smell like them the next morning.

He wanted to be in stupid fucking love and make horrible decisions because some sneaky little prick found their way into his heart.

The idea of falling in love mustered some hope in his hollow chest. The mere thought that there was somebody, somewhere in the world who had part of his soul made the shit hand he'd been dealt worth living.

***

Some Slytherins had let loose a colony of Cornish Pixies and gave them tiny sacks of charmed arrows whose tips were dipped in love potions. They swarmed every floor of the castle and grounds, shooting at anything that some much as breathed.

One touch from that arrow and you were better off dead because the first person you locked eyes with would be the only thing on your mind. The strength of the potion could last days, overtaking any common sense your brain still carried until you were falling head over heels for a damn stranger.

Sirius ran to the Gryffindor Tower with a Transfiguration textbook covering his behind after seeing an incident of some third-year getting shot in the arse by a wickedly snickering Pixie.

He practically screamed the password to the Fat Lady while a group of those tiny little fucking blue demons chased him and arrows plunged around his feet.

"GILLY FIGS!" Sirius shrieked, voice strained and shrill. He couldn't stand still, bouncing around frantically to diverge from the tons of arrows that shot towards his body. "FUCKING GILLY FIGS! FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, OPEN!"

The lady scrunched her nose at him unpleasantly. "Calm your tits Black," she shushed and as if to spite him, opened her portrait inch by inch.

Sirius let out a heavy string of curses and squeezed through the tight crack.

"It's a fucking madhouse out there!" he exclaimed, bursting through the portrait hole and flinging the useless textbook across the room.

The other marauders were seated on the couches and rug by the fire, soaking in the heat. The girls were there too, sprawled about and decked in festive attire of red boas and white hair ribbons.

"It's always the Slytherins," Sirius muttered, drawing out the wand which held his hair in a bun. He collapsed to the floor, letting out a sigh as his muscles tired from running the entire length of the castle. 

"Those bloody arrows nipped Ivan in the neck, poor thing," Mary told with pitiful eyes. She sat on the couch, painting her nails a shade of ruby red. "I had to take him to the Hospital Wing, the lad wouldn't stop kissing me. I love him and all but I've always preferred his quiet demeanor, not so bold and upright."

Most of them perked up at that word, love. They'd never heard it aloud amongst the group before, especially not regarding another person. Sirius supposed they were at that age where love would be tossed around but the way Mary had said it, so nonchalantly it almost sounded genuine.

Marlene had the most noticeable reaction, having sat up from her leisure on the couch to watch Mary in question. Guess that word bothered her too.

"Got any plans then?" James asked, redirecting to a different topic and everyone eased a bit at this.

"Date with Ivan, once he gets out of the Wing," Mary answered, beaming brightly.

Marlene let out a bitter laugh, muttering something incomprehensible under her breath.

"I heard the Ravenclaws are throwing an open-door party, anyone can come," Peter informed, hoping somebody would accompany him since he lacked the courage to ask a girl out.

Sirius shook his head firmly. "No way, last time I went there, I came out as high as a kite. They brewed some blue shit and gave it out in tubes." His stomach gurgled at the memory.

"They know how to throw a wicked party though," James sided.

"Well I'm going," Peter grumbled dryly, having accepted the fact that no one could take a goddamn hint.

"Oh, darling," Lily tilted her head back to look up at Remus who sat behind her. She grinned, wide and cat-like. "Be expecting a letter sometime this evening."

Remus, who'd been sitting lazily in his designated armchair with a book on his lap, sewed his brows together. "What letter?"

Lily shrugged dumbly but knew exactly what. Remus nudged her side with his foot, keen on knowing. "What letter? From McGonagall?"

"No silly," she giggled, rolling her eyes. "One of those love letters, you know? Like the one we saw Alice get from Frank during breakfast."

The sew in his brows unraveled and suddenly, his jaw clenched incredibly tight. "Oh," he breathed and drew his book back up to distract his mind.

Valentine's Day for Remus was like hell on earth. He nauseated at the sight of snogging couples pressed against walls, grew irritated at the little candy hearts and potent red roses whose scents clogged the air.

Even in their dorm last night when the marauders had been so lively and engaged in their typical banter, the second Peter brought up the topic of dating, Remus grew tense and distant. You saw the change in the slack of his eyes, that look which spoke, I'll never fucking have it.

But he could have that, that life he passed in the halls and saw in linked, loving hands. But Remus deliberately chose not to.

He refused to be happy. He was his own self-destruction.

As everyone knew, Remus rejected love, spat on its face, groaned at its name. Even if it came knocking on his door, painted over his eyes, or begging at his feet, he'd slam the goddamn door, wash his eyes clean, or turn around and ignore it like the stubborn git he was.

Punishment for the wolf. But Sirius knew it was more of a punishment on himself.

Just then, a love letter slipped through the closing crack of the portrait hole, flying in circles around the common room until its wings retracted and the letter went stiff, swaying down like a curled leaf fallen from a winter-nipped tree.

Lily smirked knowingly and Remus grit his teeth, ready to tear the letter to shreds.

But the letter diverged, caught in a sudden wind.

It landed on Sirius' lap.

He stared down at the envelope, hesitant on picking it up. His first name was written carefully at the face, fine and smoothly inked without smudges.

"Ooo, Sirius has a girlfriend!" Mary teased, grinning from ear to ear.

"Thank Merlin," James sighed in relief, falling back onto the threadbare rug. "I haven't walked in on you snogging in over a month. I'll be honest, it scared me quite a bit."

"Nope, I caught him last week," Peter cut in, casually eating a box of chocolates. "Third-floor loos."

Sirius' eyes lingered over the letter, seal still uncracked as if what rested on his lap was a sin. He had this feeling, a burn in his gut, a distasteful bitterness in his mouth. A malevolent voice deep in his mind begged him not to read it.

But there was always that one person to pull your head out of the sand.

"Well open it you slowcoach," Marlene urged impatiently, looming over his shoulder. "I need some entertainment and that thing is probably loaded in sappy crap."

"Marls, he'll read it when he's ready," Lily said gravely.

She shot her a dirty glare. "I didn't get one bloody letter and you got two, so don't even start with me Lils."

"You got two?!" James gaped, whipping his head around in Lily's direction. He stutters, trying to rush all his thoughts into one comprehensible sentence but it just comes out in a babble. "Who did- you, wrote you. Who sent you...letters?" You could see the bewilderment in his crazed hazel eyes as he tried to grasp onto the fact that Evans could have other secret admirers beside himself. Though, it really wasn't much of a secret.

Lily crossed her arms defensively. "Yes James, people sent me letters. Is it that hard to believe?" Slowly, her legs began to draw underneath her until she sat on her heels, moving her cardigan to cover every inch of her thighs.

Her movements are so discreet that nobody noticed, nobody would think twice about her actions since they seemed so ordinary. That was, except for James. His eyes flicked down to the tightly tucked fabric of her dress under her knees. His eyes lingered a moment until the notion dawned.

James averted his stare, shamefully. "No, not hard at all. Just surprised you didn't get more, that's all."

They were all too busy conversing about their dates and the party being thrown later on to even notice that Sirius had already torn open the envelope and pulled out the letter. He skimmed it so quickly and barely bothered to pay it much mind...

Sirius gulped.

The letter was anonymously written in French. But not only that. Fuck. The words it contained.

J'aimerais dire que vous me rendez faible dans les genoux, mais pour être tout à fait franc et complètement véridique, vous faites oublier à mon corps qu'il a des genoux du tout.

Marlene peered over his shoulder but stopped abruptly and whined. "Who writes in a fucking foreign language?" She sulked depressedly into her seat. "Somebody write me a love letter, I want to feel special."

Peter perked up, mid-bite into a truffle but set down his treat, scurrying to their dorm and almost tripping up the stairs.

Sirius couldn't get enough. He read and re-read, the words were like drugs tightly wrapped in tobacco. It was beautiful. No, more than that. It was art. And he was an aesthete, admiring an abstract painting drawn from brushes dipped in poetry.

Unexpectedly and unknowingly, Sirius smiled.

Remus caught on to this and watched him thoughtfully, keeping incredibly still so the others wouldn't notice and ruin the show. Curiosity won and he leaned slightly forward to reach for the letter but Sirius jolted, impulsive shoving it into his pocket and wincing when he heard the paper tear.

Remus paused mid-reach and looked at Sirius, long and hard with intense eyes. His sandy curls caught the firelight and lit a brilliant gold, lashes fanning shadows on his cheeks. He's silent for a long while, simply watching him. Not starring. Watching.

Sirius' cheeks burned like fired coals as Remus' eyes bore into his. The boy was seeing something, but it was too deep of a gaze to be about the letter.

Then, his lips formed a coy smile. That fucking Moony smile. "You're blushing," Remus chuckles and Sirius' eyes round like coins, snatching a pillow from the couch and burying his face in it.

Bloody hell, Sirius thought, his mouth suddenly very dry.

As if sensing his cry for help, Marlene leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Wanna ditch?"

Sirius lifted his head slightly and met her doe brown eyes which lit up in mischief. She didn't have to ask him twice.

It was noon and the halls were vacant but smelled of pot roast and boiled-down wine for tonight's feast.

Marlene skipped around ahead, twirling and laughing dizzily like a small child. The last time he'd seen her so chuffed was after she'd made the Quidditch team in second-year, becoming the first-ever female Beater from the Gryffindor house.

After the incident at the Astronomy Tower and considering how she'd left, all mopey and teary-eyed with a bottle of whisky glued to her hand, Sirius never thought he'd see her smile again. But there she was, a product of Euphrosyne.

Marlene turned around, grinning from ear to ear. "Bet I'm faster." And suddenly, she was off, dashing down the Southend corridor with her braided blonde hair flapping behind. Sirius wasted no time, sprinting with all his might until his calf muscles ached.

He chased Marlene around the school but she was too fast to catch. They slid down stair railings and skidded around corners like bus wheels jumping a curb. The polished floors of the castle turned to green, prickly grass as they stumbled down the sloped lawns to the Black Lake. The afternoon sky was bare and blue, holding a sun whose rays burned like flames against their winter-nipped faces.

Sirius panted as his runs slowed, stopping by the shoreline to catch his breath. His shoes sunk into the soft mud and left deep footprints, weeds and pebbles graining his soles.

Marlene's braid had come undone and fell messily around her face. Just like Mary had advised, her hair was now cut to her collar bone, shaggy and choppy like she'd done it herself.

She was blood-flushed from the cold and picked up stones from the ground, turning them over in her hand. "Brilliant day," she said aloud.

Sirius looked out to the land across the cavernous lake which was fogged and clumped with Douglas-fir. It was only last month that he'd run around those woods with the wolf, letting go of all that stress he'd kept bottled up and howling until his throat bled raw.

He sighed contently, rolling up his sleeves to let the hot sun tan his pale forearms. "Yeah, it is."

Marlene began tossing the ripe stones she found to Sirius and he weighed them in his palm before facing a slight angle to the lake. He hooked his finger around one and threw it, hearing each pat as it skipped across the water's surface.

They went at this for several minutes, clearing the grounds of any flat stones and seeing how far Sirius could make them skip. It was a trick he'd learned from Andromeda, which Andromeda had learned from Ted.

"Hey, Sirius?" Marlene called, sifting through some rocks in her hand.

He hummed a yeah.

"I've been meaning to tell you something." She picked a flat stone from her pile and threw it to him underhand.

Sirius caught it with ease and tossed it expertly. It bounced along the water. "Shoot."

Marlene kept her eyes on the earth beneath her feet and twigs that scattered about. "Um...well it- it's quite a complicated matter," she stalled, a deep frown on her brows.

Sirius was only half attentive, accepting the stones she tossed him and watching them glide as he flicked his wrist. If he would've noticed her face, he wouldn't have been so insensitive.

"You see, it's something I've kept for a while." She twirled her finger around the tall blades of dry grass which broke at her touch, wrinkling her nose at her poor wording. "I trust you, a lot, which is why I want to tell you."

"I trust you too," Sirius replied. It was the truth and came out swiftly, even as his mind was distracted by the ripples in the water.

Marlene tossed him a new stone and it landed in his waiting palm. "Promise you won't freak?"

Sirius skimmed his thumb across the bumpy surface. The stone was too heavy, it would sink instantly. He discarded it and motioned for another. "Promise."

Marlene picked up a new stone but it sat in her hands for a while as she battled a silent war in her head.

Her breathing grew heavy, uneven like a smoker's.

She tossed it his way. "I'm queer."

The stone flew in the air but fell at Sirius' feet, settling in muddy sand. He blinked, snapping his head around. The wind felt knocked out of his lungs. "What?"

Marlene looked at the edge of bolting, an impossible fear in her eyes that grew worse the longer their silence dragged on. But she impelled her feet to the ground and stood, strong-stanced. "I'm queer."

Marlene never had a boyfriend, never even dated. The thought had not once crossed his mind. Maybe it was more obvious for a girl to have recognized but the concept was still hard to grasp. Queer people weren't exactly common in the seventies.

Sirius tried his hardest not to seem startled but his mouth hung open oddly. He wanted to say something, screamed at himself too, but acting under pressure never ended well for him. So he kept his words on leashes.

Panic washed over Marlene, the stones having slid out her hand. Anxiety hung like a dark impenetrable cloud. "Please say something."

Sirius' mouth went dry. He didn't know what to say or where to start. "So this means you're..."

"Into girls," she finished for him.

He nodded in understanding but had a screwed expression, deep in thought. The notion sank like a sinking ship, incredibly and agonizingly slowly. "Okay."

Marlene perked up, hanging onto his every word. "Okay?"

"Yeah I mean, holy shit," Sirius breathed, blinking several times. Girls. She's into girls.

"Are you against it?" she asked, voice falling in dread.

Am I? Truthfully, Sirius didn't know. He'd never considered that choice, of a woman loving a woman. Sure it sounded hot but that was in his horny head. Marlene was talking about actual love.

His uncle Alphard had been disowned when Sirius was about eight. Even though his mother never spoke of why his name had been scorched off their tree, his father had mentioned "wrongful romantic attractions."

Sirius now realized that not only were his family genocide supremacists but homophobes.

The more he thought, nothing happened. There was no strong opposition infringing his mind. His mind, as a matter of fact, remained completely blank. But Sirius didn't quite know if that was a good or bad thing?

He supposed that it didn't really matter who Marlene chose to love. As long as she was happy, so was he. Same-gender did not change that, nor did race or religion.

"No," Sirius answered, looking into her brown eyes. He now saw that they brimmed in tears, redness on her waterline. "Congratulations, I guess. You know, for..." but he stopped himself, hearing how incredibly stupid he sounded.  

Marlene laughed and a tear slipped. "Thanks."

A breeze weaved through his hair and chilled the exposed skin at the rips of his jeans. He lifted an arm slightly, inviting her in and they met, together, a collision that almost sent them both falling into the lake.

She buried her face in the curve of his neck, her hot tears wetting his skin. "No one else knows," Marlene sniffed, trying to hold back every emotion that swelled her heart.

The only reason she still survived is that the fire inside her burned brighter than the fire around her. When too much pretending tortured her mind, she'd look in the mirror, wipe away her tears, take a deep breath, and remember who the fuck she was.

She chose this life but was built to handle it.

Sirius pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the shea butter and coconut of her shampoo. "I won't tell a soul." And he held her like it was the end of the fucking world because yes he loved Marlene McKinnon, in all her rainbow-washed glory.

But he wasn't attracted to her, he never would be. Arousal is merely a hormonal response labeled to come across as love. But it's not like that at all. Real love is more of a home, that peace you get amongst someone when they enter a room, feeling tremendously safe even when they couldn't save your life for shit.

Love is looking at someone and admiring their crooked features, the snorts in their laugh, the damage of their hair, the dullness of their eyes, the blemishes on their skin, the dryness of their lips, the clumsiness of their hands.

Love is seeing all those things, all those quirks that make them perfectly imperfect, and accepting them. Accepting that odd person into your heart and entrusting them with your life. Love is messy and complicated and wanting all the wrong people for all the right reasons.

They rocked back and forth, inadvertently stepping several feet into the icy lake until the water reached their calves. Nothing else mattered at that moment; no love letters or Valentine's Day dates crossed his mind.

Sirius did, however, think of one thing, making him chuckle deeply. "Guess I have some competition then, eh?"

Marlene smiled into his neck. "Unless all the girls you snog are lesbian."

He considered this comically, then stopped dead. Fucking hell.

Chapter Text

Monday 23rd February 1976

“Holy shit.”

Sirius stirred awake from his sleep, blinking bleary-eyed in the murkiness. He slapped a hand around the air until it grabbed onto the velvet fabric of his curtains and tugged it slightly open to find Remus leaning up in his bed, hair tousled, and half-awake.

He was staring ahead, stunned. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Sirius followed his line of vision to their bathroom where a large blur was standing in the doorway. It grunted and then stomped its feet, probably wearing heavy boots because his bed shook with each strong movement. 

Peter too woke up and drew his curtains, dangling his head from over his bed like a lazy drunk. He craned his neck towards the bathroom and gasped, “W-What is that?”

Remus hunched and rubbed his heavy eyes, seemingly fed up. “What do you think?”

Sirius stumbled up and rummaged through the drawer of his nightstand, took out his lighter, then rolled down the metal spark wheel and lifted it towards the bathroom. The small flame enlightened only his duvet so Sirius crawled to the edge of his bed and held out the lighter. 

He squinted through the darkness and caught the vague image of a rounded body but nothing more. His heartbeat quickened and slowly reached to grab his wand.

Peter flicked on his bedside lamp, and Sirius shielded his eyes at the stinging light which blazed their dorm. But he peeked through his fingers and there the stag stood, squished between the narrow doorway of their bathroom, branch-like antlers scraping the wood. Its body wiggled and legs danced to break free, but he didn’t even budge.

Sirius glanced over to James’ bed, finding it empty. He tried to make sense of what he was witnessing but it was two in the morning and he still had a hazy mind from the night smoke he’d taken before bed. This shit was too fucking strange and he was too fucking high.

“Why the fuck-  why  just  why ?” Remus groaned into his hands, then started laughing unexpectedly, deep from the back of his throat.

“Should…should we help him?” Peter suggested and the stag stomped its hooves in agreement.

But Remus shook his head, now wheezing. “I can’t- I can’t fucking… James,  what the actual fuck? ” He fell back into his pillow, laughing hysterically until his lungs ached.

Sirius watched him nonplussed. Quite rarely did Remus Lupin completely lose his shit, but when he did, it was the most irresistibly contagious thing in the world. 

***

A new minister had been hired, Harold Minchum, a man with no capability to lead an entire nation of wizards and witches. He was thrown into the position so the Ministry wouldn’t seem corrupted and did nothing proactive but station more Dementors at Azkaban. 

The Ministry always acted like they had everything under control when in reality, they were just as much of a mess as the rest of the world because of this bloody war; struggling to manage the pureblood riots, denying the press any leads on their progress.

They were lying to the world and the world foolishly believed them. 

Currently, the war was at a stand-still. This was not good. Silence in a war meant an even bigger explosion later. Even though Dumbledore and Hogwarts staff made sure to keep the students out of earshot, everyone knew trouble was coming. It was only a matter of  when ?

Clubs were never enforced but this term, all students were required to take dueling classes due to recent threats by worried parents. It was compensation, for now, but wouldn’t be enough.

Still, that afternoon the entire fifth-year Gryffindor and Slytherin house gathered in Great Hall for their dueling session. The long dining tables had been cleared and replaced with a golden stage which pressed against the very front wall, hundreds of flickering candles floating beneath the velvety black ceiling. The hall was crowded with chattering voices as students held their wands eagerly, ready to fight. 

Everyone hushed when stubby Professor Flitwick weaved around the long legs of his students and mounted the stage, green robes dragged at his feet. He pointed his wand to his mouth, amplifying his shrill voice. “Gather ‘round now, c’mon. Yes, up to the front. Very good.”

The two houses grimaced a bit as they intermixed, like fire and alcohol, lethal when together.

Flitwick cleared his throat, beginning a lecture. “Dueling is all about reaction and prediction; reacting to your opponent with either offensive or defensive magic; predicting the next move of your opponent. The most successful duelers can balance those two things and always keep their bodies and minds in the duel, nowhere else.” 

“Better prepare yourself, Potter, I won’t go easy,” Sirius whispered in James’ ear.

He smirked. “Don’t get so cocky, I’ll kick your arse.”

Sirius chuckled to himself, not the least bit intimidated. “Oh yeah, Mr. kill ‘em with fucking kindness.”

“Piss off.” James elbowed him in the ribs.

“I want you all to pair up and practice  civilized  duels. You will be using  no  curses or hexes, only textbook-based disarming charms and shields,” Flitwick directed.

Sirius practically trampled on top of James, hooking their arms together. Inseparable those two, like twin flames.

Though, Flitwick was quick to pull them apart. “No no no,” he tisked, glowering at them from up on the platform and wagging a fast finger. “Not while I’m still alive, you two separate.”

Sirius moved automatically toward Remus.

“Lupin neither. In fact, let’s do opposite house pairings.” Everyone groaned but Flitwick snapped his fingers impatiently. “C’mon, pair off, thirty minutes of class won’t kill you.”

Students dragged their feet as they grimly paired off, throwing bitter insults and growls in discontent. James went with Ambrose Greengrass who was brawny with a heavy jaw which jutted aggressively; Remus with some stout freckle-faced boy who he towered over; Peter with a blonde girl who was a good head taller and could pick him apart like meat on a bone; but Sirius stood around helplessly for a bit, unsure of who to approach. His ill grudge towards Slytherins made it hard to act civilized, unlike James who’d extended a friendly hand towards Ambrose.

“Are you capable of picking a partner? Or shall I do it for you?” Flitwick asked as he watched Sirius spin in circles, stalling. 

“Nope, I’m good,” he replied, throwing a forced smile.

He fished the sea of students who were already starting their duels, spells of white and yellow mists firing from their wands. Only one boy was still standing, alone by the wall, trying to go unnoticed but Sirius spotted him and strutted over. 

“Oi, Snivellus. Care for a duel?”

Severus scrunched his hooked nose at Sirius’ presence and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d rather swim in a sewer.”

He clapped a hand to his heart. “I can’t possibly be  that  intolerable.”

“You’d be surprised,” he scowled.

“Are you really passing up the chance to fire a few spells at me under a Professor’s orders? This seems very un-Slytherin of you.”

Severus thought for a moment, then leaned off the wall. “Rather an easy win I reckon? Why not, feed you a bit of your own arrogance,” he sneered and they both bowed stiffly, as all duelers must, not once taking their eyes off each other. 

They raised their wands like swords in front of them. Sirius counted down. “One…Two-”  

“ Expelliarmus! ” Snape cried, swinging his wand above his head and pointing it at Sirius. There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Sirius felt a hard punch to his stomach that sent him flying backward. His wand flew from his hand and into Snape’s clutch.

Sirius slid on his back across the floor until his body hit some Gryffindor girl’s feet. He stumbled back up, brushing the dust off his trousers, steam whistling from his ears. “I didn’t even get to three you prick,” Sirius gruffed and started back to where Snape stood, snickering evilly.

The boy tossed him his wand and they went again, this time without counting.

“ Everte Statum !” Sirius shouted but Snape effortlessly countered his spell with a simple “ Protego .”

They circled each other like predators, wands extending and waiting for someone to strike. 

“Heard what happened at that family dinner,” Snape brought up, feeding off of the way Sirius’ body tensed. “Did they really throw you out that quick? Probably toasted afterward.”

Sirius’ jaw clenched but he remained poised, trying not to remember the dinner, remember who he’d left behind. “They didn’t throw me out, I left.”

“Couldn’t handle a twelve-coursed meal? I thought you posh snobs were taught to sit through those?” Snape mocked, laughing cold and cruelly.

His pulse thickened. Sirius lurched forward. “ Locomotor Mortis! ”

Panic flashed in Severus’ eyes, knowing it was too late to react. His knees locked together as if bound with a rope and he hopped around but tripped over his feet and fell face-first into the hard stone floor. 

Sirius snorted as Snape squirmed around like a dying worm.

“I said no curses!” Flitwick shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Snape struggled to stand. 

He hung back, seeing it cruel to attack more spells at someone so vulnerable. But his hesitance was a mistake; huffing long breaths, Severus pointed his wand at Sirius’ knees, gasping, “ Petrificus Totalus. ”

Sirius’ arms and legs snapped together and he fell backward, as stiff as a board. His head throbbed painfully but he couldn’t cry out, paralyzed and only able to move his eyes.

Professor Flitwick’s face loomed over his. “Detention after class Mr. Black. You too, Mr. Snape.”

Sirius closed his eyes, taming his temper.  I’m gonna kill that fucking snake.

***

The two served detention in excruciating silence, sitting in the Charms Classroom while Professor Flitwick lectured them both on the proper offensive and defensive spells used in dueling. James, Remus, and Peter waited for Sirius outside and once he was released, they bounded out of the castle and down the grounds for some fresh air.

The marauders rested near the meadow they’d discovered on their first full moon which was still lively with pansies and coral bells. Sirius and Peter lay in the bed of flowers while James attempted to climb a nearby tree and Remus leaned against its trunk.

“What about Bambi?” Sirius proposed jokingly.

“No,” James rejected, jumping to reach a high branch on the tree but missing by a hair. 

“I quite like Bambi,” Remus hummed.

“I like it too,” Peter agreed.

“Majority rules,” Sirius shrugged and James flipped them all off.

The marauders had spent a great deal of their weeks brainstorming nicknames to use as substitutes on their map, a way to keep their real identities a secret. It was also a much better way of referencing their Animagus' without having to say,  the stag, the dog,  or  the rat.

Peter already had his name figured out. It happened the previous full moon when they’d been rolling through the same flower beds and the stag nipped a worm from the ground which had actually been the rat’s tail. 

When they all transformed back, Peter curled up in a ball and whimpered with a scrunched face, having quite a nasty bite mark on his arse from where the stag nipped. All the while, Sirius couldn’t stop wheezing at the fact that James mistook Peter for a fucking worm and bit his arse. 

Thus came the name Wormtail.

James jumped again with a fierce determination, gripping tightly to a low hanging branch but his sweaty hands slipped. “Ow,  fuck! ” he swore, holding onto his pointer finger which bled from a deep splinter. He gagged at the blood and knelt down to where Remus sat, holding out his finger. “Pull it out?” he asked, clenching his eyes and turning his head away.

Remus examined James’ small wound and took the bleeding hand in his, then dug his nails into the pierced skin and pulled the splinter out sharply.

James flinched, but then his shoulders relaxed. He turned back to Remus and smiled brightly, filled with so much love, one could get drunk off its sight. “Thanks, Moony!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Remus shoved James away and the boy went back to climbing the tree. 

White fluffy clouds rolled around the skies and Sirius watched them, naming the different shapes and animals he saw. But soon he averted his eyes and blinked away the images, remembering how Regulus and he used to lay in their garden and point out the unique clouds.

He plucked a flower and pulled out its petals, one by one by one until all that remained was its stem. Nowadays, it seemed like everything reminded him of his brother. No longer could Sirius enjoy life without moping about how Regulus wasn’t in it.

James, being the monkey he was, had climbed up the trunk and perched on a thick branch. “Watch this,” he grinned and lept off, transforming midair. His hooves hit the ground, crunching patches of flowers, and he freely galloped around the meadow.

Remus watched him, tenderly smiling. “Him prancing about shouldn’t be as charming as it is.”

Something clicked in Sirius’ head and he dropped the stem, sitting up. “Oh my god.”

Peter tilted his head from where he laid, hair grubby with soil. “You alright?” he checked but Sirius didn’t respond.

Prancing, progging, prog… 

He sprung up, eyes wide as the idea struck. “Moons you’re a fucking genius!”

Remus looked up at him in bewilderment. “I am?”

Sirius ran a hand down his face, stepping back. Guess those cigarettes hadn’t fried his brain yet.

James transformed back, slightly worried. “Black, what’s wrong?”

He whipped around to face James, eyes dancing. “Prongs!”

He paused. “What?” 

“Prongs!” 

“Come again?”

“Prongs you dolt, Prongs!”

“Yes, I heard you the first time now what the fuck do you mean?” 

“Remus, he- he said prancing!” Sirius rushed, just wanting to shake James by the shoulders until the loose screws in his brain fit back into place. 

“How is prancing anything close to prongs?” Remus pointed, logically.

“It doesn't matter,” Sirius groaned, waving him away. “What matters is we have your name, Prongs!”

James stood very still, feet buried in the flowers and uneven earth. He pondered for a moment, the name floating aimlessly as he worked through it, one syllable at a time. 

“Well come on!” Sirius whined impatiently, practically bouncing around. “What do you think?!” 

James’ eyes flitted around the meadow before settling on Sirius, his glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose. “I…” The heavy lines in his forehead softened and a smile enlightened his face. “I fucking love it!” 

He charged forward and attacked Sirius in a hug, clapping his back, then pulling away and ran his fingers through his messy raven hair. “Prongs, Prongs, Prong,” James repeated, each time his smile grew wider. “Shit, it’s brilliant!” He dashed around the field, spinning, leaping, transforming in and out of his Animagus all while yelling, “I’M  FUCKING  PRONGS!” in his rush of adrenaline.

***

Back in the boy’s dormitories, a record spun idly while Sirius and Remus sat quietly in their separate beds, relaxing in each other’s company. James and Peter were off at the pitch, leaving the two to leisure before dinner. 

Sirius pulled out the letter which he’d been keeping safely under his pillow, taped up in the places it had ripped. He’d become quite attached to the wrinkled French poem, drinking the words every night like wine, melting at their divine touch. 

“Love letter”  sounded too…too… He couldn’t describe it in a way that made sense but calling it what it was would spark emotion in places that had been impassive for months, and emotions were a dangerous game, especially with men who’d been tormented because of them. 

For his sake, he rather not know anything at all. Rather stay in the lonely dark until this gray cloud passed over and normalcy returned. He’d avoid his problems until they became a fuzzy memory, something of the past.

Sirius tucked the letter back under his pillow and sunk into his mattress, letting his mind wander and eyes stare blankly at the bumps on his ceiling. The silence was exhaustible but he couldn’t help but brood at the fact that everyone had figured out a nickname but he. 

Moony had just come about naturally, figured around their second year. Prongs fit oddly and Wormtail made enough sense but as long and hard as Sirius thought, drumming up ludicrous names, nothing stuck. 

He’d always be Sirius Orion Black, not even a fucking sobriquet he could pass as.  Can’t run from your past,  as his mother used to say. 

“You’re doing it again.” Remus’ voice snapped him out of his musing.

Sirius tilted his head to the side. “Doing what?”

He kept his eyes casted down, on the pages of his book. “Thinking too deeply, you’re stressing yourself out.”

Sirius smirked. Remus had a knack for reading someone better than they could themselves as if their thoughts were being spoken aloud. Though he didn’t speak on the matter, keeping it fondly in his head. 

“Care to share?” Remus probed.

For anyone else, Sirius would’ve lied, made up some crap about upcoming OWLs so he wouldn’t have to explain himself. But Remus Lupin wasn’t just  anyone else . 

“I don’t have a name,” he confessed.

Remus stifled a chuckle. “How much weed have you smoked?”

“I’m not high...not since last night,” he retorted, now craving the tingling sensations which his cigarettes gave. 

“Sure are acting like it with your  no-name  bullshit.”

Sirius internally slapped his forehead. Why couldn’t people just read his bloody mind? “I mean  nickname , you know? You’re Moony, James is Prongs, Pete’s Wormtail.” His heart sank a bit, feeling eerily excluded. Alone. “I don’t have one.”

He waited for a response but instead, they sat in silence, and Sirius scorned himself for being so bloody honest. 

No one ever got it. Remus probably thought he was being overdramatic, fussing over a matter so silly. But it went farther than that. 

Sirius wouldn’t admit it but he hated when his friends called him  Black.  He almost got himself killed trying to runaway, leaving everything he ever loved behind, and for what? So his friends could continue to haunt him with his past? 

A nickname was like an escape, a chance to be something other than yourself. 

Take Remus, for instance; as “Remus” he was just the studious knitted jumper boy with a cut-up face and polite mannerism that all the teachers adored. But as “Moony” he was the curse-stringing werewolf with a fiery temper from a working-class mother who could throw a nasty punch and drew up their most infamous pranks with that mischievous mind of his that ran on chocolate and caffeinated tea.

To others, Remus was a softie. To the marauders, Moony was a force to be reckoned with. And you’d be nutters to get on his bad side.

Sirius, however, would forever be seen as a privileged playboy and it bugged him tremendously. His anxiety built as he thought of his fate and terribly wished that James were there, the boy always knew how to settle his nerves.

Remus shifted in his bed and crossed his long legs, casually flipping the next page of his book, the stress of his friend passing over his head. 

Sometimes Sirius wished the boy showed more care instead of ignoring the visible distress of other people. He began to close his curtains, ready to cast a silencing spell as he felt his breathing shorten.

“Padfoot,” Remus said, and it rolled off his tongue like second nature. As if the name had been there all along.

Sirius perked up. “What?”

“Padfoot,” he repeated, a bit thickly.

Remus’ eyes were still fixed on his reading but he smiled discreetly under the shadow the setting sun casted. His smile spoke all the words he didn’t need to say.

Sirius drew the curtains around his bed and as soon as Remus was out of sight, he fell back into his pillow and grinned the cheekiest fucking grin until his entire face cramped.  Padfoot. 

Sirius swore he could've kissed him.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 10th March 1976

James gave Sirius a light shove forward. “You do it.”

He wiggled away. “Fuck no, that’s a death sentence.” 

“Well, I’m not bloody doing it!”

“Pete, you have a go.” Sirius nodded towards the peacefully sleeping Remus.

“Yeah, you piss him off the least,” James agreed.

Peter rolled his eyes, stalking over to the edge of Remus’ bed. “You two are a bunch of wusses,” he muttered, then lightly poked Remus’ shoulder. “Hey, Moony? Moooony,” he sang, as soft and gentle as a mother’s touch.

Remus grumbled, eyes still closed, “What do you want?”

“Happy birthday,” they all whispered, bringing their heads together and smiling cheekily. James dug into his pocket and tossed confetti over them all. It sprinkled down, tangling in their hairs.

Remus squinted his eyes open, glaring at them and the confetti over his bed. But he buried his head in his pillow, enshrouding his smile. “Fuck off.”

“We love you Moony,” James grinned, then slowly crept closer and wrapped his arms around the drowsy boy.

Remus squirmed. “I said fuck off,” he laughed but didn’t push James away.

One by one they piled on top until it was a heavy stack of four boys on a twin-sized bed, hugging their best friend so very tightly who cursed at them all but still hugged them back.

***

Remus hated being the center of attention but the marauders had traditions to uphold so they forced the entire Hall to sing  happy birthday  even though Remus hid his face in his hands, cheeks burning in embarrassment. 

“Five bloody years and I can’t get a break,” he groaned, peeking through his fingers when the obnoxious singing had finally died out.

“Yeah, five bloody years, shouldn’t expect anything different,” Sirius countered, clapping him on the back.

“Hey, Lupin,” some Ravenclaw girl preened from behind. She was leaning over the table and had her arms tucked to her sides which made her breasts press together and lift as if that would seduce him. Her pupils dilated, “Happy birthday.” 

Remus turned around and waved politely, only ever looking from the neck up. 

“Who’s she?” Sirius asked bitterly. 

He turned back around, unfazed by her obvious flirting. “No clue.”

“Moony has a secret fanbase that we don’t know about,” James snickered teasingly.

Remus pursed his lips. “I most certainly do not.”

“They probably have group meetings and talk about how  breathtakingly handsome  you are,” Sirius mocked, making his voice higher and batting his lashes, mimicking a girl.

James fainted over Peter. “Or how  long  your legs are.”

“Or how  brown  your eyes are,” Peter chaffed, playing along.

“I’d fucking join it,” James winked. 

Remus’s gaze dropped to his tea, unable to look them in the eyes. He shook his head, “You guys are too fucking weird.”

***

Remus did a few errands of returning books, turning in papers, meeting with Professors, and Sirius followed, lingering behind and whistling dully.

“Don’t you have other places to be?” Remus asked, pacing up a narrow spiral stairwell to the Divination Classroom. Every step that he took was about five for Sirius so he had to move quickly if he wanted to keep up.

Yes, I do,  but he didn't say that. Instead, he smirked, “What? Don’t like my company?”

“No I don’t mind, it’s just that you voluntarily followed me into the Library. You never go to the Library.” 

“It’s your birthday, didn't want you to be alone.” 

Remus stopped a few steps ahead and glanced back at him suspiciously. Sunlight cascaded through the tall arched windows, turning the old stone bricks a dusty gold. When it reached Remus, it softened his features, making his dubious expression less frowned.

He tightened his lips and turned away, wordlessly, and Sirius treaded close behind.

Professor Chaudhry offered Remus a tea reading as a present, already crunching the leaves and setting a kettle but he politely declined and gave her his Heptomology essay. 

Sirius had dropped the class, as most students had, but now the professor occasionally glanced at him from the corner of her eye, brows kneading in pity. Not because he’d dropped the class but because he’d given up when so much potential still rested inside him. Sirius had once been her best student, now merely a stranger in the halls. 

“I think I’m gonna head back,” Remus decided as they exited the Divination Classroom. He rubbed at his shoulder which carried a book-weighted tote. “Feet are killin’ me.”

Sirius perked up, alerted. “No no no, I can’t let you do that,” he rushed, jumping in Remus’ way.

The boy raised a brow. “Why not?”

“Because Evans’ll kill me if you do.” It was true, Lily had threatened him with about twenty different hexes if he let Remus out of his sight. Sirius glanced at Remus’ wristwatch. “We have about an hour to kill, what do you fancy doing?”

“I fancy going to bed.”

He crossed his arms. “You know I can’t let you do that.” 

Remus pushed past him and started down the stairs, too strong for Sirius to have held back. “Keep up Black,” he tossed over his shoulder.

*** 

They leisurely walked in silence, taking a few detours and Sirius bending down to tie his shoelace for the millionth time. Evans specifically said 6:30 and the last thing he wanted was to get on the bad end of her wand.

Sirius found it funny the way Remus handled unexpected attention; how he shied at the compliments he received, nodded awkwardly at girls who wished him  a happy birthday.  But he never returned their fruitful gazes. Every pressed smile was always the same, monotone. 

“How’s your birthday going, Moony?” Sirius grinned, skipping as they got closer and closer to the common room. 

Remus didn’t walk as cheerily, lugging behind with one hand buried in his pocket, the other holding the strap of his tote. “Fantastic,” he said calmly. 

He narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not?”

“That’s the whole point.”

Sirius snatched Remus’ tote to relieve him of the weight but almost collapsed.  Fucking hell, what's he got in here, a dead body?  He tried his hardest not to show the strength it took to carry the bag, even as every muscle in his arm clenched and jaw tightened. “I’m great company, aren’t I?” he gritted.

Remus shrugged, “Evans’s better.” He announced the password and the Fat Lady opened her portrait, disappearing through the hole and leaving Sirius outside. 

The Fat Lady snorted. “Tough love.”

“Oh shut up,” he grunted, letting the tote slide off his shoulder and drop to the floor. He dragged it behind, entering the portrait hole .

As soon as Remus stepped into the common room, the other marauders and the girls sprung up from behind the couches and armchairs, wearing tacky party hats and blowing shrill noisemakers. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they shouted. 

Remus jumped back, gazing wide-eyed at the decorated common room of balloons, cheap streamers, and a hand-painted banner that read  HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOOny  by Peter who ran out of room and crammed the  n  and  y  at the very end. 

“Surprise, mate!” Sirius cheered, shoving him playfully. 

Remus’ blinked in disbelief. “Holy shit,” he breathed, making way towards his friends.

Lily ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Happy birthday darling.”

He held her tightly, nuzzling his face into her curled hair. “Thanks, Lils.”

She hopped off and planted a kiss on his cheek, then took his hand and dragged him towards the party. It was small, to Remus’ liking, only the seven of them. You could see his body melt into place, relaxing in the comfort of his friends.

Marlene shoved a tacky party hat on his head and it squished his curls. “Cheer up Lupin, you look like you're having a stroke,” she laughed, slapping his cheeks lightly to bring them some colour. 

Remus ran a hand down his stunned face. “Sorry, it’s just…” he gazed once more amongst his friends, earnest and loved. His still face cracked, smiling wide and cat-like, “…nothing. Thank you, this is perfect, more than perfect.”

Sirius grinned, puppy-eyed, placing a party hat on. “Anything for our Moony.”

They laid out in the common room, having changed into their pajamas, surrounded by couch cushions, throw pillows, and knitted blankets. Bowls of crisps and popcorn, trays of cookies, bars of chocolate, and cups of butterbeer were passed around.

They brought down Sirius’ player and spun some of Remus’ favorite records; Bowie, T-Rex, some Led Zeppelin. Sirius had tried to force in  A Night at the Opera  but James flung the album away, having heard of it enough.

I've been hasty wasty standing on the backstep, waiting for the phone to ring

But this semi-acoustic love affair is driving me to the brink

“Presents!” Mary sang, grabbing some bags that were hidden under the coffee table. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” Remus sighed as Lily forced him onto the couch and Mary rested the gifts at his feet.

“Nonsense Moony,” James tisked, pulling out a present from his pocket. “Not every day a dashing bloke turns sixteen.”

Sirius was quite embarrassed about it but he couldn’t afford a present for Remus. You’d think someone as  ‘privileged’  as he would have some pocket money but the second he ran away, he’d lost all funding. A vault at Gringotts still awaited him at eighteen but with everything that had happened, his parents probably melted the key and transferred the coins to Regulus’s. 

So not only was he broke but his little brother would be rich. 

Yet oddly enough, Sirius didn’t care. Sure it would be nice to have some cash to spend, to not worry about future expenses, but he had everything he needed. No amount of money in the world could buy the friendships he had.

But Sirius swore, when he got himself a job, he’d buy his friends anything they wanted. Especially Remus.

The night dragged on and Lily snuck away, returning with a lime-green iced cake which had sixteen lit candles stuck on top and  Luv You Lupin  piped in white frosting.   They sang Remus a final  happy birthday  and his teary eyes glistened in the firelight. He closed his eyes, then blew out the candles in one big breath.

“Wished for something good, Moons?” James asked, cutting the cake; two-layered chocolate batter with matcha cream cheese frosting in the middle. 

Remus played with the hem of his sleeve, smiling to himself. “Mhm,” he hummed, accepting the slice James gave him.

God help all you ladies, may the devil take all you men

You're far too busy having babies to help yourselves to a friend

Mary dragged Marlene up and they danced together, lazily spinning and dipping one another. Their laughs entwined, mangled in high-sugar levels and the quick puff of a spliff. Sirius watched the way Marlene eyed Mary, this time with the knowledge he didn’t have before. And suddenly, it all fell into place. 

It was the look James gave Lily like picturing a whole, wondrous life with someone. That look of knowing,  ‘one day I’m gonna marry you.’

Marlene didn’t care that Mary had a boyfriend or that she was most certainly straight. As a queer woman, you learn to accept what you can’t have, but end up wanting it still. 

Chasing a heart that will never want you is losing years of your life you’ll never get back. But they’re the best years of your life, spent filled with so much love that nothing feels real. You’re living in a god damn dream, even if it might be a delusion.

You don't have to be a big wheel, you don't have to be the end

I'm just looking for, looking for a friend

And Sirius’ eyes landed on Remus who had a bowl of popcorn on his lap and was laughing mid-bite at something ridiculous James said. His eyes crinkled and scars lifted, looking so much younger than sixteen. 

He was letting himself go, like the blossoming of a flower bud on the first day of spring. Slowly, he was losing the tension and reservedness he kept in his body. He now chewed with his mouth open and wiped his hands on his heather-grey sweats and Sirius found himself drifting off into some lousy fairytale the longer he stared. 

Because Remus in candid perspective was the real Remus. He was heedless and giddy and didn’t care that his fingers were butter-stained or that his curls were tangled from the attempted braids Mary had made.

He met evil when he was only a child and yet he smiled like all he’d ever known was love. Like he hadn’t come from a dud father or wasn’t bit at the age of four. Like his body wasn’t marked in all the times he’d tried to hurt himself or that there wasn’t a beast growling at his core. Like he hadn’t been lonely all his life, refused to know love, tossed away any happiness…

Like he didn’t spend every day reading so he could escape the stupid world he was forced to live in, the world that would never be enough.

But he’d let three boys into his life and that's when all that pain softened and all those scars turned into memories; when he was no longer viewed as a beast but a boy and his blood no longer ran with tragedy but passion.

His smiles and laughter emblemed all that change, and Sirius was lucky enough to be witnessing it as a fire lit in his chest. A product of perseverance sat across from him, tossing popcorn in his mouth and drinking butterbeer which foamed a mustache on his cupid’s bow.

A fire blazed by their backs, cracking logs and filling the room with the same warmth they all felt being together. And Sirius watched them; Remus laughing, Peter dozing off on his shoulder, James tossing kettles of popcorn in the air and catching them in his mouth, Lily scolding him that he’s going to choke, Mary and Marlene wrapped up in the same knitted blanket and swaying to the spinning vinyl; he realized,  this is my family.

Chapter Text

Saturday 27th March 1976

The sliver of a waning crescent moon hung low in the sky and a breeze from their open window carried earthy, fresh rain. Before anyone else could wake up, Sirius snuck out of his bed, treaded quietly across their room, and opened James’ curtains just enough for his body to slip inside.

His friend was pass-out, mouth gaped, hair spanning all over his forehead and pillow. Indentations from his glasses still marked little red bruises on the bridge of his nose. Sirius nudged his side and James jolted awake, eyes wide and rounded as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, startled and delirious, resting a hand on his chest to stop his heart from beating so rapidly. “Is…Is something-  fuck  you scared the shit out of me…”

Sirius bowed his head apologetically, realizing how frightening he must look, trapped in a shadow. “Sorry, mate.”

“No worries, you alright?” he asked, sitting up on his elbows.   

Without a second thought, Sirius attacked the boy in a hug, wrapping his arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly. James’ body was as warm as a furnace, exactly how he pictured love to feel.

“Happy birthday Prongs,” Sirius whispered, eyes starting to sting. Emotions snuck up on him like a slap at the back of his head, unexpected and unavoidable.

James sat there stunned for a moment, elbows still propping himself up, but he snapped to his senses and hugged Sirius back. “Couldn't have waited for the morning to tell me you git?”

He pulled away, swallowing his sentiment. “I wanted to be the first to tell you.” 

“Blimey, well, guess you are.”

Sirius wished he could say more, ramble about how thankful he was, how much James meant to him. But he couldn’t, all sappy words felt odd on his tongue.  

Friendship isn’t about who you’ve known the longest but about who walked into your life, said “I’m here for you,” and proved it.

James did that in every way, shape, and form. That boy had saved him, dragged him out of his deepest holes, showed him that regular beatings and being yelled at wasn’t love but abuse. 

He understood Sirius the most when the world didn’t understand him at all. 

When his mother sent Howlers, James burned them to a crisp; when Sirius broke down, James listened; when he was too tired to talk, to even move, James would be there, speaking utter nonsense. But it was comfortable nonsense like: “I wonder what muggles study in uni?”  or  “Ever notice how you can’t lick your elbow?” 

Sirius never thought he was deserving of love and then here came this boy with so much warmth and life it practically leaked out of him like an over-soaked sponge. 

James was his first taste of sunlight after years of drinking darkness. He was a soul too pure for this world who chose to be friends with a minted, beat-up bloke.

Why? Sirius still didn’t know. He was an actual mess, moody at times, raised by prejudices, had unhealthy habits of smoking and shutting down. In Sirius’ opinion, he’d never be friends with himself, but James saw every imperfection and accepted them.

He was his brother. It didn’t matter that they weren’t related by blood.

Instead of stressing over saying all the wrong words, Sirius hugged him again, and James knew all the things he was trying to say.

***

Euphemia sent a whole banquet that morning; pumpkin pasties, blueberry pie, cucumber sandwiches, hot chocolate in a thermos. She failed to remember that they lived in a castle supplied with its own cooking staff who provided tremendous amounts of freshly baked treats. But James knew how happy it made his mother to spoil his arse, so he complained nothing on the matter.

They had an early picnic, sprawled on the floor of their dorm, duvets beneath them, passing around the tons of pastry platters and sipping hot chocolate from broken teacups they once nicked from the Muggle Studies Classroom. 

“Remember when Prongs got drunk for the first time?” Remus brought up, munching on a brandy snap.

“Merlin, don't remind me,” James cringed.

“You started flirting with a suit of armor,” he teased, savoring the way James’ face flustered.

Sirius jumped to speak, setting down his teacup so the drink wouldn’t spill. He had a tendency of talking with his hands. “You asked it to  ‘come back to our dorm.’  Like, what the fuck were you planning on doing James? Shag an inanimate object? ’ ”

“I was intoxicated, okay!” he tried to defend.

“You almost made out with a suit of fucking armor! Even when I’m plastered I don’t get  that  mad!” Sirius exclaimed. “Then, THEN, when you got sick of the armor because it wasn’t ‘doing it for you,’ YOU FLIRTED WITH THE FUCKING FAT LADY!”

“And she flirted back,” Remus added. “That’s why Prongs doesn’t have to say the password anymore. She's got the hots for him.”

“You seduced a fucking portrait, James. This is why we can’t let you near alcohol,” Sirius finished, taking a sip of his hot chocolate now that his little show was over. 

Peter fell back, clutching his stomach as laughter shook his body. “Fuck, you’re gonna give me a hernia!”

***

After they’d stuffed their stomachs, the marauders headed down for the Great Hall. Not that they could possibly eat anymore but it was a force of habit and afterward everyone would go together to see the Quidditch match.

But of course, James paused just outside the boys’ dormitory stairwell when he spotted Lily, alone, sitting on the couch. Her hands were busy knitting, baby pink yarn in a clump by her side.

James hesitated, turning around to where the other marauders stood, waiting for him to move. His eyes darted to Sirius, the master of swooning girls. “She’s there.”

“Lily?”

“Yeah, blimey, should I talk to her?” He seemed desperate to know, desperate for advice. James hadn't bugged Evans much since he’d seen her with Liam. Guess now that restraint has worn off. 

Sirius moved down the steps so he could grip James’ shoulders, still hidden from Lily’s view in the blind spot of the stairwell. “James, Evans is a girl, you know how to talk to girls.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Remus chuckled but Sirius held up a hand. Moony’s snarky comments never helped much. 

“Just compliment her knitting or whatever the fuck she’s doing. Don’t tell her it’s your birthday, you’ll seem too…” He snapped his fingers, trying to think of the proper term.

“Desperate,” Peter filled in for him.

“Yes, desperate! You’ll seem too desperate.”

James nodded dazedly but didn’t seem to be following. He hung his head, “Maybe I should just leave her alone, you know, she could be with L-”

Sirius slapped his cheek and Peter swallowed a gasp. “Get your shit together Potter. If she were with the bastard, she wouldn’t be fucking knitting. Knitting is for lonely people or nans who have nothing else better to do.”

James grew an imprint where his hand had struck but the slap seemed to wake some adrenaline in his body. Sirius shoved him out of the stairwell and he stumbled into the light. 

Sirius, Remus, and Peter sneaked over to the portrait hole, close enough to see the back of Evans’ head and a shyly walking James but far enough so they wouldn’t seem to be eavesdropping. 

James loitered by an antique table that carried a vase of flowers, pretending to sniff its fragrance, but was just stalling. He turned to the marauders with a plea on his face, unsure of how to approach. 

Peter tossed him two thumbs up, Remus gave a thin smile, and Sirius made a shooing motion with his hand.

James gulped, shaking off his nerves. “Oi, Evans,” he whistled, leaning over the back of the couch. “What’cha knitting?”

“I’m crocheting,” she corrected. 

James’ face scrunched at his idiocy. “Right, yeah, crocheting, that’s what I meant.” He licked his chapped lips, trying to drum up a conversation starter. “You know it’s a very special day today.”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose.  Does he ever listen?

Lily hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t seem too interested, eyes downcasted and focused on the quick movements of her crochet hooks.

He glanced over his shoulder at his friends, raising his brows for help but they shrugged, staying far away. Standing anywhere near those two was sure to go down in hexes and smoke, best to be at least ten yard’s distance.

James nibbled on his lip, then tried again. “What’re you making?” he jutted his chin towards her yarn.

“A hat.”

“For me?” he smiled, fondly. He did love the colour pink.

She rolled her eyes, glancing at him briskly. “Marls.”

James pressed his lips together and squeezed the back pillows of the couch until his knuckles went white. “Well, you have a nice day Evans,” he let out, giving up. Everywhere he tried was a dead end. 

Lily waved a hand, mindlessly, and James sulked back to his friends. “Great advice Sirius,” he sarcassed. “I really think we hit it off.”

He held up his hands. “Not my fault you can't flirt.”

James gave one last glance back at Lily, eyes drooping in dejection. He knew she’d never look at him the way he looked at her. Unrequited love torments us that way.

***

The Great Hall buzzed in anticipation for the upcoming match, divided into either blue or green coloured clothing. Ravenclaw had so far been undefeated since the January season and their winning streak was now in the hands of the Slytherins. 

James wasn’t even playing and still acted the same as during Gryffindor games, blethering obvious formations that each team might use. He took any excuse to talk about Quidditch.

“James, I love you, but if you don’t shut up I swear to Merlin, this fork is going in your hand,” Remus threatened, pointing to his fork. His face was stony, deadly serious. 

James took everything lightly and chuckled at his sternness. “Y’know Moony, learning a bit about Quidditch won’t kill you.”

Remus picked up his fork and James quickly slid his hand under the table. 

Mary helped herself to a serving of fruit, drowning in one of Ivan's oversized Ravenclaw sweaters. “Did you hear of that sixth-year bloke?”

Lily nodded. “Merlin, Alice told me, still can’t believe it.”

She furrowed her brows, deeply distressed. “I don’t know why he did it though, remember what happened to William? Better off pretending than getting jumped in a deserted corridor. Poor lad.”

“What bloke?” Marlene butted in.

“A sixth-year, he came out as…” Mary raised implicative brows.

There was a tightness in Marlene’s jaw. “Oh,” she said thickly, biting her tongue. 

Mary didn’t pick up on her tension but Lily did. “There's nothing wrong with it,” she eased, choosing her words wisely. “Just…surprising, that’s all.”

Marlene’s cheeks began burning as if held close to a flame but she didn’t argue back. It’s hard having to pretend, having to lie about who you really are. Even harder when you have to sit and let others talk shit about something you can relate to.

Under the table, Sirius set his hand on hers and squeezed it gently.  Just relax Marls,  and as if hearing his thoughts, Marlene took in a deep breath and let it out. 

Once composed, she slapped his hand away, playfully. “Hate you,” she muttered under her breath. 

Sirius smirked, raised his coffee cup to his lips. “Hate you more.”

***

The pitch was glossy from the morning rain and stand benches were puddled and wood-wet. Sirius swiped off his seat before sitting whereas Evans came prepared with a peach coloured towel which she laid beneath her.

“Got an extra one of those by any chance?” he asked, stretching a charming smile.

“Nope,” Lily paraded, crossing her legs. “Have fun sitting in damp trousers.” 

Sirius’ smile fell, turning tight-lipped. Sometimes her over-preparation got on his nerves.

“Lovely blue skies folks, perfect for Quidditch,” Finnigan cheered into his megaphone. Though, the cloudy grey skies and distant cracks of thunder contradicted his statement. McGonagall sat down and hugged the cloak which wrapped her body, preparing herself for the migraine Finnigan was soon to bring her.

The Slytherins flew onto the pitch, earning deafening roars from one side of the stands. Since Sirius was amongst the crowd instead of playing, he was able to spot Elio in the air, blonde hair blazing and green robes vibrant in the sun. His expression wasn’t its usual blissful self but focused with narrow eyes and a tight grip on the head of his broom.

But then a tied-back mop of jet black hair and ghostly skin attracted Sirius’ attention and immediately, he ducked his head.  Fuck, don’t look don’t look don’t look.

“He's not looking,” Remus whispered, reassuringly.

The breath died in his throat. How does he always do that? 

His first thought was legilimency but he knew Remus wouldn’t be that invasive. Can werewolves do that?  He wasn’t sure. The other marauders never come across any connections between lycanthropy and legilimency when studying about werewolves for becoming Animagi.

Sirius never liked the mind-reading trick and would never learn to do it, even if a professor instructed him to. His mother was a Legilimens and used it on him and his brother whenever she suspected they were lying. It was intrusive and invasive and brought back nightmares Sirius typically got whenever his mother entered his mind.

He was never granted privacy, always an open book for his mother to berate. What people don't know, they can't ruin, but his mother always knew, and Sirius was always ruined.

He took a brave glance up at Remus only to find him already staring. The boy looked concerned, deep in thought but gave a weak, trying smile.

Sirius smiled back, knowing all too well that even if Remus was a Legilimens, he’d never use it on him. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t.

The entire game, Sirius only kept his eyes on Elio. Anywhere else and he was sure to veer off on Regulus and that would only end in tears.

Elio was quick on his broom, zipping across the pitch with the Quaffle snugly tucked under his arm. The majority of work was done by him but then he’d pass the ball to Ambrose Greengrass who’d thrust it into the center goalpost, sending the stands in an uproar, Finnigan yelling into his megaphone, “Another ten points to Slytherin by Greengrass!” and Elio’s name would be forgotten.

At one point in the game, a timeout was called by the Ravenclaw captain and the players paused on their brooms, taking a brief break. Elio wiped his sweat-glist forehead with the back of his sleeve, then tossed his head back and let it roll idly. A breeze weaved through his hair, flapping it around.

Somehow and somewhere between James telling Sirius off for stepping on his foot and Elio scanning the crowd, their eyes met, locking like two hooked fingers. Awkwardly, Sirius raised a low hand, waving subtly, and Elio’s once grim face turned thrilled. He beamed from atop his broom, waving back. His was more grandiose and Remus caught on, following the greeting gesture to where Sirius stood next to him. 

“You know him?” Remus intrigued. 

Sirius stiffed and dropped his hand, along with his gaze. He cleared his throat a bit too harshly. “No, no he’s just- random bloke, met him at practice.” It wasn’t  all  a lie. He had met Elio on the pitch but he wasn’t some random bloke.  Far from it, actually. 

Remus nodded but had a crease on his forehead. Sirius saw, he kept a more watchful eye on Elio the second half of the match, never once losing sight of that blonde mane. 

The game was tied, thirty-six to thirty-six, and Elio finally received the attention he deserved after bumping the Quaffle out of a Ravenclaw chaser’s hand and scoring for Slytherin. 

“Ten points by Hermes, Slytherin takes the lead!” Finnigan shouted, dancing around the commentator's box.

“Oh, that’s him!” Mary pointed, jumping up and startling Lily.

“Who?”

Mary leaned in closer, speaking quietly. “The gay bloke.” 

Sirius might have been watching the match but overheard and caught onto their whispers. His chest tightened.  No…no, it’s not…  But just to make sure, he turned in the direction that the two girls were looking and found only one boy there, hovering on his broom.

And it was like he was seated front row at an empty muggle cinema, a tub of popcorn on his lap as the movie began to roll its credits, playing every moment he and the boy had ever had.

Merde. How had he been so god damn oblivious?

Those eyes and those smiles and those mere minutes they spent together, simply staring and wondering what the fuck they were doing?

“See you ‘round pretty boy.”  Pretty boy. He was never quite good at reading in between the lines. 

Sirius wished it were all a dream, that Remus might pinch him and he’d wake up. But the wetness of his trousers which now seeped to his boxers and blaring cheers from Mary for her boyfriend felt too real to be dreamt.

There was an impossible ringing in Sirius’ ears, one that could migraine him deaf. His mouth dried out and hung slightly open, gaping and the cold hard truth of it all. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out. A queer man fancied him.

Chapter Text

Thursday 15th April 1976

Sirius’ first thought when they made it back to the shack, exhausted and collapsing to the splintered floor, was  Remus. 

He ignored the blood dripping down his leg or the fiery burn of his torn flesh. Even as his head spun, disrupting his equilibrium, Sirius dragged his body to where his friend laid, shivering and scarred, not enough strength to make it to his cot. 

“Sirius…James…Pete...” Remus coughed out. His words felt skinned, drier than sandpaper, and shriller than nails down a chalkboard. 

“I’m here,” Sirius said, kneeling at his side. His leg screamed at the pressure being put on it, oozing more and more blood. His flesh pounded like his heart was trapped inside the wound.

“Mate, you’re bleeding,” James gasped, staring wide-eyed at the puddle he sat in.

Sirius didn’t care, he’d deal with his leg later. He hovered over Remus’ body, unsure of what to do. There were so many cuts and scrapes from branches and claws. His hand fumbled with the rag he held, dabbing it around. 

Remus watched him amusedly through bleary eyes. Guess he didn’t remember anything. “M-Madam Pomf-frey usually does that.”

“Well I’m not waiting for Madam Pomfrey,” Sirius rasped.

Peter tended to a cut James had gotten, a little above his right brow.

They continued working, building up their strength until the moon finally faded, overpowered by the sun and its harsh gleams through the boarded-up windows. 

Remus passed in and out of consciousness and each time Sirius almost had a heart attack. When he woke up, eyes tear-glossed and dark circled, Sirius had the urge of telling him but didn’t. 

He didn’t want to tell him about the other howling they'd heard and the attacks that would soon be in the papers. How the wolf had charged forward, desperate to be with its own kind. How Sirius and James had chased him through the forest, trying to reel him back. How when Sirius saw streetlamps from the wizarding town up ahead, he'd jumped in front of the wolf and bared his teeth, growling satanically. How they'd fought and Remus scratched him, slicing open his thigh, then clawed at his own skin. 

Sirius didn’t have it in him so he kept his mouth shut and watched helplessly as Remus passed out once more.

***

James practically had to drag Sirius out of the shack as he refused to leave Remus to bleed out but they left, hidden under the cloak just as Madam Pomfrey barged in and rushed to Remus’ side. 

They inclined up the steep lawn, huffing from tired limbs and heaving lungs. James had wrapped Sirius’ thigh with a piece of fabric he’d ripped from his flannel shirt. It soaked the blood and put pressure on the wound but would only be a temporary solution. 

He couldn’t possibly ask for aid at the Hospital Wing, not with all the questions that would follow like,  “How’d you get that nasty cut?”  What was he supposed to say?  “Oh, yeah, my friend - he’s a werewolf by the way - he tried to kill me cause I prevented him from getting a nice taste of human. Quite unfortunate but he’s good and’ll probably show up in just a mome- Oh, look, hey Moony!”

The doors to the Hospital Wing were closed, too early in the morning to be opened for visitors but someone was already waiting when they arrived.

“What’s Snape doing here?” Peter whispered as they approached.

“Don’t know,” James said suspiciously and stepped in front of Sirius before he could go any farther. “Better head back, don’t want him to see you.” By  you,  he was referring to the werewolf mark. As much as Sirius hated to miss Moony, it was the right decision to leave. One glance at his bloody trousers and too many questions would spring.

He limped back to the common room, each step clenching every vein in his neck. The Fat Lady eyed him skeptically when he approached. “Well, you look like shit.” 

He tossed his head back, flashing a dazzlingly painful smile. “Thanks, love, I try.” 

As soon as he reached his dorm, Sirius closed the door and slid down it. 

Fuck. Everything hurt.

He pulled up his trouser pant and lifted the flannel fabric, peeking under. He grimaced at the mushy skin, the dried blood around it, but he’d seen worse.

Gripping the door handle, Sirius hauled himself up, limping towards the bathroom. He fished through their drawers; cotton swabs, hair gel, hair ties, shaving cream, combs-  yes,  some old bandage wrap.

He knew little about muggle medicine and nothing about healing spells but Remus had once mentioned that alcohol cleaned stuff. He still might have some fire whisky left in his trunk? That is if James hadn’t tossed it. 

Sirius put off the idea and went for his way of disinfecting which meant rinsing with a bit of water and slapping a band-aid on it. 

He lifted himself onto the countertop and turned on the tap, splashing water onto his skin. His breath clogged from the cold water hitting his wound, stinging like electric shocks but he bit his tongue and continued cleaned. 

Blood swirled down the drain, staining the quartz sink maroon. Sirius bandaged his thigh tightly and hopped off the counter. A sharp stabbing shot up his leg when he hit the floor but he grimly swallowed the pain like cough syrup and changed into fresh clothes for his next class.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was probably the last thing he wanted to learn about but he did, walking quite funnily into class, balling his hands into fists with each excruciating step he took. Sitting down was a relief and took a lot of weight off his leg.

James appeared next to him, sliding out a chair, “How’s the leg?”

“Fine,” Sirius lied, feeling drops of sweat trickling down the nape of his neck.  Was the room always this hot?  “How’s Moony doing?”

“Okay, I guess, Pomfrey didn’t let us see him, said to come back after lunch.”

“Think I can come?” he hoped, eyes lingering over his concealed claw mark. “Or does she smell blood? Like, if I walk in there, will she sense I’m sick?”

“Are you sick?”

Feel like it.  “…No.”

“Then you’ll be fine. If anything, just say you fell off your broom and hit a rock. You know how she hates Quidditch.”

Sirius nodded but still had the sickly feeling that something might go wrong. He couldn’t take a chance of Remus’ secret getting exposed over his imprudence.   

Class began and Atticus lectured about Ghouls and their growing popularity in becoming house pets but Sirius was unable to focus on the teachings for more than a few seconds. Absent-mindedness occurred around anything that didn’t grip his attention and he had the tendency to veer off into his head, daydreaming or blanking out, usually reeled back by James who’d poke his arm and wave a hand in his face.

But today Sirius' attention hooked onto the pocket watch Atticus tossed about his hands. It was just so shiny and silver-plated, dulled in the dark classroom but catching the light from lamps and candles. 

His intrigue had died out on the possible mystery it held. Who cared about some ruddy old pocket watch? It was a stupid clock for shit’s sake. But a big chunk of silver lying about the castle was a danger to Remus, even though silver things lay everywhere and the boy seemed to manage quite well.

But the man he'd seen enter Knockturn Alley, the cloaked figure from their late-night trip around the castle, they all led back to  that  watch. 

It was probably nothing, probably a coincidence.

The shrill bell sent his heart pounding, signaling the end of class. Sirius could’ve sworn that just a minute ago they’d sat down but guess he'd dozed off. James helped him up, Peter came too, and they left the classroom. Just outside, Lily came around and stepped in their path.

“Oh, darling, what happened? You’re limping?” she worried, touching Sirius’ arm kindly.

He tensed a bit but played it off, pretending to seem lightheaded. “Yeah, Prongs pushed me down the stairs, that bastard.” His heart clenched at the lie. Sirius wanted to tell her, he really did. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his secret to tell.

“Oh you poor thing,” Lily pitied, then slapped James’ arm. “What is the matter with you?! Pushing your friend down the stairs, that’s a new level of cruelty!”

Sirius smirked and stuck his tongue out at James since Lily wasn’t looking.

The boy chewed his inner cheek and glowered at Sirius, ready to strangle him when they got back to their dorm. “Yep, you know me, king of cruelty.” 

She scowled at him but turned back to Sirius, expression switching to sympathy. She caressed his arm, “Stay off your feet, okay? I’d go to the Hospital Wing if it starts hurting.”

Her words woke a sleeping pain in his leg. As if to spite him, a fire set off beneath his bandage. He clenched his jaw and patted her hand. “I will, thanks.”

Lily gave one last smile and parted down a corridor. 

James leaned in, “What happened to falling off your broom?”

Sirius shrugged. “My excuse seemed better, more realistic.”

“I’d never push you down the stairs!”

“Maybe, but you can’t tell me you’ve never thought of it.”

***

Remus slept peacefully, no new scars on his face, but the marauders already knew of the large bandage on his stomach even though blue hospital covers tucked under his chin. 

The memory would forever be seared into their memories, all that blood, all those screams.

Remus shifted in his sleep and Sirius leaned forward in the chair he sat. So far, Madam Pomfrey had not approached him but did give Sirius an odd look when he’d entered the infirmary. James covered him with his taller height and buffer body, sending her a smile. “Looking well Poppy,” he’d complimented and the mediwitch pursed her lips, leaving to tend to a new patient.

Remus’ eyes barely opened, he didn’t move. “ Fuck. ”

“Well hello to you too,” James chuckled, moving to the side of his bed. Peter stood at the foot.

Remus didn’t replicate James’ lightheartedness nor did his face change from its ill manner. His head tilted to the side, settling on Sirius, but then stilled. His eyes drifted down. He could sense something beneath the fabric,  smell  something. 

Dread washed his face. His eyes went teary, swallowing hard. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” James assured with a kind, loving smile, but behind it was panic. How long could they pretend before Remus found out, before the story leaked into the Prophet?

Remus didn’t buy it, of course he wouldn’t. He may not remember the events that happened on full moons but he still got gut feelings, sickly nausea in his throat. 

His eyes settled back on  that spot , probably beating himself up to remember what happened, what horrible things he did? Sirius noticed and snatched the pillow behind him, placing it over his thighs.

***

Sirius left earlier than James or Peter, unable to sit next to Remus and bug him with the smell of blood. It was pretty wicked in the sense that he   could  smell  blood, but also creepy in the sense that he could smell  blood. 

As far as the other marauders knew, Remus didn't carry any 'special abilities' in human form. Only Sirius knew this and he planned to keep it a secret.

He had a few more minutes left of his lunch hour before Potions and after that Evans was holding revisions on Summoning and Banishing Charms. He hadn’t planned on attending but James begged for him to come since he needed a ‘wingman’ which was his subtle way of saying,  Lily won't kill me if you’re there.

The halls were decently packed, but not crowded like morning rushes. Sirius  had  intended on heading towards the dungeons for his class but his body grew tremendously hot like ember was burning under his uniform. He tugged at his tie to loosen it but nothing changed, he still felt the rush of a heatwave raising his temperature.

“Oi, Black!”

Sirius waved a wand behind him, continuing forward. “Sorry, not in the mood,” he dismissed, a throb in his temple with each word he spoke.

But that voice…  Fuck,  he knew that voice.

“Sirius!”

No… No no no no no no,  this was the last person he wanted to see. He’d done such a good job at avoiding any instance of them crossing paths, even stopped attending the Quidditch practices when Slytherins were occupying the pitch. 

Sirius pretended like he hadn’t heard, even though the voice had carried quite loudly through the halls, and continued walking forward, now at a quicker pace. But his jacked-up leg prevented him from moving much and instead of walking smoothly, he hobbled.

Elio rushed over, this time stepping in front of his way. “Ignoring me now, are we?” He smiled playfully, walking backward as Sirius walked forward, but his smile fell when he noticed Sirius’ paling skin. 

Fuck, he wanted to throw up. Pass out. Both. 

Elio set a  comforting  hand on his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes. “You okay?”

Stop.  Sirius tensed at his touch, trying to move past but Elio didn’t let him. His grip became tighter and he moved in front of wherever Sirius tried to go next. “Hey, hey hey, stop- Sirius what’s wrong?”

He kept his eyes down or ahead to the portrait down the hall, but never on the boy. “I’m fine, just…” he pushed Elio’s hand off and the boy dropped it, realizing a line he’d crossed.

He backed up a bit, giving Sirius some room to breathe. “Sorry if I overstepped-”

“You didn’t, it’s fine.”

“I really didn’t mean to-”

“No, I was being a knob.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was.”

Silence.

Sirius thanked every fucking god when Elio stepped aside, waved an awkward hand, and they split their separate ways. He went to move again and it hurt like hell but he bit his inner cheek and persevered, even though his knees wobbled and bucked as if the bones were brittle and decaying.

He made it halfway down the corridor before that pain caught up to him, washing dizziness over his mind. Sirius tipped to the side and stumbled into the wall. 

Get up,  he told himself, trying to push off.  Get up, Merlin please, get up!  But he couldn’t. There wasn't enough strength left. So he stayed there, eyes closed, regulating his breathing. 

He'd pictured himself dying in many ways, many gruesome but honorable ways like where he was held captive and tortured till death for information or lying dead on his front steps after trying to save his brother, but never this.  This  was quite pathetic. 

“Whoa whoa whoa.” Elio rushed to his side and Sirius had the urge to throw up on him.  No,  he thought.  Leave me the fuck alone.  But the boy helped him to a stance and swung Sirius’ arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, we’re going to the Hospital Wing.”

Sirius squirmed but it didn’t do much. “No…no Hospital Wing.”

“Okay…” Elio said suspiciously but complied and led them to an old professor's lounge which was now a forgotten room with dusty furniture and cobweb-covered coffee tables. Sirius collapsed onto one of the couches, his head falling back at the relieved weight.

Elio stood over him, arms crossed. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Sirius blew, smiling weakly.

“You look half-dead.”

“Thank you.”

“That isn't a compliment. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Sirius was tempted to make  that  joke but thought better of himself. He pondered on giving in or staying stubborn but he was already in deep shit, how deeper could he go? 

He leaned forward and rolled up his trouser pant until it cuffed high enough to be considered shorts. Any higher and too much would be showing. Elio’s face flustered at the exposed skin, turning away. 

“Relax, I’m not stripping,” he smirked but then wiped it off.  Merlin Sirius, don’t encourage the gay! 

The boy turned around, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. “Er- yeah, sorry.” 

Sirius finished rolling his trouser and unwrapped the bandage around his thigh. “I’ll warn you, it’s quite ugly.” He tossed the blood-soaked bandage aside and felt a tingling sensation when the fresh spring air hit his skin.

Elio squatted down and inspected the wound. He didn’t grimace much but did have an unsettling face. “I’ll get an aid kit,” he said, standing up and heading for the door.

“A what?” 

He turned around, half-smiling, and something about it made Sirius’ palms sweat. “Just don’t move, I’ll be back.”

He repositioned himself so his body laid reclined and head leaned against the armrest. How the hell did he get himself into this position? Even when Sirius purposely tried to ignore the bloke, he always came back like a splinter in his skin too deep to pull out.

Elio returned with a bundle of items in his hands. “Guess wizards don’t believe in aid kits, but they do have this,” he lifted the items he held, then set them down on the floor. 

The boy began to work and Sirius’ heart pounded in his throat. Elio had never really  touched  him, not like this. This was gentle, tender, he’d never been cared for in such a manner. He’d say it was sweet if the bloke wasn’t gay.

The tension never left his body, not even when Elio told him to  “relax”  because there was a constant nagging in the back of his mind, reminding him to  stay in line.  Every touch sent shivers up his spine, clenching the muscles in his abdomen to stop himself from flinching.

“So, how’d you get this?” he finally asked, hovering his wand over the claw mark, and casting a non-verbal spell. They were expected for someone in the sixth year but never taught in healing.

“The truth?” Elio nodded. “My friend pushed me down the stairs.”

If Sirius had  really  been pushed down the stairs, not even a scratch would be left because it’s considered a ‘muggle injury.’ But since a werewolf had torn his thigh, the mark would never fully heal, even with magical aid because it’s considered a ‘magical injury.’

He’d have a lifelong scar but that was fine, it wasn’t his first. 

Any wizard studying to be a healer knew this and by the advanced non-verbal spells Elio casted, he must be well-read on the Ministry Medical Law. He might be blonde, but he wasn’t dumb.

Still, Elio scoffed and shook his head, now tending to the wound with some gauze. “Brutal mate, sorry about that.”

“S’fine, I’ll get him back, pretend to be dead on my bed. That’ll give him a scare.”

He laughed at this and it was such a wonderful sound.  No, it’s not! It’s the worst fucking sound you’ve ever heard!  But it wasn’t, it really wasn’t.

Elio’s blonde hair fell over his eyes as he leaned in closer to clean the surrounding skin. “Try not to move, okay? This might sting.” He opened the cap to some bottle and squirted out a clear liquid onto another strip of gauze. As soon as he dabbed it on the mark, Sirius’ back arched, a scream pressing against the walls of his throat. He gripped the cushions of the couch, squeezing them with unexpected strength. 

Eyes watering, he choked out, “Bloody mother fucking shit!”

“Sorry sorry sorry,” Elio repeated, guilt-ridden, for every excruciating dab of that gauze.

Sirius gritted his teeth and curled his toes, the burning pain all too much but then Elio rested a hand on his forearm, a cold hand on even colder skin. The touch had been meant for support, but it only made things worse. 

A new kind of feeling erupted…queasiness? Sirius wasn’t quite sure. His heart gurgled - more like a murmur,  thud thud-thud . It twisted his stomach as though he might throw up.

But then he got them. Again and again and again. Each time like a spiteful stab in the back.  Those stupid fucking butterflies.

As much as he resisted, as much as he made excuses, it felt good, so fucking good. It shouldn’t have but it did and he hated every second of his pleasure.

He’s gay,  Sirius had to remind himself.  He’s gay he’s gay he’s gay.  But his stomach didn’t listen and erupted even more. Every touch was like fire, every word was like sinful honey, and Sirius found himself begging his body to cave and pass out to spare him the suffering. 

If Elio noticed his flustering, he didn’t mention it, keeping his eyes down on Sirius’ wound, never wandering anywhere else. Time drained like an hourglass, barely moving, barely speeding. He loathed every second of it, he did, he really did, but something in him stayed. It wanted more.

“All done,” Elio sighed, wiping his hands on a clean rag. 

Sirius had never gotten up faster, and miraculously, his leg didn’t scream. The magic of a healing spell mended his skin back together. He was ready to leave, ready to forget everything that had gone down and never turn back. 

But the universe had other things in store.

He got as far as the door before Elio reached out. “Wait.” 

Sirius felt his wrist being gripped, loosely, loose enough that he could’ve slipped away and left the room. But he didn’t.  I hate you,  he told himself as he began to turn around.  I hate you,  he told himself as he met Elio’s eyes.  I… 

Eyes were the most dangerous fucking thing in the world.

Elio smiled softly. “Keep off your feet, okay?”

Lily had said the same thing, but why did the words from his mouth make his heart twitch?

Sirius watched him leave, watched him disappear around the door. He was alone and breathing a bit too heavily. And he hated himself, he hated him. 

No, you don’t. 

He didn’t, but he wanted to. He really,  really  wanted to.

Thud-thud thud-thud-thud.

Sirius did stupid things, made lots of thoughtless, reckless decisions in his days. And he was about to add one more to the list… 

Chapter Text

Thursday 15th April 1976

It’s a stomach bug, Sirius told himself as he searched the castle. It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. But pretending gave him a little bit of peace.

His stomach did leaps and pirouettes, heart pushed and pounded against his ribcage, screaming, “LET ME OUT!” but Sirius kept every emotion in as he turned corridor after corridor, ran up staircase after staircase. 

The walls he’d built as a child were slowly tumbling down and letting in the thing he feared most. Change. Part of him was frantically trying to stop it all while the other was reclined back, teacup in hand, sipping leisurely as he watched the chaos unfold.

He wanted to jump out a window and fall until the plummet knocked him out or grab a loofah and bar of soap and scrub himself raw until this feeling washed off. But on the flip side, he loved it, this feeling in his stomach. He'd rather bathe in it than see it go to waste. 

This wasn’t like him, this vulnerability wasn’t like him.

Sirius was beginning to feel again, and it scared the shit out of him.

A boy, a fucking boy with blue fucking eyes and blonde fucking hair was invading his mind and turning his sanity upside down. There was a reason he didn’t trust Slytherins and this was proof. 

Sirius stopped by the courtyard, gripping his knees as he panted. On a Thursday afternoon, you’d think a girl would be wandering around, but no, they all had to be goody little toe-shoes and attending class.  

Except for one, that was. When Sirius lifted his head he spotted her sitting on a bench under an oak tree. A book laid open on her lap and she read peacefully, tapping her foot against the dirt. 

No one ever read outside on a cloudy day, not when libraries and cozy common rooms existed. That was unless they were hoping to attract attention. Guess that was the case because when she caught Sirius’ hungry eye, the book became forgotten, snapped shut without marking her page.

He straightened up and surveyed her entirely. Her hair was a lovely whisky, the colour of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn. Her eyes were the same, so rich and dark you could grow roots in them.

Yeah, she’ll do.

And next thing he knew they were in some empty classroom, snogging each other’s faces off. The girl had fast hands, fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt, then distressing his hair as she pulled him closer. 

Sirius was too busy searching for that thing to care about the small hands running over his bare chest or the sweet nothings being mumbled against his lips. That thing that made his heart swelter foolishly. That thing that erupted a fire in his core.

But there was no fire. Not even a spark. 

Sirius began to panic because he felt nothing. Kissing had lost its heat, its thrill. It felt…wrong. 

He pulled away, lips puffy and red. “Um- this was…really nice, but…” he began walking back, hitting a few desks in the process.

The girl laughed. “What’s wrong? Don’t fancy a classroom? We can always go back to your dorm if you’d-”

“Nope, no, no, that’s- no.” If possible, his mind stuttered, blanking in and out like a flickering lightbulb. He didn’t have a chance to breathe. 

The girl- what’s her name? Whatever- the girl came closer, dragging her fingers along the desks she passed. A year ago Sirius would’ve thought it was the hottest thing, but now…now it looked cheap, bland. Like an off-brand coat or bitter chocolate. 

Her eyes darkened, “Have you ever…done it?”

Again, his mind stuttered. 

She was near him now, her hands splayed on his chest. She traced them along the carves of his abs then up to the dip of his throat. Sirius swallowed hard. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

Stop, he wanted to say as she stood up on her toes. Stop, he wanted to say as her fingers worked through his hair. Stop, he wanted to say as she began to kiss him. He didn’t kiss back.

The doors swung open, spilling in harsh light, and they jumped apart. 

Lily crossed her arms, “We have dorms for this, y’know?”

Sirius swore he'd never been more thankful to see Evans in his life.

The girl wiped her bottom lip with her thumb. “Sorry sweetheart but we were in the middle of something.”

Lily raised her brows, pushing back her shoulders so the Prefect pin clipped to her robes protruded. “Well, sweetheart, how’d you like to scrub the tiles in the girl’s loos? Or better yet, give those nasty toilets a good clean?”

The girl pursed her lips and grabbed her coat which was tossed over one of the chairs. She marched out of the classroom but glanced at Lily as their paths crossed. Her brown eyes surveyed Evans, nose wrinkling. Pathetic, it said.  

“What a bitch,” Lily muttered, glaring as the girl made her way down the hall. “You sure pick nice ones- Sirius?”

He wasn’t listening, walked right past her in fact. 

“Hey, Sirius,” she called again but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t know where he was going.

This emptiness of his lips, he reached a shaky hand to touch it. Why didn’t he feel anything? Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!

She was hot, like, really bloody hot with the most perfectly curved body and earthy skin. She was beautiful and kissed like a goddess but had left Sirius pleasureless. Not even an erection tented his trousers.

Lily appeared in front of him. Why was everyone always stepping in his way? “Sirius? Sirius? You’re scaring me.” She was panicking, visible distress in the frown of her forehead and green of her rounded eyes. But the part of his brain that reacted humanely to situations was missing a screw. He couldn’t form the words to tell her that he wasn’t okay.

Lily touched his cheek, caressed it softly, and he broke. 

Sirius tried to hold it in, but he couldn’t, and frankly, he didn’t want to.

Tears came and even surprised him, those things he’d been dry of for a while. They were so cold and salty, stinging his eyes and leaving tingles on his cheeks. His knees hit the floor and the world seemed to be burning, everywhere there was some part of his life being scorched. 

That thing,  why hadn’t he felt that thing? He always felt it, always. But not now. It was like the  thing  had never existed, just a delusion he’d created to satisfy himself.

Sirius felt hot all over, he wanted to tear off his clothes, jump in the freezing lake until his skin turned blue. He hugged his stomach as he cried and the wrenching sound carried through the halls, filling the castle with a ghostly haunt. 

“Toujours pur, Sirius!” an awful screech inside his head that could send crows cawing and flapping their raven-feathered wings. “Rappelez-vous qui vous êtes.” After all these months, she was back, at a time his body was too weak to keep her out.

She tormented him, possessed him, called him "dégueulasse" and "anormal."  She would always fuck him over better than karma.

Make it stop, he begged his heart. Please…I can’t do this. I can’t figure this out by myself. He was going insane, surely, any person would. Any person experiencing an emotion so strongly with no one to hold them would eventually break from the pressure.

But he wasn’t alone. At least, not yet.

Lily stood over him, wide-eyed and hesitant as the boy she’d only just begun to trust sobbed at her feet. But she too dropped to her knees and pushed the hair out of his face. “Darling, I need you to tell me what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, furiously. He couldn’t say it, he didn’t know how? Not even he knew what made his stomach churn or his mind stutter? He did know who, though.

Sirius looked up at her through puffy eyes. “W-What’s happening to m-” He choked on a sob.  

Lily stroked his cheek, beginning to tear up. “I don’t know?” She pulled him to her chest and Sirius clung to her petite body. She was warm and smelled of baked strawberries dipped in sugar. She had a love in the embrace of her arms that was different from James’. It was nurturing, maternal. Women definitely gave better hugs, he could see why they existed.

She’d be a great mother, one day. Probably the type to make homemade Halloween costumes or buy matching Christmas pajamas. He could see Evans spoiling her child with eternal love so that they don’t go about looking for it in the wrong way. 

Damn lucky kid they’d be.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, her voice like a balm to every burn in him. “Just let it out.” 

And he did. Barely breathing, wrapped up in her arms like a swaddle blanket.

Lily didn’t ask questions, didn’t care that she was missing her revisions session, just held Sirius until he cried himself dry and whispered honeyed words into his ear.

Chapter Text

Thursday 15th April 1976

Sirius hunched up the stairwell to his dorm, sniffing and runny-nosed from crying all over Evans. It was a moment they agreed to never discuss again but Lily would always have that on him, his breakdown was precious blackmail.

“The less you say, the less they know,” was something his parents had drilled into his mind, Regulus’ too. Sure, he hadn’t said much to Lily but he’d cried and that was a special type of vulnerability that words could never meet.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, wiping his snot with the back of his sleeve and drying his eyes. James was there, sitting on his trunk with a bouncing leg and arms resting on his knees.

Fuck, the revisions. He’d forgotten and knew how strongly his friend felt about unkept promises.

James turned at the sound of Sirius kicking off his docs. “You didn’t show!” he exclaimed, blue disappointment in his eyes. “You’re lucky Evans didn’t either or else I would’ve made a complete fool of myself.”

Sirius doffed his leather jacket and threw it on his bed, so sick and tired of putting on a show. Why did people expect so much of him? Couldn’t they deal with their own shit for a change?

“James, fuck off,” he grunted, rummaging through his nightstand drawer for his cigarette pack. That was a bit harsh but he wasn’t in the mood for clowning and horseplay. His remark was quick and to the point like ripping off a wax strip but still left a sting.

James got the message, sealing his lips, and didn’t bother Sirius for the rest of the night.

***

Insomnia consumed him until far past midnight while his stomach beggingly growled since all he'd eaten were saltine crackers and a jaffa cake. Being high and alone with your thoughts was a dangerous combination because you begin to believe every lie you tell yourself.

There is no guard to stop the bad things from coming in. You’re just floating on a cloud and dopily dreaming, even if it might be one of thunder.

A chilly draft wafted through his curtains and without willing it so, Elio came into his mind, and everything replayed from the start. How long would he torture himself, beat himself up about moments already written into history?

The more he remembered, the more breathless he felt. Elio. It’s as if there's a hole in his throat. The girl. The little air he was able to grasp grew thin and stale. The kiss. His lungs go chapped. The emptiness.

To literally explain every emotion Sirius began to feel as he squirmed and panted in his bed would be too complex for someone other than himself to understand. But in figurative terms, it was like drowning, but not dying.

It began as if he were floating in the ocean and turned to see an enormous wave towering over him, about to crash. The sneakiness of the moment caught him off guard and he was swallowed by the monstrosity before he could cry for help.

He was taken under, being tumbled and thrust around the sandy floor like a sack of rubbish. He was impotent but writhing, wasting precious air on fighting an unknown force. His heart beats faster than his poisoned lungs can manage, pounding like angry fists until the knuckles bruise.

That is where he was at now, dying beneath the waves, feeling everything at once like a blow to the head. Clenching his sheet, he pleaded in his mind, breath, breath, breath, but all that came back was, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe.

If only his thoughts had an off switch.

His empty stomach churned and his body trembled, hyperventilating until darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. Sirius rushed to the bathroom and gripped the countertop, begging his body to throw up but as if in spite, it didn't.

He wanted to gulp the dryness of his mouth but there's a lump in his throat that made him choke. He swished saliva around his inner cheeks but his palate itched, begging for water.

Sirius collapsed, knees bucking and bone brittle. He knew it was all in his head but it still felt as real as if someone were pinning him down and squeezing their hand around his throat. Realizations startled him, scared him to his core until he’s panting like an overworked dog.

He’s going to die.

He’d die without having loved or been loved. He’d die without having graduated or seen the muggle world. He’d die and leave his friends behind. That was what scared him the most; the thought of leaving without a last goodbye.

Worst of all, he’d die without having known - that emptiness on his lips but the flutter in his stomach - he’d never know why and never experience it again.

Unable to form tears, his dry eyes burned like heavily oiled skin baking in the sun. Sirius splayed his palms open against the tile of their bathroom floor, tracing his fingers along the cracks and grout joints until he’s breathing evenly again, panic dissipating.

This part was like being washed up on the shore, exhausted and depleted from fighting the waves. Sirius let out an exasperated breath and rolled onto his back, laying drained and dehydrated with sore muscles and wobbly legs.

To think, his friends slept peacefully outside while he was gasping on the cold floor of a dingy bathroom, getting killed by a panic attack. Sirius would pass the hardest moments alone while everybody believed he was fine. Irony, if he’d ever seen it.

***

Friday 16th April 1976

It came out the next day, plastered on the front page of every Daily Prophet.

MUGGLE FAMILY MURDERED ON FULL MOON, TWIN GIRLS TAKEN FROM THEIR BEDS, NEIGHBORS HEAR THE TERRORIZING SCREAMS!

That family had a set of twin girls, Cassey and Delilah, they were only six. Rumors spread like wildfires across the castle, whispering, and conspiring, but everyone knew the truth. They’d been bit. Two little girls with barely worn lives had been stripped to the bone.

Remus beat the crap out of himself about it, moping on how, “I could've stopped it, I could’ve sensed them coming,” to which James shook his head and said, “You couldn’t have known, it wasn’t your fault.”

Sirius zoned out, unable to release the paper from his hands. They’d chosen a still, black and white photo of the family at the park. The parents were knelt to be at level with their kids, smiling at the camera while the twins were giggling, sticky-mouthed from ice cream and wore grass-stained dresses.

They were only children and would never be the same again, no matter who saved them or if they were ever saved.

Trauma sticks with you like an awful tattoo you got one night after too many shots of whisky. To others it’s unnoticeable but to you, it's your heaviest burden, the thing that keeps you up at night knowing you fucked up and didn’t fight hard enough to stop.

Sirius knew trauma and sympathized with this as he read the Prophet front to back, then again for good measure.

He wasn’t a very faithful person and only ever learned about God when his parents made him read the bible. He hadn’t picked up that heavy arse book in ages and wasn’t planning on kneeling with clasped hands and praying to some Lord any time soon. But the thought of those two girls, alone and orphaned or worst of all - dead, clenched his heart.

So he visited Professor Chaudhry, the Divination teacher, who was more than happy to lend him a white wax candle, and that night Sirius set it by his window and lit the wick with a snap of his fingers. Wherever they are, let them be safe, unharmed.

The candle burned through the night until it was a smushed puddle of melted wax and Sirius hoped, more than anything, that they at least had each other.

***

The lowest point in someone’s life is when they clasp a hand over their mouth to muffle their cries so the people around them won’t hear. So they won’t make any noise. So they won’t attract attention even though that’s the very thing they want.

Sirius did this every night when the thoughts of Elio and that girl bombarded his mind but it came to the point where not even his hand could hush him fully, so he’d cast a silencing spell instead to allow his body the freedom to scream and cry at will.

Call him crazy, he didn’t care. You try being a sixteen-year-old boy in the seventies so scared of his own pleasure that he’s forced to ignore it and see how you cope.

***

Monday 19th April 1976

Sirius did everything in his power to keep his problems from his friends, especially James. It was hard having to deal with it all alone but he’d survive, somehow, he always did.

That was except for one night when thunder cracked above the castle and Sirius woke up in a pool of sweat, chilled and shivering from a nightmare. He’d dreamt that he was forsaken, standing in the middle of a dark room, shackles on his wrists. “TOUJOURS PUR!” bounced against each wall and echoed for endless hours until his ears began to bleed but he was locked to the ground and had nowhere to escape, could only fight the chains that bruised him and hear his mother's voice shriek.

His teeth clattered, trembling and afraid. He couldn’t stand it anymore, being alone at a time where all he wanted was for someone to hold him and say, "everything's gonna be okay" even if it wasn't.

So Sirius crept silently across the room, almost swearing a string of foul words when he'd tripped over Remus' excessive stack of books, and tugged open James’ curtains. The boy was sound asleep, features soft, long limbs spread out and tangled in his sheets, but he didn’t care.

He shook James’ shoulder and the boy was up, groggily muttering some insult about, “Can’t ever get a night of fucking rest,” but froze when he saw a trembling silhouette at the brink of bawling.

Sirius didn’t need to ask or make up some excuse about why he’d come, James was already dragging him into his bed and wrapping him in his duvet, the thunder and nightmares suddenly a fuzzy memory.

***

He kept a watchful eye on Sirius like a worried mother on her newborn child, never letting him out of his sight.

Sirius couldn’t think straight during classes and was a mess when the professors asked him questions. After a while, McGonagall sympathized and took his silence as a means of personal troubles. Other professors weren’t as generous and gave him extra lines to write or readings on top of what he already had.

When this happened, James took his work, filled it out without hesitation, attempting to mimic Sirius’ elegant handwriting, then gave it back to him to hand in. For the textbook readings, he’d open to the chapter and read aloud as if reciting a bedtime story. Sirius would listen, numbly, like a drowsy child about to fall asleep.

***

Thursday 22nd April 1976

So far, the other marauders hadn’t noticed.

They hadn’t noticed that Sirius’ laughs were lifeless and bland, hiding the fear of change in his heart. They hadn’t noticed that his smiles were pressed or that his voice was strained from all the nights he’d spent crying under his sheets. They hadn’t noticed how detached he was, drifting deeper into the word he created in his head to escape his root of suffering.

Not even James knew as much, only that Sirius sneaked occasionally into his bed and couldn’t do his work. He probably supposed it was just another episode, the ones he used to get when he lived back with his family or when his mother sent Howlers to reprimand his shameful behavior.

None of them had the slightest clue that Sirius was questioning his every existence, that he doubted his own heart. No one would know, now or ever, because Sirius wouldn’t tell them.

***

Remus caught him exiting their shared bathroom right when he was wiping away a fallen tear. His heart dropped into his stomach. Oh god.

They stood awkwardly in front of one another, unsure of who would be the first to speak.

Remus lowered his eyebrows gravelly, “Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Sirius rushed, not wanting to get into dramatics.

The boy nodded, brushing off the incident, and they went their separate ways.

***

Sunday 25th April 1976

Sirius played off most days that he was sick as an excuse to stay in bed, having worn the same night attire for a week and skipped showering but grown accustomed to his own stench. Sometimes he didn’t have the energy to be his usual outgoing and energetic self, to impress everyone as if that was his role. He was too drained, too confused.

But since he was alone, nobody else could answer the furious knock at the door that startled him from his nap.

“Piss off,” he groaned through the curtains. “Some people are trying to sleep!”

“It’s about to be noon and everyone’s downstairs having midday meals,” the anonymous voice argued back.

“I don’t give a shit about what other people are doing.”

A muffled sigh. “Just open the door.”

“What makes you think it’s locked?”

“I’m not coming in uninvited.”

“Well consider this an invitation.”

The doorknob twisted and footsteps squeaked. Sirius didn’t bother checking who it was, just hoped it wasn’t James, that boy always gave him the guilt trip in getting up.

The person stopped at the side of his bed, he could see their shadow behind the curtains. The fabric was grabbed and dragged open and urns of sunlight pooled in, washing Sirius who’d been hibernating for three days straight.

He shielded his sensitive eyes. The light burned horribly as if he’d smoked too much weed. “Bloody hell!” he hissed.

“Oh, quit being such a baby!”

Sirius peeked through his fingers to see Lily standing over him, hands on her hips. She gave him an impatient glare like, well, aren’t you gonna get up, to which Sirius responded by dragging his duvet over his head and hiding like a stubborn child.

Lily yanked it right off with surprising strength. “You have been cooped up in this dorm for over a week now-” she began opening his curtains fully and picking up the clothes that lay strewed around his dresser. Sirius watched her clean from his bed, “-and you’ve had me worried sick with all that crying you did and I was good with not asking questions but Merlin Sirius, you can’t just hide away in this pigsty!”

Lily rummaged through his drawers, pulling out fresh clothes, disregarding the fact that she was touching his boxers and sweaty Quidditch socks. “You smell like dung, hair is a bird’s nest, I don’t know how Potter and Lupin and Pettigrew let you stay like this.” She came to his side again, shoving the clothes into his arms, then clasped his wrist and hauled him up. Sirius stood slouched in his baggy nightshirt and boxers while Evans bustled around as if his dorm were hers. Though he didn’t dare speak, that seemed like a death wish.

“You missed Friday lessons and I didn’t buy any of that rubbish about you being sick cause unless that bitch gave you mono, you’re lying through your teeth.” She barged into the bathroom and Sirius heard a valve being turned, then the sprinkling of water hitting the tub. Steam rose and turned the air moist. “I want you showered and cleaned for tomorrow's lessons, no more sleeping around and wasting precious days.”

Lily appeared by the doorway, arms crossed and staring at him intensely. They stood on opposite ends of the room, Sirius shifting gawky, clutching his clothing like a security blanket, and Lily tapping her foot, picking him apart with her glowering green eyes. The tension hung thick, at least for him, she didn’t seem phased in the least. Am I supposed to do something?

The last time a girl was in his room was when his mother had hexed his body to sit at his desk and read from midnight to daybreak on Maréchal Pétain since he’d ditched his afternoon studies.

As for teenage girls, none were allowed in their dorm, a marauders code of conduct set in their first year.

Sirius didn’t exactly know how to act in these types of situations, having lived with boys a majority of his life and all.

Lily motioned towards the running shower, “Water costs money, y’know.”

He didn’t feel like mentioning how water was endless in the wizarding world so he ducked his head and scurried into the bathroom, making no fuss to her babying him.

***

Lily did this, every day. She’d knock on the marauder’s door and James would answer, completely stunned and blabbering because “Lily bloody Evans is at the door, Sirius!”

And Sirius would act all shocked and say, “You’re winning her over mate,” just to feed James’ pride, even though she only came by to make sure he was getting up. He would, and then she’d leave.

***

The two of them grew closer over the following days, acknowledging each other in the halls with a curt nod, chit-chatting during meals. The times that Evans held revisions, Sirius came, voluntarily, which completely shocked Remus who attended each one. It was only to bother her or disrupt the lesson with an inappropriate comment, but still, he made an effort to show, and Lily would chase him out by firing hexes at his feet.

One day the two sat on the same common room couch, shoes discarded, and bare feet skimming the aging rug beneath them. She was crocheting with navy blue yarn, making square patches which laid in a stack by her side. When Sirius asked her what they were for, she wouldn’t say.

Her hooks worked at a speed so fast, his eyes hurt when looking for too long. “Um, Sirius?”

“Yeah?” he replied, absent-mindedly. If she’d been talking before, he wouldn’t have heard. Nowadays, words seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

She wore a slight frown of concentration, but also bother. “Can I ask you something?”

No, he wished to say, I’m too tired to talk, but who could say no to Lily Evans? Not after everything she’d done for him. He hummed in approval.

She used her crocheting as an excuse to not look at him. She nibbled on her lip. “You’re a guy and…as a guy, what would you say the hints are that a guy fancies you?”

Sirius’ face heated up because all he could think about was Elio, how he’d been so oblivious to the bloke’s flirting. I’m the last person you should be asking this. “Why do you ask?” he diverged, trying to avoid answering.

Lily got caught in her head and missed a loop so the yarn unraveled, ruining her work. She set down her hooks, overburdened with the secret. “Promise not to tell anyone?”

He was a book full of everyone’s secrets, no harm in adding one more. Sirius nodded, feeling oddly proud that Evans was confiding in him of all people.

She blew out a breath, jamming the words, “Liam kissed me.”

Sirius sat up, “What?” Hopefully, his disapproval didn’t show too strongly in his tone.

Lily buried her face in her hands. “I know I know, none of you like him, but he did, and it was very sweet and gentle and I just don’t know what the kiss meant!”

He watched her hide her blush, staying quiet and sitting utterly still. He remembered James up on the Astronomy Tower, gazing at Lily like she was the most beautiful angel he’d ever seen. He remembered all the times his friend was doubled-over in nerves, about to make a fool of himself just to see her smile.

It was all for a girl who never even gave him the time of day.

He then imagined James if Lily had repeated those three words. “Liam kissed me.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, stressed to the brim. “He kissed me in the stairwell and no one was there so does that mean he was embarrassed to be with me in public or just wanted privacy?” Lily was battling a war in her head, he could see it in her eyes.

Sirius felt like he was betraying James when he spoke again, grabbing hold of her hands so they rested in his. She looked up at him, silently pleading, and it broke his heart. This time, Lily was the one in the vulnerable state.

“I think he doesn’t deserve you, I think no one deserves you.” She seemed lost, not following his point. Sirius sighed, unable to handle her dejection. “He’s lucky Evans, really fucking lucky, and him kissing you in private was sensual, not embarrassment.”

Lily smiled, and sometimes, he doesn’t feel deserving to be witnessing it.

He let go of her hands, kicking his legs onto her lap and laying back on the couch, settling into the soft cushions. An arm tucked behind his head for a pillow. “If he hurts you, I’ll break his jaw,” he says, coolly.

His tremendous ego makes her laugh and she snorts too but doesn't cover her mouth. “Good to know,” Lily mocks, rolling her eyes, and shoves his legs off her lap.

***

Monday 26th April 1976

For the first time in weeks, Sirius sat down and thought. He could thank Evans for bringing back little bits of his sanity.

It was dangerous to just allow his mind that freedom to wander, but he did, dipping into the sea of questions that had been pricking his mind like thorns.

Kissing that girl didn’t feel as good as it had before. Her touching him didn’t send shivers up his spine. Her half-naked body did nothing, it gave the same effect as those Greek sculptures did of nude gods. Sure their dicks and boobs are hanging out but they don’t get you turned on. You just admire the art, maybe linger your gaze for a bit, and then move on to the next.

But then there was Elio who was practically a Greek sculpture in himself with his sculpted nose and ocean eyes, wan skin and feathered hair, cold touch and warm smile. And that laugh…

Sirius felt hot all over and gulped the ball that itched in his throat. He dropped his head into his crossed arms but his heart still palpitated two beats too fast.

***

Wednesday 28th April 1976

Go see him, a little voice in the back of his head whispered. It was not his mother’s, not harsh and plunged like knives which draw blood but nurturing and gentle, similar to Lily’s.

Sirius shook his head. He’ll confuse me, I can’t have that.

He won’t confuse you.

How would you know?

Because.

Sirius waited. Because?

The voice didn’t reply. It stayed quiet, keeping to itself, leaving Sirius with that single message and no explanation.

But that night, in his sleep, the voice returned like an angel haloed by a blinding light. Would you still like to know?

Sirius considered it briefly. Did he? Knowing so much was not always a good thing. Then again, he was talking to his conscience, how right could he be?

Yes.

The voice smiled. He won’t confuse you because you’re confusing yourself. You’re bringing the panic and tears and nerves. Not him. You.

This time, Sirius stayed quiet.

Go see him.

Chapter Text

Thursday 29th April 1976

He wanted to see him. He  would  see him.

Sirius rarely had moments in his life where things felt good. They have always ripped apart and turned into terrifying memories he'd now carried for the rest of his existence but this…this felt good. It felt right.

For so long he’d been fighting the knot in his stomach as if it were a sin instead of giving in and letting himself be sinful. Since when did he cower at the unknown? Sirius Black was notorious for doing stupid shit with little thought intended.

That morning he was ready, already up and dressed before Evans had knocked on their door. When she had, Sirius opened it, much to James’ dismay. 

His neck and wrists were spiced with cologne and hair was combed back into a bun, though shorter stands hung loosely. He smelled fresh from a shower, cheeks flushed from the steam.

Lily startled back, taking in his appearance and dewy charm. “Sirius! Hello love, you’re- you’re up!” She smiled brightly but it seemed pressed. He couldn’t tell if she was hiding the shock of seeing him dressed at such an early morning or hiding the dejection that her service would be of no more need. 

Lily quite liked being of use, being a mother, having responsibilities other than schoolwork and Prefect rounds. She liked having Sirius as a friend, even if their bond had only grown because he was once vulnerable and she was a source of comfort. 

Sirius nodded while trying to push James’ face away from behind the door as he tried to greet Lily. “Yeah, got a sudden burst of energy this morning and Prongs wasn’t hogging the loo so I got to shower first.” James’ objection on that matter muffled behind Sirius’ hand enveloping over his mouth. He tried to stand sturdily as James fought against him, gripping the doorframe with his free hand for support. “Just felt like heading down early, get first dibs on the fresh pot of coffee.” It was either this lie or the truth but thankfully, Lily seemed to be buying it.

He had no intention of going to the Hall or any of his classes, unable to possibly wait much longer after weeks of doing such. Sirius knew what he wanted and wouldn’t deny himself that liberty.

“Well, that sounds lovely.” She held out her hand, waiting for him to offer an escorting arm. “I’ll join you.”

He shoved James’ face with enough strength so the boy stumbled back, giving Sirius enough time to quickly slip outside and close the door before his friend could get back up. He outstretched his arm which Lily accepted and they headed down for breakfast. 

When those grand mahogany-stained doors came into view, Sirius hung back, slowing down so Lily led forward. When the distance between them grew wide enough, he turned on his heels, making the opposite way for the dungeons. Sure, it was a bit abrupt, lingering through those cold corridors, but where else would the bloke be?

Sirius treaded quietly so his soles wouldn’t make a sound but right when a declining staircase came into view, an arm linked around his and pulled him in the opposite direction. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Lily said, dragging him towards the Hall. “I will not let you go off the rails.”

Sirius tossed back his head and groaned. “Evans, I was just gonna go see Slughorn, left my wand in his class.” It was semi-true, yesterday he’d been so busy enthusiastically discussing the latest Bowie album with Remus that he’d completely forgotten about his wand left at his table. But thankfully, James had gone back and retrieved it. Though, she didn’t need to know that. “And I am not  going off the rails! ” he argued, lips pursing.

Lily tisked, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Sirius couldn’t fight her, he wouldn’t, it was against his moral code on treating women. Plus, Evans was stronger than she looked and had a nasty grip around his arm that was tight enough to bruise. So he sat through breakfast and pretended to sip his disgusting decaf coffee since some seventh years had taken the regular pot. His eyes never left the Slytherin table, staring at the specific spot where  he  usually sat.

And he did, a cover-boy smile lightening his face and he ate a Belgium Waffle with raspberries and maybe a bit too much syrup than was deemed necessary. His head occasionally tipped back, laughing at something funny his friends had said. 

Sirius felt himself smiling too at the sight but bit his lip, realizing how peculiar he must seem, cheery over nothing. But it was more than nothing, much, much more.

He had this urge to get up and go over there, ignoring all the curious glances as he forbiddingly crossed the  ‘border’  between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He didn’t know what he’d say, maybe the right words would spring when he got there, free from atop his head.

But, then again, this was all a fantasy. He’d keep on dreaming, imagining the millions of ways he could approach  him  if only he had the confidence to do so.

***

Lily kept Sirius by her side, never  once  letting him slip. It was weird being on the other end of it, being the one who  slips  from  other  people’s fingers. He felt as though his body was being held back by millions of double knotted ropes, all tugging him away like a leash from  him.  From finally getting the answers he’d been seeking.

Whenever Sirius found the slightest opening, the slightest crack, Lily would close her fingers, dragging him away from escape and into a seat in Transfiguration or line in Care of Magical Creatures to stroke the back of a Fire Crab’s shell.

Every opportunity passed until it was the end of the day and he’d been let out from his final lesson. He hadn’t retained a drop of information, instead spent the entire time staring at the door, legs bouncing under the table as he waited and waited for the bell to ring and those ropes around his body to drop.

Sirius searched the castle as he’d intended, hoping for few distractions but nothing ever went as planned. Corridors were packed as students flooded out of their classroom and ran around in the warm spring breeze, relaxing till supper. You couldn’t hear your own thoughts as songbirds chirped and youthful laughs rang, wild with energy and never tiring.

The one fucking time Scotland wasn’t rainy and foggy with bitter skies and damp air had to be today.

Sirius had been too fueled by adrenaline and prosperity to fret over what he’d say when the time came but as he wore himself out from walking in his stiff shoes and noticed that the halls lacked one particular blonde boy, the idea made his palms sweat anxiously. 

What the fuck am I doing?  He didn’t know and truthfully, he didn’t care. He was sick of being subordinate to this feeling in his stomach. He wouldn’t waste another tear over it.

Sirius didn’t have to know, he didn’t have to have it all planned out. The most important part was that he had enough nerve, enough drive to get up and take that scary step. He was willing to leap off this cliff, even if that exhilarating jump only lasted a few seconds before he was plummeting faster than his heart could manage. 

He’d take the chance of risking it all because what did he have to lose? He couldn’t spend forever standing at the edge, not when beautiful things could lie below. His mind would always make excuses but it was his choice on whether or not to listen to them.

After all, do the scary thing first, and get scared later.

Sirius rested in the first-floor corridor whose toe to ceiling three-pointed arch windows spilled in urns of heavenly, golden-hour light, one you only got when the sun grew tired of eliminating the earth and set. Thankfully, it was the only corridor lacking chatter and adolescence, giving him the chance to breathe before setting back out.

He strolled along its length, then faced the sun as it hit him. He sighed in delight at the heat on his skin, boiling up his blood. Having grown up in a frigid house whose curtains were always drawn and sealed from light, Sirius never endured wasting anything so precious as autumnal sunshine, not when it was granted for free at anyone’s disposal. 

So he stood there, soaking in what he could manage, soaking in all the years he’d missed. He unconsciously smiled because for once, his troubles were numbed, he felt no pain. 

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Sirius’ heart practically jump-started when he turned to see Elio standing a few feet away, not looking at him but facing the windows like Sirius was, face reflecting the sun.

His heart got caught at the sight, almost forgetting the question asked. He looked out the window again, far past the grounds and to the hills, squinting at the powerful ball that rested just above the grassy mountains. His shoulders relaxed, “Yeah, it is.”

“When I was younger, I always wanted to sit outside, high up, and watch the sunset but my parents never let me out after supper so I’d try to sneak onto our roof but it was too steep for me to climb.” Elio softly smiled then as he reminisced and Sirius listened but didn’t replicate the same expression. He held a frown but felt oddly comforted knowing they’d both been sheltered from the outside world.

“It was only when I came here that I thought,  ‘finally I can stay up late and watch the sunset,’  but then I got sorted into Slytherin and when we went to the common room, I asked if any windows faced the outside since I couldn’t find any in my dorm. The Prefect just looked at me for a moment to see if I was either fucking with him or just clueless and then led me to the only window they had which faced a murky lake with dead plants and a squid.”

A pressure built in Sirius’ chest. He’d been in the Slytherin common room twice; first invited by Bella where she’d hexed him in front of the enormous portrait of Salazar Slytherin which hung above an ornately carved mantle after he’d turned her curls to snakes on Halloween night, and second when he’d snuck in with the other marauders to pull a prank on the entire house. 

Both were blurry memories but Sirius had recalled the sweep of chilly death coming over him when he’d stepped his first foot through the bare stretch of the stone wall. Their common room held no warmth, no joy. Its values of tradition and self-preservation were painted across every skull wall hanging, velvet upholstered chair, low burning candle, and black leathered couch. 

He shuddered at the thought of an alternate life, one where he’d been destined for dark magic and snake tattoos. But then, even more guilt struck his chest, realizing that Regulus had that alternate fate. 

Before he could dwell further, Elio’s lavish voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “I remember staring at it and thinking that my time here was gonna be hell but then the Astronomy Tower opened up and I stayed there for hours, even after the lesson had ended, just so I could see a proper sunset.” He shrugged, brushing off any emotion that had built. “Now I see them all the time but they’re never the same, always brighter, in a way, more beautiful than the last.”  

Sirius studied Elio and couldn’t help but wonder how he wasn’t some cold-hearted bitch? If he had to spend every day in a green-tinged common room with dark-stained tables and a creepy portrait of the founder staring at him as he relaxed on the couch, or every night swaddled up in a cold duvet, submerged into a filthy lake which bubbled from a lethal squid, and knowing he’d have to come back to the same gloominess for the next seven years, he’d be as ruthless and depressed as they come. 

But Elio defeated all odds. He smiled and laughed with purpose, conquering all that somber and brooding with literal sunlight. He was sweet and gentle, too much for his own good. Sirius was the dick, having pushed Elio away when all he’d intended to do was help.

Sirius took advantage of the fact that Elio was not looking - still watching the low-hanging sun, that way, he could look instead. And he wouldn’t deny it, it was a beautiful sight. “I’m sorry about how I acted before.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He shook his head, needing to convince Elio even though he seemed in no need of convincing. Maybe it was more for himself? To justify how he’d acted, to make amends. “But I do, you didn’t deserve that. I was being a stubborn brute and had a lot on my mind and-  shit  I never said thank you. Thank you, really, my leg feels great and I can run and everything.” Sirius balanced on his once wounded leg to prove it and didn’t even wince. All that was left was a silvery line on his thigh, even James had remarked on the skillful healing spell used. 

It was a silly little gesture that caught Elio’s attention, turning his head away from the sun which began to dip behind the hills. It darkened the corridor so the gold was replaced by meek, stretching shadows. 

Elio looked at him in an eccentric way as if he were seeing him for the first time. Sirius wondered if this same look - the curiosity in his eyes and straightening of his posture like a dog perking up at an odd scent - was how Elio had appeared by the locker rooms when he’d spotted Sirius on the pitch, just before striding over. 

He’d always wondered why? Why had he come? They’d never before spoken, were in different years, different houses. Their paths were never destined to cross and yet, they did.

There was a shift in Elio’s body, a boldness. He came forward with intent, meaning, filling the gap between them with three simple steps. 

Sirius didn’t push him back, in fact, he let him come because the answer somehow lied in Elio. But what was the answer exactly? What was even the question?  Just- just a taste, just once…

His thoughts and common sense went hazy, drugged by the boy before him. Sirius felt his back hit the stone wall, a cold hand cupping his jaw, another resting on his hip. His arms stayed limp by his side, unsure of how to react. He was in shock but didn’t move a muscle because every nerve and vertebrae in him told him to  stay, wait.  His heart sped up, not even beating but shaking, causing his breaths to stagger.

They were so close and yet not close enough. Sirius' head began to swim, dizzy with desire. If Elio hadn’t been holding him steady, his knees would’ve bucked and ankles twisted.

Elio was breathing heavily as if he’d run far and fast, stroking Sirius’ cheek with his thumb. “ Joli garçon …” he mumbled, leaning further in until all Sirius could smell was  him. 

He remembered the letter, no longer tucked safely under his pillow but somewhere forgotten in his drawer under a pack of cigarettes and broken quills. And it made sense, no one could write that way if they weren’t infatuated.

But Sirius’ thoughts trailed off as a hot breath filled his mouth, an unfamiliar pair of lips on his. They were soft, tasting of raspberries and syrup from his breakfast - sweet and ripe and still lingering on his skin. 

They both held their breaths, still for a moment, waiting for the thin ice they stood over to crack.

But it didn’t. 

Sirius should’ve pushed away when Elio pulled him closer, should’ve stood in place when Elio shoved him further against the wall. He should’ve done so many things, but he didn’t, because  deep , deep down in his core, there's a burning feeling he couldn’t describe. It ran up his stomach, scorched his lungs, heated his blood, tingled his fingers.

It was as if lightning had struck through his chest, rattling his bones, awakening something in his heart that had been sleeping for years.

Their bodies pressed together in places that should never have touched but a gasp parted Sirius’ mouth when aerosol stirred, further down, something he’d never thought could come from  this. 

There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, from touch, emotion. Sirius thought he might shatter if he moved his lips, opened himself up to the kiss, but Elio did it for them both.

Just a bit longer.  He was so, so close. He could feel the answer just in reach but was too scared to grab it. It felt wrong but right at the same time, bittersweet. It was that sort of moment where if someone came, he’d push Elio off and wipe his lips clean of the sin, ignoring the flutter in his stomach and trembling of his legs. 

But if no one came, if they were forever in private, forever alone, he’d let it happen. He’d drink the sweetness in Elio’s throat until his lips were sore and teeth ached with sugar. He’d drown happily in this ecstasy and let Elio do with him what he wished.

"Toujours pur.”  It was low at first, rumbling in the back of his head. But even that tiny echo sprung up fears, doubts. His trauma would always sneak up at the worst of times and burn every pure moment to ash.

But people did this, right? This was okay to do?  Yes,  yes Elio was doing it, and Elio- he was, well he’d come out but that didn’t mean that Sirius was… People did this, it was normal, it was okay because it was just once, just one time. He’d never do it again, he was just testing the waters, dipping his foot slightly in, enough to see a ripple. It was  just  a ripple. 

But this pounding near his lower abdomen like a second heartbeat; this hitching in his breath, all the words he wanted to say, clogged in his throat; this craving to be touched; blood rushing to his ears; fire under his skin.

That  thing,  there it was. 

Elio was trailing his lips down his neck, writing poems with each gentle kiss, and Sirius couldn't help but see stars. The room swayed as his skin was met with pressure and tugging, a slight sucking which popped blood vessels, bites that would leave swollen red marks for his friends to see. 

Sirius’ head tipped back as warmth poured over them both.  Yes,  he thought, eyes fluttering closed,  yes yes yes yes yes. 

He wanted it, he wanted it so fucking badly, and without thinking he dove for it, grabbing Elio by the back of his neck and pulling him in. 

Their mouths opened to each other, tongues entwined. Sirius felt inexperienced and fumbled, even though he’d kissed plenty of people before, this was different. He didn’t know his own body anymore, moved his lips sloppily, couldn’t place his hands in the right spot.

But he’d jumped and fallen so fucking fast but those moments in the air when his arms expanded and heart sored would be forever worth the plummet.

Sirius found the answer a million times over as they kissed and breathed out curses and clung to each other so tightly. His fingers found their way into Elio’s hair, closing his fists, then tugging back so the boy’s head tilted up, forcing their eyes to meet and making Elio surrender to his own pleasure. It was an action girls usually did to  him , never once thinking that he’d be  here  doing the same. 

Sirius imagined his mother’s face, contorted with disgust, jaw dropped, and eyes bulging from her head. If his name hadn’t been scorched from running away, then it would now be scorched from doing  this,  just like Uncle Alphard's. Sirius smiled at the thought and flipped his mother off in his subconscious because yeah, he was kissing a boy, and it felt brilliant.

The whole world seemed to drift; sounds, people, worries, all shutting off. He didn’t have to admit it but he knew, in the back of his mind, what he really was. But that would take time to admit, even after all this pleasure wore off, after walking back to his dorm with tousled hair and wrinkled clothes, after facing his friends who’d merely think he’d snogged another girl, owning up to things would be an even stormier sea to cross.

Chapter Text

Thursday 13th May 1976

Ever since the kiss, Sirius and Elio seemed to stumble paths, again, and again, and again, to the point where it was no longer coincidences that brought them together but their own seeking. Each time ended the same with Sirius’ back pressed against a wall and Elio’s arms pinning on either side of his head as their lips tangled together, inseparable. 

And Elio was a really, really good kisser. At least, Sirius assumed as much, considering he’d been the first bloke - besides James - that he’d ever kissed.

He was so gentle, too gentle, as if there were a hunger in him he was afraid to unleash. Sirius didn’t care, if anything, he liked being taken care of. He liked being asked "Is this okay?" or "Just tell me and I’ll stop." Girls had never given him those options. 

He liked the soft, delicate touches and honeyed words that passed between them. He liked feeling breathless from merely being close to him, not even getting off but just kissing and talking. Sirius rambled and Elio listened, playing with his black hair and chiming in at times.

He didn’t know what to call it, what was happening between them, but he liked it. It was silly and fragile and good. When Sirius would come back to his dorm late at night, bruising hickeys all over his neck and flushed cheeks, James would take one glance at him before smirking knowingly. 

Sirius would smirk too because he had a secret. Something no one would suspect. Something no one could take away from him. 

Let James believe what he wished, let the girls stare in the Hall and rumor about which lucky bitch got to get with Black because across the room sat a blonde boy, sipping at a cup of tea to hide his simpering. 

He could carry the silent pride that his lips had made those marks, that he'd gotten on his knees for Sirius Black, that while they both pretended in public, their facades would fall with each other, alone.

Weeks sped by in quills and essays and Quidditch practices where James’ shrill whistle, which Peter should have never gifted him, rang Sirius’ ears deaf. 

When practice would end and he’d be the last one left in the changing room, a sudden finger would hook under his waistband and a hand would shove him against the lockers. Elio’s lips found his, soft from salve ointment, still puffy from their last encounter. He tasted like cucumbers and rain.

“Missed you,” Elio would say, pulling apart for just a few seconds so they could catch their breaths. His hair would be tousled from Quidditch practice with the Slytherins, body sweat-glossed, lips carrying a goofy little smile. 

Sirius’ mouth would pool, dazed and euphoric, then his hand would clutch the bloke’s jersey and pull him back in. 

***

On the day of the full moon, Remus was quiet. Quieter than usual. He’d distract himself with books, reading his mind raw, avoiding heavy foods, itching under the sleeve of his arm. When he'd pull his hand out, peeled skin would be under his fingernails. 

“Is he okay?” Sirius leaned into James, whispering. They were in Potions and Remus was beside Peter, seated at the table in front of them. Again, itching under his sleeve.

James pressed his lips together, shaking his head in bother. “He’s been bugged like that, don’t think he’s let go of the attack from last month. You know Moony, keeps it all in.” He looked Sirius in the eye, with intent, begging. “Try to stick around today, yeah? He’s less worked up when we’re together.” 

Sirius wished he could say that he’d been there, but couldn’t, too busy snogging to make sure his friend was okay. It was fucked up, he knew that, but for the past five years, all he’d ever done was look out for Remus. Now, he just wanted a little while for himself. Was that too much to ask?

He was allowed to be happy, after all. Especially this year when doors in his life were closing, people were being taken away. Was it so wrong to indulge in the one thing he had left? The one thing that hadn’t turned on him, that made him feel like a normal fucking boy?

Elio might be occupying most of his time, peeling him from his friends, but he made him feel…appreciated. Safe. 

Sirius sat on a couch, Elio straddling him. The weight of his body on top of his was extraordinary. He could feel him - all of him - pressed against his pelvis. They were in the same abandoned lounge where his thigh had been healed, doors charmed with a locking and silencing spell. Precautions. 

Elio looked all over Sirius’ face, examining every part of it like an intricate Renaissance painting. His blue eyes were dark now, dilated. There was something deeply hidden in them, indescribable, making Sirius’ cheeks tingle. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly very hot.

“Looking.”

“Why?”

Elio bit his lip and then let it come undone. Sirius gulped. Oh shit. “I don’t call you pretty boy for no reason.” But then, he smiled, soft and wild like a falling star, and Sirius was a bit on fire. 

He kissed him. Once, twice, three times, until all he could smell and taste and feel was him. Fire lived within Elio’s lips, he had a way of melting every part of Sirius, a puddle on the couch.

The day slipped by and before they knew it, the sun was setting and the sky was red. Sirius’ head was tipped back when he’d noticed, and his eyes widened. The full moon. “Hey- um, I have to go,” he announced, regretting every word. His body craved the attention it had been getting like a drug. Cutting it off was torture. 

Elio, whose lips had latched onto his neck, pulled away, puffy and smiling. “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

No, you’ll be with Moony in the Wing. But Sirius could only nod like a dumbstruck fool as the boy leaned down and pecked his lips. Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this. 

***

Checking a passing clock as he made his way down the corridor, he realized that he’d missed supper. No matter, James and Peter would be in their dorm. That’s where they usually met before bounding down the lawn under the invisibility cloak, tailing behind Remus.

He entered their dorm, expecting to see the other two boys, but they weren’t there. Instead, Sirius was faced by Remus lounging by the window, the dusking sky shadowing his face, a cigarette in his mouth. 

He froze by the doorway, staring in fascination. He’d never seen the boy smoke and his heartbeat quickened at the sight of long scarred fingers holding the rolled paper with ease.

Remus inhaled a long drag. Sirius was surprised he hadn’t coughed. “Finally decided to show,” he said, exhaling smoke. The window wasn’t open so their dorm was hazed. James would’ve hated the stench, Sirius, however, found it quite soothing. 

He scanned around the room. The cloak was missing from its usual spot on top of James’ trunk, folded like a regular blanket instead of a priceless magical object. The most valuable things were always hidden in plain sight.

“They left,” Remus said as if reading his mind. His head tilted towards their window which faced the grounds. “Probably down there by now.” There was an edge to his voice and he couldn’t tell if Remus was just bitchy because of the moon or something he’d done?

The twin bell alarm clock showed 8:20. Sirius’ eyes widened. Remus was supposed to have been in the Wing to meet Pomfrey and McGonagall at seven. “Fuck Moony, why aren’t you there?! The moon’ll be up soon!”

His body was relaxed, too relaxed for someone who was soon to change. “Because  Sirius- ” Remus said his name bitterly as if it belonged to a stranger and not his best friend, “-I wanted to see if you’d even fucking show.”

Sirius couldn’t wrap his head around this. He’s finally gone insane. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, over an hour late.”

He threw his hands up, “Look if you’re mad at me just say it, okay? I know the full moon can wound you up, just let it out.”

A silent bomb was ticking in Remus, ready to explode. Sirius could see it in his stiff, clenching muscles, how he held the cigarette, flicked the ashes. Everything was tempered, holding back. “Let it out? Let it out? Fine Black, I’ll let it out. What happened to you?”

Sirius’ brows knit. “What?”  

He doused the cigarette on the ledge, leaving a ring of burnt wood. “What happened to you?” he bit out again, getting up.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He knew what Remus meant, had been avoiding the topic, ran from it in fact. Owning up to his shit was something he couldn’t do, not when he’d put those emotions behind him. He was better now, no need to re-dig a grave and toss him back in. 

The last of his patience strained. “You’re not around Sirius. You come back every night after hours all fucked up and hickeyed. And you don’t even try to hide it! So maybe if you’d stop shagging anything that so much as breaths, you’d have a clue as to what is going on.”

“I know what’s going on!” Sirius fumed.

Remus laughed a cold, mocking laugh that had yeah right written in each breath. He went to his drawer and pulled a thick folded parchment, tossing it towards him. Sirius caught it and looked down. It was the map.

“We finished it,” Remus said, tight-lipped. “While you were moping in your bed, acting like the whole world fucking hates you.”

Sirius could do nothing but stare. From the outside, it seemed like a very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it, but when he unfolded it, he was left stunned. Inside were thin inky lines, curving, sprouting, spiraling to mark stairs and corridors and hidden passageways which moved enchantedly, even the Whomping Willow swung its deadly branches. Tiny muddy footprints paddled along the map, followed by a scrolled name in minuscule writing. 

He could see Dumbledoor pacing his study; Filch roaming the Great Hall with Mrs. Norris prowling by his side; Atticus, the DADA teacher, walking down the Serpentine Corridor; Snape loitering by the Infirmary; even Elio relaxing in the Slytherin Commonroom.

Sirius gazed at the miraculous map, spotting the tiny footprints of himself and Remus standing in their dorm. As flooding with excitement as he was, realities started to come back, and that elation turned sour. Remus was right, he had missed out.

“While you were moping in your bed, acting like the whole world fucking hates you.” Sirius looked back up, met by a pair of seething brown eyes. “That’s not why I was-”

“No, don't even start with your ruddy excuses. Be real, with me, of all people.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say because the truth wasn’t an option. I was moping in my bed because a bloke was screwing with my emotions and confusing me the fuck out but I couldn’t tell anyone because I was scared. I’m still scared. I’m scared because I like it when I know I shouldn’t. 

He was confident and heedless in so many aspects of his life. But this…this he couldn’t own up to. 

Remus persisted, pushing Sirius hard, harder than he’d ever dared. “You didn’t talk to us for weeks! And then, you’re disappearing, and now full moons are just flying over your head. And don’t fucking tell me that you were ‘sick,’ other people might’ve bought that crap but I didn’t. James said that you  needed space  so I stayed quiet and gave you space but you can’t just blow me- blow  us  off!”

Sirius blinked, shocked. I’m sorry, he wanted to cry out, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. He wanted to fall on his knees and just scream because that’s the one thing he hadn’t been able to do yet. 

He’d let go with Evans but not with James or Remus or Peter. He wished one of his close friends could bear witness to just how much anger he kept bottled up. Maybe it would feel better, to let it out that way? 

But Sirius knew if he started, he’d never stop. That would be his last straw. Sometimes, holding onto pain is a good thing.

Remus seemed satisfied with the way Sirius stood, at a loss for words, but now that he had him in his jaws, he wasn’t just gonna let him go. Not without tasting blood. 

“I don’t want you to come tonight.”

Sirius whisked around as the boy headed for the door, not believing what he’d just said. “W-What?”

“You heard me, don’t come, go jerk off or some shit. Seem to have no problem doing it every spare second,” he scoffed, waving a hand behind him.

Sirius’ jaw clenched. That boy knew how to get under his skin “Who I’m with is none of your concern!”

Remus stopped by the doorway, turning around. His lip curled. “You’re right, it isn’t, but neither was my werewolf crap and yet, you seemed pretty intent on nosing into that now didn’t you?”

There it was. The kill.

He was breathing hard and his face was very hot. “Go fuck yourself, Lupin,” Sirius spat, blood boiling, but the door had slammed before he could fight further.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 26th May 1976

Sirius had certain ways of making amends. 

With James, it was easy. They could never stay mad at each other for too long, it was physically impossible. After ignoring each other for a few hours, one would crack and then the other would too, ending up apologizing like sentimental prats until nothing more could be done but joke about how silly they’d been.

He’d never gotten angry enough with Peter to confront him, so most of the time Sirius poked fun at the boy until they both split a cat-like smile. Their way of saying, “We’re good now.”  

Sirius and Marlene fought like siblings, a usual, almost rooted act of whining over clothes and albums they both liked but couldn’t share. They’d toast with a bottle of whisky and drink their sorrows away while spinning vinyl or sitting atop the Astronomy Tower, chain-smoking, their arguments lost in the grey fog.

Mary was hard to fight with since her heart couldn’t handle seeing someone else upset. So in the end, she’d hug Sirius or say “sorry darling” with a kiss on his cheek and all would be forgiven. 

Lily and Sirius liked to brawl, bicker like rivals but it was hard to win an argument against Evans. It would always start with a powerful, heated topic, some eye-rolls, Lily threatening him with a hex or two, Sirius piping down cause she was terrifying when angry, and her teaching him some sappy life lesson that he’d carry for the rest of his life. Their relationship was like mother and son, full of arguments and scolding and Sirius you smell like a wet dog but oh so much love.

Now, Remus and Sirius… They were like bottles of pure alcohol, lethal when set to a flame. Anger was something they had in common, grew up with from trauma and shitty delt cards, keeping it bottled up until one got under the other’s skin and it was all unleashed. 

They pushed each other’s limits, saw how many insults and curses one could throw until the other was left gaping. It was a twisted, sick game that only ever ended in blood and broken hearts but they were like hungry wolves prowling in the woods and brawling was their meat. 

Amends to them were ignoring and avoiding until the dispute faded with time. Sirius was headstrong, hated being told what to do, controlled, yelled at. He could admit it. But Remus was another level of stubbornness to the point where they could go on grudging and silent for weeks until Sirius had to pinch the burning flame that burned between them and apologize first.

And now it was another one of those times where neither had spoken. Sirius would try and catch Remus’ attention with big, anxious eyes, opening his mouth to form an apology but all he’d get was the back of his head. It was as if Sirius was a ghost, standing on the outside and peering in to where Remus was. 

Being intentionally ignored was a helpless sort of feeling. 

But Sirius still sought Elio, he was a good distraction to all the stress he’d been under. They met that morning, mouths colliding like meteors, and Elio took him by the hand to a secret spot he’d discovered just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They were surrounded by shrubs and weeping trees, laying together on the grass. The sun was high and the air was warm around them.

Eio was rolled onto his side, hand propping his head. He watched Sirius curiously, like a riddle, a puzzle missing one piece. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Sirius stared up at the sky, watching the fluffy clouds turn into deformed animals. My best friend’s mad at me and I don’t know how to make things right. “Hm? Oh, nothing, just work-overload.”

Elio held a frown, reading right through his lie, but he didn’t speak of it. “OWLs?” 

Sirius nodded. In truth, upcoming exams had made him more anxious than usual. It seemed like everyone had everything figured out and he was just watching them, clueless, unsure of where to start. 

“Yeah, they’re a pain, took ‘em last year.”

Sirius met his eyes. “What’d you get?”

“Mostly O’s, some W’s,” he shrugged, not proudly or boastfully. Honestly. 

Sirius snorted, poking him in the stomach. “Smart-arse.”

“Wanker,” Elio grinned, leaning down.

“Blo-ndie…” His words were muffled in a kiss, sweet and delicate, like the touch of an angel.   

***

There was not one room in the castle unoccupied by someone quizzing with flashcards, reciting spells, writing an essay, or transfiguring a teacup into a cat. Upcoming OWLs had turned every student into Evans, grumpy and wound-up and diligent with their studies. 

They would start in the first week of June but so far, Sirius hadn’t even cracked the spine of his textbooks. He couldn’t focus on a chapter longer than a minute before growing bored and slamming the book shut. His mind hurt and his eyes stung and his chest tightened whenever he thought of how things ended with Remus.

So while everyone else was mad over their heads, Sirius was calm, bothering the others since James had shut him out, locked up in the Library, muttering war dates like a sleep-deprived loon.

“Black, I swear on my nans grave, I will snap your puny little bones if you touch me one more time!” Mary snapped as Sirius tugged down on her curls. She’d been studying on the common room couch, a hefty Transfiguration book open on her lap, inkwells and scrolls of parchment scattered across the coffee table when Sirius had snuggled up beside her.

“Oh loosen up Macdonald, life’s too short for grumpiness,” he smirked, ignoring her steamy glare.

“Do you find this amusing?” she hissed, teeth-gritting, at the edge of hysteria. 

He pulled down on another brown curl. It bounced right back up. “Yes, you’re cute when you’re angry.”

Mary pounced, book flying from her lap, and Sirius scrambled off the couch, darting towards the portrait hole, but got whacked in the head when she threw her slipper.

***

Days were the same, heightened with exam stress, everyone in their own little world. Sirius had annoyed about every one of his friends to the point where they’d all cursed him out and now ignored his presence. Even Elio wasn’t around anymore, studying for his pre-Newts.

This meant that Sirius was alone, forced to entertain himself with lousy wands twirls, listening to the same records, and painting his nails. But this only filled so much time until he’d exhausted the silence enough. It was time to make things right. 

Remus was a secretive person and half the time, the marauders never knew where he went. Whenever they got too close, he slipped away, disappearing for hours, sometimes the entire day. They learned not to question it but Sirius couldn’t help but wonder. 

Thankfully, they now had a map, and though it was invasive, he had to find him. 

It was in Remus’ drawer, under some quills, chocolate wrappers, books, and a leather-bound journal he was tempted to open but didn’t. The floating scroll of Remus Lupin was marked near the Quidditch pitch, a very odd place where the boy never dared to go. But when Sirius looked more closely, he saw that another scroll was there. 

Severus Snape.

He darted out of their dorm before the map had even touched the floor.

Remus was made of secrets, deep, dark secrets. The type you might laugh at, thinking they're a joke when in fact, they’re just that horrifying. And Snape was a nosey prick keen on ruining their lives since the first year. If those secrets got into his hands, hell would break loose. 

The map was right, Remus was on the ground-level steps which led up to the stands but Snape was in front of him, blocking his way. He could only see the back of Remus’ head but by the way he gripped the railing, knuckles pinch white, their conversation couldn’t be pleasant. 

“OWLs, of course,” he caught Snape saying, with a smirk, but he seemed to be implying something else. “Can take a lot out of someone, drive them bloodthirsty.”

“You don’t know shit,” Remus bit out.

“You’re right, I may not,” he declined the steps until they stood on the same one but Remus towered over Snape easily. The greasy-haired boy had to look up, narrowing his beady eyes. “I’d watch yourself, Loony Lupin.”

“I’d watch yourself, Snivellus,” Sirius shot back, intruding.

They both turned to his voice, Remus stiffening and clenching his jaw, Snape pulling a face and surveying him with disgust. The last time they’d met, they were both on the floor, Sirius petrified and Snape with his legs bound. Ah, good old memories. 

“Black, I see you’ve finally crawled out of that depressive hole. How wonderful,” he sneered, a mocking regard.     

Sirius had to bite his inner cheek.  So not only Moony noticed.  “Never considered you as the  caring  type.”

Severus scoffed, walking towards the castle, black robes dragging. “Never said I was.”

He wanted to say more, wanted to start a proper brawl, wanted to smack that god-awful smirk off Snape's face, but didn't. Instead, he turned back to Remus who was already heading up the stairs, not waiting around for a confrontation. 

“Moony, wait!” Sirius rushed, running in pursuit but Remus took long-legged steps, not daring to look back. “Look I’m sorry for not being around,” he began, trying to cram in all the words he'd wished he'd said before. No matter how long and hard you plan to say the right things, they never come out the right way. 

“Sometimes your commentary isn’t needed,” he said, ignoring the apology. The biggest communication problem is that we don't listen to understand. We listen to reply. That's where Remus always seemed to fuck up. 

They spiraled up the stairs, Sirius babbling and Remus breathing heavier from a weary hip. This allowed him to slip under his arm and be in front. Sirius stopped a few steps ahead, gripping both railings with either hand so Remus couldn’t pass. 

“Remus, I need you to listen to me,” he panted.

“Get out of the way Sirius,” he huffed but stayed two steps below, making no attempt to shove him out of the way.

Sirius took this as an opportunity. “I know I ditched you and Pete and James, I was being a dick, you made that clear the other night.”

Remus tapped his finger against the railing, signaling his impatience. 

He rushed to finish, “But I was going through something. I don’t wanna talk about it but it’s all sorted out. I'm okay now, back to being your incredibly handsome best friend,” he jested, presenting himself with open arms. Then his eyes when soft, doe-like, hoping Remus could read his honesty. “I’m really really sorry Moony.”

The boy licked his lips, considering. 

Sirius held his breath. 

Remus’ hand dropped from the railing, going to lean against it instead. His jumper tightened around his body as he crossed his arms, examining Sirius the way Elio had that morning. 

The things he'd give to know what Remus was thinking.

They stood in silence, regarding each other for a moment. The knitted jumper tightened some more. Around a muscle. Sirius' mouth went a bit dry. 

“C’mon,” he motioned and Sirius blinked back to reality, seeing that Remus was no longer below but behind, already heading up the stairs to the stands. “Marlene’s hammering the bludger, Evans saved us seats.”

Sirius paused. Us. 

Remus paused too, finally looking back. He nodded his head towards the landing. Coming? it said.

Sirius cracked a grin and climbed up. He had his Moony back.

***

“Potter, you’re not even paying attention,” Remus scolded.

“I am too!” James protested mindlessly as a snitch circled his head, his eyes following it.

“Can we go to bed? It's midnight and I promised Marlene I’d meet her early for studying,” Peter whined, practically falling asleep in his chair.

“Well as soon as Black gets off his lazy arse and starts writing, maybe we will!”

They all seated around a wooden table in the Gryffindor common room which was typically covered in cards and chips for poker but now had the marauder's map folded on top. The one thing the other three had left off was the cover and coincidentally, they had a very privileged bloke who’d taken calligraphy lessons as a child at their disposal. 

The map faced Sirius along with a quill standing in an inkwell. “Why do I have to do it again?” he asked, looking down at the objects before him as if they were foreign. His vision bleared. Merlin, I need some sleep.  

“Cause you have the fancy handwriting you posh snob,” James reminded, swiftly catching the snitch despite its speed.

“Hey, you’re not as far off as I am,” Sirius snapped back.

“Remind me to ask you to write my wedding invitations when Evans says yes to my proposal.”

Well, she snogged Liam so that’s quite unlikely. But even though that snarky reply would’ve left James gapping, Lily had sworn him to secrecy. Sirius pressed his lips together, he wasn't one to kiss and tell.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Ok, we get it, you’re both fucking loaded, now can we please get to work?”

James stuck out his tongue and Sirius flipped him off before straightening his posture, back cracking from slouching. He grabbed the quill that had been soaking in the inkwell and dabbed it slightly on his finger, feeling the runniness of the ink before he began.  

“Ok, now, start on the far left,” Remus instructed, leaning forward, pointing with a scarred finger.

Sirius followed the direction, settling his quill there. He recited the order as he wrote in long, cursive letters, remembering how his mother used to peer over his shoulder critically. “Messrs Padfoot, Prongs, Moony & Wormtail, are proud to present The Marauders Map.”

“Wait!” James stopped, suddenly intrigued. He hopped up from his seat and came around the table, leaning over Sirius’ shoulder. 

His body stiffed. "We don't write like we're poor Sirius! Encore, faites-le bien cette fois-ci!" Trauma.

James' wand came out from his back pocket and pointed to the inked names. With a flick, they began to rearrange. “It should be Prongs then Padfoot.”

Sirius barked a laugh, taking out his wand and switching them back. “Like hell it will!” 

“I think it all sounds like shit,” Peter sighed, slumped in his seat, dozing off.

“Why does your name have to go first?” Sirius questioned, folding his arms.

“Well…” James pondered, “I’m the oldest.”

He stared at him blankly. “I’m the oldest.”

“Well, I act the oldest.”

“Actually, Moony acts the oldest,” Peter corrected. No one could argue with that.

“Well Aries is the first zodiac,” James said proudly.

Sirius, who’d grown up on reading the skies, raised a challenging brow. “Scorpio is the better zodiac.”

He held up a finger as if he knew what the hell he was talking about after only three years of Astronomy compared to Sirius whose skin was practically painted in constellations. “Every other sign stems from Aries, making it the strongest zodiac.  Professor Sinistra said it herself.” 

Actually, the Aries ram was sent to save two kids but only saved one, letting the other die. So if you consider that being ‘strong’ then yeah, Aries is. Scorpio, on the other hand, was sent to kill Orion. Isn’t that ironic, I was sent to kill my father- whatever. The point is, Scorpio actually did the job the gods asked it to do whereas Aries couldn’t keep two fucking kids on its back for less than an hour.

But Sirius bit his tongue. No one liked a know-it-all.

“I think it makes sense for James to go first,” Peter aided, not caring which order he was placed.

Sirius sent him a deathly glare. “You don’t get a say two-faced fucking Gemini,” he snapped, holding up a silencing hand. 

Peter shrank in his seat, gaze dropping to the rings of the table. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, pretending like their innocent comments didn't bother him. Sometimes hurting someone can be as easy as throwing a stone in the sea. You never have any idea how deep that stone can go.

“Oh my god !” Remus yelled, completely losing his patience. His wand was out, extended towards the map before anyone could object. The names began to shift into a new order, one that had neither Sirius nor James first. Once they settled, Remus tossed his wand to the couch but it missed and knocked over an inkwell that poured over Mary’s essay from this morning. 

Sirius clapped a hand to his mouth, snorting. She’s gonna be pissed.

Remus didn’t notice. “There, how about that?!”

The other marauders perked up, even Peter woke from his napping. James quirked his head, glasses sliding down as he read the names aloud. “Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, & Prongs, are proud to present The Marauders Map.”

The words seemed to flow so perfectly together like a symphonic poem, rooted to be that way.

James lifted his head, beaming so brightly that rays of sunlight seemed to shine through. He was on top of Remus, tackling him to the floor before the boy could react. “Oh Moony you’re a genius!” he smothered, hugging him tightly as they rolled around the carpet. 

Remus squirmed but laughed as James began to pepper his forehead with kisses. “Get off of me!”

While Remus kicked James in the shin, James howled in merriment and pain, and Peter chanted, “Fight fight fight!” Sirius lifted the marauder's map, the chaos around him fading. 

He remembered Remus tossing him the map, a look of pure disgrace as he said, “We finished it.”

Sirius had missed out on more than he’d known, too busy looning over Elio to remember where his real family was. 

They were always there, right under his nose. Maybe all those nights panicking on the cold bathroom floor were never really spent alone. All he had to do was call out and they would've come.

Sirius set down the map, running around the table to Peter’s side where Remus knelt, vengefully tickling James who jerked around the carpet, begging for mercy. Remus gave none.

For once, he hadn’t missed out.

Chapter Text

Friday 4th June 1976

OWL exams were a pain in the fucking arse. Two weeks of hell, burning hot devil-shitting hell.

The day before, Sirius had taken shots with Marlene, clinking glasses and cheering to “the fucking Ministry who’s making us take this crap.” 

One shot had led to two and two to around five and five to a joint which hazed the rest of the night and next thing Sirius knew, he was bummed-off on the common room couch, hair in his mouth, and drool down his chin.

So basically, Sirius started his exam week perfectly, absolutely splendidly where James had to wake up his drunken self by first politely nudging his shoulder but since he sleeps like the dead, had to shake his body with as much force as a hippogriff. 

Sirius had never run so fast in his life, not bothering to change out of his wrinkly Pink Floyd shirt and heather-grey sweats, sprinting out of the common room, and barely making it to his first written OWLs in Charms.

Sitting down at the last empty desk in the very back of the Great Hall, he was handed a never-ending scroll filled with question after question on what are the deadliest colours to emit from a wand and what is the counter-charm for descendo? 

Being high and hungover while taking a test inked in tiny little letters with a quill that seemed to slip every second from your sweaty palm was the worst possible situation to ever be stuck in. But even as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes to steady the words which seemed to drift off the pages, Sirius still took his bloody exam at eight in the morning with as much effort as he could manage. 

Some answers came too quickly that he doubted himself but then thought, screw it, and wrote in whatever the fuck he wished. The worst that could happen was that he failed Charms and didn’t take it next year. To him, that sounded fine, one less class to stress over. 

Later in the evening for his practical exam, Sirius was more stable thanks to Lily who had shoved him a mushy plate of eggs, avocado, nuts, bananas, and pickles during lunch, saying, “Black, I swear, you are the most irresponsible prat I’ve ever known,” while pouring him a large pitcher of water. And although it didn’t look as appetizing as the cornbread and shepherd’s pie Remus was munching, it seemed to settle the panging in his head and moisten his incredibly dry mouth. 

After that, Sirius had learned his lesson; never party with Marls before an exam. Party by yourself, you’re less reckless than she and won’t smoke as much weed. For his next exams, he was clean and sober, able to focus on vanishing iguanas, turning a mushroom into a spotted cat, taming a Fanged Geranium, and translating ancient ruin text.

All written exams were taken in the Great Hall, house tables cleared out and replaced with no more than a hundred smaller desks, each equipped with an anti-cheating quill. The room was silent, heads bent low, the only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment.

Sunshine was streaming through the high windows onto the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light.

Snape was a few seats behind Sirius, he made sure to keep conscious of that fact. He hadn’t bucked up the courage to as Remus what they’d been conversing about on the pitch but had the itchy feeling that it was about… 

No. Sirius scrunched his face, erasing the thought from his mind. Snape was sneaky and stuck-up but wasn’t as smart as he put front. If he knew, his first action would’ve been going directly to Dumbledore and getting Remus kicked out of school. But Moony was still here. 

Sirius smiled inwardly. He doesn’t know shit. 

It was Friday and they were taking their DADA written exams. Sirius couldn’t suppress his smile when one of the questions asked: Give five signs that identify the werewolf.

He finished all the questions briskly and reclined in his chair at ease, not bothering the recheck his answers. He knew he’d get an O. The trick to being smart is knowing when to play dumb and half the time, that’s exactly what he did. People hold you to lower standards and expect less from you when secretly, your talents could surpass anyone’s expectations.

“Five more minutes!” Professor Flitwick announced, moving between the rows of desks, passing James who’d straightened up, set down his quill, and pulled his roll of parchment toward him to reread what he’d written. He yawned hugely and rumpled up his hair, making it even messier than it had been. Then, with a glance toward the professor, he turned in his seat and grinned at Sirius who sat four desks behind.

Sirius caught his eyes and tossed him a thumbs-up. The legs of his chair were tilting back on two, at the brink of falling but he kept it steady. 

He turned in his seat, looking over his shoulder to Remus who sat two desks behind. He seemed rather pale and peaky from the approaching full moon but was absorbed in his exam nonetheless. Sirius continued observing him, how as he reread his answers he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly. 

Peter was across from him, mousy-haired and looking more anxious than ever. He was chewing his fingernails, staring down at his parchment, scuffing the ground with his toes. Every now and then he glanced at his neighbor’s paper, hoping they were just as confused as he.

“Quills down, please!” squeaked Professor Flitwick. “That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your exams! Accio!” 

More than a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed through the air and into Professor Flitwick’s outstretched arms, knocking him backward off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of the professor beneath the elbows, and lifted him onto his feet again. “Thank you…thank you,” Flitwick panted. “Very well, everybody, you’re free to go!” 

James, who’d been doodling on a bit of scrap parchment, crossed out what he’d drawn, jumped to his feet, and strode over to Sirius’ desk, waiting for him to pack. Sirius carelessly stuffed his belongings into the junkyard that was his bag, which he slung over his back, then walked over with James to where Peter and Remus were. 

The marauders moved between the desks and made their way towards the entrance hall, swerving through a pack of chattering girls.

“Did you like question ten, Moony?” Sirius asked as they emerged into the entrance hall. 

“Loved it,” Remus answered briskly, hints of dry sarcasm. “‘Give five signs that identify the werewolf.’ Excellent question.”

“D’you think you managed to get all the signs?” James asked in tones of mock concern. 

“Think I did,” he said seriously, rubbing his scarred chin, deep in thought as they joined the crowd thronging around the front doors eager to get out into the sunlit grounds. “One: He’s sitting on my chair. Two: He’s wearing my clothes. Three: His name’s Remus Lupin…”

James and Sirius couldn’t contain their laughter. Peter was the only one quiet.

“Oh, you kill me Moony!” Sirius wheezed, stomach cramping. 

“I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes, and the tufted tail,” Peter fretted, ignoring their lighthearted jokes, “but I couldn’t think what else-” 

“How thick are you, Wormtail?” Sirius groused and Peter’s mouth was left hanging, blue eyes staggered. Sometimes he wished that the boy were less uptight about every little thing he couldn’t figure out. “You run ‘round with a werewolf once a month-” 

“Keep your voice down,” Remus hissed, demeanor changing. 

Sirius sealed his lips, not wanting to go back into their fighting stage. 

***

Finally, after that late afternoon, they’d finished their first week of exams. Sirius had never been so relieved as to sit and have a proper meal, not having to worry about sleeping in the next day. But the first thing on his mind after being released from his practical Charms exams was Elio. He needed him. 

So before dinner commenced, Sirius made his way through the castle and lingering around the corridors closest to the dungeons. He never realized how much he could miss a single person when they meant nothing specific to each other. At least, an unlabeled relationship. 

He constantly felt lost inside himself and Elio was like a light pointing him in the right direction. So when a cold hand reached out to him and his lips found another, everything unfolded like open palms, falling perfectly into place.

***

You’d think that people would be tired after a week’s long exam period, but no, the Great Hall was loud with chatter and cutlery. Peter was still wound-up on exams, the girls gushing over Ivan's gift to Mary, Remus picking apart his bread roll, and James and Sirius going at it over Quidditch.

“After OWLs, there's one game left before summer break and I tried to get McGonagall to see if she could score us the pitch for Saturday but said Dumbledore already signed it off to Hufflepuff,” James explained grumpily.

“I can always seduce Dumbledore myself,” Sirius said, coolly, cutting into his steak.

James almost choked on his drink. “You most certainly will not!”

“I’d pay to see it,” Marlene interjected, peeling from Lily and Mary.

Sirius gestured with his hands, “Hey, I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again.”

There was a loud clatter at the back of the Hall like metal against metal crashing. Everyone turned their heads only to find some Ravenclaw had dropped a tray of broccoli casserole. Sirius grimaced. He hated broccoli casserole, it had a foul stench.

“But seriously, we haven’t had practice in ages,” James continued as they all turned away from the scene. Sirius went to wash down his steak with some water but saw that Marlene had taken his goblet so he took Remus’ instead. His friend, if he noticed, didn’t protest.

“My batting is probably shit by now, haven’t hit a bludger since March,” Sirius said, taking a sip. Though he held the drink in his mouth, peering into the goblet. He sniffed it, nose wrinkling. Who drinks tea for dinner? He swallowed, taking another gulp. Only Moony. 

“Did you see my necklace?” Mary leaned over the table, showing off a gold sun pendant around her neck to the rest of the group.

Honestly, Sirius thought it was quite sappy. “He’s trying to win you over with jewelry?”

“He’s already won me over Black,” she said promptly, playing with the pendant. It was bright against her bronze skin. “This is just what couples do, they give gifts as a sign of affection.” 

Sirius hid his eye roll as he took another sip. “Or leave hickeys on your neck,” he muttered into his goblet but thankfully, no one had heard.

“It’s beautiful,” James complimented earnestly, then leaned into Lily who sat beside him. “Would you like one of those Evans?”

“We’re not dating Potter,” she glowered.

He smirked. “Not yet.”

“Liam might beat you to that, though,” Sirius blurted, suddenly. He even shocked himself. 

Lily looked as though someone had slapped her, better yet, threw ice-cold water in her face. Her body went rigid. Everything hung in the balance on what he would say next. 

James didn’t seem to be catching on. “Wood? Please,” he laughed. Lily did too, nervously. 

“What, shocked someone else could get with Evans? C’mon James, we both know there's a long list of better candidates before you.”

Peter snorted, Remus stopped picking at his bread, James held his fork midair, about to have a bite, but set it down. “What are you getting at?” he tempered, no longer spirited. He rarely saw James so grave.

Sirius shrugged. “Depends, where do you want me to start?” He could think of a million different reasons why James and Lily would be a horrible couple. She hated him, for starters, and he was about as childish as a second-year. If ever together, those two would be like oil and vinegar. 

James, being James, hated arguments, especially one’s in public. “You’re a right foul git, you know that,” he said, laughing off the moment, and going back to his food. But it seemed as though everyone else was still holding their breaths.

He truly didn’t understand what James was so worked up about? “Liam’s the one who snogged Evans, not me,” he shrugged, going back to his meal too.

Lily choked on her drink, sputtering it back inside her goblet. “Black!” she hissed, burning a bright red. 

“He what?!” James exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at Lily who looked at the verge of strangling Sirius into unconsciousness. 

From the far end of the table, Liam looked up, hearing his name spoken, then covered a hand to his mouth as he stifled a laugh.

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded casually, “in the stairwell.”

“In the stairwell!” James repeated, his voice going a bit too high. He coughed, then, recollecting himself. 

Mary’s jaw dropped, pouncing on Lily eagerly. “When?”

“Last month,” Sirius answered, unsure why it had come out so quickly.

“Last month!” both Mary and James gasped, one more shocked than the other.

“Lily, you are such a sneak!” Mary chaffed, getting too much amusement out of all this.

“It was only a peck!” she tried to defend.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Oh, it was more than a peck.”

“SIRIUS!” Lily cried, hot tears burning her eyes in sheer embarrassment. She’d entrusted him with that secret, and there he was, spilling it out like his word had meant nothing. Lily sat up and stormed out of the hall. Mary got up, running to follow her.

Sirius watched as she left, regretful but relieved that he’d spoken the truth. Before, it all just seemed to be burning in his throat. Now, it was a weight lifted off his shoulders.

James turned to him, shame in his eyes. He looked at Sirius as one might a stranger. “Why would you say that?”

I don’t know. “It’s what happened, you asked what happened.”

“Real brutal mate,” Remus scoffed, watching him skeptically. 

“Oi! Lupin!” Severus called from across the Slytherin table. He was smirking cruelly and sat at the edge of his seat. “Why so pale?”

Peter dropped his fork. James tensed. For a brief moment, Remus was caught off guard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he thought of some excuse. When he didn’t respond in time, Sirius took the liberty to. “Cause the full-” 

Remus slapped a hand over his mouth so hard, he let out a small yelp and almost fell off the bench. James shot up and Peter seemed suffocated.

“Black, what the hell!” Remus rasped through gritted teeth. He seemed tempted to claw at Sirius’ throat, making him stop speaking altogether.

He shrugged, helplessly, Remus’ hand still covering his mouth firmly.

Snape looked startled as though he hadn’t expected Sirius to answer. But an understanding clicked and his eyes lit with possibility. 

Slowly, Remus lowered his hand but kept it ready in a tight fist to knock Sirius out cold. When his mouth was free, a faint imprint of Remus’ hand blooming, Snape went at it again. “Black, what do you hate about yourself?”

The other marauders turned, stunned that he would even ask that? They were more stunned when Sirius answered, willingly. “I’m constantly breaking down and don't know if I'll ever get better or keep on falling down the same hole I just climbed out of.” Once he'd stopped talking, he blinked. Oh my god...  

Part of the Slytherin table bursted in hysteria. Those who hadn’t caught onto the drama were quick to tune in. He caught sight of Regulus, presumably, but didn’t look for too long. Though it was long enough to know that his brother was watching.  

James forgot all prior grudges and leaned in. “Mate, are you alright?”

He snorted. “No. But I suppose if I pretend long enough, I’ll believe it too.” 

Those few who heard doubled in laughter but the marauders stared at him. They simply stared.  

Now, all of the Slytherin table was attentive, enjoying the mockery, applauding, and hooting when Snape continued to parade him with questions. “Got a favorite out of your lousy friends?”

The answer came out without resistance, pushing hard past his lips. “I suppose James, yeah, definitely James. Moony comes in a close second.” The howling fits grew so loud, some professor at the High Table stood and told them to pipe down.

James didn’t seem proud that he’d won. If anything, he seemed hurt. So did Remus. Peter did too, but Sirius couldn’t tell whether it was because he hadn’t been mentioned or because his friend was making a fool of himself. 

“Sirius, stop,” James said, voice barely a whisper. 

“Stop what? You’re always wanting to know everything about my shit life? Not so curious now?”

Suddenly, Remus held a strong gaze on Snape, reading right through him. His eyes widened slightly and then a realization washed over too. 

He was quick to turn back around but Severus was quicker. “What’s your biggest fear?” he asked and the tables dropped dead silent. Now, this would be a good one.

Sirius didn’t need to think about this one. He’d always known the answer. He opened his mouth, “Becoming-”

“SILENCIO!” came a shout from across the Hall, the Slytherin table, but Sirius hadn’t seen who’d casted it. The spell was fired at his face and suddenly, no sound came out. Though his mouth continued to move, opening and closing, becoming my mother. Becoming something like her. Falling back in that grave she’d dug for me. 

“He took veritaserum,” James spoke aloud, catching on to Remus’ finding from just moments before. 

Remus spotted Sirius’ goblet, which was originally his, and turned it upside down. Not a drop came out. “He’s fucking downed the whole thing!” he fumed, tossing it back down.

Sirius looked around helplessly, reaching a hand to feel at his throat. He’d gone from saying everything on his mind to saying nothing at all like a bird stripped of its voice box but still wanting to caw. 

He only now noticed that Marlene was still there when she leaped up, slamming her hands flat on the table. “You better hope on your greasy fucking arse that I don’t break your little frame in two!” she seethed, brown eyes wild in rage.

Snape’s wicked grin broadened. “Settle down Mckinnon, this is supper, not a Quidditch match.”

That was her last straw. She swung her leg over the bench, ready to tackle the Slytherin boy to the ground, but James grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back down. More people began to laugh, this time at how red her face was turning. 

“Holy fuck,” Sirius breathed out, but eyes went wide when he realized the silencing spell had been lifted. “Nobody fucking talk to me!” he shouted, covering his ears like a whining child. “Marlene! I only trust Marlene!” He actually trusted them all but at that moment, Marlene had proved to be the only one not out to kill him with something he’d said.

No one questioned his decision and Marlene shot up, grabbing Sirius by the arm, flipping Severus off, and dragging him out of the Hall, amid laughter and jeers from the Slytherins. Sirius hummed loudly so at least the few questions some tried to ask before they rounded the grand doors were drowned out. 

It was only when they’d reached his dorm, fixing the lock, did Sirius uncover his ears, wracking his fingers through his hair.

“Trust me that much eh? I could ask you a whole load of crap,” Marlene teased but Sirius wasn’t in a playful mood. He’d just been a puppet for the entire school to string, putting on one hell of a show. 

He made his way to his trunk, sitting on the lid. “What the fuck did I just do?” he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. He wanted to cry, should be crying, but was still trying to process it all, everything he’d said, everyone he’d hurt.

Marlene crouched down in front of him, giving a half-hearted smile “Hey, it wasn’t all that bad, I mean, thank Merlin for that silencing spell.” 

“Guardian angel, that’s for sure, could’ve been El-” internally, he knew he’d fucked up as the name began to slip. Without much thought, he curled his fingers and slammed his fist hard into the post of his bed. The pain in his knuckles distracted from much else. “Bloody mother fucking shit!” he yelled.

Marlene stumbled back. “Why the fuck would you do that?!”

He gritted his teeth, his throbbing hand pressed to his stomach. “Was going to say something I shouldn’t.” But his own words dislodged more memories into his mouth. His hands were back over his ear, shooting up from his trunk. “Don’t say anything, please, I beg on my mother’s bloody corpse!”

Marlene seemed very overwhelmed but it wasn't her fault, partially his, for what she was about to say. “But your mother isn’t dead.”

Oh no. “Well, if she keeps up this thing with Voldemort, her name will be next in the Prophet, same with my father, maybe even Reg. Though I don’t know if I’d be happy the bitch is finally gone from my life or cry cause she’s the only mother I’ve ever known. Guess my standards are pretty low if she's what I consider worth crying over.” He then realized how much he’d divulged. “MARLENE!”

“I’m sorry!” she panicked, walking back frantically. “I’ll shut up, I swear!”  

But he couldn’t, he really couldn’t. It was like all those torturous secrets were now swimming to the surface of his mind, tickling under his tongue. His breathing quickened because now all that ran through Sirius’ head, burning to be spoken was I kissed a bloke, I kissed a bloke, I kissed a bloke, and I may have liked it…and he may have given me a blowjob…and I may have liked that too. 

He opened his mouth, ready to say it all, and Marlene aimed her wand, though she wasn’t the best at silencing spells. One way or another, this would all end poorly. 

The doorknob jiggled. “Alohomora!” someone casted, figuring the lock was set. With a quick click, the door swung open and Lily barged in, clutching a pillow in her hand. She drew it back and smacked Sirius with it, again and again and again. “You promised! You lying-” smack, “-arrogant-” smack, “-insensitive-” smack, “-prat!”

Sirius, so startled by the bombardment, had entirely forgotten about Elio. Though as Lily continued to assault him vigorously, he didn’t fight back, he didn’t grab the pillow or take hold of her wrists when he could’ve. Instead, he let her hit him because that’s what he deserved. 

Her eyes were bloodshot from crying. “You said you wouldn’t and you fucking did!” Her arms let out and the pillow dropped. She sniffed, but didn’t cry, holding her head high and shoulders back. 

Marlene quietly left the room, giving the two some space.

He was prepared, but it still hurt. It hurt to see that heartbreak in her eyes, just like the one in Regulus’. How many more people would he disappoint before none were left? If his mother were here, she’d be cackling. “You really are my son.”

Sirius stood there feeling like a piece of shit. “I’m sorry.” That was the truth. All he could say was the truth. 

Lily scoffed, uninformed about anything that had happened after she'd left. “I’m sure you are. I’m sure you just loved it, didn’t you? Finally got sweet revenge on me, the annoying know-it-all.” She laughed a helpless, renouncing laugh. “The sad thing is, I actually thought you were different.”

Tell her. Tell her it was Snape’s fault. Tell her it was veritaserum. But she hadn’t asked, so he didn’t say. Lily had every right to be mad. This was Sirius owning up to his shit.

She scanned him, lips pursed, but didn’t reprimand him further. She let him do it. Let him sit in his guilt. 

Lily left, taking her pillow, leaving the door open, something Sirius used to do to Regulus when they fought but his brother never had the discourtesy to do back. He could’ve followed Lily, could’ve begged for her forgiveness, but didn’t. Why should he? He’d vowed to do anything to see her smile and yet, he’d made her cry. She’d waisted beautiful tears over him. He was responsible for her pain.

She deserved so much better. 

Sirius hung his head, hating the world a little bit more. On top of all the other shit the school now knew, he’d lost one of the best things that had ever entered his life. 

But it’s Snape's fault. His fists clenched at his side. Retribution was needed.

Chapter Text

Friday 11th June 1976

Sirius tapped his quill against the edge of his desk, staring daggers at the back of Snape’s greasy head which bowed low, hooked nose practically touching his parchment. With exams taking up every spare minute of his time, he hadn’t found the chance to confront Snape over what had happened last Friday.

Lily still wasn’t speaking to him, Mary either, taking her friend’s side even though they both knew the truth. Remus had told them but Evans still held a firm grudge, refusing to let the incident slide. Maybe if she’d heard all the embarrassing crap Sirius had publicly divulged, she’d have a bit of sympathy, but he made the marauders swear that they’d forget everything he’d blabbered and never bring it up again. 

Humiliation scars deeper than the lash. He couldn’t outrun this. It was just as permanent as the tattoo James had given him on Halloween. Even if others forgot, Sirius wouldn’t. In the back of his mind, he’d always be conscious of the fact that his friends knew. They knew when he’d never planned on telling them. 

Sirius didn’t concede to this. 

Fuck every single person who laughed at his vulnerability, who saw him as the victim and chose to ignore it. Fuck them for sitting there and parading him with more questions when they could’ve protested with silence. And most of all, fuck himself for not having been strong enough to fight it.

Snap! Sirius looked down to see his quill in two and hand covered in ink. 

“Mr. Black, is something wrong?” Professor Slughorn appeared by his desk, looking gravely at the black spill over his exam.

Severus perked at his name, glancing over his shoulder only to find Sirius already staring, jaw clenched. “No,” he bit out. “Everything’s fine.” 

***

He probably fucked up his Potions exam but that was the last thing on his mind because Elio had found him, stumbling together into the Trophy Room which rarely got any visitors, and kissed his sorrows away. By the end of it, they were flushed and buttoning up their shirts.

“You smoke too much,” Elio remarked, out of the blue, smoothing out his hair. He really didn’t have to, it naturally fell into place, even when tousled.

Girls had told him this, having tasted the smoke from within his mouth. “Well I’m gonna die one day, so, fuck it,” Sirius shrugged and Elio laughed at this. Merlin, that fucking laugh.

They finished redressing and lazed around a bit, leaning against the window sill. Sirius pulled out his half-empty cigarette pack, placed one in his mouth, lit it, and inhaled. It was one of those days where if someone asked "why do you smoke?" he'd present today, toasting to poor health as he took another puff. Rolled-up nicotine was the one thing that hadn’t disappointed him yet. 

Elio watched him curiously, how the smoke came out of his mouth in rings. Sirius held out another, in case Elio wanted one. He didn’t.

“Say, pretty boy?” he pondered, gaze focused, head against the glass. Something in his tone had sunk, turning resolute and quite serious. “Are you gay?”

His breath hitched while smoking, going down the wrong pipe. “No,” Sirius said quickly, coughing.

They’d been avoiding that discussion since the moment Elio’s lips had latched onto his. He tried to exhaust it for as long as possible, fully knowing it would nip him in the arse at some point. It’s just that things were so good between them, the no strings attached bit, snogging in secrecy. He’d never had something like this and questioning it was sure to do some damage to its beauty. 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Elio nodded but seemed a bit put off. When Sirius thought the boy was about to say more, maybe change his mind, give him some whole queer denial lecture, he didn’t, thankfully. 

Sirius hated the silence that followed, the first time things were uncomfortable between them, awkward. “Thanks, by the way, for what you did,” he brought up, changing the subject.

Elio perked up, brows sewn. “I did…”

“Shutting me the hell up during dinner,” Sirius chuckled. Laughing off the embarrassment seemed to work better, kept him sane, even though it wasn’t the slightest bit funny.

By the look on Elio’s face, he hadn’t a clue what Sirius was talking about. This made him wonder, halting his smoking. He could’ve sworn the spell had been cast from the Slytherin table?

Then, it registered on Elio’s face, a vague remembrance. “Oh, no love that wasn’t me, some other bloke, quite cute.”

Sirius gave a tight-lipped smile, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. Maybe there was one person, one pure soul out there. He’d be sure to thank them, one day, if they ever met. It was only when Elio added, “Looked a bit like you,” did it take every muscle in his body to stop himself from crying.

***

Saturday 12th June 1976

Sirius walked up a darkened staircase by himself, unable to be around his friends. 

Yes, they’d sorted out the matter, swearing to secrecy, but now whenever they were together, things were different. Tenser. Every sudden move Sirius made, James would watch carefully or Peter would hold his breath at or Remus would peer from atop his book.

It doesn’t matter how close you are to someone, they will look at you differently when they discover those secrets you’ve been hiding. Before, in their eyes, they didn’t know that much. They could erase the ugly and focus on the good, imagining you as this perfect person, someone they wished they could be. 

But then the truth spills out like a broken fucking dam and suddenly, you’re not that perfect anymore. They can’t look at you and pretend, they have to look at you with all your scars and accept that you aren’t what they envisioned. 

You’re real with insecurities and fears, beautiful flaws that make you human. It sucks to know that everything is at least a little bit tainted. 

Sirius couldn’t be mad at his friends for caring, but he also wished they didn’t try to figure him out because fuck, he was still trying to do that himself.

Rounding a corner, Sirius skidded, finding himself face-to-face with the devil himself, the root of all his suffering. Snape held his wand directly at him, grip so tight his hand shook, knuckles pinch-white. The corridor was silent so Sirius could very clearly hear the boy’s heavy breathing like he’d run the entire length of the entire castle just to pin him here, where no one was around.

The moment was ironic because Snape had nothing to be angry about. He hadn’t been humiliated, he hadn’t confessed his deepest secrets, he hadn’t been taken advantage of. If anything, the roles should be reversed, Sirius should be the one holding out his wand, daring Snape to beg for mercy.

Then, his eyes were drawn to the dried blood in Snape’s nostrils and bruising around his nose. It was an ugly sight, swelling by the bridge which puffed the corners of his eyes, as though he’d rammed into a wall and tried to heal that break himself. They weren’t to start learning healing spells until their seventh year.

Merlin, the number of jokes that ran through his head. It was hard to pick just one. “Something’s different,” Sirius remarked, cocking his head. He bit his inner cheek to stop himself from breaking character. “Don’t tell me, wait, wait…a new haircut! No, no that’s not it. Oh, you've finally lint-rolled your robes!”

The veins in Snape’s neck began to pulse. “Your little bitch broke my nose,” he snarled, hair drooping around his pale cheeks. 

The thought that one of his friends had broken Severus' nose was a sight he wished he’d seen. His money was on Marlene. “I’m sure she had good intentions,” Sirius said coolly, trying to stay relaxed, hands in the pockets of his jeans. It was a tactic he’d seen play well with his mother, staying incredibly calm whilst she tortured him. The fact that she wasn’t getting to him would only irritate her further. Snape seemed to be having the same reaction.

“She sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong.” He took another step closer, wand still extended. 

“You’re one to talk,” Sirius snapped with a clear implication. If Remus were here, held be squeezing his arm, growling at him to shut the hell up, but it was already obvious. Snape knew. No need to pretend like he didn’t.

The Slytherin boy turned up his broken nose. They both knew but didn’t give in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Oh please, don’t think we don’t notice you by the infirmary. It might surprise you but black doesn’t hide well in the light.” 

Snape bared his teeth. “Careful, I might just slip some more Veritaserum into that blabbermouth of yours, make a proper fool of you.”

He laughed knowing it sounded fake, knowing deep down he was terrified, terrified that Snape might hold well on his threat. “I’m already a proper fool, nothing more you could do. But, by all means, go ahead,” he dared, displaying his arms invitingly. Challenging Snape was the only way to shut him up. The boy fought when he knew he could win and only someone as mental as Sirius would bet him to do so.

His nostrils flared but flickered his gaze towards the window. The sky was slowly dusking, evenings drawn-out longer now that summer was in season. “Moon’s coming up,” he smirked, dropping his extended arm, “best be off.” 

Snape turned to leave and Sirius was enraged. Who did he think he was, bringing about Remus being a werewolf so casually? Would it always be like this, Snape holding this knowledge over Sirius, teasing him with it? 'I know what your friend is and I’ll torture you for as long as I wish.'

He could’ve gone to Dumbledore but he hadn’t, he could’ve ended this feud with the marauders and won, but hadn’t. Why though? 

Because he knows I can’t do shit. I won’t, for Remus’ sake.  

But Remus wasn’t here, now was he?

If Snape wanted to spit fire and expect not to be burned, Sirius would prove him wrong. Karma wasn’t coming quick enough. Guess he’d just have to bring it on himself. 

The words came out quickly, Sirius hadn’t even realized what he’d said at first. But that cruelness in him, that part of his mother prowling at his core grinned evilly. Maybe he was a little bit like her.

“Check the Whomping Willow. Might have better luck there.” 

Snape’s steps faltered, skidding. His back was turned but Sirius could tell he was considering it.  Do it. Go see what you’ve been chasing.  He would get what was coming to him.

Snape glanced out the window, checking the moon’s height, and then he was off, a brisk of black disappearing into a shadow.

In Severus’ mind, if he ran fast enough, he might make it as McGonagall and Pomfrey descend with Remus, leaving the tree tamed. It was only Sirius that knew they weren’t there, Remus was already locked up with James and Peter, the tree would still lash its branches. 

Monsters are real, ghosts from our past are real too. They live inside us, haunt our dreams, haunt our realities, seeking villainy in moments of weakness. Sometimes, their whispers are too tempting to ignore. And sometimes, like today, we listen, and they win. 

Snape would be too late.

***

Heading back to the Gryffindor Tower, Sirius felt better. Snape would be at a dead-end, running so fast across the grounds only to find the Whomping Willow alive and deadly. The best part was, the others wouldn’t know, too busy gallivanting with the wolf to find out his genius prank. 

Thankfully, Lily wasn’t in the common room, only some first-years playing cards. He’d had his fair share of unwanted encounters for tonight. Walking up the dormitory stairs, Sirius thought of all he could do with the night now to himself. Maybe he’d take a long steaming-hot shower, seeing that James wasn’t here to hog the bathroom? Or maybe chain smoke while blasting hard rock? All very good options.

About to enter his dorm, he saw light from under the door. There was someone inside? No, maybe they’d left a light on? His throat began to close, hand sweating as he reached for the doorknob. 

Stepping inside, Sirius was relieved when the light only came from his bedside lamp. He’d forgotten to turn it off. Almost gave myself a bloody heart attack. He kicked off his boots, treading to his bed, but there was someone in it.

James flipped casually through one of Mary’s magazines which had The Twilight Zone on the cover. “You know, muggles sure love television,” he remarked, “they just buy this box to watch all sorts of ridiculous crap. And did you know it’s a job?! Muggles get paid to  act  inside of a box.” He tutted, turning the magazine around so Sirius could see, pointing to a handsome suited man in black and white print, standing in front of a dizzy, spiraling background. “Mary says she wants to be on this program… Hey, Pads, you olright?”

Sirius’ face began to pale, unable to speak. 

James wasn’t supposed to be here, laying on his bed, chatting about muggle programs like it wasn’t the full moon. He was supposed to be with Remus, along with Peter, they were supposed to be running around the forest, far, far away from Shack. James wasn’t supposed to be here. Because if he was here then that meant… 

“Why aren’t you with Moony?” Sirius asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as afraid as he felt.

James sat up, setting the magazine aside. “He’s stalling with Pomfrey, asked me to get you.”

No. No no no. “He…he wants me to come?” Since their fight, Remus hadn’t officially invited Sirius back to the Shrieking Shack, so he’d just assumed that he shouldn’t go again.

“Though I doubt he’s still in the Wing, probably left by now,” James said logically, peering out the window which had a clear view of the grounds. “We’ll have to push the knot ourselves. Wormtail can do it, he’s smaller.”

His hands began to tremble at his sides. If Remus was only leaving now, that meant that Snape would in fact… 

Oh god. Sirius was gonna be sick. 

It took him a few minutes of standing there, vision disorienting, James’ voice tuning out by an impossible ringing in his ears, for Sirius’ face to wash in cold hard dread as if death had touched him for just a moment. A single moment where he was able to replay his words, ones he'd regret for the rest of his life. “Check the Whomping Willow. Might have better luck there.” 

His lips parted. Shocked to the bone. What have I done… 

Then it all came crashing down, hitting him so hard he could’ve passed out, the biggest fucking mistake he’d ever made. This wasn’t a prank, this was a demise. Sirius began to walk back, shaking his head, stepping over Peter's chess set. One of the wooden Knights cracked. The room was closing in, tight, too tight, compressing his body. He couldn’t breathe.

“James,” his voice was now trembling as much as his body, “James I fucked up. I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up…” Tears were now flowing down his cheeks, stinging with guilt. 

James swung his legs over the bed, dashing towards him. “Sirius,” he gripped his shoulders, squeezing them, bending down a bit to meet his grey eyes which buzzed, panicked. “Sirius, look at me.” 

But Sirius couldn’t stay focused, lost in his head. He wasn’t thinking. He never thinks. He was so, so stupid! How could he let this happen, let this go so far? 

The world seems to tilt, unevening when you realize how badly you've fucked up.

He ruined every good thing that entered his life; disappointed his family, betrayed his brother, losing the only girl who'd ever cared for him, and now he'd destroyed the greatest friendship he’d ever known. Beautiful things weren’t meant for him because this is how they eventually ended up.

Sirius glanced up, eyes glossed and dreaded, bottom lip quivering. James knew that look. Sirius had first given it to him when he appeared on his porch, drenched in rain, lips purple from the cold. It said, ‘I need help,’ without being spoken. 

Sirius never asked for help, he never asked for anything. Fear was a sign of vulnerability that could be used against him. So when James had opened the door and found his friend standing outside with that pleading expression, he knew something was wrong. 

It was a look James had only ever seen once and now was met with again. Like an old, unwelcomed friend, already dusting their shoes on your doormat before you can let them inside.

His tone was firm and spoke with an authority that Sirius couldn't ignore. “Tell me.” 

Chapter Text

Saturday 12th June 1976

James didn’t ask questions, he didn't scold him, he didn't say how fucking insane Sirius was to have let this happen. He just ran out into the night, no cloak, no second-guessing. James would always run into danger, no matter the cost, no matter how insane he himself was being. He left Sirius in their dorm to drown in his worry and dashed to stop what could be a catastrophe. 

Sirius cried like a scared, pathetic child, breaking down until there was nothing but a lousy heart in his hollow chest. His breath caught when a howl echoed through the night, a sound once beautiful but now terrorizing. He stumbled towards the window only to see a perfect milk bowl of a moon placed high in the sky.

Remus would never forgive him and Sirius didn’t expect him to. He lost his friend the second he’d encountered Snape. There was no turning back from that moment. The end was already written. 

He imagined Remus' face when he transformed back, hands covered in blood, metallic taste in his mouth, breathing heavily as he called for his friends, only to see that there was no one there. No one to explain to him what had happened, why his hands were covered in blood other than his own. 

He imagined Remus breaking down, the world caving around him as he faced the epitome of horror. As he looked upon a torn-up, savaged boy. A dead boy. As he finally accepted himself as the monster he’d denied himself to be.

But because of his ill intent and reckless behavior, Sirius would forever be the nature behind the killing. Remus was just a pawn. That was a type of guilt he didn’t know how to handle, being responsible for taking a life even if he hadn’t held the knife. 

What was only an hour seemed to melt into years. Sirius checked the clock every five seconds only to see it stay in the same exact position. He looked outside at the grounds, hoping to catch a glimpse of James returning with Severus, but so far there were no signs of return. The night was silent, painfully silent.

He chewed his fingernails until they were bloody, cuticles torn and flesh stuck in his teeth, the skin on his lips had been picked off in frustration. They throbbed and burned when he touched them, the pads of his fingers covered in dried blood. 

Sirius was a coward. He should be the one down there cleaning up his mess, not James. James was risking his life just to save his undeserving arse. 

The nerves and stress built up until he couldn't take it anymore. When Sirius got angry, he broke stuff like an expensive vase or vintage mirror. Unlike his old home, there wasn’t a single priceless item here, in their messy dorm, worth shattering. So in a wave of thoughtless impulse, he faced the window. Maybe shards of glass in his knuckles would compensate for the damage he’d done, the blood he'd spilled? Maybe if he punched it enough, he’d get a taste of what he’d brought upon Snape, upon Remus?

Sirius longed to be bandaged before he'd been cut. 

He was about to thrust his fist forward when their door creaked open and a long shadow drew across the floor. He whipped around to see James standing in the doorway, trainers smeared in mud, shirt teared at the hem, his expression blank and distant. 

“Snape’s fine,” James said before Sirius had the chance to ask. “He’s shaken up. Got a good look at Remus before I pulled him out.” He walked inside, shoes tracking mud, going over to his dresser where he pulled out clean clothes. His movements were unusual, tired, barely able to stand as if caught in a twilight zone. “Can't say he won't turn you in, honestly wouldn't blame him.” 

The way James spoke was something Sirius had never heard. At least, not directed towards him. It wasn’t angry or sad, there was no pitch or sink in his words. In fact, he was completely monotone as if all his energy and life were drained by a Dementor. 

But for James Potter, someone as chipper and energetic as he, for there being no emotion or trace of anything, that was the worst version of disappointment one could receive. It meant that he couldn't fathom. It meant he saw someone and saw a dead end, a wreck. Someone who couldn’t be saved or worth the scolding. 

It meant that James Potter saw Sirius Black as nothing but a waste. 

***

Sirius isolated himself. 

He avoided the marauders, he avoided Marlene, he avoided Severus, only ever went to see McGonagall and the Headmaster for his lecture and punishment. 

He was thrown off the Quidditch team, given detention every day till the end of term, unable to participate in extracurriculars, and banned from Hogsmeade until they saw fit. McGonagall threatened him with expulsion but Dumbledore simply held up a calm hand and stared into Sirius’ soul with those piercing blue eyes. 

He gave him one of those twisting poetic speeches that probed at Sirius’ mind from every single fucking angle until he couldn’t understand shit. Sirius hated when that man spoke in symbolism; how fucking teacups were the inferior and dish rags were the poor and misunderstood. How did any of that relate to him sending a nosey bloke to almost be dinner for a hungry werewolf?

But towards the end, what Dumbledore said did make sense, and it was something Sirius would hold onto for the rest of his life. “Mr. Black. Trust is a very great thing. One mustn't abuse or mistreat it. For once it is given it should be cherished and once it is lost, well, that is the greatest punishment of all.”

After that, he was dismissed.

***

There was no sign of Remus. Sirius knew he was in the Hospital Wing, stalling there for as long as he could until Pomfrey forced him out. After the first few days, he accepted Remus’ decision and refrained from visiting alongside James and Peter, but once those solemn days turned into a full week, Sirius couldn’t take it. 

This torture was what he deserved. His guilt was eating him from the inside, breaking him down, and driving him mad. He never dealt well with silence, having to sit and wait. Remus knew this and was using it to his advantage. He was punishing Sirius and Sirius allowed it. He’d allow it for as long as Remus saw fit. 

Nothing he could do or say would ever change the events that occurred. Again, this was him owning up to his shit.

***

It had been two weeks, Owls were over, the school year was coming to a close. And still no Remus. It came to the point where even the other boys had grown worried. 

“I should go see him,” he decided, unable to stay cooped up in that dorm for another second.

Peter shot him a wary glance and James frowned, sitting up. “Sirius-”

“No, okay, I get it!” he bursted, spinning around, startling his two friends, “He hates me. I hate me too, but I need him to know-” that I screwed up, that I’m reckless and impulsive, that I don’t think before I do things, that I don’t expect him to forgive me, that I’m so, so, so sorry. 

Sirius’ mind was combusted. He knew what he wanted to say but knowing Remus, he wouldn't give him a chance to speak or in the rare case that he would, Sirius would freeze, fumbling with all the wrong words. He thought back to what Dumbledore had told him and agonized at the fact that he let Remus down. He lost the trust that took him years to gain. He lost his Moony. 

“He needs time,” James sympathized and Peter nodded his head in agreement. But they didn't get it. The longer this went on, the smaller his window of opportunity to apologize would get. Sooner or later, Remus would shut him out, for good.

“Well, how much time?” Sirius threw his hands up in frustration. “I mean, the time is killing me, James!” 

They both looked at Sirius with pitiful eyes, unsure of how to help? This wasn’t their fight, it was his. 

From the beginning, Peter forgave Sirius, always a softie for sappy apologies, handing out second chances like hot coals, always too quickly and without much thought. James was harder to get to, at first, but inevitably caved. He’d sat Sirius down the day before and given him a talk after his silent treatment had exhausted. It started calm and rational, taking both sides of the situation into account, but quickly escalated when his emotions took over. 

The worst types of arguments were with James because they rarely happened and always ended in Sirius feeling like a complete tosser. He lectured him, paced the room while Sirius sat quietly on his bed, scolding, “How could you not think about Remus! You can’t put yourself before him, not when it’s his secrets on the line!” 

But in the end, when he’d regained his composure, he simply walked up to Sirius and hugged him. Leave it to James fucking Potter to set your world on fire but never let a single flame touch you. 

Chapter Text

Thursday 24th June 1976

To take his mind off of all this prank crap, James proposed an evening on the grounds, baking in the sun and dipping their feet in the lake even though they’d do plenty of that over the summer holiday. Sirius only agreed because he thought Remus would be there too. He wasn’t, Sirius came to find, only Peter and a basket of snacks.

“Has McGonagall talked to any of you about next year?” James asked, lifted his head to look at his friends who relaxed on the grass under the shade of a beech tree by the edge of the lake. They shook their heads. He groaned, flopping back down. “She pulled me into her office yesterday and was like  ‘have a biscuit, Potter’  and then I found myself agreeing on tutoring Transfiguration revisions for next year and teaching at some Quidditch seminar. I mean shit, I think she spiked those biscuits or something!” 

“Just admit it, you're her bitch,” Sirius sighed.

“You’re just jealous she likes me more than you,” James shot back, putting his hand in his pocket and taking out a struggling Golden Snitch. 

“Where’d you get that?” Peter asked curiously. 

“Nicked it,” he said casually. James started playing with the Snitch, allowing it to fly as much as a foot away before seizing it again; his reflexes were excellent. Peter watched him in awe. 

The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, girls were sitting on the shoreline with shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, rather haughty and bored. Though he spotted one of the girls wearing a Bowie t-shirt, specifically The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust which was Remus’ favorite album. Getting all excited, he turned to the trunk where Remus usually leaned against, book in his hands, but paused mid-way, remembering that there was no one there.

His excitement withered, smile thawing. Would days always be like this, so dull, drained of colour? Sirius laid down, closing his eyes, the grass tickling his ears. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Peter was watching him with his mouth open, gasping and applauding every time he made a particularly difficult catch.

It was cute, at first, but grew incessant, annoying, the quick buzzing of the Snitch’s wings, Peter’s obnoxious praising. Sirius found his patience thinning ever since things had gone sour with Remus. “Put that away, will you?” he said, finally, as James made a fine catch and Peter let out a cheer. He rolled his eyes. “Before Wormtail wets himself from excitement.”

The blonde boy turned slightly pink but James grinned, unfazed by his temper. “If it bothers you,” he sighed, stuffing the Snitch back in his pocket. 

“I’m bored,” Sirius huffed, tucking his arms under his head for a pillow. 

“Course you are, Remus makes up most of the entertainment,” Peter brought up, impromptu, but quickly sealed his lips and bashed away. Bringing up Moony always stirred the pot.

“Oh, bloody hell!” James said loudly, shooting up, making the others turn. “You have some nerve showing up here.”

Sirius’ head turned, then became very still. Severus emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, towards them. Peter remained sitting, glancing from James to Snape to Sirius with a look of avid anticipation on his face. Sirius stayed put as well, unable to look Snape in the eye. As surprising as it might sound, he felt bad. He’d selfishly sent the boy to be killed without realizing it until it was almost too late. 

“I wasn’t the psycho who sent me to get clawed by the bloody eyes, now was I?” he sneered, glowering at James but speaking to Sirius.

“Leave,” James demanded, standing in front of his friends, pulling out his wand. 

“Don’t think I’ll be kissing your feet, Potter,” Snape spat, inching closer. He didn’t reach for his wand which was unsettling. “I’ll leave when I wish.” His eyes flicked to Sirius who’d been trying his best to go unnoticed. “But you, I’d like an apology from.”

James didn’t fire back at this. It was only fair, for what he’d done, tricking Snape that way. But Sirius refused to bruise more of his ego. So instead of apologizing as a mature person would, he stayed quiet.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he repeated, a bit louder. “Apologize.” He’d made it past James, looming over where Sirius sat on the grass. Though he kept his eyes down, on the Slytherin boy’s polished black loafers. Snape cocked a brow, laughing at his childishness. “I see, can’t handle Loony Lupin’s silent treatment?” He crouched down, forcing their eyes to meet. Severus’ lips pursed. “You’re pathetic,” he murmured, low enough so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Okay, that’s enough,” James interrupted, bounding over to them, wand extended at Snape. “Get up and leave, now.”

Snape smirked, still staring at Sirius, heavily. It was like looking into the eyes of a shadow, lacking any emotion, any life. He stood up then, facing James. As much as he tried to seem taller, buffing his chest, raising his chin, the top of his head only reached James’ nose. 

“I saw what he is, what he really is,” Snape said, implying Remus. “If that filthy scum is who you’re trying to protect, you’re just as barmy as I always thought.” 

Suddenly, James’ wand was under Snape’s chin, jabbing it up. Peter let out a squeaky sound Sirius assumed was a gasp. His teeth gritted, rasping out, “I meant it, go now or I fucking swear-”

“What? You’ll duel me?” Severus snarked, but no one saw him slip his pale hand in his inner rope pocket, slowly drawing out his wand. “Saint Potter wouldn’t hurt a fly, you saved me, didn’t you? Could’ve let me be Lupin’s dinner, but didn’t. Your friends might call it brave but you’re just as weak as them, can’t have a death on your conscience, can you?”

What happened next was too quick for anyone to have anticipated. Both wands were drawn, spells firing like strikes of lightning, blinding their eyes in bright colours. 

“Confringo!”

“Impedimenta!”

Snape and James both shouted their incantations at the same time, but James was quicker, and had Snape knocked off his feet before the ground in front of him could explode. 

Snape scrambled back up, breathing heavily. “Densaug-”

“Stupefy!” Sirius shouted from behind James, having drawn out his wand, springing to a stance. Snape fell back as though a gust of wind had swept him off his feet. He was rendered unconscious, but only for a moment, blinking back to life like a hung-over drunk.

“I could’ve let you die,” James said, very low, standing over the Slytherin boy, pointing his wand directly at his face, “but death is too sweet of a release. I wouldn’t let you off that easily. Now, you have to live with what you saw and realize that beasts can exist in good people. That doesn’t make them a monster, it makes them a victim. Remus was a victim. And you toying with him and us about something that happened when he was a child is not funny but sick. So don’t come here and blame this on me or Sirius when you’re just as guilty.”

Snape lay panting on the ground, greasy hair wild like vines across the grass, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. 

“Leave him ALONE!” 

James, Sirius, and Peter turned around. It was one of the girls from the lake edge, having thick hair that fell past her shoulders. It was only when Sirius caught sight of her startlingly green almond-shaped eyes, did he realize it was Lily. Behind her followed two other girls, Mary and Marlene. Of course, the girls by the lake had been them three, Marlene being the one with the Bowie shirt he’d admired.

“Evans, this doesn’t concern you,” James said and the tone of his voice was suddenly deeper, more mature. He’d never spoken to Lily in such a way, always trying to impress her, not dismiss. Obviously, because of Liam, things had changed. 

“Leave him alone,” Lily repeated, stamping her foot. She was looking at James with just as much anger as she’d held when reprimanding Sirius in his dorm. “What’s he done to you?”

James looked like he wanted to laugh. What has he done? Just about every horrible, barbarous thing a person could do. He’d made Remus fear every waking moment, made the marauders seem like villains, stalked them on full moons, bullied Peter, made Sirius the laughing stock of the school, mocked James for his courage when he’d fucking saved him from getting killed! The fact that Lily was too blind to see any of it baffled him.

“You think that you can do whatever the hell you want because you’re some Quidditch prodigy, that the rules don’t apply to you,” she taunted coldly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.”

“You’re defending him!” James exclaimed, paying less attention to the boy beneath him who was getting a firmer grip on his wand. “He doesn’t deserve the slightest bit of respect!”

“Everyone does! It’s just that you only see people for the one mistake they’ve made.”

Some of the kindest souls have to live in a world that is not so kind to them. Some of the best human beings have been through so much at the hands of others, and they still love deeply, they still care. Sometimes, it's the people who smile the most, who refuse to be hardened by this cruel world, to let someone else's bitterness get to them, that have actually felt the most hurt. 

James had always been that kind soul that made everybody feel like somebody. If that isn't something to be in awe of, then what is?

He lost something in him, a piece of his heart flaking off as he stared at Lily. “Then you don’t know me at all, do you, if that’s who you think I am?”

“Uh, James?!” Peter alarmed, pointing a finger. 

He looked in the direction, but it was too late, Snape had already gotten up and directed his wand straight at James. There was a flash of light and a howl of pain echoed sharply as a gash appeared on the side of James’ face, spattering his robes with blood. 

“James!” Mary cried, rushing over to where he knelt, clutching his cheek, eyes clenched shut. Lily stood there, completely nonplussed.

But James wasn’t down for long. He smeared off the blood on his cheek and whirled about, fists clenched. A second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air as though a rope were tied to his foot, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underpants. 

Marlene covered her mouth, muffling her giggles. Mary’s jaw dropped. Sirius and Peter howled with laughter. James seemed focused, mercilessly dangling Snape who let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but his wand was on the ground so nothing happened. 

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, bellowed, “Let him down!” But if James had heard, he didn’t listen, continuing to swing Snape around until coins, sweets, balled up parchments, and a quill fell from his pockets. His face began to redden, blood rushing to his head. 

“James!” Lily cried.

Finally, he snapped to his senses, jerking his wand upward. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius casted, “Petrificus Totalus!” and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now, pointing directly at Sirius. James and Peter eyed it warily. 

“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” Sirius said earnestly, unthreatened. 

“Take the curse off him, then!”

Sirius chuckled. “What? So he can go and fuck up more people’s lives. I think I’ll pass.” He turned around to Snape who stared up at him with round, bulging eyes, unable to move. 

Lily still persisted, her wand held steadily, refusing to be ignored. “What’s wrong with you?! Didn’t your perfect family ever teach you how to act, how to be kind instead of torturing? Or was that one of your house-elves jobs?”

Before he could get angry, his face went blank. Thankfully his back was to her so she couldn’t see the effect of her words. 

Yes, his family had taught him how to act, from a very young age. Napkins were to be draped over the lap, forks go to the left of the dinner plate with the one exception of an oyster fork, toys could only be played with in his room, talking back was forbidden, storybooks were to be burned, no socializing with the muggle children from their neighborhood, no speaking at the dinner table, no wearing wrinkled shirts, no sleeping in, no excessive noises, no slouching. Crying is for the meek, laughing is for the reckless, stone expressions, tucked-in shirts, tight ties, polished shoes.

Never disrupt his father when he’s in his study, never disrupt his mother when she’s having tea. Never disrupt either of them in general, ever. 

Assert. Show authority. Find power. Seize it, if you must. People fear what they cannot beat, so be the villain. It’s better than being the hero, who everyone will try to conquer. 

I guess the one thing his parents never taught him, nor Regulus, was how to love. How to appreciate things without curt nods and lined lips. How to express. How to feel. His parents had been trying to raise perfect children when in the end, they’d both be disappointments. Both for similar reasons, ironically enough.

Then, Sirius felt an unexpected wrath rise in his throat, turning into the son his parents always wanted him to be. He slowly turned around, met by Lily’s anger-bent face, red hair frizzing in the heat. “Evans, you don’t know fuck about my family,” he said with cold, aloof eyes.

She was startled for a moment by his bluntness. No one other than the marauders knew that Sirius had run away, that he was a victim of abuse. It wasn’t entirely her fault, she couldn’t have known, or could she? The occasional limping when he was younger was hard to miss, irregular bruises he covered with leather jackets, queasiness he got on the train rides back; the fact that he received no birthday packages or weekly mail, never spoke of his brother or parents as joyously as the others did. The word home had never once escaped his lips. He didn’t even know how to say it, what it tasted like?

So maybe Lily did know but just chose to hit him where it would hurt most. 

She lowered her wand, just barely. “Sirius, I didn’t-”

“Just stop talking, Evans, please,” James berated, stepping in and pushing Sirius behind him. He might be in love with Lily, but blood was thicker than water. 

James snatched Sirius’ wand, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse. “There you go,” he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus-”

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudblood like her!”

Lily blinked. From behind, Marlene struggled as Mary held her back “Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t bother in the future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” With that, she turned on her heels and hurried away, the other girls in toe.

***

Some onlookers had ratted the marauders out and McGonagall was quick to call them into her office. They stood in a military line, hands behind their backs, limply at their sides, or shoved in their pockets. You could guess who was who…

McGonagall sat behind an immaculately tidy desk, rubbing at her temple as she looked down at a parchment, inked quill in her other hand. Her hair was grey, pulled back in a severe bun, and she wore deep green robes secured with a golden clasp shaped like a lion’s head. 

“Using magic outside of school grounds without the permission of a professor,” check, “Casting inappropriate spells,” check, “Using magic as a means of voluntary attack,” check. She almost ripped the parchment. 

Shakily, she set down her quill, letting out a deep sigh. She shook her head, looking up to the three boys who waited patiently. Her eyes set on Sirius. “Mr. Black, have you not harassed Mr. Snape enough?” Her voice was tired, fed up to the point of exhaustion. “Simply because you were emancipated does not give you the right to ignore the rules. You are already walking on thin ice, one more mistake and the Headmaster will be forced to follow Ministry protocols.” 

Ministry protocols usually meant being expelled. Sirius gulped at the thought. This was the only home he’d ever known.

She turned to James. “As for you, Potter. I ought to have you replaced as Captain.”

His eyes rounded, scars on his cheek still red and dried with blood. “Professor please-”

McGonagall held up a hand, silencing him. Peter was last in her scolding, though she seemed to ease up a bit, seeing his terrified face. “And Mr. Pettigrew…I am very disappointed.” 

They stood in eerie silence, McGonagall's gaze picking them apart like meat on a bone.

“Sirius and Pete didn’t do anything!” James blurted, suddenly, voice echoing against the tight walls of her office. “It was me, who hexed Snape. Only me.” Typical James, voluntarily taking the blame, apologetic for other people’s fault. If anyone were to say he wasn’t mature, they’d be right. He wasn’t mature to take the blame for some else’s mistakes, he was an adult.  

McGonagall narrowed her cat-eyes, reading right through his lie. But she knew James and the lengths he was willing to go for his friends. No wonder he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, that sly bastard.

She sighed heavily, pushing up her glasses. “I trust you, Potter, which is why you’ll be cleaning rusted trophies tomorrow after lessons. I expect a formal apology to Mr. Snape as well.” 

James didn’t argue, only nodded. 

She pressed her lips together, scanning the marauders one last time before bowing down her head, muttering something along the lines of, “I don’t get paid enough for this,” which the boys took as a cue to leave.

When they arrived back at their dorms, Remus’ bed was still as he’d left it, impossibly tidy with a mountain of unread books by its side, collecting dust. Sirius couldn’t look at that side of the room for too long, kicking off his shoes and collapsing on his bed. James did too, along with Pete, all three of them so exhausted from the chaos of the past few weeks.

That night, far past curfew, Sirius awoke from his sleep to the sound of their door creaking open, tip-toeing footsteps treading lightly. Instinctively, he reached for his wand, but when he peeked through the crack of his curtain and saw a tall shadow crawling into Remus’ bed, he sucked in a breath. Remus. 

Even though his friend was a mere shadow, Sirius was immensely relieved to see him, finally. He was ready to bombard him with apologies, stutter out everything he’d been meaning to say, all the accumulative words from these past dire days caught up in his mouth. 

But something stopped Sirius, remembering what he’d done. There was a reason Remus was sneaking in while they were asleep. He didn’t want to be caught, talked to, confronted. He didn’t have enough patience to deal with Sirius and his pathetic excuses. 

He retreated, silently laying back down, hearing the curtains of his neighbor’s bed draw closed. Remus needed time to heal and Sirius would give it to him, for however long it took. He would wait.

Chapter Text

Saturday 3rd July 1976

Remus snuck in like this, quietly padding across their dorm, slipping inside his sheets. Sirius let him come, unbothered, every single night until only a week remained of school. Occasionally, he appeared in the Hall, joining them for meals, but didn’t sit in his usual spot beside Sirius but across the table, six seats down next to Lily who’d separated herself as well.

James and Peter had been supportive of Remus’ silent strike, better than him leaving the school, right? But as his grudge carried on, their support withered. One week was good, two enough, three pushing it, but four? Four whole weeks of silence when they’d all grown up together, slept in the same dorm, took the same classes, were in the same bloody house? 

Maybe Remus was testing Sirius, seeing how long it took until he broke and came begging for forgiveness? Fake friends stab you and pretend they’re the ones bleeding, but so far Sirius hadn’t bled, he hadn’t posed himself as the victim, even after four weeks. Remus had every right to be mad and his friends had every right to disapprove. At least he wasn’t falling into that trap. He’d apologize when Remus let him.

***

Lessons got easier, entailing introductory NEWT classes which they’d have to pick from after getting their OWL results over the summer. Sirius couldn’t wait to drop Potions and History of Magic, though Muggle Studies he might keep. 

He saw Elio, returning to their secret spot at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was nice to be around someone who wasn't tangled in their mess of pranks and bitterness, who didn't see Sirius as a traitor but a young wisecracked boy. Here, gazing into ocean eyes, being kissed like he could be loved, Sirius felt safe. At least that hadn't changed. 

Fortunately, they hadn’t spoken about that topic since the last time it had been brought up. Sirius thought of it often, the harshness of his tone, defensiveness, as though the question had touched a sensitive nerve in his mind. 

Maybe if he'd been given more time to let it sink, let the words register as not an attack but a possibility, he could've answered more maturely. Because this thing with Elio, these sensations he got, the flutter in his stomach, the pulsing in his veins, has only ever happened with Elio. 

What if he put a label on himself too quickly? What if whatever this thing was, was only for Elio? What if for someone else, these butterflies never returned? 

That's why he couldn't admit it. Because he wasn't certain. 

As they laid beside each other, so close their breaths were one, Elio seemed far away. They were swimming in the same ocean but drifted farther apart from the current. It was silly but true. Sirius had his body, his hands, his lips, but not his mind, his thoughts, his focus. 

Not just that, Elio's stares of admiration and curiosity had turned into longing as though he still sought a part of Sirius he couldn’t fully get. He could only hold so much in his palms.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked, touching delicately at the subtle frown between Elio’s brows. He was never the worrier type.

Elio eased at the touch, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. He was very beautiful, Sirius could admit, like a single statue in a garden roped with vines, pooled over in sunlight. Growing up, people had always ravished and raved over Sirius’ fair skin and midnight hair, filling his young mind with false beauty standards, but what he laid beside now, touching lightly between the brows, was real beauty.

“Nothing,” Elio sighed, leaning over, pressing their lips together, and Sirius melted into the kiss. He flattered himself, in moments like these, thinking about how Elio could be rolling around the grass with any other bloke, but had spotted Sirius in a crowd and thought, him.

***

The castle had switched to summer holiday mode, swapping trainers for sandals, heavy uniforms for tanks and shorts. The days were sweltering, moist humidity, sweat trickling down foreheads, frizzing or flattening hairs. Some sixth-year Ravenclaws were selling enchanted fans that followed you around, keeping you cool. James bought six, one for each of them, even Lily.

And Remus still had his routine; hiding out in the library, having meals in the Hall, reading books, playing chess with Peter, watching James chase a Snitch from the stands where Sirius also sat, cheering on his friend, revoked from mounting any brooms. A temporary replacement for the last Gryffindor match of the year had been found; some girl with dark, earthy skin, long brown hair that cornrowed in braids down her back.

Sirius tried to not show his jealousy when she flew onto the pitch and hit more Bludgers than he would in a season. They cheered her name, Finnigan bragged in his mic, and Sirius crossed his arms. He’d been the Gryffindor Beater since his second year and now here comes this girl, strategizing with Marlene, high-fiving with James, wearing his jersey number! 

He had to take a deep breath and remember, tryouts are next year, you can still reclaim your spot, but then recalled his little chat with Dumbledore, having been banned from all extracurriculars, and almost threw his hands up as the girl rammed another Bludger into a Hufflepuff's broom. Bloody mother fucker!

***

As the Gryffindor Tower flipped upside down with packing their trunks, searching for missing shoes and borrowed books they had to return to Pince, Sirius took a break from the madness and went for a brisk walk. Portraits packed too, stuffing their costumes in trunks, baby’s in carriages, and going to other portraits in foreign countries like Romania and Tokyo. The Fat Lady was going to see her sister in Britain, so she’d told him while folding up her puffy pink dresses.

He traveled moving stairs, walked down corridors, sneaked through passageways that cut through floors, retracing every place they’d written on their map since Remus had taken it, not wanting to be tracked. But all means aside, Sirius just wanted one last taste of this; the sound of his shoes against the flagstone floor, how cold it got in staircases, the sweet smell of pastries and buttered turkey from outside the kitchens, the view of the Scottish Highlands from the Astronomy Tower. 

Home is not always where you hang up your coat. It can be in the middle of the rain on a dim-lit street, the back of an alley where strangers pass around a joint, a coffee shop that smells of newspaper and over-due essays, a musky bookstore filled with broken-spines and bent corners, in the tender arms of a lover, but for Sirius, it had been here.

This place had saved him and even leaving for two months would feel like a lifetime. 

He continued his journey, slid down a railing, ducked through an archway, turned the corner, and froze, the air being sucked back to the pit of his stomach. 

There he was. Standing a few yards away. Hands in his pockets, a jumper drowning him, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Sirius never knew how he could stand the heat in those clothes. He stood so still, listening to the wind as if having been there the whole time, waiting as predators do for their prey. He hadn’t even wavered upon seeing Sirius appear.

After four weeks of silence, he finally had the chance to say something, but it would just come out as a lousy excuse. Sirius didn't want it to sound like what had happened was an accident, because it wasn’t. He intended for Severus to get hurt or at least be too scared out of his bloody mind to ever harass the marauders again. You’d think seeing a werewolf would put the git in his place. 

All that time spent thinking of all the right words had surely gone to waste. His mind went blank. He couldn’t think of what to say. 

He remembered all the times, all the opportunities he could’ve spoken up, but didn’t; when Remus brushed his teeth and Sirius came in for a towel, breakfast in the morning before Lily arrived, James’ Quidditch game when they’d been forced in by the crowd to stand next to each other. He could’ve tapped him on the shoulder and said it. I’m sorry. 

But Remus never seemed like he wanted an apology. Not because he’d forgiven him, but because if Sirius opened his mouth and tried to justify himself, Remus wouldn’t be able to control his fist ramming into his face, beating the shit out of him for what he’d done.

Sirius was too tangled in his mess of thoughts to realize that Remus had left, slipping away, as quiet as a mouse. The sinking feeling returned and he was back to being alone, for good. 

No, he thought, balling his fists, you’re not letting him go.   

And he didn’t, running in the direction his friends had left. At that moment, he felt a bit like James, so daring, chivalrous. “Remus, wait!” he called, finding his voice. 

Remus stayed quiet, following his route, but didn’t speed up. He let Sirius come as close as he dared, within punching range, he hoped. But the dark-haired boy rounded Remus instead, blocking his way as he’d done on the stairs to the Quidditch stands last month. Just like last time, Remus didn’t push through, just stopped where he was, expression slack, bored.

Sirius hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I’m sorry,” he said, pushing it hard past his lips, almost spitting it. This seemed like a reasonable way to start. “I screwed up, I did, I know I did, and I'll never stop beating myself up about it, ever.” 

Sirius chewed on his lip, waiting for some sort of reaction from Remus, some shift in his stance, the release of his breath. But there was nothing. It was like talking to a brick wall.

“Why?” he suddenly asked, the first time Sirius had heard his voice in weeks. 

That single word had more meaning, more emotion than anything he’d ever heard his friend say. Why? He didn’t know why? He didn’t know why he was so impulsive? He didn’t know why he’d exposed Remus’ secret? He didn’t know why he was dealt a shitty hand and used it as an excuse to be a shitty person? There were lots of things Sirius Black didn’t know the answer to but he scorned himself for not knowing the answer to this one.

He gazed at Remus with parted lips, hoping that he could read the sorrow in his grey guilty eyes, read his mind and understand his mess of thoughts that, to Sirius, made sense. 

But of course, none of that happened. Sirius stayed silent because that’s all he knew how to do, how his parents trained him to behave, and Remus looked at him like he was a monster. 

He was. He was a monster. He was his mother’s son. 

Remus turned his head, walking the other way. Sorry isn’t good enough, he said, with every action, every step.

But Sirius had been shut out long enough. If Remus wanted a fight, then fine, he’d give him a proper fight. Ready for a battle, he took a step forward, “Remus, please-”

“No.” He turned sharply, sharper than expected, eyes holding their own killing curse. And Remus gave Sirius that look that he’d been dreading. That look that died the breath in his throat. That look of betrayal. "No, you don't get to explain. You don't get to excuse yourself as you do with everything else, cause I’m not gonna believe you.”    

“Remus you have to understand-”

“No, I don't understand. I don't understand why the fuck you’d be so damn stupid, Sirius? I don't understand why you only think about yourself, but please, for the love of Merlin, enlighten me.”

Sirius’ eyes swelled up with tears. He really fucking screwed up. “I’m so sorry Moony…”

“Sorry doesn't do much now though, does it?” Actions prove who someone is, words just prove who they want to be. So far, Sirius had proven to be one shitty friend. 

“You’re right, it doesn't, but I am. I really, really am,” he croaked, feeling Remus slipping, draining until dry. God, he couldn’t do this.

They stood in a bone-shattering silence, Remus picking him apart with a heavy glower like McGonagall’s but far worse. “I trusted you with my biggest secret. I trusted you, Sirius. And then you go and use the fact that I’m a werewolf for some stupid prank? I mean what the hell is wrong with you?!” 

A lot. Sirius didn’t respond.

His face went cold, jaw clenching. “You’re a fucking piece of shit.” Words really can hurt like a dagger through the heart, if said the right way.

“Remus…” Sirius’ voice was no more than a whisper but his call did not reach him. Remus was already gone. For good now.

***

Saturday 10th July 1976

“Hey,” James said, gently, poking his head around the carriage door. “Was wondering where you hid off to.”

Sirius scuffed the train floor with his feet. “I wasn’t hiding.” He was. Avoiding James, Pete, and especially Remus. 

James came inside, lugging in his trunk. “‘Sure you weren’t,’” he rolled his eyes. “Mum’s meeting us on the platform, Dad’ll still be at work though.” Sirius nodded, half-attentive, and James carried on. “We have three brooms, one for you, me, and Pete if he  does  decide to play-“

Sirius could hear laughter rumbling beyond the thin-fabricated cabin walls. Joy like that in his chest felt like a foggy memory. 

“-they opened a new shop in the village for used, second-hand stuff. Heard there's this really hot witch who works the counter-”

Sirius just realized. This would be his first summer without his brother. Without piano lessons or broken fingers, napkins properly draped over laps or snake tattoos, wands pointed at him or crying out from curses.

“-though I doubt we’d be able to go that far without crashing. Mary told me that flying is a walk in the park compared to muggle driving-” 

Train rides weren’t as fun without Moony across from him. Before, Sirius would purposely nudge Remus' foot with his own to see that annoyed expression on his face. It was cute, how fussy he got over silly things. Remus would always nudge him back. 

“-Mate…Oi, Pads!” James kicked him in the shin and Sirius jerked up, heavy-lidded. He knew how much this long-winded argument with Remus was taking out of him, saw it in the dark circles under his eyes, loss of colour in his cheeks, deprived energy in his tone. Sirius was slowly breaking down. 

James leaned forward, “This summer’s gonna be great. Don’t worry about Moony, he’ll come around. He always does.”

That was the problem, Remus wasn’t coming. Friends can cause heartbreaks too. And once they’re gone, they’re gone for good, all that history washed in the tide that rises between the two of you. That’s the one thing someone as optimistic as James couldn’t feel, but someone as pessimistic as Sirius could.

Chapter Text

Sunday 27th July 1976

Moony, 

I know you’ll probably burn this before cracking the seal but, please don’t. I’m so, so sorry. What I did was unforgivable and you have every right to be mad. I’m mad at myself. I was an idiot, I am an idiot. 

Please write back, wanna make sure you’re well. He scribbled the sentence out, restarting.

Feel free to write, wanna make sure you're safe. He scribbled the next as well.

Please forgive me. No.

You don't have to forgive me.  No again.

I miss you.

FUCK FUCK FUCK! Sirius aggressively scratched out his words until the parchment tore. He groaned under his breath, tossing his quill aside, crumbling the letter until it was a crinkled ball in his clenched palm, and tossing it in the waste bin. 

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. It was three in the morning, three in the bloody morning and he couldn’t sleep, at least not peacefully with the thought that Remus still hated him somewhere in South Wales. He’d gone through an entire roll of parchment, writing letters he’d never sent. The waste bin was overflowing and he’d snapped two quills, now on his third.

Sirius didn’t know what to do. He was at a dead end. And down the hall was James, snoring like a troll. If that noise didn’t keep him up, then it was the heat, and if not the heat, then his self-loathing. 

Merlin’s fuck! Why couldn’t he have kept his bloody mouth shut for once? He’d distrusted the best thing that ever happened to him. Dumbledore was right. The greatest punishment is knowing you lost it.

***

James kept him busy all day, intent on giving Sirius a proper teenage summer since all he’d ever known was a cold building with aging wallpaper and ancient portraits. 

Even though the effort was sweet, he knew that James was only sticking around like a splinter, getting him up every morning to play Quidditch, eat breakfast, climb trees, run around as Animagi just so he wouldn’t fall off the rails.

Sirius wasn’t mad at Snape anymore, both their mistakes had outed each other. What bugged him was that one question Snape asked; "What do you hate about yourself?"  

And, of course, how he'd answered. “I’m constantly breaking down and don’t know if I’ll ever get better or keep on falling down the same hole I just climbed out of.” 

They say the first step to acceptance is denial, or whatever the fuck the saying is. Since they were kids, James had been trying to help Sirius, whether it be offering him to stay over the holidays or engaging in late-night chats under the covers of his bed. But Sirius had always held a bit back, reluctant to exposing himself fully. 

Before, James hadn’t any proof that Sirius needed him, but now it was like if he wasn’t holding on tight enough, Sirius was bound to leave him just like he’d left Regulus. Guess that’s what James hated the most about himself, not being the hero, not being able to save the ones he loves, people abandoning him when he could’ve done something about it.

***

Wednesday 11th August 1976

The Potters Manor was a great deal bigger than 12 Grimmauld Place. It was set on a block of other less grand houses, lined with bushy trees, wildflowers, and cobblestone paths. With something so big, you could easily get lonely, miserable, roaming the same corridors like a haunting ghost until life became repetitive. 

But no, every room and floor had a touch of warmth, kindling its own fire. Even in the kitchen, where they now sat on bar stools by the counter, there was so much love and life that Sirius felt a bit overwhelmed, undeserving. Is this how all homes are or was I just screwed over?

“We have juice, tea, coffee, milk,” Euphemia itemized, head in their fridge. 

“Coffee for me,” Sirius said, forking his scrambled eggs. 

“Juice please,” James followed with a mouthful of buttered toast.

Sirius simpered. “You drink juice?”

James raised a brow. “You drink coffee?”

"Weirdo."

"Addict."

Euphemia laughed at them both, taking out a pitcher of orange juice and a kettle of coffee. “Sleep well?”

“He snores like a congested troll,” Sirius jested, kicking James’ leg under the counter.

“Well, you sleep like the dead.” He kicked him right back.

“Quit fooling around,” Euphemia chided, sliding their drinks over the counter. 

Just then, an owl with light brown feathers flew through the open window and swooped low, dropping a rolled post on the floor.

“He always misses,” James chuckled, hopping off the stool to grab the delivery. He pulled the strings that tied it, unrolling the paper, giving it a shake. “What has Barnabas written now…” James’ face sagged, staring at the Prophet. 

“What is it darling?” Euphemia worried, wiping her hands on her apron. 

He licked his lips. “It's- uh, another…” he pulled the paper closer, reading the tiny inked words, “another attack.”

Sirius dropped his fork.

“Shit.”

“James!” his mother scolded but he didn’t apologize. There was something else, something new he’d read, it made him suck in a breath. Disbelief.

Sirius’ heart began to speed, sitting at the edge of his stool. It almost tipped. “D-Does it say where?” He hung on James’ every breath.

Their eyes met, boring into each other, and Sirius read them. Instantly, he knew. 

“South Wales,” he said aloud, for his mother who flew a hand to her mouth. She too knew about Remus’ furry problem.

Sirius and James continued to look at each other, silently communicating, wondering, fearing. He wouldn’t…would he? 

Euphemia took off her apron, dashing to her husband’s study. “Fleamont!” 

“Is it bad?” Sirius asked, there was noise in the house, Fleamont and Euphemia bickering, but all he could hear was his own shaky breath, the blood pounding in his ears. He didn’t want to see the Prophet. Didn’t want to have those words ingrained in his mind, forever. If this was what they thought it was, the attacks, the descriptions would be etched into a horrible memory.

James gulped, not averting his eyes. He nodded, wordlessly. 

Sirius regretted not having sent that letter.

***

After that James’ plan on a happy, war-free summer came to a close. Fleamont was out, for days upon end, late nights at the Ministry, coming home to find James and Sirius waiting for him, drowsy on the couch. Euphemia never let them outside of the house, much to James’ protest, but it was the safest decision, everyone knew that.

And Sirius, he was a mess. Constant worrying, constant pacing. Was Remus okay? Was he a part of the attacks, the deaths? What if that pack had kidnapped him and forced him to run with them, feast with them? What if they made him a murderer? 

He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Remus was gone, knowing the way things had left between them. When alone long enough with it, guilt can truly destroy a person.

Sirius could think of all these ludicrous possibilities because the Ministry still hadn’t gotten ahold of Remus or his mother, Hope, who lived in the forgotten lands of South Wales, deserted, without floo, without any magic. His mother was a muggle so they lived a simple, muggle life. Only when your son is a werewolf, everything is anything but simple.

“What if they’ve taken him? What if he’s in some cave, being starved? What if...what if Voldemort-” Sirius couldn’t finish, couldn’t put that out there. It had been five days since the attacks and still, no word, not even a Patronus.

James and Sirius sat nervously on a couch in the foyer. It was dark, past midnight. They were waiting for his father to return home with some news, any news. “I’m sure his mum kept him locked up," James said, filling the eerie silence, "Besides, Moony’s smart, if anything did happen then-”

“Then what?” Sirius interrupted, turning his head to look at James. What could Remus possibly do? Join them? Run with them? Sirius wouldn’t lose him to the wrong side.

The fireplace crackled loudly, then blazed bright emerald green. The low hush of businessmen echoed through the chimney flue from another fireplace, at the Ministry. Fleamont emerged from the flames, stepping out onto the carpet. He held a brown leather briefcase that looked more black in the night. 

James and Sirius straightened like dogs, pouncing on the older man the second he brushed off his trousers. “Did you get a hold of Remus?” James asked first, eager, having sat with his worries long enough.

In the dark, Fleamont’s face was obscured. Sirius couldn’t tell if he was frowning or smiling when he sighed, deep and exhausted from too many late nights, too many reports. “Yes. He’s fine. Alastor went to visit him and his mother, check out the landscaping, set up protections, do some testing.”

Sirius could’ve cried, right then and there. 

“Testing?” James repeated, not liking the sound of it.

Fleamont set down his briefcase, loosening his tie. “Y’know, protocols” he summed briefly but the boys stayed confused. “Those in the Ministry that know about Remus’ condition want to make sure that…”

There was silence as they filled in the rest. That he didn’t hurt anyone. That there wasn’t blood in his room, under his nails, flesh in his teeth. The mere thought made Sirius queaze.

Fleamont looked at the two young boys before him, knowing they wouldn’t get much of a childhood. Their years of adolescence would end, today, replaced with the costly effects of war. And they would be dragged into it, whether they liked it or not. He kissed James’ forehead and patted Sirius’ shoulder as he passed them, “You two get some rest. He’s safe. Don’t worry,” then headed to his wife.  

Once they heard the sound of him bounding up the stairs, James let out a long-held breath. His worry was replaced with a smile, something Sirius didn’t find quite fitting for the moment. “Didn’t I tell you, Moony’s fine.”

Sirius forced a pinched smile but thankfully James couldn’t see much in the dark. Remus was anything but fine. In his case, the odds were nowhere in his favor. If the knowledge of their friend being a werewolf got into the wrong hands, every attack would be blamed on him, no matter his alibi. Not everyone saw werewolves as kindly as the marauders. 

If there was one thing to know about the Ministry, it was that they hated hassle cases. They would put an innocent man behind bars if it meant one less file on their desks, turning a blind eye in the face of villainy. They chose to look the other way, even as the Prophet plastered the faces of victims, children, but they could never say that they did not know. Even now with the war, their efforts were slim to none. 

How many more deaths, tragedies, attacks would occur until they saw the severity of this battle? Voldemort's side was fighting with fire and theirs was as helpless as a dry water hose. Only a matter of time before they went up in smoke. 

***

Monday 23rd August 1976

Sirius was officially living with the Potters, given his own room across the hall from James’. All of his things were neatly tidied away into drawers and cupboards, records organized by artist, though there wasn’t much from his old residence; just a few wrinkled shirts, some socks, one trouser because the other had fallen out in the commotion of leaving, and a small box of memories he dared not to open and relive. 

Everything else was gifted by Euphemia. She bought him fresh clothes, books, posters of T-Rex, Queen, and other “hip” bands he liked to brighten up the room. She even went through the trouble of getting him a new trunk, one that wasn’t burdened with his family crest. 

Upon entering that summer, his eyes went so wide, they could’ve fallen out of his skull. It was more than he could’ve ever asked for.

“I wasn’t too sure about the posters. James said you like the muggle bands so I tried to pick the popular ones. We can exchange them if you prefer others, nothing’s permanent dear,” Euphemia had said, critiquing her work. Sirius was in awe of his room and in awe of the woman James was so lucky to call a mother. 

But Euphemia wasn’t as soft as she put front. When the boys so beggingly asked to go down to the Village, specifically to that one shop where James was dying to see the hot cashier, Euphemia wagged her finger. 

“I’m sorry darling but it’s not safe.”

“But we have wands,” James persuaded, taking his out and lifting it to show her. He even buffed his chest to seem a bit stronger.

“Which you will not, in any circumstance, use,” Euphemia instructed, pushing the wand down. “You two are still underaged.”

James’ shoulders slumped. “Can Dad take us?”

“I already said no,” she reminded, turning to leave.

He stepped forward, determined, desperate. “But Mum-”

“No!” Euphemia spun around and James’ lips sealed shut. Her voice wasn’t angry, it was scared, scared of what lurked outside their doors, what threatened her boys. Within their home, she could protect them, but out in the Village, it was a gamble. 

Sirius watched from a distance. He might live there, but it wasn’t his place to argue when the Potters had so hospitably welcomed him in their home.

Euphemia took a deep, recollecting breath, but said no more. That was the end of the discussion. 

Back in James’ room, they sprawled on his bed, shirts discarded, socks covering half their feet. The fan spun above and Sirius got a bit dizzy if he watched it for too long.

“Sorry that we can’t leave,” James bummed, hands behind his head. 

“S’fine,” he shrugged, “Sorry you can’t meet the hot cashier.” 

James chuckled, lightening the mood. His mother had shaken him up a bit before, now he seemed looser. Sirius was glad. A tense James was never a good thing, he was supposed to be strong for the both of them. “S’fine."

“Giving up on Evans so quickly?” Sirius scrunched his face tight as soon as the words came out.  Think before you speak, idiot.

He held a silence for a bit. “What’s the point, chasing her ‘round, got me nowhere.”

“You say that now. Guaranteed when we go back, your silly arse will be all over her,” Sirius teased, nudging James’ foot with his own. 

“Don’t be so sure,” he wagered, nudging him back. “Besides, the cashier was meaningless gossip from one of the neighbors, no use in checking.”

Sirius nodded, half-mindedly, but couldn’t wash the sinking feeling in his chest. James deserved some happiness after a lifetime of giving it to others. 

Suddenly, an idea struck, one that could very well get them a scolding if caught, but Sirius rolled onto his side. He smiled, a little mischievously. “But what if we could?”

***

“This is probably the stupidest fucking idea you’ve ever had,” James criticized, watching from the bed as Sirius unlocked the window. It was the break of dawn and the house was silent. 

Sirius was running on impulse, seven hours of sleep, and a burnt cup of coffee. Everything in this moment was a stupid fucking idea. “Then why are you here?”

“Have to make sure you don’t break your neck.”

Getting a firm grip on the bottom sash, he glanced over his shoulder. “You care, how sweet.”

James rolled his eyes.

Turning back, Sirius counted down in his head. 3…2…Fuck. He tried his best to be quiet as he lifted the window open, pausing when it squeaked as to not awaken Euphemia. Thankfully, Fleamont was at work. 

James couldn't watch, squirming on the bed, checking the door every second as if someone were about to barge in and catch them red-handed. But Sirius managed to open it just enough for their lanky bodies to slip through. He swung a leg out, straddling the sill, then peered outside, swallowing hard. Holy shit. It was quite a far way down, farther than he’d ever jumped from off his broom. 

But as always, do the scary thing first, and get scared later. “See you down there,” Sirius winked before ducking his head under the rail and grabbing onto a sturdy vine, climbing his way down. The vine broke, obviously, he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Sneaking out of a house on the second floor was a lot harder than Sirius or James had expected. It was thrilling, yes, but by the time they’d landed hard on the ground, their clothes were grass-stained and ripped from the thorny vines and rough bushes, feet tingling. 

Sirius brushed off his shorts, a wide grin displayed. Something about this was so exhilarating. 12 Grimmauld Place had sealed windows so he couldn't even attempt to sneak out. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

James got up from the ground, tugging on a twig that was tangled in his hair. He could’ve stayed upstairs in protest but of course, he’d followed Sirius. Not one without the other. “I hate you.”

Sirius pulled the twig out for him. “You love me.”

“Prat.”

“Angel.”

“Half-minded tosser.”

“Let’s just go before your mother sees us,” he advised, pulling James by the wrist.

“One day, you’ll be the one to get us both killed,” he grunted whilst being dragged.

They crept silently across the lawn, cautious of making noise. “Oh please, I keep our lives exciting.” What was a duo without a reckless daredevil and a wary mother?

***

The Village was a cluster of crooked shops, lamp posts, street vendors, and a church bell tower that rang every hour from eight to nine. James had taken him here once before but they were only children and couldn’t appreciate its beauty. At such an early hour, owners were just beginning to unlock their doors, flick on their lights, dust off their storefront. 

At the bell chime of eight, the Village began to trickle with townspeople; mothers pushing their babies in carriages, businessmen entering shoeshiners, beggars sipping beers in narrow alleyways, buskers slinging guitar straps over their shoulders and placing a money hat by their feet, old men with canes sitting on benches and tossing breadcrumbs next to signs that read, NO FEEDING THE BIRDS.  

James and Sirius strolled the streets, side by side, peering at displays and awnings and fascinating people with fascinating stories. A pack of girls their age clumped by the entrance to a cafe, giggling and staring at the boys who carried on past them. James glanced their way, smiling. Sirius looked ahead, they weren’t of much interest to him.

They found the thrift store that James had raved over, entering to get smacked with a musty odor, a smell of decay. Sirius scrunched his nose, walking in. How delightful. 

The store was a clutter of absolute crap; broken tea sets, porcelain dolls missing arms, the same rainboots in five different colours. At the back were rows and rows of discoloured shelves crammed with ragged books breaking at the spines that stacked over one another, practically falling apart. He skimmed them with his fingers, recognizing a few that he’d caught Remus reading at breakfast or in the common room. 

The layout of the store was haphazard at best, with mismatched sofas of broken springs and lopsided tables overflowing in used items. Though Sirius came to find that it was a comfortable and quiet chaos, walking up and down the isles. Reaching the front, James was there, leaning against the counter where a girl with blonde hair dyed pink at the tips worked the register. Underneath her uniform of a brown apron was a distressed Rolling Stones shirt tucked in a plaid pleated skirt, fishnet stockings riding up her ghostly legs, and Doc Martens stained in mud. From the outfit alone, she seemed quite gothic for James’ taste, but trailing up to her face, Sirius was left gaping. 

The rumors of “hot” did her no justice.

She had a chilling sort of beauty, something like an old antique mirror that hangs in an abandoned castle. She reminded Sirius of a used book with a golden spine, peeling black case, but rich with preserved poetry on coffee-stained pages which stuck together from age. 

James seemed infatuated, saying something that made her tilt her head. She didn’t smile but observed him curiously as ravens do.   

“Do you have a business card?” he asked, making the shape with his fingers. Sirius shot him a quick look. Why would he need a business card, he lived a walking distance away?

The girl left briefly, rummaging through a drawer, then returned with a card which she slid across the counter. James picked it up, playing with it in his hands. 

He glanced up at her, a look so dreamy, you’d be a fool not to fall in love. “This wouldn’t happen to have your number on it, would it?”

The girl blinked, shifting stances behind the counter. If Sirius didn’t know better, he would’ve thought she was surprised. “Oh,” she let out, a voice much softer in comparison to her rough appearance.

You could see the apprehension in James' eyes. He knew what was coming but tried to stay nonchalant. Being turned down made you feel like shit, even worse when it’s all you’ve ever known, thanks to Evans. “Oh?” he repeated.

She laughed, nervously, twisting the rings around her fingers. “It’s just- sorry, but I’m gay.”

James straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, er- no I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- uh, make you feel uncomfortable.”

She waved a hand. “No, you're fine, kindest heterosexual guy I’ve met.”

By James’ brief pause, he didn’t know whether that was a compliment or an insult? Sirius mentally slapped his forehead, Merlin he’s so embarrassing. “Well the shop's lovely, you’re lovely,” Sirius complimented, stepping in and pulling James towards the door. He ditzily followed, still processing the fact that he’d been hitting on a gay woman and she’d played along.

The girl waved at them, sympathetic. “Come back soon.”

Sirius pushed the door open, a small bell ringing above their heads. “We will,” he smiled in courtesy. They wouldn’t, but manners were manners. 

Outside, James looked far off into the distance, walking slowly, poutingly. “She was gay.”

“She was gay,” Sirius confirmed, a little too amused by his brooding. 

He ran a hand down his face. “Why do all the hottest women have to be gay?”

“Don’t know mate.”

“I just made a fool of myself.”

“But she did say you were the kindest heterosexual guy she’d ever met,” Sirius reminded.

“Yeah whatever,” he sulked and in a quick turn of events, unexpectedly veered off to a muggle telephone box. Curiously, Sirius followed, stopping when James closed the door to it and he was locked out. 

“Um hello?” he called, tapping on the glass. 

James ignored him, picked up the phone, and held it between his ear and shoulder as he dug for something in his pocket. A small paper pinched between his fingers as he punched in the numbers, dropping a few coins in the slot. James waited, tapping his foot as the line rang, and Sirius watched, completely clueless. 

He looked over at the town’s clock. Eight-fourty. Euphemia was probably up by now but she wouldn’t wake the boys until half-past nine. He tapped on the glass again but James held a finger to his lips, shushing him. “What the hell, James?” Sirius mouthed with his lips. 

His friend didn’t respond but did perk up when whoever he called picked up. Immediately, his face lightened, talking animatedly on the phone. This seemed to go on for ages until James said something that looked like “wait one second” and pushed the door to the telephone box open. 

Before Sirius could protest, James had snatched his arm, dragged him in the box, and shoved the phone at his chest. “Talk,” was the only word he said before stepping outside, closing the door behind him.

Sirius was left alone in a confined box with peeling red paint, flimsy scratched windows, and a phone in his hands which vibrated as the mysterious voice spoke on the other end. He held the speaker up to his ear dubiously, microphone close to his mouth. “H-Hello?”

“James?” 

He twirled the cord around his finger. “Er- no, this is James’ friend.”

“Well when’s James coming back?” There was something so familiar about the edge of his tone, quick-tempered. He knew this mysterious voice.

“Moony?”

“Sirius?”

He almost dropped the phone. “Hi.”

“Put James back on,” Remus ordered, leaving no time to rekindle.

Sirius glanced outside, seeing James surrounded by a flock of pigeons. “He’s a bit busy…at the moment.” 

“Then tell ‘im I said bye.” There was a rustle on the other end like Remus was getting up.

Sirius panicked, holding the phone tighter as if he were holding Remus. As if his grip could make him stay a little while longer. “No-no-no, wait!”

“Can we not get into this now?” Remus sounded like he wanted to reach through the line and strangle him. “I’ll see you on the train, save your apologies for then.” 

Stress built up in him, frustration, anger. He wanted to scream. Speaking through this tiny little machine and not being able to see him, stop him, made the power in him drain. Sirius anxiously danced around the confiding box as if he were standing barefoot on hot coals, not wanting to lose Remus, not again. “Remus please, please just listen. You don't have to say anything but just listen. Do me that. Please.” 

They say begging is just another form of manipulation. They’ll plead for you back, for your trust, for your body, and you’ll give them your heart just to see it broken once more. 

But what about being so afraid to lose someone, you’d get down on your knees and be at their mercy? What about never moving on because secretly, they’ve taken a piece of you with them? What if begging was a canvas of all that fear? What if begging brought out how much someone means to another? What if begging wasn’t what we deemed it to be?

Sirius didn’t know why or how but something in him was panicking the same way it had last Christmas Eve. This type of anticipation was nerve-wracking as he heard Remus’ breath heavy through the other line. In. Out. In. Out.

There was no response which Sirius took as an opportunity. He shut out the sounds of birds pecking seeds, shopkeepers sweeping, street performers strumming. He shut out the world until it was only him and Remus connected from miles away by a rusty muggle phone. If there was no forgiveness after this, then that was that. He’d be done chasing a dead relationship. 

“I know that I’ve said sorry and that sorry doesn't fix what happened, nothing will, but Remus…Remus, I can’t do this anymore. Not talking to you, not seeing you, mate you’re my best friend and it’s driving me mad. And I know you hate me - trust me, I hate me too. What I did was so screwed up and I…” need you back. I need you here. Sirius had so much he wanted to say, so much he needed to say, but he didn’t have enough time. Time was a greedy thing. “…I don’t want you to forgive me or say ‘it's okay’ because it’s not, it’ll never be okay, and that was my fault. I just want to be able to see you, to at least be in the same room as you without you leaving or ripping my fucking eyes out.” Sirius let out a dry laugh, though it was more of a relieving ball of stress unwinding from his throat. He was finally getting somewhere, words were pooling from his mouth like a running tap, words that breathed, had a life of their own, and burned with truth, streaming from a place in his heart Remus had touched. “I miss you Moony and- mate I really am so, so sorry.”

This, this was closure. This was all Sirius needed to move on. The only thing holding him back was the possibility that Remus wanted him to stay.

Sirius bit his lip, waiting for a response, a sign of breathing, rustle of the phone against his ear, some form of life, but there was none. For all he knew, Remus could’ve left, Sirius could’ve been speaking to no one this entire time, but he knew that boy was still there, torturing him with silence.

Remus might be a stubborn git, but he wasn’t a bad person. He could be drinking tea while reading Shakespeare in a noisy dining hall and still listen to you ramble, even when you thought he wasn’t. Sirius heard a sigh come from the other end of the line, shaking through the wire cord, then more silence. Finally, Remus spoke. “Okay,” he said flatly, compensating.

Sirius gripped the phone tighter, knuckles pinch white. “Okay?”

And then the most unexpected thing happened. Remus laughed. Like a gust pushed past his lips, having been held in since the prank, and Sirius swore it was the most beautiful sound he’d heard in months. “Jesus Christ Black, you could make a fortune off your speeches, you dramatic tosser.”

His mouth split into the widest grin, heart swelling. “So, does this mean…”

“I’m not saying I forgive you, but we’re okay, for now.”

Sirius now noticed he was crying, silently, thin tears trickling down and turning his mouth salty. But they were happy tears leaking from his brimmed heart. He was overflowing with emotions; gratitude, relief. It takes someone truly special to make you smile with tears in your eyes. “Thank you, Remus.”

“Don’t thank me, work on yourself, show me you’re worth forgiving. I can't afford to lose anyone else.” He said that last bit quietly.

Anyone else?  Sirius refrained from asking. “I will, I promise.” He would prove it, every day, with every action. He would show Remus he was worth keeping. Sirius cupped the speaker, holding it close to his mouth, lips practically touching the ceramic. “Moony, I just want you to know, I’ll never, ever, in a million fucking years hurt you like that again. I swear it.”

Even though he couldn’t see him, Sirius sensed a soft smile rattling through the telephone cord, that precious Moony smile that made his heart speed. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday 1st September 1976

“Ha, I beat you in Potions!” James bantered, pointing at his OWL results. Exceeds Expectations.

“Bloody well hope so, I’m shit at Potions.” Sirius read the list of letters on his parchment, simultaneously carrying his trunk as he and James walked through Kings Cross. They surfed with a crowd of bustling businessmen and women in pencil skirts, sauntering as if the train wasn’t set to depart in five minutes.

Sirius scored surprisingly well in Charms, considering his sobriety state; Acceptable. The rest were expected scores, Defence Against the Dark Arts; Outstanding, Transfiguration; Outstanding, Astronomy; Outstanding, and - incredibly - Muggle Studies; Outstanding. The rest were ‘Exceeds Expectations,’ except Herbology where he’d scored an ‘Acceptable.’

There was a sting of pride as he took in his results, smiling down at his paper. Maybe he could do this, being alone with no blood family, no cursed money to pay for private tutors. Maybe he could be a runaway and still do something with his pathetic life. In the end, he’d done this himself, no one to thank, no one to owe.  Eat that mother.

James’ parchment practically touched his nose, barely paying attention to where he was heading. “Besides that we scored the same, wait- Oi! I got you in Charms!” 

“Prongs, I was hungover in Charms,” Sirius retorted, hating being second-place.

“Boys, watch where you’re going!” Euphemia shouted from behind, out of breath, walking quickly in slippers that clicked against the seamless flooring to catch up.

James loved that he’d surpassed Sirius in their studies, a little competition they’ve had going since the first year. “Quit with your bloody excuses and admit it, I’m-  ow! ” He almost fell backward, having walked straight into a bulky man waiting in line at a ticket booth. He had scruffs of a beard and towered over James, giving him a nasty look like those old men who hate kids. 

“James!” Euphemia scolded, speeding up from behind, handbag clenched to give him a downright smack. 

His hazel eyes went wide. “Sorry Sir,” James apologized, petrified of his mother’s voice, then scurried away.

“Karma,” Sirius snickered, bumping his shoulder.

James’ cheeks burned a bright red. “Fuck off,” he laughed, fixing his crooked glasses.

They ran through the brick wall, entering the platform of train steam and trolleys. This was the part Sirius dreaded, seeing parents, mainly because he didn’t want to encounter his parents. But thankfully Euphemia was quick to kiss both their cheeks, fix their undone ties, attempt to tidy James’ hair, and send them on the train.

They walked through the narrow corridor, James in front, searching for an available compartment. First years had their noses and hands pressed up against the fogging glass, waving frantically to the outside, eyes teary. Seventh years didn’t even bother to wear their robes, belly-bearing and casual in patchwork bell-bottoms and electric sunglasses. Mary and Ivan were seated together in one compartment, lovestruck, hand in hand, Sirius had forgotten they were still together. Lily was in another by herself, book on her lap but staring at the fabricated walls, face impassive. Neither he nor James stayed to look too long. 

Sirius dragged his heavy trunk, bumping it against the narrow walls and children squeezing by, but stopped when spotting a blonde sunny boy sitting in one compartment, legs kicked up, head tilted back. He was about to walk in, reaching for the handle, but didn’t when someone else sat across. 

His hand fisted, then fell. Oh. He’d seen Elio with other people, so why was this person any different? Guess Sirius forgot that Elio wasn’t his. They weren’t anything, really, so it didn’t matter. Right, it didn’t matter. Stop thinking so much into this. Sirius moved away quickly, catching up to James who’d found them a compartment a few doors down. 

“So which are you gonna drop?” James asked, placing their trunks on the overhead racks.

“Potions,” Sirius answered without a second thought, flopping back onto the cushioned seating. That class had been a little chip on his shoulder since the first year. Getting rid of it would be a blessing. 

James sat across from him. “Lucky mate, I have to keep it, if I want to become an Auror.”

Sirius straightened. An Auror? He hadn’t thought of what classes were required to keep because of Ministry jobs? He hadn’t thought of jobs, in general. Of course, James would know, he’d planned out his future from the fucking womb. Sirius was more of an ‘in the moment’ guy. The future, quite literally, scared him.

“An Auror?” The word felt strange to say.

James’ eyes twinkled, full of desire, yearning. He’d been thinking about this for a while, a simple idea now molded into a dream. “Yeah, Dad’s one. It just seemed so bloody cool, y’know, working against dark magic, being a secret agent for the Ministry!”

Sirius didn’t know why he was getting so bummed. This was James’ decision, not his. He just supposed the war wouldn't have gotten so bad, that everything would stay the same, that the two of them would move to some flat in muggle London and live off of take-out and scratched records. When the first hearings of a Dark Lord came about, the word ‘Auror’ had never once been mentioned. But now, it was rooted into every young wizard’s brain, the heroes of this world.

“But what about Quidditch, playing for the Chudley Cannons?” It had been all James ever talked about as a kid, replacing Douglas as Seeker, winning the World Cup. 

James shrugged, not the slightest bit thrilled. “Yeah well, that was great a year ago but…things changed.”

Change. Sirius hated change. 

Peter appeared, sliding the train door open, lugging in a heavy trunk that James relieved from his hands. “Thanks, James, hey Sirius, all’s well?” 

Sirius’ eyes trailed up from the thinning shoes, unevenly rolled socks, to the wrinkled trousers, tucked shirt, and robes replaced by a navy raincoat even though it was perfectly sunny outside. It was all as it should be, a pudgy jumble, and Sirius found comfort in all that chaos. At least Peter hadn’t changed.

“Absolutely perfect,” he nodded, forcing a toothy smile.

“So all’s shitty,” Peter assumed, chuckling to himself as he sat down.

“Know me better than I know myself.”

James rolled his eyes. “Stop slugging, he’s fine Wormy.”

Yeah right. Sirius bit his tongue. 

The train started, wheels scraping against the tracks, smoke blocking the windows. “So how’d you score?” James leaned forward, eager to compare his results with someone else.

Peter confidently pulled out a folded parchment from his coat pocket, handing it to James. He read it quickly, glasses sliding down, a smile growing wide. “Yes, Wormtail, you beauty!” Sirius leaned over his shoulder, spotting an Outstanding in Herbology. The rest were Exceeds Expectations, plus an Acceptable in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy.

Peter bashed, playing with his hands. He had every reason to boast, these were pretty good scores for someone who’d been a pessimistic wreck for two weeks straight. 

James handed him back his parchment, ruffling his tow-coloured hair which had grown a bit longer over the summer, distressed across his forehead. “You did great mate, really.”

“Smart arse,” Sirius smirked, his version of a ‘congratulations.’ 

“Thanks,” Peter dimpled, not folding up his results, but holding onto them.

And then the compartment door slid open once more, the same way it had for the past six years, and the same person entered the exact way they had all those times before. But this time when it occurred, and that person stepped in, something was different. Something changed.

Maybe it was the harsh sunlight blinding him from his peripheral or the fact that they’d been in such a rush this morning, he hadn’t drunk any coffee, but for some odd reason, Sirius felt the collar of his robes tighten around his neck. He tugged on it a bit but still, the constriction remained, making him quite uncomfortable. 

He let out a cough to clear his throat which drew the taller boy’s attention down to his level.

Sirius waited, holding the little bit of his breath that hadn’t left him. Peter and James lost their voices too, waiting around for different reasons. Questions hung in the small compartment, staling the air, but no one said a word. They’d called a truce in that phone booth. “We’re okay, for now.” Those words could’ve been meaningless, forced for sake’s worth. 

At any second, Sirius could be yanked to the ground, beat the crap out of, held tightly by his robes, shaken until all that stupid carelessness fell out of him. Until he was a good, decent person who could be trusted.

But that tightness around his neck became forgotten, only a mere tingle when Remus smiled, something so unexpected they were all left a bit stunned.

Sirius couldn't help but mirror the same smile, staring into eyes that glowed amber in the sun, dawnings of the world. Eyes that bore right back, hard and heavy, reaching into his chest and grabbing a part of him he never knew he had.

Maybe they both felt it, or maybe it was just Sirius, maybe this was him getting screwed over by the universe until he was burnt out once more on the bathroom floor? Maybe this was him relapsing?

Or maybe this was the moment it all began?

***

The entire train ride, Sirius was sweating beneath his robes. He excused himself to the loo, splashing water onto his face, holding onto the sink as he breathed, deeply. He didn’t feel sick, but he didn’t feel steady. It was like this body wasn’t his own, his thoughts weren’t his own. Everything he touched was being touched by someone else, then handed to him. It didn’t make sense, he wasn’t making sense. It could be that he hadn’t smoked since July; Euphemia hated the stench and threw away his last pack.

Then during the carriage ride to Hogwarts, Sirius was more focused on the fact that Remus was beside him, legs occasionally brushing when the wheels hit a rock or ditch, than James who was apparently speaking to him. He hadn’t heard a word.  

Sirius got a grip of himself during the Sorting, downing a goblet of water. You’re just dehydrated, he told himself, sweet little lies.   They’d been pushed farther down the table, making room for the new first years.

“Good to see you’ve made up,” Mary noted, acknowledging the fact that Remus was seated in his old spot amongst the marauders. 

The lanky boy made no comment, chewing on some ham, but gave Sirius a sideways glance, briefly, remembering the amends they’d made through a telephone wire.

A lump formed in Sirius’ throat. Again, he was sweating.

Marlene tugged on his sleeve. “Like my ring?” She tilted her head so he could see the silver piercing looping through her nose. He couldn’t help but notice how much she resembled the cashier from the thrift store, besides the pink tips.

“Turning more gothic every summer,” James remarked through a mouthful of bread. You’d think someone so filthy rich would know some table manners?

Marlene snapped her head around. “Oh shut up Potter, your hair’s a literal rat’s nest.”

James and Peter met eyes, raised their brows, then almost choked on their food. No one else got the inside joke.

She turned back to Sirius, disregarding James whose body shook hysterically, hand covering his mouth, and Peter who almost fell off the bench. “It was totally illegal but I got it done in the back of a slum pharmacy. The lady was literally wearing a beeping ankle bracelet and only charged me fifteen plus an ounce of antiseptic for free to keep my mouth shut.

Sirius couldn’t lie, Marlene had more balls than him. “How…sanitary.”  

“Shut up,” she laughed, slapping his arm. “James drive you mad over the summer?”

“Nah, couldn’t get a wink of sleep, but s’not like I could before. What about you?”

Marlene served herself some mashed potatoes, dropping a sizely dollop on her plate. “Nothing much. Got my OWLs, turns out I failed History cause Binns was an arse professor who didn’t teach shit, but that means I don’t have to take it this year. Rode my broom a bit, bought this really sick plant that draped vines but it died, wrote to Mary…Lily too, of course, and then snuck out to get my piercing. Mum was ready to kill me when she saw.” She scooped a lump of potatoes and licked it clean off her fork crudely.

Sirius cringed, internally censuring the way her napkin was balled in her fist, fork swinging as she spoke between mouthfuls, but Marlene didn’t notice, having turned to James, mocking the shit out of his ‘combed’ hair. 

Sirius might be rid of his family but he couldn’t unlearn those grueling classes of etiquette engraved into his hands; the draped napkin folded once over his lap, always placing his fork on the left and spoon on the right, picking up his goblet from the stem instead of the bowl. No matter how hard he tried to act rogue, forcing his tie undone and legs uncrossed, he’d always be the posh snob who couldn’t escape his past. 

***

“My bed!” Sirius cried, running to his four-poster and jumping on with his dirty clothes, another thing he tried to do to seem less proper, but could hear his mother in the back of his head, “Sirius, go wash up before you dirty your sheets!” He hugged his pillow, smelling the case. “Fuck it smells like heaven.”

The heat entrapped in their dorm accumulated from two months of summer was musty. Peter went and cracked a window. Remus hung his robes, rolling up his sleeves, and Sirius couldn’t help but notice a scar still fresh and red riding up his forearm. But then he began to unbutton his shirt, something he never did in front of the other boys. 

A new heat flared up Sirius' navel, one that wasn’t from their stuffy dorm. He had to look away, rolling off his bed, busying himself with opening an empty drawer to settle down. 

“Looking for something?” Remus intrigued, footsteps alerting that he was approaching from behind.

Sirius made the mistake of turning around, only for his eyes to land on collarbones scarred a million ways over. They were just collarbones and the dip of Remus' throat exposed from the open two buttons of his shirt, but Sirius turned back around, knowing if he didn’t, he’d be staring like a creep.

He looked down at the empty drawer, dust collected in the corners. He was breathing heavily. “Uh- yeah, just seeing if by miracle I left some cigs.”

Remus tisked. “Addict.”

“Piss off, I’ve seen you smoke.”

Peter’s brows raised. “You smoke?”

“Only once.”

Daringly, Sirius turned around. “Oh bull shit, you’ve smoked a cig before, admit it.” He’d seen the way Remus had held the cigarette by their sill, inhaling deeply without coughing. Two or three months' experience, give or take, was his guess.

“Never,” Remus smirked, heading to his trunk.

Sirius followed him. “Fine, a joint?”

“Nope.”

“Weed?”

“No.” 

“Windowpane?”

“Bloody hell Sirius, you’ve done that?”

He swung around from a bedpost, as sly and guilty as a cat. “Maybe.” He hadn’t, but Remus didn’t need to know that.

Peter watched him in admiration, even though a druggie was nothing to admire.

“Here.” Remus threw something small at his chest and Sirius caught it before it could fall. It was a small paper box with a red banner. Marlboro.

He shook the pack. It was full. “You smoke this?” he asked, almost distastefully. He’d seen the brand in pharmacies but never thought to buy it.

“I don’t smoke,” Remus firmed, but he wasn’t kidding anyone. “What? Not your taste?”

Sirius opened the pack and slid out a cigarette, turning it in the light. “Prefer Woodbine.”

“Rich arse,” Remus scuffed.

He met those amber eyes again, though they were darker now. “Fuck off.”

It wasn’t long before their door swung open, smacking the sidewall so hard the knob was bound to be crooked. James, who’d been summoned by McGonagall during supper, came back that night beaming, a glittering scarlet badge pinned to his robes. “You are looking at the next Head Boy!” he declared grandly, entering their dorm like a prince. 

The other boys mocked a bow, hailing their ruler.

“I’m officially better than you all,” James chuffed, shrugging off his robes and throwing it over Sirius as though he were a coat rack. 

He kicked the robes off. “Realize McGonagall will rip that pin right off if you slip up. That means no more pranks, Prongsie.”

“Being Head Boy doesn’t stop the mischief if I don’t get caught,” James bid, thrilled by risk, then pointed a finger at Remus, “Now you, Mr. Lupin, will be stuck with me for good.”

“Prefect and Head Boy, what a load of nerds,” Peter giggled, hanging upside down from the side of his bed.

Behind Remus’ thin smile, he was hiding something, something he’d put off until now. He scratched his hand, “Er- about that…”  

It took James a moment, but his shoulders slumped when the realization dawned. Remus lacked his scarlet pin. “No, Moony!”

“Sorry but it was just too much stress, I didn’t even ask to be Prefect, remember?”

“Well, then who’s replacing you?”

“No clue.”

James trudged to Remus’ bed, crawling on, sprawling with all his weight on top of him. “Don’t leave me all alone there Moony, please!” He clung tightly to his lanky body. “They’ll eat me up alive!”

Remus patted his head. “Sorry Prongs.”

He lifted his head from Remus’ chest, giving him puppy eyes. “Pleeease?”

“Even if I was still Prefect, we wouldn’t be paired together. You’ll be stuck with Head Girl.”

If James knew who Head Girl was, he didn’t show it. Instead, he rolled off the bed, pouting. “You’re no longer my favorite.”

Sirius would’ve objected, but who was he kidding, Moony was everyone’s favorite. 

***

The marauders invaded the common room, hogging all the comfortable couches. Remus and Peter were on the floor, engaging in a serious match of Wizard’s Chess. Of course, Peter had just about broken all of Remus’ pieces, leaving him with nothing more than a few pawns, one rook, and a king.

McGonagall was summoning every sixth year, one by one, to discuss what classes they were keeping and dropping for NEWTs which they’d be taking at the end of their seventh year. This year would be tortuous studying and lecturing until then. They went by surname in alphabetical order, meaning Sirius had to wait until Vincent Beckett returned before he could go. It also meant that he was first and his friends would be going after him, so he had no one to base his choices on.

In the meanwhile, they waited, and Sirius got more anxious by the minute. He knew that James was keeping Potions, but hadn’t the slightest clue about Remus or Peter? What if none of their timetables matched up?

“You’re nutters to be keeping Potions, Slughorn’s as boring as they come, and don’t even get me started on the stench of his classroom,” Sirius criticized, selfishly taking up enough space on the couch for three people.

"Admit it, Black, you have separation anxiety," Remus tutted, carefully eyeing the chessboard. Sirius flipped him off.

“First of all, his classroom does not stink, secondly, so what if I keep Potions? It’ll be one class we won’t have together,” James tried to side. “You still have the mirror I gave you, right?” The chances that in his rush to leave his old home, he'd packed that shard of glass was slim to none, but to please James, he nodded. “Brilliant! We’ll talk through that all the time, it’ll be like we’re practically together.” 

Sirius wanted to settle with that, but the pessimist in him couldn’t. One class was all it took for things to be different. James would start learning things, coming to dinner blathering about advanced herbs and draughts, and Sirius would just be sitting there, unable to relate. What if James sought consultation with someone else, someone who also took Potions, someone he could study with by the Lake?

That’s how it would start, and eventually, they’d drift apart. Sirius would look at James across the dining table, wanting to speak, wanting to bring life to their wilting friendship, but would open his mouth and be left with nothing. All those memories bonding them together would unravel. They’d be strangers again.

They could act like schoolchildren all they wanted, but the truth was, their time at Hogwarts was ending. Just beyond those grand doors, the real world was awaiting them. Growing up meant losing friends. 

Sirius brushed away dark strands of hair, “Yeah, whatever, at least I still have Moony and Pete, right boys?”

Peter must’ve made some final, winning move because Remus stared baffled at the board, trying to figure where he'd gone wrong. Defeatedly, he got up from the hearthrug like an old man, some bones in his back cracking. He smoothed the wrinkles from his trousers, “Hate to disappoint but I’m keeping it. We both are,” he admitted, nodding at Peter too, then slowly inclined into a plush armchair, the pain in his face soothing.

“Ugh, you’re just as boring as Prongs.”

Peter raised his queen, “Touche.”

“So how’d you score Moons?” James asked for the millionth time that day. So far, no one had gotten higher than him in Charms, and he was gloating with every chance he got.

Remus tapped his fingers against the arms of his chair, a song playing in his head. He shrugged, sleepy, “Pretty well.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes grandly. “Pfft, pretty well? Of course he scored perfectly on his exams, he’s Remus Thaddeus Lupin.”

Remus gave him a funny look, a smile creeping up. “Thaddeus?”

“Your middle name.” Technically, he didn’t know Remus’ middle name but enjoyed throwing in ridiculous ones whenever the opportunity of saying his full name came about.

James jumped up, grinning from ear to ear. “Merlin, that’s your middle name?” Of course, he was gullible enough to believe the ludicrousy.

“God's no!” Remus laughed, hiding his face in one hand, silly and exhausted, making the moment even funnier. Sirius watched him, entranced a bit. He could get lost in Remus’ laugh, sometimes, unconsciously. This time, he didn't look away.

“So then what is it really?” Peter asked, wiping away tears. 

“Like hell I’m telling you that.”

James’ face was reddening from how widely he was grinning. “Oh c’mon, you can trust us.” 

“Not with my middle name.”

“It’s that bad?” Sirius elicited. Nothing could possibly be worse than Orion.

Remus sighed. “It’s American.”

“Oh!” James doubled over. Peter rolled around the carpet. Sirius squirmed on the couch, practically dying. The common room was filled with their noisy and inconsiderate laughter. People turned, giving them funny looks.

“Sirius,” someone said, entering through the portrait hole. He opened his teary eyes and they appeared blearily above him, a head of dark matted curls. It was Vincent. “S’your turn, McGonagall's waiting.”

Sirius stumbled up, gasping. His friends were still cackling when he left, their voices heard beyond the thick portrait. McGonagall’s office was a small study located off of the first-floor corridor. Wandlight guided him through the dark halls.

Sirius rasped his knuckles against a door marked with a brass plaque. “Enter,” a voice came from within. He pushed the door open, comfortably entering as if her study was his bedroom. McGonagall kept her eyes set on neatly stacked parchments covering her desk, not paying him much mind. “Sit, Mr. Black” A chair was drawn out from the prior student, Sirius seated himself there. 

They stayed in silence as McGonagall drew out a new parchment, inking her quill. In the past, Sirius would’ve called her Minnie or made some snarky comment on the slickness of her bun, but he’d done so much shit this year that he sought best to stay quiet.

“As you know, your last two years at Hogwarts will be in preparation for your NEWTs. Looking at your OWL results, you seem to have achieved the required marks to take whichever you’d wish- that is except for Herbology and Charms, but I’m sure Professor Flitwick can make an exception. You need to have at least five classes in your timetable, have you considered which you’ll be keeping?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” was the first that sprung to mind. McGonagall checked a box on the parchment in front of her. “Charms.” It was a useful class, and if Sirius hadn’t been hungover, he would’ve scored higher. He watched her carefully when he mentioned, “Transfiguration,” hoping her grudging would soften. It did, a pause when she went to check the box, but that was the extent of it.

Divination suddenly came back to his mind, a class he’d dropped mid-last year. He only had two more spaces he needed to fill and as the minutes ticked by, it seemed much more appealing than bloody Potions or History of Magic. “Uh, Divination.”

McGonagall raised her brows at this but checked the box nonetheless.

One more. “Er- which are left?”

She peered at another parchment. “Out of core classes; Astronomy, History of Magic, Potions. As for electives; Alchemy, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, and Study of Ancient Runes. Extracurriculars will be available later this year.”

Sirius’ palms began to sweat. He remembered Narcissa telling him once, when he was in his second year and she’d graduated, that he should never pick electives for NEWTs. But he’d just selected Divination, so shit. 

“I don’t wanna take any other electives,” he said.

McGonagall nodded, probably hearing that from loads of other students. “That leaves you with Astronomy, History of Magic, and Potions.”

He’d kill himself before engaging in another two years of Binns’ class. Astronomy would just be reliving the past sixteen years of nights locked outside in his garden, forcing constellations into his memory. He loved the sky, he really did, but closure meant letting go and moving on from the things stained in blood.

There was only one card left. Now it was Sirius’ turn to decide. 

If he kept Potions, he’d wound up in James’ shoes, basically signing up for battle, standing in the front line. If he dropped it, then he dropped it, and James would go off to save the world while Sirius was still tying his cape.

He bounced his leg beneath the table. Keep it or drop it?   A memory was brought to the surface of his mind like a buoy, something he hadn’t put much thought into until now. “Hate to disappoint but I’m keeping it. We both are.”

Shit.  He’d be losing a lot more than just James.

Without them what would he do? His friends were all he had, all that was keeping Sirius going. They were living amid a fucking war, either die alone or die with someone. 

Through hell or high water, he supposed. “I’m keeping Potions.”

He heard the sharp scratch of McGonagall's quill as she checked the box. “All Auror classes, if I’m assuming correctly?”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t have figured that out.

Sirius met her eyes, she didn’t look as he’d anticipated. He’d reckoned she’d be snarking at his decision, going for the toughest, most dangerous job, smiling in the face of death. Oh so practical of Sirius, even if the dream wasn’t originally his own. But instead, she was frowning. Her lips were tight. McGonagall might hate Sirius, curse his surname for making her life a living hell, but he’d still snuck his way into her aging heart.

She didn’t want the boy she’d seen grow up to run straight to his death. Sirius didn’t want to either, but this was the price one pays for family. Ride or die.

He nodded. She averted her eyes, clearing her throat, along with all sentiment. “Very well, you are excused.”

Chapter Text

Monday 13th September 1976

The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Six years at Hogwarts and Sirius still wasn't used to the neverending stairs. He thought he was fit for his age, but the wobble of his legs after his third flight proved otherwise.

"There's — got — to — be — a — short — cut," he panted, as he and Remus climbed the seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

Remus was the only one out of their friend group who'd selected Divination on Monday mornings as well, but he didn't seem as worn out as Sirius after their hike up the stairs, only breathing slightly heavier.

Sirius clutch his stomach that was cramping painfully, turning right down an empty passageway, but Remus grabbed his arm and tugged him in the opposite direction. "Didn't you look at the map like I said?"

Sirius let out a sound almost like a laugh, but more breathless, gasping. "That old thing? Nah. Knew you'd do it, that way I could tag along."

Remus peered down at him. "I could be guiding us in the completely wrong direction, you realize that?"

Sirius forced a tiresome smile, tossing his hair back. "With those charming brains? Never."

Puffing loudly, they climbed tightly spiraling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last they heard the murmur of voices above them and knew they had reached the classroom.

"Would you look at that," Sirius marveled as they climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing. He looked up at Remus who only came out of all that with slightly tousled hair and red ears like he'd stood too long in the cold. "You did know where you were headed."

Remus tisked, a faint smile turning his lips.

There were no doors off this landing, but Sirius nudged Remus and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it. Inika Chaudhry, Divination Teacher.

"Give me a lift, yeah," Sirius joked and raised his foot for Remus to grab.

"Like hell I will," and as if hearing their banter, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Sirius' feet. Everyone got quiet.

"Ladies first," said Remus, grinning down at him, so Sirius grimly climbed the ladder first.

He emerged into the strangest-looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone's attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire that was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, colorful jagged crystals, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls - the same crystal balls he'd enchanted to repeat Dumbledore has foot fungus, a stack of fading spined books, and a huge array of teacups.

Sirius fell back, waiting for Remus to appear as the class assembled around them, all talking in whispers.

"Where is she?" Sirius whispered, staying close to Remus' shoulder.

"Scared, Black?" he smirked.

"Pfft, course not," and took a step off to the side, but kept a careful eye out as they took their seats.

A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, musical sort of voice, like strums from a harp. "Welcome," it said. "I hope you found your way here without hassle." Professor Chaudhry moved into the firelight, and they saw that she had long dark hair that waved down her back like a lioness and was draped in an orange sari that pooled to the floor. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings. Even her nose was pierced with a golden hoop.

"Sit, my children, sit," she said to the few who were still standing. They all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto poufs.

"Welcome to Divination," announced Professor Chaudhry, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. Her sari lifted to show her bare feet, painted in swirls of henna. "My name is Professor Chaudhry. You may not have seen me before as I tend to stay near the towers and- Oh, do pick another seat," she said suddenly to a Hufflepuff in the back row.

Everyone turned to watch as the girl's shoulders went rigid, then slowly got up, picking her bag from the floor. "Okay," she said suspiciously and went to take a seat at the front instead.

When the professor went back to speaking, Sirius kicked Remus' foot under the table, whispering low, "What was that about?"

"Melin Sirius," Remus shot a look at the professor before saying, "She's a seer."

His eyes went wide. "Like a seer seer?"

"Yeah, third fucking eye and everything."

"I've got to tell Prongs!"

"No, Sirius-"

He reached inside his bag for the two-way mirror, but Remus seized his wrist with long, warm fingers that made his stomach tighten.

"Don't," Remus hissed through his teeth, a word so razor-sharp that Sirius felt sliced open. His heart was in his throat and his attention was on the grip around his wrist. Tight. Demanding.

Sirius' face warmed. "Why not?"

"Cause it's not the type of thing you tell someone in the middle of class."

"But it's only James-

"Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin," Professor Chaudhry snapped, startling them both.

Remus released his wrist, as if ashamed, and Sirius straightened his back, almost toppling off his pouf.

Her piercing eyes flickered between them both like a serpent's tongue. Students quieted, watching with interest. One of her hands gripped the arm of her chair until her bronze knuckles turned peach, like she was going to stand. She didn't. She stayed seated, looking at them for a very long time, her lips drawn as if framing a difficult question. As if she knew something nobody else did. But finally, the professor let out a long breath, grip loosening.

"The only voice in this classroom should be mine," Professor Chaudhry asserted stiffly, delicately rearranged her sari, and continued, "So you have chosen to study Divination for your NEWTs, the most difficult of all magical arts. That exam will push your limits as young wizards, especially if you do not have the Sight. This field is more than tea leaves and palm-reading, it's about tapping into your third eye and seeing the world from a supernatural light. Not only will this class affect your sleep, your mental state, but you will know things that can affect the future. I'm warning you now, being able to see is not a gift."

"Though, this class is especially useful now, in an age where seeing the future is just what the world needs," Professor Chaudhry went on, her narrow eyes moving from face to nervous face. "Perceiving the next day, the hour, the next second can change everything." The firelight glinted on her long emerald earrings, and she looked regal atop her throne with a class of trembling students second-guessing every decision they'd ever made.

For the rest of the class, they read their Tessomancy textbooks in preparation for next week's lesson and exchanged looks whenever the professor said something peculiar to a student. At the shrill of the bell, everyone silently packed away their books and closed their bags. Remus had gotten a few notes in while Sirius had been too busy mulling over the moment just before Professor Chaudhry had called out their names, when their faces had been a little too close, to take out so much as a quill.

Just as they were about to descend the ladder, Professor Chaudhry reached out to him. "You, boy, with the black hair. Take the North-end stairwell."

Sirius looked at her funny, then nodded without a word. Her comment made sense, Sirius always took the North-end stairwell to get to Transfiguration, but why assure he did when loads of other kids shared the same class? Most professors could care less if Sirius fell off a moving staircase, let alone take the right one. 

He didn't think much of it. Divination teachers were always a bit loony but you learn to ignore their unexpected bursts and pray to God that whatever's possessing them doesn't spread to you.

But of course, when Remus started for the North-end stairwell, Sirius made up the lame excuse that he'd forgotten something back in class and took the South-end stairwell. Then again, he wasn't the best at following directions.

Sirius paid close attention as he traveled the castle, minding every crack and cobweb. The first real thing he saw after nearing the end of the spiraling staircase was a couple pressed up against the stone wall, snogging each other's faces off. Was this really what Professor Chaudhry was trying to spare him from, a couple doing it before class?

Sirius gagged, squeezing on past them. "Get a room, will you?" he tossed over his shoulder and was about to leave down another set of stairs when a voice reeled him back.

"As if you've never inconvenienced the common room with your snogging."

The voice was oddly familiar, and when Sirius turned around, the boy leaning off the wall had scruffy brown hair and muscled arms. The petite girl beneath him was cast in a shadow.

She grabbed his shirt, pulling him back. "Darling, leave him be." But her advances didn't stop him from emerging into the light, dragging her along too.

The first thing Sirius saw was the red strands of her hair, disheveled, unbraided. She quickly tucked it behind her ears which too were red. Lily seemed caught between guilt and resentment, but neither seemed to bother Sirius when he saw the boy with his hand wrapped around her waist.

He felt mildly sick at the sight of Liam's face, how he stood so close to Evans, smirking as if this was what he wanted to get out of Sirius since the beginning, this cold hard shock that wiped all words from his mouth.

At first, it didn't quite click, but he retraced that past few seconds, and Professor Chaudhry was right, seconds could change everything.

Sirius swallowed the mound in his throat, eyes buzzing between the two. His first coherent thought was: James. James couldn't find out. Because this...this would wreak him.

Sirius ignored Liam, as though he weren't even there, and looked directly at Lily. "Him, really?" he said with all the morbid distaste he felt. The grudge of last year still hung between them, but at this point, Sirius wasn't even angry. The last of it had been drained by his fight with Remus over the summer. Now, he was just disappointed, and it showed on his face.

He fought every urge to pull the two apart because it felt wrong. Them, the proximity of their bodies, the placement of his hand, the stain of her lipgloss around his mouth, what Sirius just witnessed in the stairwell, felt wrong.

Lily was supposed to be with James, that's how everyone thought it would end. That's how it was supposed to end. Sure, Sirius ripped the shit out of James whenever he tried to flirt with Evans, it was his sole duty as best friend to thrive in James' embarrassment. But that didn't mean a sight like this was what he wanted to see.

Even with an arm wrapped around her waist, Lily didn't lean into Liam. She just stood there, staring back, Sirius' words passing through her eyes.

"Leave or I'll give you detention," Liam bridled, squaring his shoulders to pronounce the scarlet Prefect pin on his chest. It added more confusion to the mess of the moment. 

"For what, catching you getting off with Evans instead of patrolling?" Sirius covered his eyes and turned around. "Well pardon me then."

"You fuckin-" Liam broke off, but Sirius was quick to jump onto a nearby moving staircase, even though it would make him late to Transfiguration. He didn't stop to take a breath until he was let off on the next landing, then down another corridor packed with ghosts, taking a few right turns until he was officially lost. He didn't realize how quickly his heart was beating until he was seated, leaning against a stone wall.

God, he thought, what he'd give for Elio to be here right now.

On the opposite wall hung a portrait of a pub with empty stools and a counter full of half-drunk pints. A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armor had clanked into the picture. By the looks of his yellow-tinged eyes and wobbling feet, he was very drunk.

"Aha!" he yelled, seeing Sirius. He drew the sword at his waist and held it out. "What villain is thou, that trespass upon my private lands! Come to drink my beer, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!" Sirius watched as the little knight began brandishing his sword violently, hopping up and down in rage. "Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!"

"Oh fuck off," he groaned, digging into his bag where his two-way mirror vibrated, a voice speaking through. All Sirius saw when he pulled the shard of glass out were James' large glasses magnifying his eyes to several times their natural size.

"Pads, where the hell are you?!"

"James, that's a horrible angle."

"Can't do this any differently or McGonagall will see," he whispered, fervently.

"Oi, is that Sirius?" There was a rustle of commotion, then half of Remus' face and hanging curls squeezed into the frame. "Bet you're wishing you'd checked the map, eh?"

"I'm not lost you twat."

"Then get your rich arse down here."

James suddenly appeared back, now with a disturbing close-up of his mouth. "Mate, she's threatening to move the test up a week if you don't-"

"Mr. Potter, what in Godric's name are you doing?" came a sharp voice from behind James. He picked his head up and the mirror went black, but the muffle of voices was still heard.

"It's a compact mirror, you know, just checking my teeth."

"How...hygienic of you."

Sirius rested the glass on his lap until the line was suddenly cut and he returned to seeing himself in an ordinary mirror.

***

Sirius set off for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson. It took him so long to find her classroom that when he entered, the class went silent until McGonagall tapped her wand against the chalkboard, drawing everyone's attention back.

Sirius chose a seat right at the back of the room, far from James and Remus who were at the very front. He hardly heard what Professor McGonagall was telling them about nonverbal spells, and wasn't even watching when she tonguelessly summoned a stack of books from across the classroom. He had his eyes fixated on the back of James' head, millions of thoughts running laps around his mind. The red pin on Lily's chest didn't register completely until Sirius sat with the image through class, realizing that it had said Head Girl rather than Prefect.

In the past two weeks, James had left for three meetings and surely would've seen Evans with a matching pin to his. He wouldn't be shy to announce the news to the entire school either, and yet, everyone was still in the dark.

Unknown anger flared up Sirius' throat. They told each other everything, and by everything, Sirius meant everything: When they'd lost their virginities, second-hand gossip, boxers or briefs, what a bloody orgasm felt like. James even came to Sirius the first time he'd kissed a girl; Artistole Taute, third year, under a mistletoe before the Christmas holiday.

Sirius has divulged every horrible, unuttered fight he ever had with his parents, moments when he'd felt the most fear, moments when he truly thought he might die. He's told James personal secrets that could tear him apart if anyone else found out, and in return, James listened, because sometimes it isn't an eye for an eye that matters but a source to release all that pain.

In their first year, Sirius and James had done what they called The Oath. It was a mundane muggle thing but involved a magic of its own. Trust. They'd hooked their pinkies together and promised at the innocent ages of eleven to "never hold back." It involved a whole other sappy crap, but the meaning was clear. "Till the very end."

Their trust ran deeper than bloodlines, and yet something as big as Lily being Head Girl and dating Liam had suddenly slipped James' mind? So yeah, Sirius was pissed that he had to find out from running into the two snogging in the stairwell instead of from his best friend.

He sat with this throughout the period until Transfiguration had finished, and they joined the crowd thundering towards the corridor.

"Why so late?" asked James, knocking into his shoulder. He had a broad grin on his face, tie loose around his neck, hair unruly and spiking up at the back. "Almost cost us our free weekend."

The secrets James did keep were for the right reasons, but not even he would be able to stand the news of Lily and Liam. James didn't know, Sirius was sure, and he couldn't find it in him to spoil such happiness. Instead, he gruffed a laugh, trying to shake the secret off his shoulders. "A portrait kept me busy."

"Well don't let it keep you from attending Minnie's classes, you're already on this ice with her," James warned, grabbing Remus' wrist to check the time. "Shit, I've got Alchemy on the other side of the castle. Hey, I'll see you guys in our dorm for a top-secret marauders' meeting," he winked, "Don't forget to tell Pete!"

"Never call it that!" Sirius shouted back, but James had already disappeared into the sea of black robes and pointy hats.

***

By the time Sirius arrived at their dorm, a glossy silver line was emitting from James' wand and wrapped around Peter's belly. He had him levitating about four feet off the ground, arms spanned out like wings.

"I'm flying Sirius," Peter exclaimed, flapping his arms madly.

"Hold still Pete," James groaned, his face twisted with focus. Another hand flew to his wand, pressured by the strength the spell took, but the magic gave out and Peter fell to the floor, landing on his stomach. A quick huff of breath was driven from him like a punch to the abdomen.

"Wonderful landing Wormtail, really," Sirius chuckled, kicking off his shoes, and flopping back on his bed. He tucked an arm under his head as a pillow and gave the room a quick scan, only counting the three of them. "Where's Moons?"

"In the shower!" shouted a sudden voice carrying from under the bathroom door where a thin line of light shined. "A pygmy puff threw up on me!"

Peter snorted.

"Sorry to hear that mate," James cringed. "We're in a time crunch so I'll have to start now, yeah?"

"Yeah, go on!"

James pulled a notebook from his bag, flipping it open to a bookmarked page with lots of writing scrawled over. He marched across the length of their dorm and back. "We've been lazy boys, our last prank was in October. October! We've lain dormant too long! Our reputations are at stake. New school year means havoc, dismay, a revelation!"

"So what do you propose?" asked Peter, sitting on his trunk.

"Well Wormy, the only thing that can be proposed."

"James, that's rhetorical!" Remus shouted from the shower, the faucet turning off with a squeak.

James made mocking faces at the door, sticking out his tongue, but after exhausting his childish fit, turned his notebook around so the others could see. They passed it around and came to find diagrams and Latin spells and routes of the school detailed across many notebook pages. James had it all planned out, from the execution times down to the escape route. Everyone had a role, even Pete, and they'd all meet collectively in the hidden stairwell before heading back to their dorms. It was quite an ambitious plan, even for James.

"Tiolet clogging?" Peter frowned, hoping for something more extravagant.

"An after-hours toilet clogging."

"We don't need magic for that," Sirius smirked, "just get Pete to down a carton of milk."

Peter's cheeks burned red, "I thought we agreed to never bring that up again!"

"Not when I had to knock on Wood's door to take a piss when you hogged the loo for an hour after a slice of cake," Sirius bit back. He'd take a rip at Peter's lactose intolerance whenever the chance presented.

When the bathroom door opened, steam billowed out and fogged James' glasses. "I think it'll work, we just need a good expanding spell. I can check the Greenhouse for puffer plants that we can shove down the pipes," volunteered Remus, emerging with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp, water droplets clinging to his lashes and traveling down the carves of his chest and stomach.

None of the other boys seemed phased by this, even though openly seeing Remus' scars and the large bite on his hip was a rare occurrence. He was private about his body, always lingered on the shore while the others were in the lake, slept in mismatched pajama sets, avoided locker rooms.

James took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt. "I've got an expanding spell already, but it's rubbish—Pete, show 'im the notebook."

Remus dried his hand on his towel and gripped the book. "Oh, that's complete rubbish."

"Lance gave it to me."

"No wonder." Remus didn't even reach for pants, or a shirt like he usually would, comfortable in nothing but a towel as they discussed the logistics of their prank.

Meanwhile, Sirius' voice began to fade from the conversation. He was caught in some surreal starstruck wonder, an obscure feeling that cut deep into his chest. The steam from the bathroom must've been raising the temperature in their dorm because he felt overheated, prickly across the skin, a tingle in his cheeks.

He couldn't look away, but made no effort to, surprised by the subtle muscle at his tricep. It must be the werewolf, or because of the werewolf because Remus hasn't deadlifted once in his life.

It wasn't as if Sirius hasn't seen Remus naked before, he has, every full moon. Sirius knew of the crescent bite mark at his hip, still red and irritated as though he'd recently gotten it. He knew of the birthmark on his shoulder—the one James mistook for a smudge of chocolate—and the freckles that were beginning to fade. He'd always known how pale and sickly his skin was, scrubbed of its colour, and the ranges of scratches to scars.

Sirius knew. He knew about everything he was looking at. He knew as much as James and Peter did. As much as any normal person would. But now, this knowing was accompanied by this feeling. Indescribable. Beyond words. During all those full moons, he'd never had the time to look, really look, as he was doing now.

Remus folded his arms and Sirius watched as the subtle muscle tightened. He watched like it was the first time he'd ever seen Remus.

Then it all sprang back like a hard slap across the face. His breath caught deep in his throat, like having passed out underwater and then struggling to breathe as your senses return.

Quickly, Sirius excused himself to the available bathroom. No one noticed him slip by. He whispered a silencing spell over the door so that when he buried his face in his hands, no one could hear him groaning. But his heart was louder, pounding in his chest, pounding in his ears, pounding in places it only ever had with girls, reminding him with every torturous beat how sincerely fucked he was.

***

They had a week to sort everything out before the big prank, and in that time Sirius did one of two things: Avoid Remus until your head is straight and Find Elio.

Avoiding Remus was easy because he enjoyed being alone, as depressing as it sounded, and wouldn't stick around unless asked. Elio was harder to find and the map was no help because when he wasn't in the common room, he was in class, or at Quidditch practice, or in the dining hall. He was never alone like Remus and alone was what Sirius needed, gravely. 

He'd been deprived of touch since June and was missing the sound of Elio's voice. He missed their conversations when the castle felt occupied them and only them. Sirius didn't know how to describe it, but Elio felt separate from his life, a different branch, one his friends would never encounter and couldn't question. 

Sirius felt free to be anyone he wanted when they were together, and in some senses, he was someone different, someone his friends wouldn't recognize. He was gentle and sensitive and quiet and submissive. He wasn't what his mother had destroyed. He wasn't a victim. He wasn't anything remotely close to what he put front. 

Elio was the beautiful secret Sirius had, this beautiful secret that brought beautiful things out of him. He didn't want to lose it, not Elio or what he became when they were alone. 

By the end of next week, after papers had been submitted, and Sirius arrived early to Transfiguration which cleared suspicions with McGonagall, the marauders met at midnight in a hidden staircase just between the second-floor corridor and third-floor girl's loos.

"Psst!"

"Who's that?"

"Your mom."

"Shut up Padfoot. Pete with you?"

"Thought he was with you?"

"No, you dolt! Ugh, I'll have to go back and get him. Stay here."

"Relax your tits, he's with me."

"Moons?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, guys!"

"Wormtail?"

"Shh!"

"Merlin, shine a light, will yah?"

"Lumos." A soft glow illuminated Remus' scarred face. He had Peter gripped at the arm, pulling him up the stairs.

James reviewed the prank a final time, passed around sacks of pufferfish and bubotuber tails, and whispered with excitement, "Top that with an engorgement charm, and they'll have to piss in the lake."

"This is probably the most disgusting prank yet," Peter blanched, hesitantly accepting his sack as though it were diseased.

"We have all night boys, precede with caution."

The marauders pealed in opposite directions, devising the castle into four quadrants. Sirius would cover the south-end, James the north and west-end, and Peter the east-end. Each would travel in Animgus form since portraits may be frazzled at the sight of a prowling dog, squeaking rat, or grand stag, but wouldn't alert a professor. Remus was to hit all four common rooms under the cloak which he swore he knew the passwords to but wouldn't tell the rest of them. After the marauder's map, the boys didn't question Remus' capabilities.

It was a big job that would take a couple of hours at best, that is if they didn't get caught.

Sirius treaded lightly down corridor to corridor, riding the many moving stairs until he reached the first bathroom on the south side of the castle. Transforming back, he drew his wand, entering one of the stalls. There was no urinal, and the floor was exceptionally tidy.

"Girls'," he muttered under his breath, proceeding to hold his wand between his teeth to free his hands. Sirius pulled the strings of the sack loose, scooped a pinch between his fingers, and sprinkled it in the toilet. James hadn't specified how much of the mixture to use for each loo, but the bag was big enough that Sirius dropped in some more, then maybe a bit too much. Dusting off his hands, he finished off with the encorgio incantation and flushed the toilet. He held his breath at the loud swirl, hoping to Merlin it didn't echo down the corridor or else he was really screwed.

After that mistake, Sirius casted a silencing spell over the entire loo, then finished that bathroom in peace, moving on to the boys' across the hall. Sirius was already yawning after an hour and couldn't hold himself upright after the second, but finally, he managed to stumble back to the hidden stairwell where the rest had been awaiting him.

"Finally, we were starting to get worried," James exhaled in relief.

"About me? How sweet," Sirius sighed, collapsing against the wall and closing his eyes. He almost fell asleep until Remus grabbed hold of his torso and shook him awake. The touch sent his nerves on fire.

"Oh no, you don't. C'mon, you can pass out in the common room."

James tossed the cloak over the three of them, Wormtail on his shoulder, and slowly made their way to the common room. Sirius dragged his feet, completely knackered, but Remus kept him awake with the occasional kick to the shin.

By morning, they were well-rested and eager as they bounded down to breakfast. Everyone seemed normal and ate by the spoonful.

"Pads, look, look!" Sirius turned to where James was eagerly watching the Slytherin table. Severus was downing a goblet, presumably of pumpkin juice. "That's his second," snickered James, and they all they what that meant. Pumpkin wasn't exactly easy on the stomach.

By their second class, the marauders spotted some bouncing legs, and between classes, they were hoards of crowds by the second-floor loos. The only bathrooms left without tamper were theirs and Moaning Mertil's since no one, not even Remus, knew the password.

"What's going on?" Remus asked innocently, passing the commotion by the girl's loos.

"Toilets are clogged, someone probably tried flushing a tampon," briefed a ravenclaw with frazzled hair. She tapped her irritably, so did all the others.

Remus raised his brows, nodding, then shoved the marauders away. "You realize we've just pissed off a school filled with teenage girls.

James peered back over his shoulder, "I'm sure they'll be fine."

"God, help me!" Mary cried, hunched over the dinner table, an arm cradling her stomach. Marlene rubbed her back, pushing the hair away from her face.

The marauders shot worried glances at each other as they ate. James was the first to speak. "Mary, you alright?" he asked gently, serving her a few crabcakes.

Her head shot up and James almost dropped his serving spoon. "No, I'm not alright! The plumming here is shit and I'm swimming in my own blood."

"Blood?!" he exclaimed, almost jumping from his seat, ready to scoop Mary up and dash out the doors. "Where? When? Shit, we have to get you to the Wing."

"Settle down Potter, it's just her period," Marlene hissed and James let out a silent oh, embarrassed as he sat back down.

Mary's eyes welled, bottom lip trembling. "Every- Everything-" and suddenly, she began to cry, loud and cracking and deep from her belly, making her mascara run in ugly splotches. The boys went silent, losing their appetite. Throughout the rest of dinner, they kept their heads low and conversations clipped.

***

James restlessly shifted in his seat on the couch, checking every so often at the portrait hole. "I feel bad about McDonald, think we should let her use our loo?"

"Prongs, if we pitied every girl at school, we'd never be able to carry through with pranks like these," Sirius explained, laying on his back, chewing on some of Peter's candy. "The toilets will be unclogged by tomorrow, she'll be fine, relax." He tossed James a gummy slug, which he caught, but only turned it in his hand.

"Think Snape took a piss in the lake by now?" asked James, looking up at his friend.

"Wouldn't doubt it," Remus chuckled, reading the card from his chocolate frog. "Oi, I got McGonagall."

"No way! She always said she hated those cards," Peter gasped in disbelief.

Remus turned the card around and, sure enough, McGonagall stood with her fingers interlocked at her abdomen, face poised and unwavering. Though, when she saw the marauders frantically waving, grinning from ear to ear, she rolled her eyes and disappeared from the card.

"Bugger," Sirius pouted.

"JAMES POTTER, I COULD KILL YOU!" Mary's furious shriek could have shattered glass. James practically leaped two feet off the couch.

Remus gave a satisfied nod.

Peter guffawed, nearly choking on the Bertie Botts Every Flavour bean he'd been chewing.

Marlene entered the common room, holding her hands up in a your problem, not mine sort of way. Mary followed quickly after, bursting in like a whirlwind.

"What have I done?" asked James, affronted.

When Mary rounded the couch, they all saw a bunch of pill-shaped tubes packaged in thin plastic crammed in her hands. Her teeth bared, ready to rip James in two, her kohl-rimmed eyes wide and fiery.

"What have you done?" she hissed, then let out a frustrating high-pitched noise that made all the marauders sit upright. "I've bled through five pairs of underwear, ruined two of my favorite jeans, all because of your stupid bloody prank!" She stamped her foot, her gold hoop earring jangling.

James gulped, backed up a bit, then took a chance after saying, "What prank?"

Mary took the products in her hands and chucked them at James, each nailing him in the head. "YOU" smack "DISGUSTING" smack "TOADRAG" smack!

James leaped over the couch, ducking and knocking into chairs and table edges. "Mary- Ow! Mary I'm sorry- Moony, Pads- Okay, Mary- NOT THE FACE!"

She chased him around, seething anger reddening her cheeks. "YOU'RE A HORRIBLE PERSON POTTER!" smack "I HOPE YOU NEVER" smack "EVER" smack "HAVE A DAUGHTER!" smack!

Sirius threw his head back and laughed, but got a hard blow to the nose.

"YOU TOO BLACK!"

Chapter Text

Friday 8th October 1976

It was a brisk night, the castle windows glowed yellow with lanterns and candles. With a stuffed stomach from supper, Sirius lay in his bed, a very large book on Potions opened against his thighs. That night marked the first full moon in Hogwarts since the prank, and guilt had been eating its way through Sirius the entire day.

Now that Sirius and Remus were on decent terms, he didn’t know what to do? He desperately wanted to go to the Shrieking Shack, to run wild through the woods, but this was larger than him.

James and Peter were sure as hell going, but Sirius was stuck in the rut of mixed signals, miscommunication, and fear of falling down the hole he’d dug.

Just yesterday morning, Remus had snapped at him for leaving his trunk open for the rest to see his mess, then again at breakfast for using his fork to serve himself some melon slices instead of the serving spoon. Then, there were moments when Remus would be completely quiet. Sirius couldn’t tell if he was being quiet out of spite or quiet out of choice.

This was the problem with Moony, he seemed to be everywhere at once if you thought too hard about his actions. But truthfully, Remus was as simple as they come, uninterested in being nice but honest.

So this was where Sirius was, hiding out in their dorm with an overdue copy of Elixirs to Induce Euphoria. James and Peter were down in the common room, prepared with the cloak and warming up by the fire. Their laughter seeped beneath the slip of the door but Sirius tried not to pay too close attention.

There was no need to feel excluded, he brought this upon himself. Listening to his friends would be part of the punishment.

Besides, he was lucky enough that Remus had partially forgiven him, but he didn’t want to push that luck. If he inserted himself downstairs, things might go sideways. Remus might tell him off for being thick-headed and careless and spark flames beneath their feet. It would be the fifth year all over again.

So Sirius forced himself to read so time would pass, periodically glancing at Remus’s muggle clock that ticked closer and closer to seven. They would all be leaving for the Whomping Willow soon and Sirius’s agitation would ease.

But at a quarter to, Remus came into their dorm with sharp eyes, like he’d lost something and was intent on finding it. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sirius kept his eyes on his book, attempting to seem preoccupied and not at all longing to scavenge the woods under the moonlight. “Reading,” he answered, maintaining a bored tone.

“Reading?” he said, finding some humor in it.

“Yeah, you’re not the only smart one.”

Remus didn’t respond, only huffed irritably. He hung by the open door with an impatience Sirius couldn’t decipher. After a time of silence, Remus finally said, “Well? Are you coming or not?” and motioned down the stairs.

Tossing his facade out the window, Sirius sat up and felt his eyes blear for a moment. “You—you want me to come?”

Remus leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “I’m offering. Not insisting.”

Sirius couldn’t think straight. Millions of words crammed in his mouth. “I—I don’t have to, if you don’t want me to—”

“Oh quit with all the consent crap,” he groaned. “You said you’d show me you’re worth forgiving. This is your opportunity. Staying in here feeling sorry for yourself won’t do any good.”

Sirius was stunned. This was the closest version of yes, I want you there that he was ever going to get. Without consideration or reappraise, he swung his legs over his bed and snatched his shoes off the floor.

When Remus and Sirius descended the stairs, James and Peter were waiting expectantly on the couch, like they’d been listening in on the entire conversation upstairs—which wasn’t entirely uncommon. No one spoke, even though they wanted to. It was written on their faces.

Shame sunk its teeth into the back of Sirius’s neck. It was like reliving the guilt of the prank all over again, he thought, dodging his eyes around the empty common room, never settling on one spot for too long. His skin felt too tight.

James folded the cloak under his arm and stood up with a refreshing grin. “Ready boys?”

There was a low hum of yes’s as they began to move. Remus left the common room without a backward glance. Sirius stared after him, feeling a little lost.

James cleared his throat. “C’mon Pads, the faster we leave the longer we have out.” He had the cloak lifted above his head like a tent, inviting Sirius inside. Wormtail was on his shoulder, eyes little black beads.

Sirius was still hesitant. Deep down, he was punishing himself. He would continue to, even after this was all over, even after Remus forgave him and the prank became a silly mistake they’d joke about while passing around a bottle of fire whisky. One day, this would be something of the past, but for Sirius, it was as permanent as his scars. It was guilt hardened on his worn bones. The whole universe could forgive him but he couldn’t forgive himself.

James read his eyes. “If he didn’t want you to come, he would’ve said so. You know Moony, he isn’t shy to say what’s on his mind.”

“What if I mess it up again?” Sirius asked, hoping James would agree and convince him to go back upstairs. Tell me I don’t deserve this, to be let back in.

James smiled, and it held pity. “You won’t.”

***

As they followed the dark figures of Remus and Madam Pomfrey across the grounds, Sirius’s breath was deep in his throat. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t fall in sync with James’ pace. His hands were clammy and the walk to the Whomping Willow seemed a lot longer than he remembered.

What if—during the time Sirius had been gone—the wolf had shunned him? What if the wolf saw him as a threat? The more Sirius worried, the darker his thoughts became.

The Whomping Willow shook alive when they approached, browned leaves falling. Madam Pomfrey slid her wand out and gave it a flick towards the tree whose thick branches instantly settled. Once she and Remus were inside, Peter jumped from James’ shoulder and pressed the knot by the base of the trunk, too small to have incited alarm. The three marauders hurried down the dirt-packed tunnel, barely slipping inside the shack before Madam Pomfrey had slammed the door shut and spelled it with a protective enchantment.

Remus was sitting on his cot, legs a bit too long to fit comfortably. He scanned the shack. “Made it in?”

James pulled the cloak off them all immediately and Peter transformed back, brushing some dirt off his trousers.

“What's got her in such a rush?” James gasped. “I mean, how hard does one need to slam a door? One of these days that thing’s going to fall off its fucking hinges.”

Remus let out a brittle laugh. “I think she hopes one day you’ll get stuck in it.”

Sirius lingered at James’ side, feeling like a guest in a stranger’s home. The shack was still as grimy and rotting as he’d remembered it, only now there were new holes in the floorboards patched up with sloppy wooden planks and fierce scratches on the door. It bothered him tremendously how Dumbledoor would allow Remus to be locked up in such a dismal place. They were wizards for Merlin's sake! There had to be a spell to liven the shack up a bit, get Remus a proper cot that fit his grown body.

“It happens quicker now,” Remus said, as to inform Sirius of what he’d missed.

Sirius nodded. Does it hurt any less? He couldn’t buck up the courage to ask. Though, the longer he sat with it, the sillier it sounded.

“You’re a tough chap Moony,” James expressed sincerely.

Remus blushed. “Fuck off.”

James made small talk for the rest of the night, trying to distract Remus—who was getting slightly restless—from the moon that was creeping upon them. Eventually, the boy’s face began to pale, beads of sweat trickling down his temple.

“You alright Moons?” James asked, deep lines between his brows.

Remus ducked his head between his knees, groaning under his breath. “I think—you should…” His fingers clasped the metal bar of his cot. “Change! Change—”

The marauders quickly transformed into their Animagus’, shuffling back to the wall of the shack to give their friend some room. Remus thrashed and yelled, but he was right, it did happen quicker than before. His bones molded more easily and dark fur sprouted. Within less than two minutes, the wolf was stretching its hind legs, having been crammed in a human body for a month.

The worry Sirius had enveloped himself in seemed to diminish. The wolf didn’t snap at him or bare its teeth. Instead, it ran right up to Padfoot and shoved him with its snout.

The wolf led them all through the wood, sprinting faster than the rest could manage. It was exhilarating, thrilling, an injection of steroids through your veins or a shot of caffeine at midnight. Padfoot let his tongue hang out, rolling in mud and weaving through tall grass.

But eventually, the wolf slowed its pace, and the sun began filtering through the trees, turning the sky pink. They made it back to the shack just as bones jutted out, popped, and retracted into Remus’ human body. He staggered and wobbled on his bare feet like the floorboards were unleveled.

Sirius transformed back, about to help his friend settle on the cot, but something pressed against his chest. The sight had never occurred to him before, had never resonated in his mind. Sirius wasn’t looking at anything in particular, it was just—Remus. His body glistened in the morning light, cheeks flushed, hair tousled.

Sirius felt dazed, lost in himself, a lucid dream that made the shack too bright. Sweat flecked against his chest and reddened his scars. There were a few scratches lined with blood, but they were beautiful…

Remus was beautiful. And it wasn’t the beauty Sirius saw regularly, it wasn’t like the beauty he saw in girls. It wasn’t the guy equivalent of attractive. It was different. It was angelic. It was bare skin against a sweltering sun. It was a desire to reach out and touch him, to see if that bare skin could burn through his.

***

Saturday 9th October 1976

It was the middle of the afternoon and Sirius watched as Remus slept in the Hospital Wing, chest barely rising. He took the time to look at his friend, really look, observe the lean cut across his jaw. It had been there for as long as Sirius could remember. It wasn’t an ugly cut. None of them were ugly, Sirius thought. None of Remus was ugly, despite what the wolf did, despite how deep the claws sank. Sirius’ cuts were ugly, hideous, jagged, and messy, punctures all across his back, thighs, and stomach. Sirius couldn’t pull off his scars, but Remus could. They made him so…so—

“Stop staring, it’s creepy.”

Remus was awake, barely, heavy eyes squinting up at Sirius.

I stare at what I find beautiful. He couldn’t possibly say that.

“Just admiring the view, all bloody and patched up,” said Sirius, leaning back at ease in the bedside chair.

“I should be in a museum, shouldn’t I.”

“No, in the trophy case at least.”

“Hogwarts’ greatest disaster,” Remus imagined.

“Prettiest wolf.”

“I’d be what they clean in detention.”

“Either you or the toilets.”

Remus’ mouth split into a smile, causing his nose to scrunch. “I’d take the toilets.”

Sirius laughed as flowers grew in his chest. “Me too.”

James was at Quidditch tryouts, and Peter was accompanying him, so now it was just the two of them, alone, with a heavy past between them. Their smiles faded to stillness. Remus let his eyes wander around the closed white curtains.

Sirius began picking at his trousers. “Remus?”

His friend looked back, and something about it gave Sirius a funny feeling.

“Can I ask you something?”

Remus waited a moment, then, almost warily, he said, “Anything.”

“On the phone, you said ‘I can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

Something changed in his expression. “…What about it?”

Sirius was antsy and wanted to move, shift in his seat, but he could let Remus see his agitation. He channeled James a bit, his authority and control, tightening the muscles in his stomach. “What happened over the summer?”

Before Sirius could get an answer, the white curtains pulled back, spewing blinding light into their faces. While Madam Pomfrey checked under her patient’s bandages, Remus’ face had paled. He avoided Sirius’ stare until the nurse had closed the curtains and granted them their privacy.

“Nothing happened.” Remus stiffened.

Someone was dead, though not his mother. Remus was good at keeping secrets, but that would’ve wrecked him.

Persistent, Sirius leaned forward. “I won't tell the others, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“Jesus Black, nothing happened!” Remus snapped, and it had struck a match against their soles. Old flames ignited.

As much as the urge burned him, Sirius didn’t clap back.

Remus huffed, then stubbornly sat up, grinding his teeth through the pain. His hand went to his stomach, clutching a bandage over his hospital gown. Sirius didn’t help him, watching with a slight malicious giddy.

When he was finally against the headboard, breathing heavily, gown wrinkled and twisted around his waist, Remus ran a hand through his curls. They weren’t exactly brown or blonde. They were washed out, dull, a muted brown, and Sirius—Sirius really wanted to touch it. He wondered what would happen if he just reached out, if he came so close he could smell Remus’ shampoo, see the direction each hair curled. Remus probably had dandruff, he probably washed his hair once a month. He was probably the type to only use shampoo, James’ shampoo. He probably lathered too much on and got distracted by the foamy bubbles. Sirius could feel himself moving, drifting away from himself and closer to Remus. The smell wafted around him, chocolate and antiseptic and—

“Uh, Black?”

Like the release of an elastic band, Sirius came back to himself. He was still in his chair and Remus on his cot, smiling. That Moony smile.

The sweet warmth dripped like honey into his chest. Out of nowhere, the flare of desire tugged at his body.

“You know, you have a staring problem.”

Sirius would’ve looked away, should’ve, but what was the point. He was falling incredibly fast, and he liked it. He liked looking at Remus, and Remus looking at him like he was insane. He liked standing close to this open flame.

“I should get Pomfrey to check it out then.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Black. You do that.”

***

In the common room, Remus and Sirius chatted until an enthused voice echoed out from the portrait hole.

“And that last match was insane! I mean did you see how Gavin saved that Quaffle, or how Arrow dodged that Bludger? That dodge was a dodge for the history books!”

Sirius looked over his shoulder from his spot on the couch as James and Peter came into the lamplight. James was sweating and flushed in his scarlet cape and number 7 jersey, carrying his bulky arm and shin guards. Peter held his broom.

“How’d it go?” Remus asked from his chair.

James collapsed onto the couch, tossing his gear to the rug. His hair spiked in all different directions, his goggles around his neck. “Oh, Moony you should’ve been there.”

“God you look like you’re about to have a fucking orgasm,” Sirius commented.

Peter barked with laughter.

James let his head fall back, eyes fluttering closed. “I think I did.”

“Tried out for Captain?” asked Remus, chuckling behind the hand over his mouth.

“You’re bloody certain I did! I mean, anyone who snags that title is basically a god. The ladies will be rightly swooning gentlemen.”

“So is that why you did it?” Remus smirked behind his hand. “To be a casanova.”

James lifted his head. “Nah, that title is rightfully yours love.” He winked at Remus.

Sirius took one of the pillows from behind him and threw it at James. “Merlin, you need to get shagged. By a woman.”

The broom clattered to the floor. Peter bent over, wheezing.

More of the Gryffindor Quidditch players trickled into the common room—Lance, Arrow, Alexander, Liam. There were some new flushed faces that Sirius didn’t recognize. He wondered if they were any good? It stung quite a bit that he wouldn’t be on the team this year or any year due to his punishment from McGonagall and Dumbledore. He really did love the sport, loved the electric shock that zapped through his body whenever he struck a Bludger.

Though, hearing stories from James would be enough. Besides, his friend spoke with such animation and description that it was like Sirius was practically there on the pitch.

Marlene stumbled in not shortly after all the boys had, accompanied by another girl in a scarlet cape with midnight skin and dark braids like snakes tied into a rather large bun on the top of her head. They spoke together in hushed voices, giggling, dragging their brooms.

“Ladies,” James greeted.

The girls stopped, almost surprised there were other people in the common room.

“You were wicked out there Marls, you too Meadowes. Honestly, I pity those blokes you were up against.”

“I think they wet themselves after that hit in the second game,” Meadowes said, nudging Marlene in the arm like it was an inside joke.

Marlene's face went cherry red.

“Well, Minnie’ll post the notice next week.”

“Shitting my pants till then,” Dorcas said, smoothing some flurries of hair away from her face. “Ta ta gentlemen, Marlene.” The girl nodded farewell, disappearing up the dormitory staircase.

“What's got you all flushed?” Sirius immediately pried.

Marlene let her two braids come undone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon, tell us!”

She cuffed Sirius around the head, making him yelp. “Piss off Black.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sirius hissed, rubbing the sore spot. He swore he could hear birds chirping. “You women are mental.”

***

“Goodnight guys.”

“Night Pete, Sirius, Moony.”

“Night Moony.”

“Night.”

Sirius drew his curtains closed, cracked his back, then laid down for sleep. He began fantasizing a dream when an odd sensation heightened his senses. He rolled to his side, but the sensation was still prevalent. There was something small weighing down his sheets.

Sirius’ eyes snapped open when something sharp touched his leg.

He leaped up, snatched his wand, and cast Lumos frantically. A tiny black spider crawled around his mattress.

“Ugh! Moony, will you kill this spider for me?”

In the dark, Remus groaned, presumably sitting up, “A spider?”

“Yeah.” Sirius backed up as much as he could until he hit the headboard. He hated spiders.

“Is it trying to hurt you, Sirius?”

Sirius didn’t move his eyes off the spider for a second. “It’s on my bed and it’s hurting my heart.”

Quietly, James stuck his wand out from the crack of his curtain. “Engorgio.”

Sirius’ shriek was loud enough to wake the dead.