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Chapter Text

Sirius Black was fourteen years old the only time he successfully ran away from home. Two days of good behavior, a hidden trunk in his pocket, and begging his parents to be allowed to take a walk outside had provided the means. Regulus was sent along to ensure good behavior, but all Sirius needed was ten seconds to draw his wand, call the Knight Bus, and escape before his brother could raise an alarm.

He climbed off the Knight Bus in Godric’s Hollow, shoulders back, chin up, mouth set in a thin line, lips pressed tight to keep from trembling. The bus rattled off with a bang, leaving the young teenager standing alone in a sleepy little village dusted with snow.

James Potter lived here, Sirius knew, on the outskirts of the village. By the trees. He turned his feet toward the smudge of a little forest to his right and started walking. Not everyone here was magical, but enough were that the sight of a boy in a thick black cloak wasn’t given a second look.

The houses thinned out and hedges grew taller by the time Sirius found a cottage he recognized from James’ pictures. Some of the rigidity was failing in Sirius’ spine as he hurried the last few feet, hopping up onto the front porch and rapping his knuckles against the blue painted door. There was a jaunty Christmas wreath surrounding the window, with enchanted fairy lights twinkling even though it was the middle of the day.

The door swung open with an inviting wave of gingerbread-scented warmth. An elderly witch stood in front of Sirius, with curly gray hair, rosy cheeks, and bright, laughing eyes. “Why, Sirius Black!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know we were expecting you!”

Sirius knew who Euphemia Potter was from glimpses on Platform 9¾ and the ever-present photo album James brought with him to school every year, but this was his first time meeting his best friend’s mother. All of his carefully-rehearsed speeches were tossed right out the window as she reached out for him, her arms folding him in a hug that pressed him against her soft body. She smelled like spices and biscuits and Sirius locked up in her arms, letting her pull him into the house. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing the cold away, and Sirius was left fumbling for his balance as the witch straightened up.

“I just pulled a tray of gingerbread out of the oven,” she said. “Would you like some? It’s best fresh, you know.”

“I… yes.” There were no questions, no judgement, and Sirius stared up at James’ mother with open awe in his pale eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Potter. You make the best biscuits. James always shares them with us after the hols, but there’s never enough.”

“I send him with a full tin!” she laughed, her hand on Sirius’ back as she steered him toward the kitchen. “And please, call me Effie.”

“Yes,” Sirius answered solemnly, “but there are four of us.” And no matter how large the tin of biscuits was, four teenage boys descending on the best treats in the world did not leave many to go around. “Not Mrs. Potter?” Sirius would be clipped on the ear for being so rude to one of the Blacks’ guests.

“There’s no need to be so formal in this house,” Effie assured Sirius, taking his cloak and setting him at the kitchen table with a plate absolutely overflowing with gingerbread bells and stars and Christmas trees.

Not three minutes later, an older version of his best friend burst through the back door with a dusting of light snow in his explosion of graying hair and a kiss for Effie. Sirius hastily swallowed his mouthful of gingerbread and shot to his feet, dusting his hands off on his robes, about to extend one to the clear patriarch of the family. “Hello, sir, I’m sorry for-”

Fleamont Potter, however, was having none of it, dodging the handshake with an expert ease and going for a ruffle of Sirius’ hair. “Sirius Black! About time you showed up here! Cut the formalities! I’m Monty, that’s Effie, and you’re mentioned often enough in these walls that you’re practically our son already. JAMES!” The last was shouted over his shoulder, toward the open door, as Sirius was left reeling in the whirlwind that was Monty Potter. “GET OFF YOUR BROOM AND GET INSIDE, THE BISCUITS ARE DONE! AND YOU’VE GOT A VISITOR!”

It was all Sirius could do to remember to shut his gaping mouth before the door banged against the wall again and James Potter was bursting in, his face flushed from cold and exertion, waving a quaffle around. “I totally beat you, Dad, I told you… Sirius!?”

Unlike Monty and Effie, James didn’t make a grab for Sirius and knock him off his footing. He instead scratched his mess of black curls and shoved his frosty glasses up his nose with two fingers. “Why the hell are you here?”

“Needed to talk to you,” Sirius said, acutely aware of the interested looks Monty and Effie were giving him and trying his damnedest to ignore them. “Too important for an owl.”

James shrugged and discarded broom and quaffle and coat and boots in a wet pile by the door. He shoved two handfuls of biscuits at Sirius, then grabbed another two and waved them at his parents as he shoved Sirius toward the door. “Sirius is staying for dinner!” he called behind him.

James’ room was an extension of James himself, plastered with quidditch posters, comic books and mismatched socks strewn about every surface. James tumbled onto his bed and scooted up to his pillows, piling his pilfered biscuits in front of him, two of them already jammed in his mouth. “Okay, but why are you really here?” he asked, spraying gingerbread crumbs everywhere. And then, with a prescient wisdom in his hazel eyes, James lowered his voice and leaned closer. “What happened?”

Sirius climbed onto James’ bed much more slowly, overwhelmed by the drama and activity of the Potter cottage. He laid out his biscuits, lining them up with the patterns on James’ quilted bedspread, watching his fingers instead of his friend. In the relative calm of this bedroom, the weight bearing down on Sirius from earlier was back, bowing his shoulders forward. “I… ran away.”

“Got that much.” Gingerbread snapped as James bit one of the arms off a star. “What happened?”

The warmth here was so much more than heat. It curled around Sirius and sunk beneath his skin, burrowing into his heart and his chest and his belly. It loosened the knots that had been growing tighter and tighter since Christmas Eve, wiggled the loops free and set them loose before they strangled him. Sirius closed his eyes and opened his mouth, and the entire story spilled out.

The Malfoys’ annual Christmas party, where (most of) the Sacred Twenty-Eight were invited.

The praise for Regulus, still freshly Sorted into Slytherin.

The slanted looks and whispers behind cupped hands aimed at Sirius, the sole Gryffindor in the entire room.

Trying to find a place to hide.

Being found.

The very first round of Gang up on the Gryffindor.

Sirius had retaliated, of course he had. The ensuing fight had been going very poorly for him, however, as even a Gryffindor could be outnumbered six-to-one. In his panic, Sirius had lost control of his magic. The resulting explosion had blown out an entire wall.

Maybe two.

Sirius’ fingers twisted together as James let out an impressed whistle. He could hear the awe in James’ voice as he tried to estimate just how much magical force Sirius must have produced to take out a wall.

Sirius didn’t smile. He picked up a gingerbread bell and snapped it in half, running his thumb along the fractured edge, crumbs dropping to the quilt.

“C’mon, mate, you gotta admit, that’s impressive!” James nudged Sirius’ knee with his foot. Sirius snapped the bell again and squeezed his eyes shut.

“...she wasn’t happy.”

“She?” James was bumping his toes against Sirius’ knee, a jaunty little bounce in time with familiar Christmas carols. “Who she? Your mum she?”

Sirius gave a tight nod. Her she. Mum? That… didn’t feel right. Not right now. Not anymore.

“What did she do, ask you why you couldn’t be more like your perfect princely little prat of a brother?”

Sirius mutely shook his head, then stopped and shrugged.

“Mate?” James asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

“That was… at the start,” Sirius admitted. “Asking what I was thinking, embarrassing her like that. Going on about all the ways I’m a disgrace to the Family.” His breath caught in his throat, but Sirius pushed forward, the words spilling faster. “What was I supposed to do, just let them hex me? I’m a fucking Black, in addition to being a Gryffindor! Wouldn’t that have been more of a disgrace, to let them win, to not even try to fight back? But noooo, I shouldn’t have fought back, shouldn’t have been there in the first place, shouldn’t have taunted them—I’m not an idiot, I wasn’t trying to get into a fight in a nest of serpents with no backup—and really I just shouldn’t have been Sorted into Gryffindor, shouldn’t have even been born and I was shouting back that it wasn’t my fault I got born into this family, if she had just kept her legs shut around her dried up cunt and…”

“You didn’t!” James’ eyes were round and wide behind his glasses. Sirius scrubbed his arm across his face. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t.

“She cursed me for that,” he whispered. “Just… silence, then bam.”

The words hung in the air between them. James’ toes stopped bouncing, and his foot just rested against Sirius’ knee, warm and present. Sirius reached out, curled his hand around James’ skinny ankle. He rubbed his thumb over the nub of bone and felt James twitch. Here. Real. Not at Grimmauld Place.

“So, you’re staying for the rest of the hols, or what?” James asked.

“Would your parents let me?” Sirius asked.

“Pff, yeah, they’ll love it! It’ll be wicked! You are gonna love my dad, he's a better prankster than me and you and the Prewetts all rolled into one! Didja bring your trunk?”

Sirius fished it out of his pocket, hastily packed two days ago and shrunk down so he could more easily make his escape.

“Wicked,” James declared again, shoving his glasses up his nose. “You can have the guest room, and we’ll make plans for what to do first day back at Hogwarts! Got your broom with you? We’ve got some rings set up in the back for quidditch!”

James shifted effortlessly from Sirius’ ordeal to looking toward the future, and all the fun they were going to have now that they didn’t have the stuffy rules of school holding them down. It made sense that he effortlessly shifted right back when they were flopped on his bed with the remnants of their biscuits strewn about them, staring up at the glowing stars magicked onto his ceiling.

“What was the curse?”

Sirius could feel James’ curls tickling his ear. If he turned his head to the side, the arm of James’ glasses would poke him in the cheek. He didn’t turn. He just stared up at the stars, fingers twitching and digging into his robes as the memory came flooding back.

“...Cruciatus.”

Pain, white-hot and blinding, flooding his body, making his knees buckle and his voice scream. The look on his mother’s face before his eyelids seized up, that ugly sneer, the snap to her cold voice. The carpet scratched against his skin as he thrashed, against his hands and wrists, against his calves where his robes rode up, against his ear. It was gone as soon as it struck. Sirius lay gasping on the floor, while Walburga Black stood over him, tall and haughty, her chest rising and falling with each sharp breath.

“Go to your room. Clean yourself up.”

James jackknifed upright, staring down at Sirius with blatant horror on his face. “You shitting me?” he demanded. “Mate, that’s an Unforgivable! No way your mum’d… no matter how mad she was with you!”

Sirius remained where he was on the bed, hands folded over his stomach, gingerbread crumbs in his hair. “Why not?” he asked James. “She was pretty pissed off…”

“But, but… an Unforgivable!?” James shook his head, messy halo of hair bouncing against his ears. “That’s illegal, Sirius!”

“So?” Sirius shrugged. “My word against hers, and who’s an Auror gonna believe, a ne’er do well third year or Walburga Black, daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?”

“You’re a son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Pricks,” James pointed out. “Of course they’d believe you!”

“Barely,” Sirius said, holding up a finger. “I’m barely a son.”

“You’ve got Blacks on both sides!”

“And I got Sorted into Gryffindor.” Sirius pushed himself up so he was sitting, one foot dangling off the side of James’ bed. “That’s as good as snogging a Squib. I don’t have a leg to stand on, if it’s my word against hers. ‘Sides, it’s not like it’s the first time. The Ministry has more important things to do than untangle pureblood family squabbles.”

“Not the first time!?” James’ peculiar mix of disgust and alarm would have been funny if Sirius didn’t feel quite so floaty, like he wasn’t fully in his body. Or maybe it wouldn’t have been as funny if he didn’t feel so distant. He shrugged again.

“It’s one of Bella’s favorites,” he said, naming his oldest Black cousin. “And now that Regulus is officially better’n me, he’s off-limits, and I’m not.”

James continued to fish-face at Sirius until he rolled his eyes and shoved a fractured bit of gingerbread into his friend’s mouth. “Stop looking at me like that,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. Bellatrix broke out the Cruciatus all the time, when she was bored and not feeling creative. Hell, they even had an entire coming-of-age ritual built around that curse: the day you got your wand, the men of the House of Black came together to congratulate you on your first step to adulthood. There was a load of bull about the importance of the Family and oaths to protect it and then you showed your strength with a demonstration of withstanding first Imperius and then Cruciatus. The latter was held for ten seconds, just ten seconds, by one of your elders (not your father, even the Blacks wouldn’t ask a father to Crucio his own son), and then you got back to your feet and were given a glass of watered-down Firewhiskey and you were officially one of the men of the family. Cruciatus was nothing new to a Black.

Except when it was. Sirius gripped his knees through his robes and sucked on the inside of his cheek. Bellatrix was a bitch. He’d known that for years, with everything she’d done to Regulus. It was no surprise that she’d draw her wand on him. And the ritual use, that was expected. Exciting, almost. At the time, Sirius had been eager to show how strong he was, how much he could withstand in the name of the Family. His grandfather Pollux, his mother’s father, had cast the curse on him then, his pale blue eyes hooded and intense. The pain of Cruciatus was nothing new to Sirius.

The fact that his mother had done it to him, on the other hand… the way her eyes were hard and cold, the anger in her face, the hatred…

Sirius wanted to shrivel up just remembering it.

Oh, he knew his mother had been unhappy with him for years. His Gryffindor Sorting had been a massive blow to the Family’s image. He had gone from being the darling of the Blacks to an unsightly embarrassment practically overnight, and that was before Regulus had done the Family proud by being Sorted into Slytherin. 

(Really, no Black had ever been praised for a Slytherin Sorting before Regulus.)

But there was still a huge difference between being an embarrassment to the Family and...just… that. Hate. Sirius squeezed his knees tighter and didn't look at James. Silence from his best friend was never a good thing.

"Didja bring any muggle clothes?"

Just like that, the silence was broken and the curse was in the past. Sirius chanced a glance up in time to watch James wipe crumbs off his mouth and bounce off his bed toward his dresser.

"Cause you can't go around in poncy robes for the rest of the hols. How are we supposed to play Quidditch if you're dressed like that?"

"I left them at Hogwarts," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Didn't want Kreacher to burn 'em or something."

"Pff. Your elf is so weird." James dug a pair of jeans out of his drawer and flung them at Sirius, aiming for his face with a Chaser's accuracy. Sirius swung his arm, slicing them out of the air. "Get changed, c'mon, there's still daylight left!"

A belly full of gingerbread and two hours racing brooms with James in the brisk winter air was just what the healer ordered. By the time Effie was calling them in for dinner, Sirius' face was flushed with color, eyes sparkling, chest aching from how much he'd been laughing. He and James wrestled their way into the house, divesting themselves of their wet outerwear and falling into seats at the table. Effie smiled indulgently at Sirius as she served him heaping helpings of the roast and mash, brushing off his manners with a wave of her hand and a warm laugh that tickled his belly and wrapped a hand tightly around his heart.

He wanted to make Effie Potter laugh always.

"Can Sirius stay with us for the rest of the holidays?" James asked, tucking into his dinner with gusto. Sirius remained quiet, civilly cutting his meat with knife and fork and stealing glances at the older Potters. "Only he's already here, with all his stuff…"

Effie and Monty exchanged looks overhead. Sirius twisted his feet together, trying not to visibly fidget. Best just to let James ask this, they had decided. He knew his parents best, after all, and they were totally cool with whatever he asked, he had assured Sirius.

"I suppose, if it's alright with his parents, there isn't a problem," Effie said.

James immediately groaned, rolling his head and his eyes. "Do we haveta ask them? They never let Sirius have any fun! Nothing ever blows up at Grimmauld Place," he confided in his father beside him.

"That is a disgrace," Monty agreed solemnly, "and no way for a boy to grow up, but we're not going to just steal Sirius from his family."

Wish you would, Sirius thought, smushing his spoon into his potatoes.

"We can give them a call after dinner," Effie said.

"Call the Blacks?" James was gagging and making faces. "They're all a bunch of disgusting serpents! Mum, Dad, we don't have to call them!"

"We'll ask your mum, Sirius," Effie continued, ignoring James' antics. "If she says it's okay-"

"She hit me."

Sirius pressed his spoon harder against the fluffy white mash, watching it burst out beneath the silver, pretending that this was more fascinating than the sudden, abrupt silence from all of the Potters.

"'S why I came here. She hit me. I left."

Under the table, James' foot connected with his shin, less painful than it could have been. James immediately tapped his socked toes against Sirius' leg in apology, in solidarity. Sirius glanced up to meet James' eyes and determined face, then risked going a little higher.

Effie had one hand over her mouth, looking as shocked as James had sounded earlier. Monty just looked grim, setting his silverware on the edges of his plate.

Probably best that Sirius hadn't said she'd hit him with a curse. If they were imagining just a slap and this upset…

"Perhaps...we don't need to call," Monty finally said. "I'm sure you've talked about James at least half as much as he's talked about you. They'll know where to find you."

"We can get the guest room set up," Effie agreed. "It's right across from James' room. One more teenager in the house will hardly be a problem."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Monty said. "We're already out of biscuits!"

"Then I'll just have to make more!" Effie's hand was warm on Sirius' shoulder, and it slid around to his back as she leaned toward him. "You're always welcome here, Sirius. Any friend of our Jamie is a friend of all the Potters."

"Especially if you get Effie to make us more biscuits," Monty chuckled. James laughed, and Effie looked at her husband with an exasperated fondness in her hazel eyes. Her hand remained on Sirius' back, a gentle comfort. Sirius' lips twitched in a little smile, and he let up on his potatoes.

He could stay.

* * *

It took two days. Two days of bliss, of no house elf dragging him out of bed before he was good and ready, two days of never-ending biscuits and flying and explosions, two days of warm hugs from Effie and hair ruffling from Monty and more breathless hijinks with James than Sirius ever thought imaginable.

Two days before Orion found him.

Sirius burst through the hall, practically bouncing off the far wall as he failed to corner properly on socks made slippery by an errant chunk of melting snow. James had sent him inside to grab a Snitch off his desk, and Sirius hadn't wanted to waste time...except the front door was open.

The front door was open, and standing in it, wreathed in snow, was the tall, dark figure of Orion Black. Sirius locked up, his knees seizing, fingers trembling, as he stared up at his father.

Monty was standing between them, feet planted firmly on the mat, arms folded. In his frumpy striped cardigan and bright pink socks with little broomsticks on them, he looked no match for the foreboding Black wizard in his doorway. Orion stood half a hand taller than Monty, and that was without the hat. His robes were impeccably tailored, emphasizing his height, and his gloved hands were resting on an ebony cane, long fingers flexing around a silver handle that Sirius knew concealed a wand. Orion had the same pale eyes and raven's wing hair as his son, but his mouth was tight beneath the Van Dyke beard.

Monty, on the other hand, was chubby and stout, brown skin belying his Indian heritage, wrinkles crinkling the skin around his dark eyes and wide mouth. He had the same explosion of untameable curls as his son, though his had long faded with age. Not an ounce of his appearance could be seen as polished or pristine, except, perhaps, the lenses of his tortoiseshell glasses.

Both of the older wizards were looking back at Sirius now, plastered against the wall. His hand crept along the blue wallpaper, seeking a handhold, something he could use to anchor himself against the rising panic in his chest.

"Sirius!" There was cheer in Monty's voice, but it was fake, forced. Sirius knew how James sounded when he was peeved. Monty was no different. "Your dad here says you've been lying to us. That your mum never hit you. So who's the liar here, eh? You or him?"

My word against hers, Sirius thought bitterly. I don't have a leg to stand on. What was he supposed to do, blurt out that it hadn't been a physical blow, but a curse? An Unforgivable? In front of Orion!? That would be the unforgivable, besmirching the Family in front of outsiders (even if it was with the truth). Sirius opened his mouth and shut it uselessly, trying to find a lie that was more believable.

James Potter was going to be the greatest prankster Hogwarts had ever seen, and Monty Potter had taught him all he knew. Fake cheer turned into real disappointment as Monty read Sirius' guilt across his face. The older Potter gave a slow shake of his head. "I think you should go get your trunk, Sirius. Your father's come to take you home."

"...now?" Sirius asked, trying to beg Monty with his eyes and voice. Monty set his jaw and gave a little shake of his head. Sirius' heart dropped somewhere around his knees. Monty might be a prankster, but he didn't like being lied to.

"Fetch your things, Sirius." Orion's firm words gripped the back of Sirius' spine and yanked him upright, into the perfect posture drilled into him from the moment he could sit up on his own. "We have intruded upon the generosity of these people long enough."

There was no Floo upstairs. Sirius tried to signal James from the window, but his friend wasn't paying attention to the house. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, Sirius swept his things back into his trunk and shrunk it down to fit in his pocket, then trudged back downstairs.

Orion was still in the doorway. Monty had not invited him into the house. Snow dusted along the shoulders of his cape. He gave a nod as Sirius approached, lips pinching tighter at the heavy shuffle of Sirius' feet.

"Thank you," the words sounded stiff on Orion's tongue, with an almost hesitance, like he was unsure if it was the appropriate thing to say, "for taking care of him."

"Any time," Monty answered, one hand stuffed in his pocket. "Your son's a joy to have around."

"Hm."

Orion, Sirius knew, certainly didn't agree with that sentiment. Not for him, at least. He tried not to flinch as Orion's cold hand wrapped around his wrist, and then his father twisted and they were gone, squeezed through a Side-Along Apparition and back in Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

"You will not," Orion said, releasing Sirius' arm and pulling off his gloves, "run away like that again. Is that clear?"

"You can't stop me," Sirius muttered to the dark carpet.

"I think you will find that I can." Orion cast his gloves on his desk, turning to look Sirius over. "Go to your room. Get changed into something proper before your mother sees you like this."

"...she did hit me," Sirius pointed out.

"Your mother would never raise her hand in violence against one of her children. To tell complete strangers that she would-!"

"Not with her hand." Sirius looked up to glare at his father. Orion knew full well what Walburga had done. He'd left the room when the fighting started, but Sirius knew he'd screamed loud enough to penetrate the peace of Orion's library.

"You were out of line, Sirius," Orion answered, his voice level. "Go to your room. Kreacher will summon you for dinner."

Sirius tried to maintain his glare, but it was hard to stare down someone who felt he was so far above you that he barely even noticed your presence. With a huff, he turned away and stormed upstairs.

The door at the top of the stairs clicked open. Regulus peered out from his room, gray eyes wary. "You're back."

"No thanks to you," Sirius grumbled. Talk about James? His parents would sooner hex him into silence than listen to him ramble about any of his Gryffindor friends. Regulus must have told them.

Regulus twitched, but he lifted his chin. "They asked."

"Doesn't mean you had to answer." Sirius shoved his door open and flung himself on his bed.

Regulus crept to Sirius' doorway, leaning against the knob. "You shouldn't have run away."

"You shouldn't have been Sorted into Slytherin," Sirius snarled.

Regulus stiffened, chin rising higher, eyes narrowing. "You said you wouldn't hate me if I were."

"Should've asked if you'd be the one learning hate." Sirius reached up, feeling around for a pillow. "Go away, Rabbit."

"Are you in trouble?"

"What do you think?" Sirius' questing fingers found what he was looking for, and he whipped the pillow across the room at Regulus. His brother dodged, pulling the door closed to block the missile.

Sirius waited, but there was no further movement at his door. After a moment of straining his ears, he heard Regulus' door click shut. Only then did Sirius let himself go, crawling up his bed and burying his face in his second pillow to scream. The walls of Grimmauld Place had never felt more claustrophobic in his life.

Sirius Black was only fourteen years old.

Chapter Text

Sirius used to love the holidays. Easter was a day to travel to Black Forest Hall and chase Regulus and the girls all around the expansive grounds, the five of them shrieking and screaming (okay, three of them, Regulus would never shriek to save his life, and Bellatrix quickly decided she was too grown-up for such childish antics) as they wrestled each other for the choice eggs, all enchanted and fabulous and stuffed full of the best treats a young wizard could hope for, like jelly slugs and shiny gold Galleons and, if he were really lucky, a dungbomb or two. Once he was old enough to control it, Grandfather Arcturus had let him take one of the hunting hounds with him when he egg-hunted, shouting the commands and chasing the dog through the gardens as it sniffed out the hidden treasures.

His birthday came next, November third, another gathering at the Hall, where everyone plied him with gifts and told him how wonderfully smart and handsome and talented he was, a true charmer who would do the Black name proud. Sirius would sit in the middle and soak up the attention, and he’d get to choose what was for dessert (chocolate cake, always chocolate cake with raspberry jam in the middle and delicate curls of white chocolate sprinkled on top that melted on his tongue and Regulus’ nose).

Regulus’ birthday (September fifth) was alright too, Sirius had supposed as a child, because it was Regulus who got the attention, and of course Regulus was growing up smart and handsome and talented, and Sirius always loved when his family recognized that Regulus was just as awesome as Sirius himself was, if only a couple years younger and half a hand shorter. Regulus never picked good desserts. That was the only downside of Regulus’ birthday. Also, he usually asked Sirius to play boring old chess, but it was his birthday, so Sirius never said no. Not on his birthday.

Christmas, of course, Christmas was always a joy. The house was decorated with fairy lights and garlands, and everything inside smelled like a forest of pine and fir. Sirius loved to sit in the parlor at night, just watching the lights twinkle, a mug of hot cocoa in his hands with a peppermint stick to stir it and more marshmallows than his mother said he was allowed, but which Kreacher would bring for them if Sirius made Regulus ask him. He loved singing the Christmas carols as loudly as he could, and he loved the little model train that ran through Father’s library, and he loved pressing his nose to the window to see if it was going to snow. Then, on Christmas Eve, they all dressed up in their finest robes, and Mother would look so beautiful and Father so handsome, and Sirius and Regulus would squeeze each other’s hands before hopping into the Floo to go to Malfoy Manor for the annual Christmas ball.

It was like stepping into a theater show there, Sirius thought, like a real-life Nutcracker. The trees were so tall and so beautiful, with colorful baubles that caught the light. Everyone was dressed up, in sumptuous robes and sparkling jewelry, and they danced together all in time with the music. Sometimes Sirius would dance with Andromeda or Narcissa, sometimes just with Regulus, sometimes even with young witches who weren’t related to him, who’d smile shyly when their parents nudged them together, and who always smelled like flowers or candy.

There’d be gifts for all the children, and games, and if Sirius was at his absolutely most charming, Grandfather Pollux would let him have sips of his mulled wine, which was always rich and fruity and made his belly feel warm all night. More nights than not, Sirius would be half asleep when his parents came to collect them. His mother would be holding his father’s arm, and she’d smile so kindly as he yawned up at her, curled in the corner with Regulus fast asleep on his lap, one of Sirius’ arms draped over his little brother to keep him safe. His father would be smiling too, as he’d carefully untangle the boys from Regulus’ sleep-clutching, gathering the littlest one into his arms. His mother would brush his hair back and kiss his forehead as he stood up, her arm slipping around his shoulders as she guided him to the fire. She’d make him yawn before letting him step into the Floo, those few seconds of wakefulness just enough so he wouldn’t slur the name of his destination grate. His father would come through a moment later, with Regulus’ cheek on his shoulder, and they’d get tucked into bed with wishes of sweet dreams and good nights.

The next morning would be an early one, with no time for breakfast (though Kreacher would slip them an apple or banana if they were really hungry). They dressed quickly in their Christmas robes of red and green and rush to the Floo to turn up at Black Forest Hall, which was always a magical winter wonderland draped in snow and sparkling in the winter sun. Breakfast on Christmas was mostly pastries with the whole family, the kids jostling their feet together under the table as they waited for permission to run into the drawing room. The biggest tree was in the great hall, and Sirius would absolutely sneak off to marvel at it later in the day, but first thing in the morning was always dedicated to the smaller tree nearly swamped with its pile of presents.

Sirius almost always got the latest broom, though one year, he and Bellatrix both had gotten squirmy black puppies with licky-licky tongues and tails that wagged so hard they actually ended up with bruises. The puppies would stay at the Hall, Sirius knew, but this one, Castor, was all his own.

Yes, Sirius used to love the holidays.

Used to.

His twelfth birthday had been the first sign that times were changing. He had been at Hogwarts, just an ickle firstie in Gryffindor, but he had already been staking out his place in the dorm. Pettigrew had submitted to his more forceful personality immediately, and Longbottom spent most of his time out of the room with the girls. Lupin mostly just wanted to be left alone with his books and his homework (though he watched over the top with wide gold eyes, and Sirius knew that boy had a troublemaking streak that it was his solemn duty to bring out). It was Potter who’d been the problem, always declaring himself the superior wizard. No inch of Gryffindor Tower was safe from their pranks, except the few square feet that made up Lupin’s bed, which they mutually declared a no-man’s zone, mostly because Lupin always looked so sad but so accepting whenever they turned his pillow into jelly or made his sheets sprout tentacles. 

It wasn’t funny when your mark just agreed that he probably deserved it and went off to research the counter or sleep in the Common Room. The first time Sirius had tried to sneak off to set a trap for Potter and found Lupin curled up in an armchair, shivering under a thin blanket, had been the last time Sirius ever pranked Lupin’s bed. He’d grabbed Potter the next morning, explained what he’d seen, and Potter agreed that there was a limit to their hijinks.

(Looking back, Sirius belatedly realized that Remus had retreated to the Common Room to sleep the night before the full moons, because he wanted an excuse for looking and feeling like shit the next day, and never because Remus couldn’t figure out how to undo the disaster zone they’d turned his bed into.)

By that first November, there had been no end in sight to the prank wars of Gryffindor. Rumor had it that even the infamous seventh-year Prewitt twins of Ravenclaw house (the best Hogwarts pranksters to ever live after the already-infamous Purloined Professor Pyjama Prank of 69) were paying attention (and paying Gryffindors for details of what was going on behind the Pink Lady’s guard). Sirius had been confident that whatever he was sent for his birthday would seal the debate once and for all: that he was the superior wizard, and James Potter of the worst hair imaginable could stuff it.

Except the gold mine of gifts never came. Uncle Alphard had sent him a book and box of sweets, and yes, the book was all about the sixty-six sticking charms and their best uses, and the sweets were the finest of toffees that Sirius had shared with his roommates (except Potter, except he did, because Potter swapped him biscuits), but there had been nothing from the rest of his family.

There had been an awful, empty feeling inside Sirius’ ribs when the last of the owls cleared out and he’d only received the one birthday present. But Potter had leaned over and elbowed him in the ribs and declared, “They’re probably just waiting, mate, since you’ll be home for the hols next month!”

Sirius had decided to concede that maybe James Potter was a little bit better of a wizard than Sirius himself was. Besides, when the two of them actually worked together, they could make their pranks bigger and target more students. And if they were working together, Peter wanted to help. Probably so he was never a target, but he had been bloody brilliant at getting in and out of tight spaces. And when they had been stuck on how to pull off a particularly knotty puzzle, Remus had just piped up with the solution and immediately blushed a deep red and dove back beneath his book until Sirius pulled him out, demanding he help them.

Longbottom had always preferred to just leave the room and hang out with the girls.

Sirius had almost all but forgotten about his disappointing birthday by the time they were piling onto the train for the Christmas holidays that year, bouncing excitedly at the thought of the decorations and the parties and getting to see Regulus and Castor again.

The moment he had set eyes on his father, though, that emptiness had opened up in his chest again. His mother hadn’t even come to the platform. Regulus wasn’t there. It was just his father, who had seized his trunk in one hand, Sirius’ arm in the other, and sharply Disapparated before Sirius had even finished saying good-bye to the other boys.

Dinner had been silent. Regulus was there, but he didn’t even look up. As soon as he was done and excused himself, he’d fled to his room and slammed the door shut. Nobody asked Sirius how Hogwarts was, how his classes were, how life had been. Nobody updated him on anything. Nobody said a word.

After dinner, Sirius had trudged up to his room to unpack, wondering what was making everyone so weird. He’d gone to knock on Regulus’ door, but Regulus didn’t open it.

That night, though, Regulus had crept into his room, climbed into his bed and hid beneath the blankets. “I’m not supposed to talk to you,” he’d whispered. “What’s Hogwarts like?”

It was probably the only time Regulus Arcturus Black had ever broken a rule. He’d only come talk to Sirius at night, and not even every night. Sirius would lie in bed waiting for Regulus, and when Regulus didn’t come, he’d sneak downstairs and sit in the parlor, watching the Christmas tree and the model train and feeling smaller and emptier than he had on his birthday.

There were no presents for him at the Malfoy ball, and a cold tension suffused both his parents. Regulus did fall asleep on his leg, like he always did, but their mother hadn’t given Sirius a smile. She’d all but shoved him into the Floo, her nails sharp on his back.

Black Forest Hall hadn’t been any warmer or any more welcoming. Uncle Alphard had been the only one to greet him with a smile and a shout of happiness, sweeping Sirius up in a tight hug and whispering, “I love you, I’m so proud of you,” into his ear. Sirius had nearly started crying like a little baby at that, but he’d held it in. He’d opened the few presents he’d received that year, knowing he would never read a book on the history of the Sacred Twenty-Eight or the role of Castor Secundus Black in the creation of the great barrier that protected Diagon Alley. He very pointedly didn’t count how many presents Regulus had been given that year (at least not after he hit fifty-eight, to Sirius’ own seven). After presents, Sirius had spent the rest of that first Christmas playing with Castor, taking him out in the snow and tracking the squirrels in the forests.

And that had been the happiest holiday he’d had since he’d been Sorted.

Each year was getting worse and worse. The Family was talking to him again, but only to tell him how much of a disappointment he was. Walburga was constantly picking at Sirius’ appearance or his manners or his behavior, which only made Sirius slouch and scuff his feet and muss his hair, wearing muggle clothes as often as he dared, and Gryffindor colors when he was truly daring. Last summer hadn’t been too horrible, with the Nerins staying with them; as long as Sirius was with Lucia, the Family hadn’t treated him like a total pariah. And Lucia, she had been something else entirely! No one had simply touched Sirius as much as Lucia did, her smiles and laughter making him feel warm and loved and accepted, even in the cold halls of Grimmauld Place. Those nights she’d snuck into his bedroom had been incredible too. None of the other Gryffindors had ever seen a boob before, much less touched one. Sirius had done both. (And more. But Lucia had left, and she didn’t really write him back, which left Sirius feeling emptier than before.)

Last Christmas, though, that had been the first time Walburga had actually cursed him in anger. Sirius was accustomed to a sudden Full Body Bind whenever he had pushed her too far, but the Christmas Cruciatus that had driven him to hunt down the Potters, that had been new.

Easter was just another step further. It was easier and easier to set Walburga off these days. Sirius had been minding his own business, just playing the piano (it was a muggle rock song, but how was he supposed to know Walburga knew that!?) when she’d stormed in to Bind him. As she’d ranted at him while he was trussed up like a turkey, apparently his eyes hadn’t been respectful enough, and the next thing Sirius knew, he was thrashing against the binding as a well-cast Cruciatus racked his body. He couldn’t do more than twitch and scream, but even that was shrill and muffled, his jaw locked together, tears pouring from his eyes.

Just as suddenly as the curse had struck, it was lifted. Both spells were gone. Sirius curled up into a ball on the floor, dragging his sleeve over his wet face, gagging slightly as he fought the need to vomit.

Orion stood in the doorway with his wand out.

“Enough.”

Sirius peered out at his father from behind his sleeve. Orion never involved himself in Walburga’s tantrums. He chose to simply ignore Sirius, to act as if his eldest son never existed. Sirius honestly didn’t know if it was a good thing that his father was intervening.

“Walburga, leave us.”

“That insolent wretch-”

“I will handle this. Go.”

Orion’s voice remained calm. Sirius didn’t bother to uncurl until his mother had swept out of the room, a rustle of the stiff skirts of her robe the only sign she was gone. Slowly, Sirius unclenched, looking warily up at his father.

“That was the third time this week,” Orion said quietly. “Are you unable to exist in this house without angering your mother?”

“Exist?” Sirius asked, wiping his sleeve across his mouth and pushing himself to at least be sitting upright. “That’s all I’m doing, just existing, and she doesn’t-”

Orion slashed his hand through the air, cutting off Sirius’ words. Years of conditioning made Sirius’ mouth click shut, not a spell. “She is your mother.”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Sirius protested. “I was practicing at the piano, that’s it! She’s the one who stormed in here and started chewing me out for nothing!”

“This is not working.” Orion rubbed his fingers along the sides of his nose, closing his eyes. “The two of you in such close quarters, neither of you ever calm down. I have not had a moment’s peace since you came home.”

“It’s not my fault,” Sirius muttered.

“Those… friends you ran away to last Christmas. The… Potters.” Orion said their name the way he might point out a piece of dogshit on the path. “They did not mind your company?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, watching Orion with suspicion. “Until you went and told them I was a liar for not revealing the true depth of that bitch’s depravity-”

Orion’s hand sliced again. “She is your mother, Sirius Castor,” he snapped. “Watch your tongue about her.”

Sirius remembered Effie Potter’s soft hugs and gingerbread and bit his tongue to keep from sneering that Walburga didn’t deserve that title.

With his silence, Orion sighed. “Would they permit you to stay with them again?”

Sirius lifted his head, eyes going wide. “You’d let me? Stay with the Potters? All holiday?”

“No, of course not,” Orion said. “Your place is here, with the family.”

“Am I still family?” Sirius muttered.

“You have not been disowned, despite your best efforts,” Orion replied, his voice dry. “But perhaps a few days apart would do both of you some good. Cool your tempers.”

Sirius held his tongue and his breath. Was Orion seriously considering letting him go to the Potters? He didn’t want to do anything that might jinx this moment.

“Go to your room,” Orion said after a moment. “Wash your face. Pack. You may have…” he drew out his pocket watch, checking the time, “three days. At this hour, on Saturday, I expect you to return home. Do I make myself clear?”

Sirius nodded, scrambling to his feet despite the numbness in his limbs from the Full Body Bind. He darted out of the parlor before Orion could change his mind, taking the stairs two at a time on unsteady legs. He slipped and fell on a few of the steps as his circulation slowly came back, but he didn’t let a trip stop him, using his hands to push himself up on all fours, if he had to.

By the time he returned to the parlor with his packed trunk, Orion was straightening up, dusting off his knees. The fire was lit, the flames green. Sirius could see the cozy sitting room of the Potter’s cottage beyond, with Effie Potter backing away from the threshold to let Sirius come through.

“Three days,” Orion reminded him. He gripped Sirius’ bicep and touched a finger to Sirius’ chin, making the younger Black meet his eyes. “If you are not back here in three days, Sirius, you will be punished for disobedience. I will ensure you regret every hour you were tardy. Do you think I am exaggerating?”

Sirius stared into his father’s hard eyes and shook his head. Orion Black was not one for empty threats. He was the greatest defensive wizard of their age, his paranoia inspiring traps and punishments that would keep even Dumbledore from invading Grimmauld Place. Sirius had no doubt that Orion would keep his word.

“Three days.” Orion released Sirius and nudged him toward the fireplace. “I shall see you then.”

Sirius did his very best not to run through the Floo, not with Orion watching. Effie was waiting on the other side, though, catching him in her arms the moment his foot hit the woven rug in front of the fireplace.

“Sirius! It’s so good to see you! Wouldn’t you know, I just pulled some shortbread out of the oven before your father called. I was wondering if a lemon drizzle wouldn’t be delicious, for Easter. Why don’t you come and give me your opinion?”

The fire went gold again behind him, and Sirius closed his eyes, melting into Effie’s soft shoulder, arms looped around her waist. Her arms were tight, and he could feel her press a kiss to the top of his head, then her cheek against his hair.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Effie whispered softly. “You’re here now.”

It wasn’t right, clinging to your best mate’s mum like a limpet. Not at fourteen. Sirius pulled back before he wanted to and found a smile for Effie, one of his most charming ones that made the girls he aimed it at let him kiss them. “You mentioned biscuits?”

“Fastest way to a boy’s heart is through his stomach,” Effie said with a laugh, ruffling Sirius’ hair. “Come on, they’re in the kitchen, cooling!”

James and Monty were in town, Sirius learned as he gorged himself on warm biscuits, “helping” prepare the eggs for the Easter egg hunt. James had been going on about this event for weeks. Even though Godric’s Hollow had a handful of muggle residents, the local wizards liked to go all out on the decorations and charms. 

Monty and James were fond of making eggs that exploded.

Of course, the eggs didn’t just explode, and they did leave presents for whomever found them, but still. Exploding eggs! What more could a Marauder ask for? (And yes, technically James wasn’t supposed to do underage magic outside of Hogwarts, but it was hardly like Monty gave a shit. If anyone from the Ministry came asking, he covered for James just like Orion and Walburga covered for Sirius and Regulus.)

Sirius decided against hunting them down. He didn’t want to explain why he was in Godric’s Hollow for three days, not before he had a chance to come up with a cover story, at least. He helped Effie mix up a lemon glaze, stirring lemon juice and powdered sugar together with more care than he gave to his potions homework. She showed him how to dip the biscuits and set them aside to dry, and he only ate every fourth biscuit. Effie had the radio on as she prepared a roast chicken for dinner, and she coaxed Sirius into singing along with her as they worked.

“I knew it!” Laughing in the doorway of the kitchen was Monty Potter, his brown eyes sparkling behind his thick glasses. “You bring teenaged Lotharios into our marital home when I am away!”

Sirius hesitated, looking between Monty and Effie.

Ordinarily, Sirius Black didn’t apologize for much of anything. But ordinarily, Sirius Black wasn’t finding relief from his parents in his best friend’s home. The last thing he wanted was for Monty to throw him out again, especially after the disastrous ending of his last visit. A decade of good manners was urging Sirius to jump to his feet and apologize, sir, for intruding.

But at the same time, those dark eyes had a familiar glitter of mischief, and Sirius could see James jumping around behind his dad, grinning at Sirius and trying to push through the doorframe. Sirius looked back up at the older Potter and grinned unabashedly. “If you’re gonna leave such a gorgeous woman alone, you can’t get mad when someone else makes a move on her!”

“Sirius!” Effie’s mock-scandalized cry was undermined by her laughter. As Monty threw back his head with a deep laugh, Effie came up behind Sirius to squeeze his shoulders and kiss his cheek. “You flirt. Go take some biscuits and keep James distracted. We’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

With experience born from years of raiding the Hogwarts’ kitchens, Sirius filled his pockets and quickly darted past Monty to collide with James. James pulled him into a hug and then grabbed his arm, dragging him upstairs to his room.

“Was it your mum again?” he demanded as they both jumped onto James’ bed and Sirius began unloading the snacks. “Did she curse you again?”

“It was more my dad, actually,” Sirius said, brushing off James’ question about the curse. It would only upset James to know that yes, he’d been hit with an Unforgivable multiple times this holiday already. “He told me to come here!”

“What, really?” Whenever James spoke, there was a spray of lemony shortbread crumbs. “Why the fuck would he do that!?”

Sirius shook his head, rolling his eyes as if it wasn’t a big deal. “She and I’ve been screaming at each other all week.” Well, he’d been screaming, at least. “Dad got sick of hearing it, so he threw me out until we calmed down. I’m supposed to go back on Saturday.”

“Bollocks to that,” James declared. “You’re staying all holiday. Dad said he never should have sent you back last time. I told them about the curse, and they said if you ever showed up here again, you can stay forever.”

Sirius pressed his hands against the bed, between his legs, trying not to let it show how much his heart felt fluttery and huge in his chest. You can stay forever. He wanted to. Merlin, but he wanted to. A forever full of Effie’s biscuits, and pulling pranks with Monty, and endless days of flying with James? He couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.

The next three days flew by. Sirius was allowed to sleep in as late as he wanted, with no sneering house elf ripping his blankets back and demanding he get dressed for breakfast. He and James were never told to stop running or shouting (though Effie did scold them for setting off their brooms in the house). The biscuits were as endless as the pranks.

The Potters’ cottage wasn’t just boundless energy. Sirius found himself loving the quiet evenings every bit as much, when all four of them settled into the sitting room by unspoken accord. Monty smoked his pipe and read on one side of the couch, while Effie hummed along to the radio and knitted on the other. Sirius and James spread out their books and worked on their homework on the rug (though sometimes their homework was unassigned cartomancy spells, because James was determined to map out all of Hogwarts). James always sat on Monty’s side of the rug, leaving Sirius on Effie’s side. Sometimes, when he was focusing on an essay or trying to puzzle something out, he’d lean over, just a little. His head brushed against her knee, and her hand would come down and stroke through his hair.

This was, Sirius decided, what heaven must be like.

“You’re not going back there,” James informed Sirius at lunch on Saturday, as they gorged themselves on thick sandwiches made from last night’s roast beef. “If your parents show up here, we’ll just shrug and say we never met you.”

“They’re evil, not stupid,” Sirius said, picking the crusts off his sandwich and glancing at the clock on the wall.

“I’m sure they’re not evil,” Effie said. “But James has a point. You don’t have to go back there, Sirius.” Her hand was warm on Sirius’ shoulder, and he shifted just slightly toward her, like a flower turning toward the sun. “If you want to stay, then we’ll just tell your parents that you’re welcome here as our guest for Easter.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Sirius mumbled.

“Well, it should,” Monty declared. “What are they going to do, curse us in our own home? You’re our guest, and you will remain our guest, until such time as I kick you out for trying to run off with my wife.”

“You shall not stand in the way of our love!” Sirius protested, reaching up to clasp Effie’s hand between his own. Apparently, play-flirting with his wife had won Monty Potter firmly to Sirius’ side, and Sirius was more than happy to continue the joke as long as Monty and Effie let him. “A woman as magnificent as Effie needs a younger man who can keep up with her!”

“Groooooooss!” James declared, screwing up his face and sticking out his tongue. “Sirius, that’s my mum!”

Effie was pink-cheeked and laughing as she drew her hand away from Sirius, giving his fingers a squeeze. “Boys, boys, stop fighting over little ol’ me. I have enough love to go around!”

Orion did not call upon the Potters that day. James took Sirius out flying all afternoon, keeping him far away from the house, but Effie gave a little shrug when they returned and a tiny shake of her head. No trouble on the Black front.

Sirius tried to work on his homework that evening, but his eyes kept drifting up to the fireplace. The crackling flames remained a cheerful red and gold. Sirius’ arm crept up as well, locking itself around Effie’s calves. Her hand never left his hair.

Even after the hearth was cold and dark, and Saturday melting into Sunday, Sirius couldn’t find rest. He tossed and turned in the guest room, pulling the handmade quilt up over his head, only to peer out fearfully as he heard the door open.

“Shh.” It was just Effie, dressed in a plaid flannel nightgown, her grey hair tied back in a thick braid that fell over her shoulder. The flickering light of her candle was warm and inviting as she approached the bed and set it on the table beside his pillow, then sat on the edge. “Sirius?” She opened her arms to him.

It wasn’t very manly to crawl into the arms of your best mate’s mum at two in the morning, but that was exactly what Sirius did, dragging the quilt with him. He huddled against her chest, shivering from a cold that wasn’t in the air. One of Effie’s arms was locked around his back, the other hand buried in his hair. She held him close, rocking gently, humming a song he recognized as a lullaby, but not one that was ever sung to him.

Sirius didn’t cry. He felt the tears clogging up his throat and prickling in his eyes, but he kept swallowing them down, keeping silent. Effie was wrapped around him, all he could see, all he could smell, all he could feel. Orion and Walburga were far away. Far, far away.

Effie kept humming and rocking, occasionally pressing his hair down with a gentle kiss before resting her cheek against the top of his head again. Sirius felt himself relax into her hold, giving a sigh. His fingers twitched and loosened, shifting his grip from the quilt to the soft nightie beneath his own cheek. He gave a sigh and sagged against her, the blanket slumped over his shoulders.

“Godric’s Hollow is safe enough,” Effie murmured, “but we do lock our wards every night. Short of breaking into the house, no one will get in tonight. Not even your parents.”

A single tear squeezed itself out, and Sirius gave the smallest of hiccuping sobs. He hadn’t even said anything, and she knew. She was here. She was keeping him safe, her arms a bulwark against the darkness all around him.

Effie’s hand rubbed in gentle circles over his back, and she hummed some more, coaxing the tension out of Sirius’ limbs again. “Monty and I talked quite a bit since the last time you were here,” she said, her voice low and soft. “We’re so sorry about last time, Sirius. It will never happen again.”

Sirius squirmed an arm between them, ducking his head and wiping his sleeve across his face. Effie loosened her hold, though when Sirius clamped on suddenly with his free hand, she stopped moving back. She cupped his cheeks and lifted his face, her worn thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. “You are always welcome here, Sirius. Always, and for as long as you want. We will never turn you away. Not ever. If you are lost, or scared, or hurt, you can always come here.”

“Why are you being so nice?” Sirius asked, his voice catching in his throat and rasping past his unshed tears. “You barely even know me…”

“James knows you,” Effie pointed out. “And James adores you. He has talked about you non-stop for three years. That’s more than good enough for me. And even if he didn’t,” she took her hands away from his face to pull him against her chest in another hug. This time, he wormed his arms around her waist and hugged her back, “we know a thing or two about the Black family. About what they do. And we wouldn’t wish them on anyone. Certainly not a boy as sweet as you.”

“I’m not sweet,” Sirius said. “You can ask any of my professors…”

“You’re sweet to me,” Effie said. Sirius could hear the smile in her voice and couldn’t help but smile back, hidden against her. “Your professors just didn’t take the time to sweeten you up first.”

“Couldn’t hold a candle to your biscuits, anyway,” Sirius said, his loyalty already strong.

“I just know when you’ll need them.” Effie squeezed Sirius and kissed the top of his head again, then coaxed him into letting go and lying back against his pillows. She straightened out the quilt and tucked it in around him. Sirius felt like he were six again, only missing Kreacher’s spindly fingers tucking his little stuffed dog into his arms and wishing the young master a good night and sweet dreams.

Effie’s warm hand against his cheek and lips on his forehead was so much nicer.

“Try to get some sleep, Sirius,” she said. “You’re safe here tonight. I promise.”

“Effie?” Sirius twisted his feet together and pulled the quilt up over his chin, watching Effie as she reached for her candle. She hummed questioningly as she looked back at him. “You’re a really good mum. James is lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have a son like him,” Effie said. She patted Sirius’ knee. “And you. Get some sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow will be Easter.”

“Good night, Effie.”

“Good night, Sirius.”

Sirius had no idea how long he laid in bed, just watching the door after Effie left, but at some point, he did blink and the sun was pouring through the curtains. He laid in bed for a few minutes, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Downstairs, he could hear Effie in the kitchen.

Right. Easter.

Maybe Effie could use some help with breakfast? Sirius rolled out of bed and dragged his hand through his hair. He opened the door carefully, peering around. Nobody was in the upper hall, and James’ door was still shut, which probably meant he was asleep. Sirius crept out of his room and down the stairs, trying not to make a noise. This was something he had started doing in Grimmauld Place, to avoid Walburga’s ire, but it served him well at Hogwarts too. If he was careful enough, he could even sneak up on Mrs. Norris. Remus had started calling him ‘Padfoot,’ probably in retaliation for all the times Sirius called him ‘Moony,’ but the joke was on Remus: Sirius kind of liked the nickname.

Just as Sirius’ foot hit the lower hallway, he heard the unmistakable woosh of the Floo coming to life. Sirius caught his breath, staring at the living room.

Effie was in the kitchen, frying something. Sirius could hear the sizzle and pop, and he could smell the grease all the way down the hall. She might not have heard the fire.

He didn’t have to check. He didn’t have to. He didn’t…

He padded into the living room.

His father’s head was in the fireplace, looking around the room. He stopped searching when he saw Sirius. “There you are. Get your things. We are expected at the Hall.”

“I’m not going.” Sirius kept a fair distance back from the fireplace, curling his hands around the back of a squishy armchair. “I’m staying here.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed. “We had an agreement, Sirius. Three days. You are already quite tardy.”

“She doesn’t want me there.” Sirius shook his head. “I don’t want to be there. Let’s just make it easy for everyone and let me stay here.”

“Sirius Castor,” Orion said, his low voice all the warning Sirius needed, even without his middle name, “you would disgrace the Family in such a fashion?”

“I disgrace the Family just by breathing,” Sirius muttered. “What’s a little more embarrassment?”

Orion’s hand came up, long fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. “Come home, Sirius. Now. Or I shall be forced to get officials involved. Is that what you want? The Potters being interrogated on why they kidnapped a son of the House of Black?”

“They aren’t kidnapping me!” Sirius protested.

“You are a minor, and we are your parents.” Orion glanced down. Sirius could imagine him checking his pocketwatch. “Get your things. If you are not back home in five minutes, I will be making a call to Mr Crouch.”

“You wouldn’t!” Mr Crouch was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. He was also, Sirius knew, friends with Orion and Uncle Cygnus, having attended Hogwarts around the same time as them. He was also the worst sort of pureblood, Sirius personally thought, not rich enough to be counted among the elite, but extra ruthless to make up for it.

“He would be checking in on you as a favor to the Family,” Orion said. “Of which he owes us many. Do not force my hand, Sirius. Five minutes.”

His father’s face disappeared as the fire changed from green to gold. Sirius sagged against the back of the chair, pounding his fist against the upholstery. What was he supposed to do? Stick around and wait for Mr Crouch to show up and humiliate the Potters?

No. No, he couldn’t do that to them. If he didn’t go home, Orion would keep escalating. Better to keep his father semi-happy by obeying. If he went home now, perhaps Orion would let him come back. If not after the Easter celebration at Black Forest Hall, then maybe over the summer.Good behavior meant fewer restrictions.

Sirius slumped back upstairs and into the guest room. He threw his things back into his trunk and shrunk it. James’ door was still closed. Sirius hesitated, debating waking his friend up to say good-bye, then shook his head. James wouldn’t understand. He’d try to stop Sirius. Best just to explain things over letters, or when they were back at school.

“Sirius?” Effie intercepted Sirius on his trudge back to the living room, a mug of coffee clasped in her hands. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m going home,” Sirius mumbled. “Thanks, Effie, for letting me stay here.”

“What? Sirius, no, you don’t have to leave!” Effie took a hasty few steps toward him, but Sirius backed away, shaking his head. He didn’t want her to hug him now. He’d start to cry if she hugged him now.

“It’s for the best if I go, before they get too mad. Besides, it’s Easter. The whole Family gets together for Easter. If I’m not there, everyone’ll ask questions.”

“Let them,” Effie suggested. “Sirius, I meant what I said last night. You are always welcome here, as long as you need.”

Sirius took a deep breath and looked up at her. He wished she were his mum. He wished he could hug her and be safe with her forever. “You said you know a thing or two about the Blacks,” he said. “Then you should know that’s not how they work.” His head drooped, shoulders slumping as much as his good posture let them. “You don’t bet against the Blacks. They always win.”

“Well, maybe it’s time the Blacks learn what it means to be a Potter.” There was fire in Effie’s voice as she strode toward Sirius, reaching out to grip his shoulder. “I’d put my money on us any day.”

If only it were that easy. Sirius ducked out of Effie’s hold and went toward the fireplace. “Thanks for the biscuits, Effie.” He took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it onto the flames, forcing himself not to look back at her. “Maybe I’ll see you soon.”

Sirius braced himself for an immediate curse upon landing, but there wasn’t one. Instead, there was the snap of Orion’s pocketwatch closing as his father unfolded himself from one of the high-backed armchairs. “Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds. Better.”

Kreacher shoved a set of dress robes into Sirius’ arms, and Orion extended his arm toward the bathroom across the hall. Sirius rolled his eyes and went where the house elf pushed him, tugging off his pyjamas and getting dressed as quickly as he could.

Kreacher was waiting with a hairbrush when Sirius emerged, fussing over his bedhead. Regulus and Walburga had joined Orion in the parlor, already dressed in their Easter finery. Regulus tugged at his sleeves, peering out at Sirius from around Walburga’s side. Walburga glared down her nose at him, but she said nothing.

“Are we ready?” Orion asked. “Good. Regulus first.” He threw the Floo powder onto the fire, and Regulus stepped into it, calling out their ancestral home in his thin, clear voice.

Walburga followed Regulus, then Sirius, and Orion came behind them. The rest of the Family was already in the Hall, talking and laughing over the breakfast table. Walburga was smiling brightly as she swept into the room, greeting her brothers and parents with kisses to their cheeks, embracing her sisters-in-law, and generally being a perfectly social butterfly. Though more solemn, Regulus trailed her around the room, greeting relatives with his own quiet manners. Orion pushed Sirius through the door before stepping away to greet first Cygnus, then his sister, Lucretia, and finally Arcturus, his father and the formidable Head of the House of Black.

Alphard approached Sirius, opening up his arms for a hug. Sirius resisted the urge to fling himself at the older Black, instead gently wrapping his arms around Alphard’s neck and feeling his uncle’s fingers brush against his back. “You made it!”

“I have precious few of these left,” Alphard said. “You think I’d miss a chance to watch you and that hound of yours put Bellatrix to shame?”

Sirius pulled away from the hug faster than he wanted to. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it,” he confessed. “I was at the Potters the last three days. I didn’t want to come back.”

“I heard.” Alphard gestured at the table. “Tell me about it over breakfast?”

The two sat together, their heads bowed close, as Sirius filled Alphard in on everything that had been going on since the last time he saw his uncle. They exchanged letters frequently, but there was no substitute for actually sitting together and just talking.

Even as they spoke, Sirius’ heart was heavy. Alphard looked even thinner than he had at Christmas, and while he sipped at a mug of tea topped up with sugar and cream, he barely touched the sliced banana in front of him.

Alphard was Sirius’ sole supporter within the Family, and he was dying. There was no escaping the inevitable truth when it was staring Sirius in the face. Alphard had contracted the Family Curse, and Sirius would lose him before he graduated Hogwarts.

For all of their power and money and history, the Curse was the one major drawback to being a son of the House of Black. It was a horrific wasting disease as ancient as the Family itself. It struck indiscriminately (though it preferred the males), without warning. One day, a Black would feel fine. The next, they might wake up with a cough, a tickle in their throat that never quite went away. With that first cough, their fate was sealed.

Over the next few years, the Curse would devour the Black, draining away their life and vitality. Their infamous black hair turned silver, their skin even paler, the blood of their veins standing out in ghastly blues and purples just beneath the surface. Their muscles would deteriorate and their bones grow weak, their bodies growing as taut and desiccated as mummified corpses. The worst part, perhaps, was the fraying of their nerves, causing even the slightest touch to trigger bursts of pain that no potion could control. It was not at all uncommon to see a Black at the end of the Curse covering their skin completely from head to toe, only their white, sunken faces peering out like a skeleton walking in robes.

There was no cure for the Curse, but there were treatments, amulets and charms and rituals that delayed the effects, bolstering the afflicted Black for as long as possible. Even with the full array of defenses, however, the Curse reduced the strongest Black to a painful, bedridden existence over the course of ten years, growing mad from their own misery until they took the tea.

Took the tea. That was the nicest way the Blacks described the end of the Curse, when a Black chose to drink a poisoned tea that would kill them in their sleep rather than survive another day as a living corpse.

Thus was the price of being a Black, Arcturus would sometimes say. Mortality in exchange for power and privilege.

It was easy for Arcturus to say that. He was a healthy seventy-four years old, with no sign of the Curse. Even if the Curse took hold of him tomorrow, he would die as one of the oldest Blacks in the last seven hundred years.

Alphard was only forty-seven. Sirius wasn’t sure he’d live to see fifty.

“He said he’ll make me regret every hour I was tardy,” Sirius whispered to his uncle, stuffing his face with as many sausage links and cheese danishes as he could, just in case Orion’s punishment included missing meals. “But he hasn’t said or done anything!”

Alphard’s brows were drawn down in concern as he glanced across the dining room at where Orion and Arcturus were talking quietly. “Sirius… you may have pushed too far this time.”

“You think he’s gonna get Grandfather Arcturus involved?”

“I think he’s asking for advice.” Alphard closed his eyes, a pained little grimace on his face. Sirius quickly double-checked that he didn’t have anything brushing against Alphard’s bare hands. “Your father… when he says something, he follows through. You know that. He is exceedingly… literal.”

Literal was one way to describe Orion Black’s anal-retentiveness, Sirius privately agreed. Orion never exaggerated or spoke in metaphors. Words mattered, he said, and he picked his words carefully.

“If he is asking Arcturus for advice…” Alphard opened his eyes and reached over, brushing Sirius’ hair back behind his ear. Sirius tried not to press too hard into his uncle’s kind touch. “Sirius, I know you hate… I know. But you can’t push them. Not like this. One day, you’ll push too far, and… I’m afraid, Sirius. I’m afraid… for you.”

“...it’s just Cruciatus,” Sirius said, finding it hard to meet Alphard’s worried blue eyes. “It hurts, yeah, but it’s not like it does lasting damage.”

Alphard’s laugh was brittle and broken as he pressed his left hand against his throat. He shook his head, his long, straight hair falling over his shoulders. “I wish you never had reason to say that,” he murmured. “But Sirius… Cruciatus is far from the worst thing they might do.”

“They’re not gonna kill me,” Sirius said, though he glanced nervously at his father and grandfather again. “...are they?”

“No, not likely,” Alphard reassured Sirius. “Not for this level of offense. But the more you push them, Sirius…”

“I’m still a Black,” Sirius said. “They wouldn’t kill a Black.”

“Is Andromeda still a Black?” Alphard asked, naming Sirius’ cousin. She had been disowned immediately after graduating Hogwarts for having accepted an engagement to a muggleborn wizard. Sirius still remembered the smell of burnt silk as Walburga burned Andromeda from the tapestry depicting their family tree. (Just last year, Andromeda had given birth to a baby girl, whom Sirius got to meet at the last Hogsmeade weekend. All of the Marauders had immediately declared baby Nymphadora their honorary niece and the cutest baby in the world.) “They may not kill a Black, but once disowned…”

“You think they’ll disown me and then kill me!?” Sirius hissed, reaching out for Alphard before he remembered not to touch.

Alphard met Sirius’ hand, catching it and squeezing it despite the immediate pain he couldn’t hide from his face. “Sirius, things have changed. Now that Regulus is a confirmed Slytherin… I don’t think they’re anywhere near thinking about killing you. But I fear the option has opened up. Not now, but if you keep pushing… and there are some punishments the Family can inflict that make death seem like the easy way out.”

“I never should have left the Potters,” Sirius whispered, curling toward Alphard. Alphard rubbed his thumb over Sirius’ knuckles.

“You wouldn’t have been able to hide from them forever,” Alphard pointed out. “And a life spent hiding is no life at all. It’s better that you returned. You were right: returning of your own volition, even late, is better than making them drag you back. Remember that, should you be allowed to visit the Potters again in the future. Return when you’re told. Don’t push it. At least not until you’re seventeen.”

Sirius looked up at Alphard, and he gave Sirius a slightly reassuring smile. “Once you’re an adult in the eyes of the law, they lose a lot of their power over you.”

“So I’m just supposed to suck it up until then?” Sirius rubbed his hands over his face. “They don’t want me around! I don’t want to be around them! Why can’t they just let me stay with the Potters?”

“Because they can’t lose face.” Alphard shook his head. “Sirius, everybody who’s anybody in the whole country knows that a son, the son of the House of Black, got Sorted into Gryffindor. They know what that means. And they’re watching the Family. Watching to see how we react, how quickly we unravel. If one rebellious teenager can take down the Black Family, then surely any other family can also intimidate us. The Family cannot afford to just let you run off and do your own thing.” He caught Sirius’ chin and forced Sirius to meet his eyes. “Sirius, the Family cannot afford a public rebellion from you. This is bigger than Orion or Walburga’s personal beliefs. How well you are kept under control could set the stage for the next twenty years of pureblood politics. Don’t push it.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Sirius whispered.

“I know,” Alphard withdrew, placing his hands in his lap. “I’m so sorry, Sirius. I’d take you away from all of this grandstanding in a heartbeat, if I could. But this is the price for being a Black.”

“I wish I weren’t.” Sirius pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He almost missed Alphard’s raspy response.

“Me too.”

The annual egg hunt at the Hall had changed over the years, as the Black girls grew too old and Regulus grew too stuffy. It was now a duel between Sirius and Bellatrix, both aided by the hunting hound they’d been gifted for Christmas five years earlier. Sirius’ Castor was an intelligent dog now, standing as tall as Sirius’ chest, eager to respond to Sirius’ commands and lead him straight to the enchanted eggs. Bellatrix’s Circe, however, was a lean and swift bitch of a dog who had been taught to intercept Castor, snapping at his neck and legs and driving him away.

The Family, of course, cheered for Bellatrix as they watched from the gardens. Sirius gritted his teeth and let the growing pile of eggs at his feet be evidence enough of his superior command over his dog.

Arcturus called the hunt to an end when Castor finally gave in and snapped back at Circe, the two quickly locked in a snarling tussle that resulted in a slashed face for Circe and a bitten shoulder for Castor. It was Sirius who got the lecture on proper training, who had to stand there mutely as Arcturus tended to the dogs’ injuries and lectured him on the importance of teaching civility to his hounds.

Bellatrix, every bit as much of a bitch as her dog, merely flung her arms around Circe’s neck and wept crocodile tears over how vicious Castor was, attacking her poor little puppy.

As soon as he was freed from Arcturus’ lecture, Sirius found Orion waiting for him. His father took him by the shoulder and led him back to the main Floo link into the Hall without a single word.

Back in Grimmauld Place, Orion turned to survey Sirius. Sirius fought against the urge to curl in on himself beneath the scrutiny. He tucked his hands behind his back and kept his shoulders square and chin up.

“You were sixteen hours late, Sirius.”

“I…” Any excuse Sirius might have attempted withered on his lips. He gave a little nod. “...yes, sir.”

Walburga was easily roused, quick to attack Sirius for the smallest of imagined slights. Orion, on the other hand, had always remained aloof and distant. Sirius had very few happy memories with his father. That wasn’t to say Orion was a cruel man. He simply preferred the solitude and calm of his library over playing Sirius’ frequently loud (and frequently messy) childhood games. Sirius had very few memories of his father at all, other than as a quiet presence who was always just… there.

Orion closed his eyes and took a breath. “Change into something sensible, and then meet me in the library.”

“Yes, sir.”

Orion left the room without another word. Sirius’ shoulders slumped, and he trudged upstairs to his own room.

Regulus’ door closed quickly as Sirius approached the landing on their floor. Sirius imagined his brother peering out through the keyhole, thinking he was being stealthy. Ha. He didn’t know what true stealth was.

Sirius tugged at the fastenings of his dress robes, stepping out of the stiff fabric and leaving it in a pile on the floor. Orion would prefer he wore normal robes, Sirius knew, but Sirius much preferred his muggle jeans and t-shirts. Was it worth upsetting his father? He hesitated, then dragged his hand away to a simple maroon robe, the closest thing to red he dared to wear inside these walls.

There was no noise from Regulus’ room as Sirius eased his door open and tiptoed past his brother’s door. This was how you stealthed. He crept down the stairs, careful with where he placed his feet so the old wood wouldn’t creak underfoot.

Sirius' father was standing in front of the fireplace in the library, one arm resting along the high mantle, staring into the flames. Sirius snuck up to a meter away and waited. Despite his best attempts, Orion did not give any indication that Sirius had successfully snuck up on him.

“I warned you,” Orion murmured. “I would make you regret every hour you were tardy.”

“Yes, sir,” Sirius said.

“And yet you stayed away.”

“I like the Potters.”

“You are a Black.” Orion turned now, his hard eyes focusing on Sirius. “You belong here.”

“Then maybe here shouldn’t use Unforgivables as punishment for practicing the piano!”

“Perhaps not,” Orion said. Sirius was taken aback by the mild agreement. He actually took a step back, eyeing his father warily. “I have spoken with your mother.”

“No more curses?” Sirius asked.

“Not if you behave.”

Sirius opened his mouth, then shut it again. It wasn’t a victory. Walburga would invent examples of misbehavior, even if Sirius did everything right. He was a Gryffindor, with mudblood friends. That alone was misbehavior.

“Your tardiness was not good behavior,” Orion said. He gestured at a small desk near the wall. “You were warned, and now you will take your punishment. Have a seat.”

Sirius bit his lip and crept toward the desk. He pulled the chair out, but it seemed unassuming enough. He’d sat at this desk before, when he was too small for his feet to touch the ground, sucking on the end of his quill and asking his daddy how to spell the harder words in his lessons. Nothing here should hurt.

Orion placed a roll of parchment and a sharp black quill in front of Sirius. He opened a book and set that on the desk beside him, placing a small book weight on the pages to keep it open.

“You need a reminder to which family you belong,” Orion said. “Draw the Family crest. This size.” He tapped the open page of the book, where the Black Family Crest was etched at about the size of Sirius’ hand.

“Draw the crest?” Sirius repeated. He picked up the quill and looked up at his father. “That’s it?”

“Recreate it perfectly,” Orion said. “Kreacher will decide when it is accurate enough.” He gestured, and the house elf cracked into existence beside the desk. “When it is done, you may go to your room for the rest of the night.”

Drawing the crest was almost like writing lines, a detention Sirius was used to a thousand times over already. “There’s no ink,” he pointed out.

“You will not need it,” Orion answered. His hand was heavy on Sirius’ shoulder, and he gave a little squeeze. “While you do this, think about why you are doing it,” he advised. “You are a Black. You will always be a Black. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you will find peace.”

“I doubt that,” Sirius muttered. He heard Orion’s heavy sigh before his father moved away, retreating to his favorite armchair at the other side of the room.

Sirius glanced over at Kreacher, who was watching Sirius with his big watery eyes, and pushed the parchment flat. He set the quill on the parchment and drew the first sweep of the top of the shield.

“Fuck!”

There was a sudden, biting pain in his chest, as bright red ink flowed along the path of the pen. Sirius quickly dropped it, clawing his robes open.

“Quietly, Sirius!” Orion snapped. Silence in the library was one of the golden rules of Grimmauld Place.

Sirius stared at the red mark on his chest, shaped exactly like the line he had just drawn. His heart was suddenly racing, the blood pounding in his ears. He looked up at the symbol in the book. At the parchment, with the red ink. At that quill, with its sharp, evil nib.

“The young master must draw,” Kreacher said. He picked up the quill and pressed it back into Sirius’ hand.

Sirius stared at the house elf in horror. If he had to draw the entire mark…

He held his breath and drew the other side of the top of the shield. The mark on his chest extended, his skin slicing open as if with a scalpel and healing shut behind. A drop of blood rolled down his chest. Sirius pressed his knuckles against his mouth, feeling nauseated.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered. He pushed his chair back. It shoved forward, jamming him against the desk.

“The young master must draw,” Kreacher repeated, his long finger pointed at the chair.

I will make you regret every hour you were tardy.

Orion’s words hung in Sirius’ mind, a heavy threat he clearly hadn’t heeded. He rubbed his hands against his stinging eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

One crest. He just had to draw one crest. He rubbed the red marks on his skin and gulped down the bile he could taste in the back of his mouth, touching the quill to parchment again.

Line by bloody line, Sirius sketched out the stars, the sword, and the dogs. He bit his lip nearly clean through as he colored in the sable background, his own blood sinking into the parchment. After nearly an hour, his sleeves were wet from the tears he’d wiped away, thin trails of blood curving toward his belly. He pushed the parchment toward Kreacher and dropped the quill on the desk.

“Done,” Sirius said hoarsely, scrubbing at his face.

Kreacher hummed thoughtfully, looking over the parchment, but then he set it in front of Sirius and pointed at where Sirius had jerked the quill from the stab of pain, giving one of the dogs a second, stubby tail.

“The young master must do it again.”

Sirius pulled his hands down from his eyes to stare at Kreacher.

“Do it perfectly.”

Chapter Text

Sirius was pinging around the dorm room like a pinball. It would have been funny if he weren’t so obviously agitated. James knew better than to suggest he sit down. The full moon was just starting to rise above the Forbidden Forest. Remus’ distant screams were now just howls on the wind.

“It should have worked!” Sirius twisted around and slammed his fist into the door. Perched high against his pillows, transfiguration book open against his knees, Peter flinched. “This is bloody bullshit!”

“We’ll fix it,” James said, notes strewn about his bed. “It’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

“At least we’re all still us?” Peter offered. “I mean, the horror stories… if it was gonna go wrong, it could’ve gone a lot worse.”

“It shouldn’t have gone wrong,” Sirius snarled.

“Well, it didn’t go right.” James pushed his glasses up his nose. “You can complain about it, or you can help us figure out what we missed.”

Sirius huffed and flung himself onto James’ bed, snatching up a handful of pages. James didn’t bother to tell him to be careful. Most of the notes were Sirius’ anyway, written in his fluid script, carefully annotated and color-coded.

James had to give him credit: when Sirius actually gave a shit, his work was flawless.

Only this time, it hadn’t been. These notes were the results of three years of work and study, years of plotting and theorizing and raiding the library after hours. Years of Sirius pilfering dark books from under his family’s noses, and James asking his father increasingly esoteric questions about the treatment of werewolves. Years of keeping secrets from Remus and busting their arses during the full moon to keep him from noticing their sudden studiousness.

Years of working out the Animagus transformation.

They had all been so excited at the start of the year. All of their research had indicated that the final stages could be completed before Christmas. They had toughed out the month with the mandrake leaves, hunted down the requisite moths, and harvested the purest of dew. They had faithfully recited the incantation every morning and evening (a step they had to include Remus on, explaining instead that it was some sort of tongue-twister challenge), and they had waited impatiently for the next lightning storm to finish the spell.

And then they had all been spectacularly sick for the next week. James remembered that week as a constant state of misery, torn between hunching over the toilet or insisting to Remus that he was absolutely totally fine and did not need to see Madame Pomfrey at all.

It hadn’t even been a magical week of his insides rearranging, which James privately thought would have been a bloody brilliant experience, but which they had only found one reference to in an old handwritten manuscript Sirius had dug out of his grandfather’s library. It had been more of a week of projectile vomiting and trying not to ralf all over his potions homework.

(Peter had lost control and puked into his cauldron, which had singed James’ eyebrows off in the resulting explosion, but at least it hadn’t earned them a trip to the Hospital Wing.)

Ultimately, there was no change. None of them could turn into animals. None of them felt remotely animalistic. None of them even had an inkling of what animal they were going to be.

Christmas, Sirius had declared, was ruined. Their super-awesome gift to Remus, which they should have been unveiling tonight, the last full moon before everyone went home for the holidays tomorrow, was instead a night of more studying as they tried to figure out what crucial step they had missed.

Sirius wasn’t taking it well.

James peered over his glasses as Sirius threw the notes back down and shoved off the bed, pacing the room and bouncing off the walls again. “Look, mate, why don’t you run down to the kitchens?”

“Yeah!” Peter nodded as Sirius turned those hollow silver eyes his way. “Snacks! Brain food!”

“It’ll get you out of the room,” James pointed out quietly. “Stretch your legs a bit.”

Sirius huffed and shoved away, but this time, he opened the door instead of slamming into it. He did slam the door behind him, making the things on their shelves rattle.

“Wooooo....” Peter exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “This is a bad one…”

“You’re telling me.” James stared down at the notes on the bed, then sighed and started gathering them up. He wasn’t going to be able to focus tonight. Might as well pack them away and try again over the break. “Christmas is always bad, but this is the worst yet...”

Ever since third year, Sirius had been fleeing to James’ house when his family got too much. His father actually organized it, calling the Potters up and effectively kicking Sirius out of the house for anywhere from one to four days. He called it ‘irreconcilable differences between Sirius and his mother.’

Sirius called it ‘that bitch broke out the Cruciatus again, and Dad wanted some quiet.’

Every time Sirius came over, James led the entire Potter clan in trying to convince him to stay. He and his dad tried to distract Sirius with games and flying and trips into town. His mum coaxed Sirius into the kitchen with biscuits and hugs. James could tell Sirius wanted to stay with them. James wanted Sirius to stay with them. He’d gladly share his mum’s hugs and biscuits with Sirius if it meant Sirius never again stumbled out of their Floo, wobbly from a recent Cruciatus or too long spent in a Leg Lock or Full Body Bind that had hampered his circulation. James would love to have a brother who could stay up late at night, talking about their dreams, or girls, or the latest broom models. And screw Regulus—Sirius deserved a brother who would keep up with him and egg him on, not one who sneered and simpered and was all the worst qualities of the Black family rolled into one little Slytherin worm.

“Is he going to stay with you again?” Peter asked. He and Remus knew a bit about Sirius spending time with the Potters, but James doubted they understood how short the visits actually were. The time Sirius spent with James was only little snatches of sanity in what James was certain was otherwise a life of hell in Grimmauld Place.

James shook his head, taking off his glasses to polish the lenses on his shirt. “Not before Christmas,” he told Peter. “Sirius’ dad doesn’t trust Sirius will come back in time for the big Malfoy party, so Sirius never gets to leave before then. And then he’s got his whole family get-together thing on Christmas. Boxing Day’ll be the earliest he might turn up.”

“Ugh.” Peter made a gagging noise. “Living with Slytherins for a full week. No wonder Sirius is going so stir-crazy already.”

“Yeah…” James looked over at the dorm room door and worried his lip between his teeth. “Stir-crazy…”

Stir-crazy was way too innocent of a word for what Sirius was doing. He was always easy to rile up, but these days, his fuse was non-existent. Sirius seemed to prowl the castle looking for trouble. He’d gotten a month’s worth of detention already for picking fights with Slytherins, and he’d actually broken Fenton Parkinson’s nose in the middle of History of Magic just because Parkinson had said Remus was “looking peaky.”

(It had been two days before the full moon. Remus never looked his best so close to full. Sirius didn’t have to draw attention to it by hauling off and punching the idiot!)

There was no point talking to Sirius when he was like this. He’d stare right through you, not even hearing the words. James hated it. Like how the full moons affected Remus, holidays affected Sirius. All his grins and affection dried up, leaving an angry husk of a boy with hollow eyes and a penchant for pain.

Remus turned into a monster when the moon was full.

Sirius turned into a monster when the holidays were drawing near.

The only thing James knew how to do to help was to try to keep Sirius distracted. He'd send Sirius on kitchen raids or point his mind toward prank-planning. Working out the Map had been good, but most of the tricky bits were done now, and besides, Peter had taken over that project, having discovered an unexpected gift for cartomancy. Sometimes, at the worst times, James could drag Sirius to the Quidditch pitch to hit bludgers and scream until they were both wrung out, but that wasn’t really an option in the middle of winter.

James sighed and rolled off the bed, catching himself on all fours and stretching out his legs to start doing press-ups. If he couldn’t focus on the Animagus work, he had to do something to work off his own nervous energy. He’d be no good to Sirius if he was just feeding anxiety right back to the older boy.

By the time Sirius returned, James had moved to sit-ups, trying to count to one hundred. Sirius was actually snarling, his knuckles split open and red with (hopefully) his own blood. James kept moving, but he watched as Sirius kicked the door shut and lashed out at his own bed, tightening his hands around the post and twisting as if he could strangle the poor oak.

“No, uh… no snacks?” Peter asked, sounding like he really didn’t want to poke the bear that was Sirius Black right now, but also fully aware that one of them ought to say something.

“Didn’t make it to the kitchen,” Sirius growled. “Fucking Snivellous!”

“Oh boy,” Peter muttered.

“Kept asking about Remus,” Sirius continued, shoving away from the post to snatch up his pillow and fling it across the room. He hit it with a curse mid-flight, exploding the entire thing into a cloud of feathers. “Asked if we were going around fucking him, if that’s why we always disappear on full moons, if that’s why we keep him around, like he’s just our toy!” Sirius’ second pillow exploded like the first. “Why the fuck does he even pay that much attention!? Do you think he wants to? Pff, as if Moony’d ever give him the time of day…!”

Of all the people for Sirius to run across this time of year, Snape was the worst. James sighed internally as he kept counting his sit-ups. Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine…  Snape seemed to have a special animosity for Sirius, thinking Sirius was wasting all of the “opportunities” his birth had afforded him. Sirius raged against Snape telling him he should be grateful to be a son of the House of Black. The two had been at each other’s throats ever since they first met.

James was very firmly on Sirius’ side in all of this. Snivvy could rot in hell. Especially if said hell would get him far away from the incomparably beautiful Lily Evans, whose only flaw was her friendship with the greaseball. “He probably just wants the image for his spank bank,” James tried to reassure Sirius, almost laughing at the disgusted face his friend pulled at the thought. “What’d you tell him?”

“Told him he clearly knows what we get up to better’n we do, and if he really wanted to know, he could check it out for himself.”

Those words made James’ blood run cold, but Sirius wasn’t stopping.

“Just prod that knot in the Willow with his overlarge nose, and he’d find our private love nest.” 

Peter’s gasp echoed around the room, all color completely draining from his face. Sirius didn’t even seem to realize what he had just said, aiming a series of vicious kicks at his battered trunk.

“You told him what!?” James asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. Reality reasserted itself in a rush, and James leapt to his feet, grabbing for his jumper. “Sirius, tell me you fucking didn’t!”

“Going on about how Remus was such a weak poofter that needed us to protect him, but he’ll see…” Sirius kept muttering, flexing his hands.

Peter’s head was bouncing back and forth, between James and Sirius, James and Sirius. “Should I… go for a teacher?” he asked. “McGonagall? Dumbledore?”

“Go tell Pomfrey to expect company.” James yanked the jumper over his head. His hair sprang out everywhere, but he didn’t try to push it back into place. He just grabbed his shoes, jamming his feet into them as he aimed a vicious glare at Sirius. There was getting antsy about the upcoming holidays, and then there was this! Remus’ furry little problem was the number one secret of the Marauders. Even in his pre-holiday angst, Sirius should have known better! “And if it’s not me, it might be Sirius! Where the fuck’s my Cloak?”

Peter dove for the bag they always prepped, full of post-moon-taking-care-of-Remus things, like pain-killing potions and a bar of the best Swiss chocolate Sirius would filch from his mum’s stash. He yanked out the Cloak and thrust it at James, then spread out the Map. “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good… there! He’s there! He’s running for the Shack! James!”

“I’m gone! I’m bloody gone!” James grabbed the Cloak, flinging the door open. “Pomfrey, then Dumbledore! Hurry it up!”

They left Sirius behind in the dorm, sprinting for the portrait hole. The few Gryffindors still up in the common room glanced their way, but any of the four of them bolting in and out of the Tower at all hours was nothing worth commenting on. James flung the Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it over his head, breaking away from Peter and racing for the front hall. He didn’t give a damn about Mrs. Norris or Filch right now. All he had to do was beat Snape to the Shrieking Shack.

He failed. James pulled up short at the edge of the Whomping Willow’s reach, scowling at the branches that flailed madly at him. A big stick was on the ground, just below the knot. James snatched up the stick and prodded the knot, darting through the few seconds of stillness and sliding into the tunnel between the roots of the violent tree. “Snape!” he shouted, ripping the Cloak off and stuffing it into his jumper as he bolted down the tunnel. “Snape, stop, for the love of Merlin, stop!” He couldn’t see the Slytherin ahead of him, but he hoped Snape could at least hear him. Moony’s howls and screams had stopped. The air was eerily quiet.

The trapdoor was open. It was open, and James’ heart was in his throat as he reached up and pulled himself into the Shack. Snape was right in front of him, turning slowly, a look of confusion on his pallid face, the only color being a growing bruise swelling the left side of his jaw. “What the bloody hell is this, Potter?” he demanded, jerking sharply as James grabbed his arm. “Let go!”

“Snape, we gotta go, right now!” James yanked on Snape’s arm.

The door creaked. A long, pointed muzzle nudged through the crack, full of razor sharp teeth dripping with blood and saliva. Moony shouldered through, a rumbling snarl building within his chest.

Werewolves, James realized, were fucking terrifying.

They’d peppered Remus with questions about his wolf form when they first found out, before they realized how little Remus actually wanted to talk about the monster within him. Everything else the three knew about werewolves had come from books.

Books didn’t mention the size. That the sharp canines were the length of your entire hand, or that the strong jaws could probably crush your entire head like a grape. They didn’t mention the way the growl resonated at such a deep level that you could feel it in your chest, squeezing your lungs. No mention of the sound of that first sniff, or the two in quick succession after that, the pointed nose turning toward the scent of its prey.

Nothing talked about the way a werewolf would smile when it sighted its prey and braced itself for a lunge.

Snape was shouting curses now, not useful curses, but horrible ones. James lunged at him, tackling the scrawnier boy to the ground as Moony uncoiled and charged teeth-first. He yelped and twisted, shoving Snape toward the open trapdoor. For once, Snape didn’t fight, scrambling toward the open hole and toppling in. James flung himself after, screaming out as his leg erupted in a sharp pain. He grabbed the edge of the door and yanked it closed behind them, hearing Moony clatter against it, just two inches of wood planks separating them from the hungry, angry werewolf. Moony’s howls and snarls ripped through the air, making the whole tunnel shiver, little pebbles and clumps of dirty shuddering around them. He flung himself at the door, over and over again, percussive whumps followed by the scrabbling and scraping of thick claws.

“What the hell?” Snape asked, his eyes round and white in the gloom. “What the bloody hell was that!? That was a werewolf! What the bloody hell are you doing with a werewolf!?”

James felt for his wand, squinting in the dark. Why the hell couldn’t he see… shit. Shit. His glasses were missing. They must have fallen off while he was rolling around with Snape in the Shack. “Lumos,” he muttered, trying to peer at his leg. It was bloody. It stung like the dickens. Please don’t be a bite, please don’t be a bite… “Funny way you have of saying thanks, Snivvy,” he growled.

“Thanks!?” Snape was shaking, and James couldn’t see well enough to tell if it was fear or anger. He was shaking too. He could see his wandlight trembling. “You idiots nearly get me killed, and you want me to thank you!?”

“Sirius,” James spat. “Sirius did this, not ‘us idiots.’ But you idiot were the fucking idiot who thought it would be a good idea to take him up on it!”

“You’re hiding a bloody werewolf!”

Moony slammed into the trapdoor again, causing another shower of dirt around them. James winced. “Maybe we can take this argument further down the tunnel?” he suggested. “Away from the bloody werewolf?”

Moony screamed and Snape jumped. He growled under his breath and began stomping off down the tunnel. James followed with a limp, trying not to look at his sliced up leg too much.

“That’s Lupin,” Snape said, halfway down the tunnel. “That werewolf. That’s Lupin. You have a pet werewolf. Are you insane?”

“Shut up,” James snapped back. “He’s not our pet, he’s our friend.” Unlike Sirius right now, who was going to need to get his head out of his arse if he wanted James to not wring his bloody neck!

“He’s a bloody monster!”

“The fuck do you know about that!?”

The two continued to bicker and shout as they made their way out of the tunnel. Snape jabbed his fingers into the knot at the base of the Willow and took off for the castle. James was slower getting out, grunting as he hit his battered leg against the roots.

“Boys!”

Dumbledore and Pomfrey were running across the lawn in the moonlight. James could recognize Dumbledore’s beard even without his glasses. Dumbledore cut off Snape’s escape, catching him by the shoulders and looking him over, while Pomfrey hurried over to James, drawing him away from the Willow. “Sit down, let me see, let me see!”

Sprawled on the ground, James leaned back on his hands and looked up as Dumbledore brought Snape over to his side. “Mr Potter. Well done with your quick thinking. Mr Pettigrew filled us in. Did you close the trapdoor?”

“I closed it,” James said. He looked down at his bloody leg and then back up at Dumbledore, swallowing a couple times. “Moony was throwing himself against it something horrible though. I don’t know if he knows how to open it…”

“If it’s closed, then the wards are activated,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head and making his beard sway. “The wolf won’t be able to escape. Poppy, how bad is it?”

“Just scratches, love.” Madam Pomfrey was trailing her wand over James’ leg, murmuring spells that made the pain go numb. “Doesn’t look like a bite, but I’d like to get it cleaned up properly before I say for certain one way or the other.” She tapped James’ leg, wrapping bandages around it with a spell.

Dumbledore nodded, his arm around Snape’s shoulders. “Very well. Let’s head inside to discuss this.”

As they climbed the stairs to Dumbledore’s office, Madam Pomfrey tapped James on the shoulder and offered him a pair of glasses. The frames were all wrong, but James could at least see clearly through the lenses. He adjusted them on his nose and looked down at his leg. His jeans were shredded across his calf and soaked with blood, but at least it looked like Pomfrey was right: four parallel slices instead of a bite.

“Scratches don’t pass anything, right?” he asked under his breath to the nurse. She shook her head, smiling warmly at him.

“Nothing worse than an infection if you don’t keep them clean,” she said. 

Inside Dumbledore’s office, McGonagall was standing with her arms folded, glaring down at Sirius, who was slumped in chair. He was picking at a thread on his sleeve, barely even glancing up when the rest of them trouped in. Peter was sitting a few chairs away from Sirius, much more agitated. He hopped to his feet as soon as he saw them, heading immediately to James’ side. “Is everyone okay?”

“I think so,” James said, squeezing Peter’s arm. “Got scratched a bit, but should be fine. Snape’s fine. Moony’s… alive.”

“We’ll have to wait until morning to check on him,” Dumbledore said. He went around to sit behind his desk, steepling his fingers in front of his lips and looking at the four boys gathered in front of him. “Have a seat?”

No one wanted to sit next to Sirius. James sucked on his tongue to keep from shouting at the other boy and sat as far away from him as he could. Peter dropped into the chair right beside James. Madam Pomfrey knelt down to examine his leg again.

Snape reluctantly sat between Peter and Sirius, hunching tighter than James had ever seen him, his hands stuffed between his knees, shoulders nearly ninety degrees with his chest.

“Poppy?” McGonagall asked.

“Just scratches.” Madam Pomfrey had unbandaged James’ leg and cleaned up the blood, making sure everything was sealed over. “You might end up with scars, you might not. Just take care, keep everything clean, and it should heal over well enough.”

“Thank you, Madam P,” James said, adjusting his glasses again.

Pomfrey smiled and patted James’ knee, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll be in the Hospital Wing?” she confirmed with the other two adults.

Dumbledore nodded. “One of us will come with you in the morning, to fetch Mr Lupin.”

“That poor boy,” Pomfrey murmured, nodding before she left the room.

“Does everybody know there’s a werewolf at Hogwarts?” Snape asked. James didn’t need his glasses to know the Slytherin was sneering.

“Only those who needed to know,” Dumbledore answered. “And those who figured it out through exposure. Those of us in this room. The other Heads of Houses. Mr Filch.”

“Filch knows?” Peter asked.

“We didn’t want to risk an argument if Remus was running late,” McGonagall said.

“He’s not human!” Snape protested.

“Only one night a month,” Dumbledore replied. “The other twenty-seven, he is as human as you or I, and quite a bright and capable young wizard to boot. Mr Lupin has every bit as much a right to an education as you do, Mr Snape. Up until tonight, we have had absolutely no incidents with him. No more than we have had with any other student, at least.” His blue eyes, not mirthful, passed briefly over James and Peter.

“You’re not gonna kick him out for this, right?” James asked. When they’d revealed to Remus that they knew what he was, Remus had panicked. If his secret got out, he risked expulsion, he’d told them. Thankfully, Dumbledore had waved that off the first time, assuring the four of them that Remus’ friends knowing what he was was absolutely not grounds for expulsion. “It wasn’t his fault! Sirius was the one who fucked it up!”

Sirius lifted his head at his name. Good to know the fuckwad wasn’t completely comatose over on the other side of the room. James glared at Sirius again, to let him know that he was in deep shit.

“No, Mr Potter, we will not be expelling Mr Lupin. This was an accident.”

“An accident!?” Snape cried, flinging an accusatory finger at Sirius. “He tried to kill me!”

“And mercifully, you were not injured,” Dumbledore said, though he was looking quite sternly at Sirius. Sirius slouched further in his seat. “I will be discussing appropriate punishments with Mr Black. First, however, we must discuss the situation.”

“Situation?” Snape sneered. “There is a monster at Hogwarts. The students have a right to know what you’ve unleashed in these halls!”

“And Mr Lupin has a right to privacy with regards to his medical issues,” Dumbledore countered. “Suffice it to say, his privacy was not upheld this evening.” Those intense blue eyes continued to stare at Sirius. “I am very disappointed in what I heard happened. I had hoped that your word was enough to maintain the required secrecy.”

Sirius said nothing. He scratched the center of his chest and looked away.

Dumbledore held the silence for a full minute before looking away from Sirius. “Mr Snape. I am going to ask you to swear an oath that you will maintain this secrecy for the remainder of Mr Lupin’s time here at Hogwarts.”

“What? No!” Snape shook his head. “No, you don’t get to almost kill me and then make me swear not to talk about it!”

“I assure you, Mr Black will be thoroughly punished for his part in this matter, but Mr Lupin was not at fault. He does not deserve to be ostracized for matters beyond his control.”

“Expel him.” Snape gestured toward Sirius. “If you’re so insistent on it not being Lupin’s fault, then it is his fault. Attempted murder has to go against the rules of this school!”

“If I wanted you dead,” Sirius growled, speaking up for the first time, “then you’d be fucking dead.”

“Not helping your case, Black,” James snapped.

“Mr Black’s punishment will be discussed with Mr Black,” Dumbledore said. “For now, Minerva?”

McGonagall set a roll of parchment on Dumbledore’s desk. He unrolled it and skimmed it, then offered it to the students and pushed a fluffy quill and inkwell their way. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to it. I’d hoped your word to your friend would have been sufficient. Unfortunately, that would seem not to be the case. Please sign this contract.”

“What is it?” Peter asked. James leaned forward to read.

We, the undersigned, hereby swear to maintain the secret of Remus Lupin’s lycanthropy (hereafter: condition). By signing this contract, we make an oath to not:

• Make mention of Remus Lupin’s condition to anyone not already aware of it.

• Make mention of the precautions surrounding Remus Lupin’s condition to anyone not already aware of it.

• Imply to, hint to, speculate with, or encourage others unaware of Remus Lupin’s condition on matters involving Remus Lupin’s condition.

• Otherwise attempt to reveal Remus Lupin’s condition to anyone not already aware of it.

Violating this contract will result in a temporary Lip-Lock Hex and further punishment at the discretion of the violator’s Head of House and Headmaster of Hogwarts.

This contract is rendered null and void after Remus Lupin graduates or is expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Who casts the Lip-Lock?” James asked, reaching for the quill.

“It’s instantaneous, part of the contract charm,” Dumbledore said. “Which I cast.”

“For the record,” James said, dipping the quill in Dumbledore’s bright blue ink, “I’d never betray Moony. But you’re right.” His words were growled across the line of chairs at Sirius, who had crossed his arms over his chest. “Apparently, this is necessary.” James signed the contract with a flourish. Nothing he read would stop him from talking about Moony with Peter and Remus (and Sirius), and it would keep idiots like Sirius or Snape from going too far beyond the pale. It wasn’t a perfect gag, but James suspected an Unbreakable Vow was a bit too far to make a student swear to. Even Sirius didn’t deserve death for running his mouth off.

Peter took the quill from James and signed below him, then offered the quill to Snape. Snape scowled at them, but under Dumbledore’s calm blue eyes, he snatched up the quill and scratched his signature onto the parchment, then threw the quill at Sirius. Sirius swatted the quill away, his Beater-honed reactions less successful on the feather than they would have been on a ball, but still. The feather fell to the floor, a streak of ink across the back of Sirius’ hand.

“The three of you may go,” Dumbledore said with a little sigh, retrieving the quill with a twitch of his finger. “Mr Potter, Mr Pettigrew, please remain in your dorm in the morning. Madam Pomfrey will fetch Remus from the Shack. Minerva, if you’ll stay a minute?”

James and Peter traipsed downstairs, with Snape a few steps behind them. James reached out to catch Snape’s sleeve before they parted ways outside the office. “Hey.”

“Don’t touch me!” Snape snapped, swatting James’ hand away.

James held up his hands innocently. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, like you give a shit.”

James scoffed, crossing his arms. “Is it a crime to want to make sure the guy I saved didn’t get hurt?” More because he wanted to make sure Remus wouldn’t have to deal with the knowledge of attacking Snape in the morning, but still… he didn’t like Snivelly. That didn’t mean he wanted Snape to die. Or become a werewolf.

“I’m fine, Potter. Though if you really cared, you wouldn’t be helping them shelter a monster. I can’t even warn my friends that they’re in danger!”

This was all Sirius’ fault. Everything that was happening right now, from James getting his leg ripped open and losing his glasses to Remus being outed to one of their worst enemies, to all this monster crap, this was all Sirius’ fault. But Sirius wasn’t here.

Snape was.

James lunged at Snape, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him up against the wall. “Remus isn’t a bloody monster, you stupid shit!” He was not going to cry. He was not going to cry because Sirius had betrayed their trust and Remus had ripped his leg open and his adrenaline was fading and he’d just tried to save Snape’s life and why wasn’t anything easy anymore!? “If you weren’t such a stupid, nosy bastard, none of this would have bloody happened!” He shoved Snape again, then let him go, stepping back and shoving his hands through his hair. “You’re bloody lucky I felt like saving your arse, Snivelly,” he snapped.

“Not a monster?” Snape demanded, straightening his robes with a huff. “He nearly took my head off! He nearly took your head off, you stupid meathead! So how about you shut up about things you clearly don’t understand!?”

Snape’s overlarge nose crunched beneath James’ fist. “Don’t you ever, ever, ever bloody tell me I don’t know my friends, Snape!”

Snape’s eyes were just as wet as James’ as he clutched at his bloody nose, trying to scramble away from him, though Snape’s tears were from the pain, and James’ were just… fuck. Fucking Sirius. James thought that no matter how bad things got, Sirius would at least have been able to keep his mouth shut.

“Never figured ‘trying to eat me’ is the mark of a good friend, Potter!” 

“You shut your fucking greaseball mouth, you slimy bastard!”

McGonagall rushed down the stairs before James could go for Snape’s throat, bodily placing herself between them. “Mr Potter!” Her wand was out, pointed toward James. “You did a great thing tonight, but you are very stressed. Go lie down in your room. Mr Pettigrew, take him back to the tower. Mr Snape, if you’ll come with me.” She looked back at Snape and sighed. “To the Hospital Wing first, I think…”

“Leave it broken,” James spat. “Might teach him not to stick his oversized conk in other people’s business.” He let Peter nudge him away, though, half-raising his hands to show he was behaving.

The blood on his knuckles almost matched Sirius’ from earlier.

“...James?”

Peter’s voice was hesitant, and he’d waited until they were back in their empty room, the door shut behind them. Frank was still missing. Probably snogging Alice Fawley behind the stairs.

“This was more than just a stupid prank gone wrong, right?” Peter climbed onto his bed, chewing his lip. “What are we gonna do when Sirius comes back?”

“Who the fuck knows.” James grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not talking to Sirius right now. Because if I do, I’m going to punch him, and if I start punching him, I’m not going to stop, and look.” His hands were shaking as he wiped his face. “Look, Pete, do whatever you want. But he nearly made Remus kill someone tonight.”

Opening his eyes, James looked down at his bloodstained and shredded jeans. “Nearly made Remus kill me,” he mumbled. He tasted iron in his mouth and scrubbed his hand over it, wondering if he was about to puke.

He’d been in a room with a werewolf. A full-grown, vicious, blood-thirsty werewolf. It had almost successfully bitten him. Almost killed him.

No wonder Remus didn’t like talking about the wolf.

“I’m going to bed,” James whispered. He shook his head and staggered over to his trunk to find his pyjamas. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what we do now.”

Christmas break started tomorrow. They were all leaving Hogwarts for several weeks. Any other full moon, and they could have talked to Remus after, asked him what he thought, let him take the lead… but James had a feeling Remus wouldn’t be up to talking much before the Hogwarts Express pulled out. And Sirius would be out of communication for at least a week, back home with his family. Even if he managed to get an owl or two out, it wouldn’t be the same as forcing Sirius to sit down and think about how badly he’d screwed up. Screwed Remus up. Nearly screwed James up.

By the time Sirius returned to the Tower an hour later, James had taken a brisk shower and screamed into his towel and was huddled in his bed with the lights off. Peter had opted to go to bed early too, though he left his curtains open. James could feel Peter watching him in the dark. It was nice to know that Pete had his back.

Sirius closed the door behind him quietly, but he wasn’t in his super-stealth Padfoot mode. James couldn’t bring himself to look at the shadow by the door. Instead, he rolled over and grabbed his wand, muttering the spell to make his curtains swish closed. He heard Peter do the same in the next bed over.

A few minutes later, James heard Sirius cross over to his own bed. The mattress creaked, and then the curtains swished closed. Sirius hadn’t even tried to give an explanation. Good, James thought, bitterly. There isn’t one.

Sirius’ curtains were still tightly drawn in the morning, though that wasn’t anything unusual. Sirius hated waking up. James got dressed quickly, and he and Peter hurried down to beat the normal breakfast rush. They crammed slices of toast in their mouth, gulped coffee cooled with more milk than they normally drank, and both bolted for the Hospital Wing.

Sirius still hadn’t made an appearance.

Madam Pomfrey was not surprised to see James and Peter in her doorway. She had long ago stopped trying to keep any of them out the morning after a full moon. Usually, though, ever since they’d learned about Remus, the three of them were the ones who brought Remus to the Hospital Wing, supported between James and Sirius’ stronger arms, the Invisibility Cloak wrapped firmly around them as Peter opened the doors and led the way.

This morning, her expression was somber as she drew the curtains back around Remus’ bed. Peter squeaked, covering his mouth with his hands. James felt the bile rise in his throat again.

Remus was black and blue with bruises. The bits of his face that weren’t bruise-colored had a sickly greyish tinge to his skin. Both of his arms, lying on top of the white sheets, were bandaged from his shoulders to his elbows. He was asleep, but it was a stiff, magically-induced sleep that made him look even more like a corpse.

James sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to brush some of his fringe aside. “...shit,” was all he managed to say.

“And this is after I patched him up.” Madam Pomfrey adjusted Remus’ sheets, smoothing them out. “I’ve already written to his parents. He’ll be staying here over the weekend. We’ll send him home on Monday, if he’s feeling up to it.”

“The whole weekend?” James asked.

“It was a rough night for him, the poor dear.”

Madam Pomfrey had a reputation for being stern and no-nonsense, but all of them knew she had a soft spot a mile wide for Remus Lupin. Sirius said she probably fancied Remus, but Remus thought it was just because he was the only student she saw on a regular basis. Regardless, it was undeniable that she was uncharacteristically soft when it came to Remus’ injuries, unlike the militant disapproval she gave to any Quidditch-related scrape.

“I had to mend ten bones, and he’d nearly bled out by the time I got there this morning.”

“Bled out?” Peter asked. “He could have died!?”

Madam Pomfrey didn’t try to sugarcoat things. She nodded solemnly. “Werewolves are very dangerous,” she told James and Peter. “Not just to other humans. His condition is not a jape or a prank. If it’s not properly handled, it could very well be fatal.”

This, James thought, staring at Moony’s battered and broken face, was entirely Sirius’ fault.

Chapter Text

Sirius hadn’t been expelled.

Somehow, despite nearly getting three students killed and blowing open the biggest secret in Gryffindor Tower to Severus Snape, of all people, Sirius was still a student at Hogwarts.

Part of him wished he’d been expelled.

If he were still a student, he had something to look forward to. Not much of something, but it was still something. If he just survived the holiday, he could go back to school. See Remus and James and Peter again. Co-exist in their dorm (though James and Peter had made it very clear that Sirius was not considered one of their friends in the last few hours before catching the Express back to London).

He could maybe apologize.

Not that Sirius Black ever apologized for much, but he could muster a genuine apology when he knew he’d genuinely fucked up. And he’d realized he’d genuinely fucked up the next morning.

The next fucking morning.

It hadn’t seemed real, at the time. Everything had been moving so slow. He’d felt like he were underwater, or in a dark room, or muffled by shadows. He’d heard the words he’d said, but he hadn’t realized what he was saying. He hadn’t felt the way the skin split over his knuckles where he caught Snape’s teeth with his punch. He barely realized James and Peter had run out of the dorm, or why McGonagall was dragging him to Dumbledore’s office.

No, it was upon waking up the next morning and hearing silence from his roommates that the truth came rushing back with all his senses, and Sirius realized that he’d sent Snape to the Shack.

During a full moon.

And all because Snape hadn’t shut up about how Remus wasn’t really their friend, he was just a weak tagalong who could do nothing better than suck their dicks.

Sirius had just snapped. It was one thing to pick at him, pick at how he shunned the Family traditions and disgraced their heritage. That was fair. That was true. But Remus? Quiet, gentle, brilliant Remus with the soft smile and moonlit eyes? Remus was the best damn wizard in all of Gryffindor Tower. He deserved better than the filth Snape had been spewing.

Sirius didn’t know why he said what he’d said. He honestly couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking, if he’d been thinking at all.

That had been happening a lot, lately. Not-thinking. Sometimes, Sirius would blackout completely: blink and be in a completely different place, or have pages of notes he couldn’t read, or be balls-deep in some girl he didn’t even know the name of. He didn’t understand what was happening. Was he being cursed? Or was it his mind’s desperate attempts to protect itself from the upcoming horror of the holidays?

Snape had been speaking, and Sirius had stopped being in control of his own body. He’d signed something at Dumbledore’s insistence and woken up to realize that he’d nearly killed everyone who actually meant something to him.

Small wonder James’ eyes were full of ice, or Peter turned his back when Sirius was in the room.

He didn’t even try to visit Remus in the Hospital Wing.

Sirius sat with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the way home for the holidays, although unbeknownst to them, he was no longer a member. It was part of his punishment: no more Quidditch for the rest of the year. No more free evenings, either. Sirius had detention every single night. He had some essays to write. And he’d lost Gryffindor 100 points.

James’ heroic act of saving Snape’s life (and Remus’, by extension), had earned Gryffindor 100 points, so no one else would know, but it was still the greatest single-event loss of points Sirius had ever caused.

None of it felt like enough. Sirius rubbed his chest and curled up tighter in his bed. They should have talked to Orion if they wanted to give him a punishment that stuck.

Or they should have just expelled him.

There was a knock on his door, and then it swung open. If you didn’t know how to lift it just so, it would creak.

Regulus didn’t know the trick.

Sirius tugged his blankets over his head. He didn’t want to talk to Regulus right now.

“Are you sick?”

“Fuck off, Rabbit.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Reggie.”

“Sirius.” It was almost a growl. Almost. Regulus couldn’t muster the emotion for a growl. Regulus couldn’t muster any emotion. The boy had been an empty shell of a human being ever since he was a baby. He never cried, never laughed, never screamed.

Used to let Sirius call him pet names, though. Rabbit, for R.A.B., for the titchy little scrawny bean of a boy Regulus had been. (Still was.) Reggie, when Sirius was feeling less charitable. Ever since Hogwarts, though, Regulus had been even more insistent that Sirius use his full name. (Sirius had been even more insistent that he not.)

“If you’re not sick, we’re having guests for dinner.”

Sirius groaned and dragged his pillow over his head. “I’ve got the pox.”

“You had the pox eight years ago. Mother says you’re to be properly dressed.”

“Walburga can go boil her fat head.”

“Sirius.” Only Regulus could pack so much derision into his name. “It’s Dorinda Avery and her family.”

“They’re here for you, Rabbit. I’d only ruin your chances.”

“You’re still the elder son, and the most eligible.”

Sirius pushed himself up to glare at Regulus, who was standing just inside his door. “You think there’s a single damn pureblood witch in the world who wants to marry me? Dear little Dory is here for you, Rabbit, and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you might actually make a match.”

Regulus shifted, the discomfort plain on his face. Discomfort was one of his few genuine emotions, and it was a frequent visitor whenever anyone talked about the continuation of the Black Family lineage. Unlike Sirius, who would pursue any witch who let him get close enough (no one ever felt the same as Lucia Nerin), Regulus had a reputation at school for being aloof and standoffish. The only way a witch could get close to the supremely eligible Regulus Black was through study dates, and Sirius knew his little brother was too anal for a study date to ever become anything more than a time set aside for study.

“I’m fourteen,” Regulus finally said. “That’s still too young for a match.”

“Yeah? Tell that to Grandfather Pollux.” Sirius turned away from Regulus and pulled the blankets up tight.

Regulus gave a huff from the doorway. “Oh, why can’t you just grow up?” he demanded. “You’re sixteen, Sirius, not six! You are still the heir to this family, and you have duties and responsibilities to uphold! Stop embarrassing all of us! Stop embarrassing yourself! Just grow up!”

Frustration. That was another one of Regulus’ rare emotions.

“Fuck off and die, Rabbit.”

“Do you think any of us enjoy this? None of us get a moment’s peace when you’re sulking around the house in one of your fits!”

“One of my-!” Sirius rolled to face his brother. “You mean, when our dear sweet mummy is torturing me?”

“Cruciatus is not that bad,” Regulus said. His hands were on his hips. It didn’t suit him.

“Says the little freak.” Regulus’ six seconds of silent Cruciatus from his initiation was already the stuff of Family legend. His little brother’s pain tolerance was astronomically high. Sometimes, Sirius wondered if Regulus wasn’t just a magical experiment that couldn’t actually feel sensations at all..

Probably, if Sirius really tried, he could withstand Cruciatus in freakish silence too. He’d had enough experience with the pain of it to know what to expect, after all. (Walburga had already welcomed him home with the curse for giving her an ‘inappropriate look’.) He didn’t see any reason to bother with silence. Screaming at least felt like it helped, and Sirius had realized that the louder he screamed, the more likely Orion was to kick him over to the Potters.

Not that the Potters would be an option anymore. James had made it very clear that Sirius was not a friend.

Shit. Sirius hadn’t even considered that aspect of the fallout. He couldn’t flee to the Potters. There would be no escape from Grimmauld Place this Christmas, or any Christmas ever again. He had to survive on his own, until he could get back to Hogwarts.

If only Dumbledore had actually expelled him. Then he wouldn’t have any reason to cling to hope and keep going.

Sirius slumped back against his pillows, his gaze drifting around the room. Gryffindor banners and muggle posters decorated the walls, designed to infuriate his mother. His trunk was half unpacked, homework strewn about wherever he’d bothered to drop it. There was nothing he considered truly important in this room. Anything he was scared Walburga might destroy, he left at Hogwarts during the shorter holidays.

He’d learned his lesson from the little stuffed dog he’d had as a child. It had been a black velveteen toy, with chewed-up ears and shiny glass eyes. Sirius had named it Canis and slept with it every night. When he went to Hogwarts, he’d left it at home, sitting on his pillow, determined that he would never let any of his classmates know he was a baby who still had a stuffy he loved.

Canis was gone when he got home that first Christmas. Sirius never knew what had happened to it. He assumed Walburga had destroyed it, like she tried to do to anything else Sirius loved and she considered inappropriate. Thank Godric for Uncle Alphard’s book of sticking charms.

But really, what was the difference between Canis and himself these days? Just a once-beloved toy, now deemed useless and a liability? Maybe Sirius should take a lesson from Walburga and throw himself into the fire. Just get it all over with. Nobody wanted him back at Hogwarts. His family certainly didn’t want him. He didn’t even have any friends left.

“Sirius?” Regulus was standing beside the bed. Sirius blinked. When had he moved? Had he blacked out again? “Maybe you actually are sick…”

Regulus’ thin hand was cool against Sirius’ forehead. Sirius didn’t try to bat him away. He just closed his eyes and imagined there was a note of concern in his brother’s voice, for once.

“I’ll make your excuses, but she won’t be happy.” Regulus withdrew his hand and backed away. “Get some rest. She won’t let you miss the Malfoy party, no matter how sick you actually are.”

She won’t be happy. Was it even possible for Walburga Black to be happy these days? Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever seen his mother smile.

Regulus closed the door quietly, and Sirius pulled the covers over his head again. One night. He’d bought himself one night of solitude. It was no Potters’ cottage, but it was better than nothing at all.

‘Unhappy’ ended up being the wrong word for Walburga’s fury. After the dinner, Sirius had heard her storming upstairs, but he’d also heard Regulus’ quiet murmur running interference right outside his door. Sirius had huddled beneath his covers and wondered how badly he was going to owe Regulus for sticking his neck out like that come morning.

He had tried to avoid his mother, but with Kreacher literally dragging him out of bed and all but shoving him into the dining room for meals, complete avoidance was impossible. Sirius couldn’t make it through a single day without triggering Walburga’s rage. Whether it was looking at her the wrong way, or not looking at her, or not eating enough, or eating too much, or being late for a meal, or being early… Sirius just couldn’t win. He couldn’t escape.

Even if he could, he had nowhere to go.

On Christmas Eve, there was no pre-party Cruciatus. There was a Full Body Bind that lasted over an hour. Walburga had demanded Sirius get dressed early, then locked him still and circled to make sure his hair and robes were perfect. She replaced a golden lion pin with a silver serpent one and patted him down until she found his wand, which she concealed in her own robes.

Sirius hadn’t even bothered to attempt to sneak in any dungbombs or wet-start fireworks. What was even the point?

Walburga released the Bind just before shoving him through the Floo. There was no time to demand his wand back before he was stumbling out into the den of Slytherins, trying desperately not to lose his balance on numb legs. Thankfully, Regulus came through immediately after, and then Orion and Walburga. Though Sirius was a lone Gryffindor in this snake nest, none of them were so crass as to openly attack him in front of his family.

Regulus pressed up close to Sirius, guiding him toward the refreshments table. He didn’t look happy, but he was, Sirius noticed, paying attention to the shake of Sirius’ hand. He was giving Sirius cover while Sirius recovered from the Bind and worked his circulation back.

“Try not to cause a scene, for once?” Regulus hissed under his breath. “It’s Christmas. For Salazar’s sake, just… stand against the wall and say nothing?”

“Walburga took my wand,” Sirius muttered back. “I’m not so stupid as to start something when I’m defenseless.”

Regulus was unamused. “Somehow, I doubt that will make a difference.”

Regulus stayed by Sirius’ elbow for five minutes before melting into the crowd. Sirius picked up a glass of spiced butterbeer and slunk away. At least right now, dressed in emerald green silk and decorated with silver and snakes, he didn’t immediately look like a Gryffindor.

Uncle Alphard was nowhere to be seen. Sirius tried to hide without hiding near a column, scanning the crowd for his ridiculously tall uncle and his long silver hair. An uneasy tightness clenched in his chest when he skimmed over the heads of the gathered purebloods a third time and still didn’t see Alphard. At well over two meters tall, Alphard couldn’t hide in a crowd.

Sirius did spot his grandfather, Pollux, heading back for the refreshments table. He pulled away from the column and made his way to Pollux’s side. Out of all of his relatives, Alphard openly supported him, but Pollux at least didn’t openly loathe him. Pollux seemed to find all of the blood traitor accusations hurled Sirius’ way a bit of good fun. He never helped Sirius, but at least he didn’t actively lash out against him, either.

“Grandfather?”

“Please, not here,” Pollux scoffed. “You’re going to make me sound so old around all of these lovely ladies. Adourna! Yes, of course I was talking about you!” Pollux bent over the hand of a witch half his age, giving her a smile that Sirius had used many times himself.

To be fair to Pollux, the wizard looked thirty years younger than he actually was. At sixty-three, the lines in his face were from laughter and smiles. His blue eyes were still bright, black hair unsalted, no belly stretching his robes in the front. He selected a glass of mulled wine from the table and sipped it as he turned to give Sirius an expectant look.

“Is Uncle Alphard around?”

Pollux was Alphard’s father. If anyone knew where Alphard was, surely it would be him.

Unfortunately, Pollux was not a very attentive father. He actually pouted slightly at the mention of his eldest son, very nearly rolling his eyes. “Alphard will not be attending tonight.”

“Is he okay?” Sirius asked quickly. The Curse was eating Alphard alive. Over the summer, his uncle had been leaning heavily on a cane. Was he on his deathbed already?

“He’s not quite bedridden,” Pollux said, taking pity on Sirius’ expression. “Not yet. But a crowded room is no place for someone with such an advanced Curse. You’ll have to go visit him yourself, if you wanted to see him.”

“Will he be at the Hall for Christmas?”

Pollux shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. Alphard has been relishing the excuse to not see any of the rest of us for months now. Course, he always came around for you.”

Sirius nodded. “Thank you, G- Sir.”

Pollux’s smile was part indulgence, part snake, as he shooed Sirius away. “Go off somewhere else, little lion. I won’t be competing against a younger man.”

If there was no Alphard at this party, then there was no one Sirius could stand next to and receive some protection from. He made his way across the ballroom, trying to ignore how many sets of eyes were tracking him. Everybody who was anybody in Slytherin House was invited to this party. Maybe even Snape, if the rumors about who counted him a friend were correct. Not that Snape could afford to match the dress code for a party of this quality.

Nobody was directly following Sirius as he slipped out of the ballroom and into the Manor proper. The music and voices were muffled by the heavy oak doors closing behind him, and Sirius breathed a small sigh of relief. He snuck around the corner and crept up an imposing staircase.

Most of these manors were laid out similarly, especially the ones renovated after the invention of the hallway. Sirius wandered the long corridors, sipping on his butterbeer and eyeing the portraits of generations of Malfoys, all with the same white-blonde hair and slightly-wrinkled noses. “You’d look more attractive if you smiled,” he told one painted witch.

“Well!” she snapped, pressing her hand to her bosom. “I never!”

Sirius shook his head and kept walking.

The portraits were whispering around him. Sirius left his glass on a table and pushed open a door. This was an office, with high bookshelves and an imposing desk. Sirius went to the window and pushed it open, leaning against the frame and taking a deep breath. Outside was bitingly cold, but at least the air was fresher, not perfumed with spices and colognes. He stared up at the waning moon. Was Moony at home? Was he still injured? Was he thinking about Sirius?

Probably, probably, and probably not. Sirius pulled back from the window with a shiver and looked around for a fireplace. He wasn’t the best at wandless magic, having spent years working on focus and control of his magic so he stopped setting things on fire whenever he lost his temper, but fire remained the one magic he could tap without his wand. He took a deep breath and cast out his hand, feeling for a spark of his raw magic and flinging it toward the huge stone fireplace by the door. The logs immediately caught flame, a fire roaring to life. Sirius pulled back his hands and rubbed them together. He hadn’t meant to throw quite that much, but at least it worked.

Even with the window open, the fire quickly warmed the room. Sirius tore his eyes away from the flames to peruse the bookshelves. Did the Malfoys have anything interesting? Anything Sirius hadn’t seen in any of the Blacks’ own libraries? His mind wandered back to Remus.

Maybe anything on the Animagus transformation?

The door clicked open before Sirius had perused more than two of the tall shelves. He whirled around as girlish giggling suddenly cut off. Bellatrix was in the doorway, one of her hands curled around the wrist of Rabastan Lestrange. His mouth was pressed against her neck, his free hand grasping her front, just beneath a breast.

Bellatrix was staring right at Sirius. There was no hiding from his cousin. Sirius closed the book he was holding and tossed it down on the desk, bracing for a fight.

“Sirius.” Bellatrix’s voice was poisonous, her wand materializing from a sleeve. “Fancy running into you here…”

“I could say the same for you, Bella dear,” Sirius said. “Have you switched your fiancé on us? Or do they share you?”

Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed to slits, and a flick of her wand sent a ripple of purple energy toward Sirius. He ducked to the side, anticipating the attack, and shoved a chair at her. Bellatrix gave a wordless scream, and Rabastan released her to instead lunge at Sirius.

Physical fighting was something Sirius was good at. The other Gryffindors sometimes teased him for being an aristocratic ponce, but Sirius wasn’t a first-string Beater for nothing (hadn’t been). He swung a punch at Rabastan’s throat, trying to keep the older man between himself and Bellatrix, to use him as a fleshy shield.

Bellatrix’s scream, unfortunately, had not been just for effect. There were more people coming toward the study. Sirius could hear their feet racing down the polished corridors. Rabastan’s fist connected with Sirius’ cheekbone, and Bellatrix darted in with another curse that yanked Sirius’ legs out from under him. He hit the floor hard enough to wind himself, barely managing to roll away before Rabastan came down on him. Unfortunately, he rolled right into Rodolphus’ kick.

The first to fall was the first to lose, Sirius knew. He struggled and twisted, trying to get away from the fists and feet of the Lestrange brothers, but another round of Gang Up on the Gryffindor had begun.

Rodolphus had just been the first of the second wave of Slytherins. The annual Malfoy Christmas party was one of the few occasions where one of the infamous Gryffindor Marauders could be counted on to be alone and defenseless, and no Slytherin wanting to prove his worth to his peers ever wanted to miss a chance for payback. Sirius tried to fight back, as he always did, but between the curses and the physical blows, the best he ended up doing was curling up to protect his face and chest.

A sharp heel ground down hard on his hand, and Bellatrix cast out her arms to push the other Slytherins away from him. She gestured, and Rodolphus and Rabastan hauled him to his feet and shoved him up against the wall. Sirius wiped his arm against his cheek, gritting his teeth against the burst of pain. Fuck. Had one of them managed to break something?

“You are such a mess, cousin.” Bellatrix put the tip of her wand against Sirius’ throat, pinning him against the wall with just a touch. Even the Lestrange brothers backed away, watching the Black witch with grins of delight on their face. “I heard you got in a spot of nasty trouble right before the holidays. You almost got yourself expelled. More the pity. At least then, you might have been disgraced enough to be put out of your misery.”

Bellatrix hated him. She always had, ever since they were young. Even before Sirius had been Sorted, she had hated him, though she hadn't been allowed to touch her generation's heir. Her idea of ‘fun’ had always seemed to be torturing Regulus instead. Sirius suspected that Bellatrix was the secret behind Regulus’ quiet initiation. As a child, he had always done everything he could to interrupt the two of them when they were together. He had made a promise, after all. Protecting Regulus had been his duty.

After his Sorting, Bellatrix had been let off her leash about him. At least she’d stopped attacking Regulus when she had Sirius to torment.

“It would have put all of us out of our collective miseries,” Bellatrix was continuing. She reached out, trailing her long nails against Sirius’ cheek. He could feel a bone shift in his face and bit his tongue from making a sound. With this many Slytherins around, all he had left was his dignity.

Fat chance of that surviving, with how fast he’d had to curl up into a ball on the floor.

“One of these days,” Bellatrix whispered, pushing the wand further into Sirius’ throat, “I’m going to kill you…”

It was a threat Bellatrix had made often, but it landed differently tonight. Sirius felt the wand tip when he swallowed, and he felt something inside him shatter. It wasn’t the usual sort of snap, where Sirius’ temper broke and he flung himself at whatever had angered him, trying to deal the maximum damage in the minimum time. This was more like a shell falling away, some last defense over his battered heart.

Why was he even fighting her?

She wanted him dead. His whole family, save for Alphard, wanted him dead, and Alphard would be dead soon enough himself. He had no friends left. He didn’t even have the Quidditch team needing him anymore. What was even the point of staying alive?

His eyes drifted away from her hard glare, looking over her shoulder at the window and the freedom beyond. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so hard. Everyone he’d ever loved had been at risk because they’d trusted him. Everyone who had been supposed to love him wanted to see him dead.

Why not just appease them all and let Bellatrix finally kill him?

“...do it,” he whispered. 

The moon was still quite fat in the dark sky, wreathed by hundreds of stars. Moony. Sirius felt a fresh ache in his chest at the thought of the werewolf, undoubtedly broken and battered by Sirius’ betrayal. James trying to explain to him in the morning why the last moon had been worse than ever before. How it had all been Sirius’ fault. And all because they hadn’t managed to pull off the Animagus transformation in time.

It wasn’t wrong. Sirius knew they hadn’t done it wrong. They’d spent three years on the spell. Sirius had checked and double-checked everything. Their enunciation of the casting every day had been flawless. The dew had been untouched. The moon had been full. The lightning had been electrifying.

They had come so far, all three of them, and all they were missing was that last and final nudge. Sirius knew that was all they were missing. He could feel it in his bones, and in his heart. One final step, and they’d be able to become animals and help Remus.

One final step.

Sirius’ thoughts focused on that, swirling around and around.

One final step.

They almost had it. Remus was almost able to get some relief.

And after all the pain Sirius had given him, didn’t he owe that to Remus? Relief during the full moon?

He was one step away. 

Why was he throwing it away?

Why was he throwing Remus’ relief away!?

Sirius’ eyes snapped back to Bellatrix. She was grinning, her lips forming words. “Avada Keda-”

“NO!”

Sirius roared, lashing up suddenly. He grabbed Bellatrix’s wand arm, forcing the tip away just as the green beam shot out, slamming into the wall and scorching the plaster. His other hand was around her throat, and he screamed as she did, spinning around and flinging her into the fireplace.

The flames exploded. Scorching heat blasted out of the hearth, knocking the closest wizards, including Sirius, off their feet. Bellatrix was screaming in pain and panic, clawing at the lashing fire as if it were a living thing. The Lestranges were rushing in, trying to grab her and pull her out. Other Slytherins were panicking, gibbering about defensive curses and protective fireplaces.

Sirius shoved past them all, taking advantage of the moment of distraction to sprint for the window. Someone grabbed him, but he elbowed them in the face, grabbing for the open frame and hauling himself out. He didn’t even pause, hurling his body into the open air. It was only a twenty foot drop or so. Child’s play for a Marauder.

He hoped.

Sirius hit the ground hard, his left ankle buckling with a snap. He bit his lip and pushed himself forward, willing adrenaline and fear to erase the pain. Run. Run. He only had as long as Bellatrix was burning to get away.

The Slytherins were screaming behind him, but Sirius wasn’t looking back. He made it to a copse of trees and kept pushing, screaming at himself to not give up, not look down, just run and run as hard and as fast as he could. His arms were pumping with each jarring stride, pumping and stretching and turning black as he fell forward and kept running, a long, loping spring of a four-legged dog. The world was dimmer in color but brighter in scent, and Sirius just ran.

When he couldn’t run any longer, he walked. When he couldn’t walk, he collapsed. Four legs buckled, his head sagged onto furry paws, and his tail thumped onto the ground. Sirius lay where he’d fallen, panting heavily and staring down his long muzzle.

His muzzle.

His paws.

His tail.

Sirius gave said tail a twitch. It thumped. He turned an ear toward the sound. He could turn his fucking ears. Because they were pointed and standing up off the top of his head.

Because he was a dog!

Sirius lifted his head and looked around. He was out in a field, miles from anywhere he recognized. His legs ached, but everything that had been hurt in the skirmish at the Manor was just a dull throbbing instead of a sharp pain. He twisted, sniffing at his left hind leg. He could smell blood, and when he licked it, he could taste it, the sharp, sweet feeling of a living creature. He flexed his paw and whined, then curled up a little tighter. The wind was harsh across this field, but his coat was now thick black fur, not thin dress robes. He drew all his legs in beneath himself and brought his tail up to tuck his nose into. If the Blacks came looking for him, they wouldn’t recognize their runaway son as a furry black mound in an empty field. Surely, as a dog, he was safe.

Sleeping as a dog in a field was not something SIrius recommended. He jolted awake several times during the night, ears twisting toward the distant sound of hisses and howls, of other creatures making their way around the field in the dark. Thankfully, nothing seemed eager to disturb the large black dog, though one time, Sirius did wake up to find a little dormouse nose to nose with him.

The next time Sirius woke up, the sun was starting to rise, turning the overcast sky a muddy gray. He shivered, the cold having set in through his thick coat, and pushed himself to his feet. Immediately, he groaned, all of his muscles feeling stiff and tight. He took a few stumbling steps and sat down, already panting.

Okay. He needed to take a minute to figure out just what, exactly, he was going to do. That would start with stretching slowly, trying to work out the aches in his overtaxed muscles.

Malfoy Manor was… somewhere near Stonehenge, Sirius knew. West of London. If he had his wand, he could have summoned the Knight Bus and gotten a ride somewhere, but Walburga had taken his wand. He had this dog form, his Animagus shape, and he had some crude fire magic. In a pinch, he supposed he could pawn the silver jewelry he was wearing to some muggles.

But where could he even go?

Hogwarts was too far to the north. Sirius would never make it back to the school in one piece without his wand. Uncle Alphard lived in Birmingham, also too far away. Maybe… Andromeda? She lived on the east coast, probably even further away as a dog could run than Alphard. Sirius had never been to her house in person, though. The last thing he wanted was to bring the Family to her doorstep. 

She was probably his best hope of an ally right now. Sirius doubted he would get away with… killing Bellatrix? Almost killing her? That fireplace hadn’t reacted normally when he flung Bellatrix into the flames. Leave it to the Malfoys to have a bloodthirsty fireplace. If it were cursed, if she were dead now... 

If Bellatrix was dead, Sirius was dead as soon as the Family caught up to him. And disgraced though she was, Dromeda was Bellatrix’s little sister. She might draw the line at accepting blood traitors when they had her sister’s blood on their hands. Sirius knew he’d never forgive anyone who murdered Regulus, no matter how much of a prat Regulus could be.

James. He might forgive James for murdering Regulus.

We will never turn you away. Not ever. If you are lost, or scared, or hurt, you can always come here.

Effie’s warm voice trickled through Sirius’ mind. How many times had she folded him in her arms over the years, assuring him that he was just as much a part of their lives as James was? James hated him right now, but his parents…?

His parents might be the key. Even if all they did was let him use their Floo to get to Alphard’s or Dromeda’s or Hogwarts… it was a plan. They were in Godric’s Hollow. That was west, and north a bit? If he could find a town with a train station, maybe he could find a map.

Sirius took a deep breath and tried walking again. His legs still ached, but at least he could move. His left hind leg was painful to put any weight on, but he had three other good ones. He could limp along at a fairly decent pace.

Sirius trudged across the country until he couldn’t walk any further, and then he slept until he was too cold to stay still any longer. He drank from rivers and streams and bowls of water people left outside for their pets. He traveled more easily when it was dark and overcast, drawing less attention when the shadows matched his fur. Eating was a bit more of a challenge, but the dog’s mind (he’d started calling the dog Padfoot, like how Remus’ wolf was Moony) mercifully took over. If he spotted a rat or a stoat, he’d pull back and let the dog track and hunt and kill, trying not to think too hard about what he was crunching between his jaws. Every time he found a map, he tried to memorize the pattern of roads and rails and rivers, reorienting himself toward Godric’s Hollow.

It was stupidly early in the morning three days later when he started recognizing trees and paths. Hedges. Houses. That familiar blue door! Padfoot dragged himself up onto the porch, and Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on all the bits of himself that were human. It took a moment, but it was like fitting a key into a lock. As soon as he had it oriented right, everything just slid into place.

Immediately, the cold swallowed him up. Sirius yelped, huddling into a tight ball. It was an icy night, with thick, wet snow falling quite heavily, and a brisk wind was cutting straight through his thin dress robes. He was shivering even before the pain of all of his various injuries reasserted themselves. The bruises and scrapes hadn’t hurt nearly as much as Padfoot. Only the damage to his face and ankle had ached when he’d been a dog, but even then, it had been bearable. Now, the broken bones felt fresh, spiking hot pain through him with every shift he made against the cold.

Sirius slumped to his knees, huddling against the edge of the door. He’d made it. He was at the Potters’. All he had to do now was knock.

All he had to do.

What if James answered? It was probably half past two in the morning. Effie and Monty would be fast asleep. Old people were heavy sleepers, right? If James woke up, if James saw him huddled in his doorway… would James turn him away?

James wasn’t the only Hogwarts student who lived in Godric’s Hollow. Sirius shivered and tried to think of who else would stop by sometimes, joining them on broomsticks or exploring the riverbanks. There were a pair of Hufflepuffs, a Slytherin (no), and… three younger Gryffindors? Sirius didn’t even remember any of their names, much less which houses they lived at. None of them had been as important as James and the Potters.

“Just knock,” Sirius instructed himself. He was shivering hard enough that his shoulder practically did the knocking for him. “Do it!” He was out of options right now. Risk the Potters throwing him out, or freeze right here on their front porch.

Sirius peeled one hand away from his chest, pounding his fist against the door. He flinched and curled up tighter, waiting.

No answer.

With a little sob, Sirius tried again. And again. Wake up, he begged the Potters in his mind. Wake up, please wake up, please…!

The door swung open, and Sirius nearly toppled inside the house. Monty stood above him, in fuzzy slippers and a tartan dressing gown, squinting down at him with his wand held loosely in his right hand.

Not James.

Sirius’ shoulders slumped, and he managed to lift his hand in a tiny wave. “...hi.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly way too dry to speak. “C-can I spend the night?”

“Merlin…” Monty let out a long, deep sigh and backed away from the door. “Come on in. Quick, you’re letting the cold in.”

Sirius used the doorframe to drag himself to his feet. He yipped when he put his weight on his human left foot for the first time in three days and the ankle nearly gave out again. Only Monty’s quick grab for his arm kept him upright.

“Whoa there, what’s going on?” Monty closed the door behind Sirius, his face twisting in concern. “You okay?”

“...bum ankle,” Sirius admitted, eyeing Monty warily. How much had James told his parents about that last night at Hogwarts? Not everything, because James wouldn’t be so stupid as to out Remus as a werewolf, but did Monty know that he’d nearly gotten his son killed? “...sorry about the hour,” he mumbled. “Left from the Manor this time, not London…”

“Long walk,” Monty agreed. “Let’s get you sitting. Arm up here; I’m stronger than I look.”

Leaning against Monty’s side, his arm around the older man’s shoulders, Sirius was able to limp into the sitting room and sink into the familiar squishy couch. Monty cast a quick ignition spell at the fireplace to get some heat going and wrapped a blanket around Sirius’ shoulders.

Already, it was more than Sirius had been hoping for.

“You sit there, warm up, get some circulation going.” Monty’s eyes were fixed on Sirius’ face, the painful left side that Sirius knew had to at least be brightly colored with a bruise. “I’ll get the kettle on.”

Sirius nodded, exhausted and wrung out, aching more than just physically. He leaned toward the fire, pulling the blanket tighter around his sides.

Bellatrix was screaming, panicked and afraid, as the flames sunk into her skin and tried to rip her apart…

He jolted, jerking back with a low moan. He was dead. He was so dead.

Monty returned a couple minutes later, pressing a mug of cocoa (topped with marshmallows) into Sirius’ hand. The heat burned against his fingers, which were starting to warm up from the fire. Monty gave a little grunt as he sat on the couch next to Sirius, his knees cracking. “Right. Gimme your leg.”

Sirius blinked at him for a moment before realizing that Monty wanted to see his ankle. He turned on the couch, offering his left leg. Just above the fancy leather shoe, his ankle was clearly swollen. Sirius hissed in pain as Monty carefully took his shoe and sock off, prodding gently at the joint.

“...you walked here,” Monty asked slowly, “from Malfoy Manor? With your ankle broken?”

“I…” Sirius took a hasty slurp of his cocoa to buy himself some time for an answer. The chocolate burst across his tongue, warmth sliding down into his belly. It was the best thing he’d tasted in three days, almost completely distracting him from Monty’s question. “...I hitchhiked some?”

Monty squinted at Sirius again. Sirius couldn’t meet the older wizard’s eyes.

“Sirius,” he said, his voice soft and understanding, “are you in some sort of trouble?”

Sirius couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that question triggered. “They’re gonna kill me, this time,” he told Monty. “I think… I may have… I hurt Bellatrix. Real bad. I don’t know if she’s… still alive. The Family-”

Monty shook his head, one hand on Sirius’ calf, above the broken bone. “The Family can wait until morning,” he said firmly. “We’ll get this fixed up tonight.”

“You can mend bones?” Sirius asked.

“Useful thing to know, when you’re into experimental magic…” Monty gave Sirius a wink, waving his wand over Sirius’ ankle and tapping once. Relief immediately flooded through Sirius’ leg, and he nearly groaned just from the sudden absence of pain. “Now lean in here, let me see that face of yours. Anything else broken?”

“No, sir,” Sirius said, closing his eyes as Monty gave a small push to his broken cheek, then flourished his wand and tapped again. “You are a miracle worker,” Sirius declared.

“Just don’t tell Effie.” Monty gave Sirius a pat on the shoulder. “How’s the cocoa?”

“Almost done.” Sirius took another long pull, licking a melting marshmallow off his lip. “Thank you. I, um, I can call Andromeda in the morning. Get out of your hair…”

“You can talk to us in the morning,” Monty said, scratching his graying curls and wrinkling his nose. “You didn’t get me out of bed at this stupid hour not to explain yourself. We’ll talk about it at breakfast.”

Sirius nodded, staring into his mug. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just… okay. James is probably gonna kill me for thinking it was okay to come here still, but… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“We’ll talk about it at breakfast,” Monty repeated, covering a yawn as he patted Sirius on the shoulder. “Right now, it’s bloody freezing, and I want to go back to sleep. And I should think you do, too.”

Sirius nodded, swallowing the last of the cocoa around the lump in his throat. He got to his feet, relieved to no longer be limping, and followed Monty upstairs to the familiar guest room. James’ bedroom door was shut, and Sirius glanced guiltily at it as he passed, but he didn’t say a word.

Monty folded down the sheet and dug some summer robes out of the closet to hand over to Sirius. They were a bit too lightweight for the weather, but as long as Sirius was staying inside, they’d be fine.

They were also a deep, rich red, and not this hideous green that stabbed Sirius’ soul every time he looked down at himself.

Before Monty could leave the room, Sirius impulsively reached out for the old wizard, pressing close to hug him. “Thank you,” he repeated, hiding in Monty’s broad chest, feeling every inch a child again, and not the nearly-adult wizard he was supposed to be.

“I’m not a monster,” Monty murmured, hugging Sirius back and patting his shoulder. “Nor’s James. It’ll be all right, Sirius. Just wait and see.”

You don’t know what I did… Sirius nodded and released Monty, waiting until Monty was gone before dragging his sleeves across his face. He locked the bedroom door and drew the curtains shut before stripping off the emerald green dress robes.

The Family crest was emblazoned across Sirius’ heart in thin, white scars. It had been several months since he’d last had to cut the marks into his skin, and they were starting to fade away. Sirius pressed his hand against the mark and took a deep breath.

You will always be a Black, Orion’s cool voice reminded him. There was no escaping the Family.

But maybe, tonight, Sirius could pretend.

He pulled on the borrowed robes and climbed into the guest bed. The room was cold, but the bed was soft. Sirius tucked his arms around the pillow and closed his eyes, shivering himself to sleep.

The morning sun pouring through the curtains was what woke Sirius up. He dragged the blankets over his head and hugged a pillow against his chest as recollections of the previous night flooded back in.

He was in Godric’s Hollow. In a bed which was almost as much his own as the one back at Grimmauld Place was. Or was it? Monty certainly accepted him last night, and if Monty did, Effie certainly would. But would either of them allow Sirius to stay if James refused?

That was the problem with borrowing someone else's parents. At some point, you had to give them back.

Sirius wiped at his face and forced himself to push the blankets back. He stared up at the ceiling, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

The full-length mirror tucked into the corner gave him a glimpse of his face, and Sirius winced. A deep purple bruise filled the left side, his eye slightly swollen from Rabastan’s fist. His hair was windswept and bedheaded, with a few dead leaves stuck in it. Sirius felt the sleeves of his borrowed, wrinkled robe before remembering that Walburga had taken his wand. There would be no hiding behind magic today.

Sirius picked the leaves out of his hair and tried to finger-comb it back into some semblance of normalcy. He wasn’t about to change back into the green silk robes on the floor, so the wrinkled ones would have to do. At least they were clean. He prodded his cheek, but aside from a bit of tenderness like an old bruise, it didn’t hurt. Thanks to Monty’s magic last night, it only looked hideous.

There was only so much Sirius could do to stall. The Potters knew he was here. At some point, he’d have to go downstairs and face them. Face James.

Years of practice sneaking around Grimmauld Place, trying to avoid Kreacher, served him well now. Sirius ghosted his way down the stairs and toward the kitchen, where he could hear the familiar sounds of Effie making breakfast for her boys.

At the foot of the stairs, Sirius hesitated. Through the glass door of the dining room, he could see James and Monty talking. Sirius couldn’t quite make out what James was saying, but his voice was low and heated. Even though James’ back was to the stairs, Sirius could recognize the hostility in his body language.

Yep. Still in deep shit. He shouldn’t stay here. James wouldn’t want him to stay. As long as Bellatrix wasn’t dead, Andromeda would probably put him up. At least until Nymphadora started cursing as filthily as he did.

Sirius curled around the banister and went to the back of the cottage, slipping into the kitchen. Effie was just turning away from the hob when Sirius entered, giving a jump of surprise, her hand flying to her chest.

"Godric, Sirius, you scared the living daylights out of me!" She set aside the pan she was using, opening her arms to offer him a hug. "How're you feeling this morning?" No judgment. No rejection. Sirius pressed his lips together in the face of her kindness and tried to give a noncommittal shrug.

Effie was offering a hug, and while he'd normally fly into her arms for the comfort, it didn't feel right to accept a hug from his best friend's mum when said best friend hated his guts right now but oh, Sirius had started moving anyway, without even realizing it, and he was pressed against her chest, clutching at her back as if he could hide away from the world if he just held on tight enough.

"Sorry," he whispered into her shoulder. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm..."

"Shh." She stroked his shoulder, holding him tight. Nothing had changed about this. Sirius still felt the way Effie gripped him close, as if she were daring the Blacks to try to rip him away from her. Protective. Warm. Caring. 

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay. I've got you."

Sirius wasn't going to cry. He wasn't, because Walburga won when he broke to the point of tears, and he definitely didn't want James accusing him of crocodile tears to earn sympathy points with his own mum. He bit his lip until he was sure he could look at Effie without tears, though he wiped his hand across his eyes anyway, just in case.

None of his usual flippancy seemed appropriate right now. Effie’s hug had stripped away what little bravado Sirius had managed to pull back, and he was just lost and alone all over again. He took a shaky breath and glanced back at the dining room. "I, uh, royally fucked up with James before the hols," he told her, opting for honesty. He cleared his throat and fiddled with a button on the borrowed robes. "I can call Andromeda today and get out of your hair. Probably."

"Seriously?" 

That wasn't Effie. That was James, sounding horrified and a little angry, from the doorway. "You shut the fuck up, Black. You think you've got to leave? Over that?" He sounded as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him that Sirius needed to leave.

"James!" Effie scolded, letting go of Sirius. Sirius spun around as Effie released him, gaping at James. 

"What? He's being stupid!"

The thought that James might not throw Sirius out had never even crossed Sirius’ mind. That wasn’t how love worked in his world. People loved you until they didn’t love you anymore, and one major fuck up was all it took for love to evaporate. Unconditional love was as much of a fairy tale as the Deathly Hallows. People who really loved you might give you a second chance, like how Uncle Alphard forgave him for being Sorted into Gryffindor, but if your fuck up was big enough, then there were no do-overs.

Sirius had honestly never even considered that unconditional love was real.

“I… You don’t want me to leave!?”

James stared at him for a moment, angry and disbelieving and undeniably hurt. Then he surged across the room. Sirius locked up immediately, but James just grabbed Sirius and hauled him into a furiously tight embrace.

"You look like shit, mate. You're not going anywhere."

Hugs. More hugs. There were always endless hugs at the Potter cottage, and Sirius was not going to cry. He collapsed instead, sagging into James’ shoulder and clutching him tight. A huge weight was all of a sudden just gone, and he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in a month

"I'm sorry." With breathing came words, and with words came the apology that Sirius so rarely gave. He couldn’t say anything but sorry, not with James holding him up. “I’m a fucking idiot…”

“The worst,” James agreed, but his hand came up to stroke Sirius’ hair. If Sirius had a tail right now, he realized, it would be wagging.

He was a dog Animagus.

Every dog needed a master. Sirius had a very strong suspicion that he knew who his was.

James eventually let go of Sirius so they could eat. Sirius answered the Potters’ questions about what had happened, though he tried to downplay the severity as much as he could. Malfoy Manor party, gang up on the Gryffindor, nothing out of the ordinary until Sirius threw Bellatrix into the fireplace and it attempted to eat her. He didn’t tell them how Bellatrix genuinely tried Avada Kedavra on him, or how he had very nearly let her. Effie and Monty looked horrified enough without adding that to their minds.

Sirius insisted that he looked more beat up than he actually was, prodding his purple cheek in demonstration. Effie had been reluctant to let him go without a trip to Mungo’s, but Sirius insisted he had nothing worse than a few spectacular bruises left. Healing magic was pants at fixing bruises and swelling.

Finally, the boys were released with pockets full of shortbread. Sirius tugged on James’ sleeve as they headed upstairs. “I need to show you something.”

“Oh?” James led the way into his room and flopped across his bed. Sirius closed and locked the door, then drew the curtains. James sat up, munching on shortbread as he watched Sirius moving around his room.

Sirius turned to face James and took a deep breath. Dog. Big and black, four paws and a tail. He felt his body click into place and shift.

The shortbread fell out of James’ mouth.

The bespectacled boy looked from where Sirius used to be to where Padfoot currently was. Back and forth. “...Holy shit,” he breathed, and then laughed, bouncing to his knees and clapping his hands. “Holy shit, you bloody did it!?”

Padfoot leapt onto the bed and changed back into Sirius. “I bloody did it! It’s how I got away from the Manor, how I got here… I needed to go fast, and everything clicked into place, and all of a sudden, I was a dog. I’m a dog, James! And do you know what this means?”

“It means you’re a sodding maniac?” James’ grin was growing and growing, stretching across his entire face. His hazel eyes were sparkling with excitement. Sirius could already see him cataloguing all the possibilities. “Merlin, Sirius, you could’ve led with that!”

“In front of your mum?” Sirius reached for a piece of shortbread and popped it in his mouth. Unlike James, he swallowed before he spoke. “No, you idiot, it means you did it! You and Pete! We all did everything exactly the same, so if it worked for me-”

“-it’ll work for all of us!” James let out a whoop, punching his fist upward. “We’re bloody brilliant, we are!”

“We just need to figure out how to unlock your animals,” Sirius said, “and then we can all do it, and we can help Remus…” His smile crashed off his face as reality fell back around him. “...just in time for Remus to never want anything to do with me.”

James looked at his hands and sighed, running his thumbs over his knuckles. He reached out to drag Sirius up the bed to curl against his side, tucked against the pillows. Sirius didn’t complain about being manhandled. He rested his head on James’ shoulder, letting James’ arms fold around him, his fingers working their way back into Sirius’ hair. Petting Sirius had always been a quick way to calm him down. James and Remus were the best at it, but Effie came very close.

“He’s worried about you,” James finally said, his voice a low murmur Sirius almost felt more than he heard. “I mean, he’s pissed off. Of course he’s pissed off. I’m still pissed off. But he’s nicer than me, and he’s your friend, and he’s worried about you.” James’ next sigh made Sirius’ head move with his chest. “It’s his call if he still wants you around. But honestly, I think he will, once he knows about this. It won’t be the same with just three.”

“He’s worried about me?” Sirius scoffed, feeling his eyes prickling again. “Maybe Snape was right after all. He’s far too much of a softy. I nearly got him killed! I nearly got you killed! You should both be furious that I managed to thwart Bellatrix, not glad I made it here in one piece with a new party trick!”

The outburst left Sirius deflated, and he hid his face against James’ shoulder, fingers twisting in James’ shirt. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to get any of you hurt,” he whispered. “Did… I mean, obviously, he pulled through, but… how bad was it?”

"Pretty bad." James didn’t mince words. There was an undercurrent of anger beneath his description that Sirius absolutely understood. If anyone else had hurt Remus, Sirius would have been out for blood. He didn’t know what to do when he was the one who’d done the hurting. “Moony spent an hour or something smashing directly up against the wards once we were gone. Broke a bunch of bones. More bruise than face. And he won't call me 'cause he can't look me in the eye." James nudged at Sirius, made him lift his head to look James in the eye. Yep. Still anger there. James pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You weren't trying to get us hurt. I know that. You were trying to get Snivelly hurt, though. And you can't just... not think about shit like that."

More bruise than face. Sirius huddled back against James, imagining his tail tucked tightly between his legs. He reached up, stroking his fingers against his own purple cheek, pressing until he could feel it twinge. Sirius really was the worst sort of friend. Remus deserved so much better.

"I wasn't," he said softly, the words feeling weak even as he spoke them. "Not... it wasn't like a joke or something. I was just... so fucking angry. That he thought Remus was weak, or just our toy, or... or not the fucking amazing friend he is. Just because we get protective once a month? What does that even matter to him!? I just... wanted him to know. To stop being so... Snivvy. And if he got a scare, good. He deserved to know that Remus isn't the meek pushover he thought. Only..." Only everything went wrong. Because Sirius hadn't thought.

"I know." James' voice was very quiet, and rather grim. He’d stopped petting Sirius, his hands clenching into fists. When James looked at them, he forced them open. "Sirius. I know. You lost your shit. But Godric, couldn't you just punch him in the mouth like a normal person?"

Sirius shrugged. "I did. Wanted to make him stop lying. But he kept talking, and I wanted to shut him up for good, not just one time."

"You could've killed him," James said quietly. "You're bloody lucky you didn't. 'Cause that's... that's not you. That's not us. And it sure as hell isn't Remus."

"I know," Sirius whispered, shaking his head. "I don't know... what I was thinking. I don't know if I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I just... wanted him to stop." He squeezed his eyes shut, dipping his head to hide again. "...I wanted everything to stop,” he confessed softly.

This past week and a half had been the closest Sirius had ever come to truly breaking. Maybe he had broken, for just a moment. Almost long enough to cost him everything.

James was quiet for a long time. Sirius could hear his heart beating beneath his ear, could count every breath James took. Finally, James hugged Sirius tighter, locking him in place, arms sheltering him from the world. "You're an idiot," he said, without much rancour, "and if you ever do something like that again, I'm seriously going to break your nose. But you're still a Marauder." Sirius felt James press a kiss against his hair. Like his mother, James showered affection on those he genuinely loved. "And you're still my brother. And we're going to sort this out. Promise."

Sirius’ next breath was harsh, the second one even raspier, and the third one was wet with years of built up tears. In this house, in this room, in this bed, in James Potter’s arms, Sirius knew one thing to be absolutely true.

He was safe.

He could finally cry.