Chapter Text

Everything was sort of a blur between the then and the now – the now placing Remus on a scratchy sort of dusty blue suede train bench, and the then having seen Remus playing Gobstones with an older bearded gentleman, sitting on the floor of his family’s most recent cottage home and puzzling through how exactly this man knew his father if his father never actually went anywhere. 

Lyall Lupin had just stared for a moment when he saw the two of them, and Remus had looked up at him, examined to look on his face, and realized that this might be another one of the many moments when he likely should have questioned the intentions of strangers rather than taking them for their word. 

“You can’t be here,” Lyall had said, his voice hushed, and Remus tried to decode whether he meant you shouldn’t be here or you shouldn’t be able to be here . But then the man flicked a stone that knocked two of his own out of the circle, and Remus furrowed his brow, his little temper bringing heat to his cheeks. 

“Mr. Lupin,” the man smiled and stood up. Remus took this to mean he’d won the game. 

“You can’t be here,” Remus’ father repeated. 

“Alas,” the man said, a smile in his voice. “Might we speak a moment?” he asked, and stood up.

Then Lyall drew his wand. 

Remus felt a hand close around his upper arm, and he turned to see his mother pulling him up and away from the older man. Her nails dug into his skin. She pulled him close against her legs, a hand protectively lain across his chest. 

“I won’t let you have him,” Lyall said. His wand hand was steady. It dawned on Remus that he was in danger. He likely should have figured that out sooner. “He hasn’t hurt anyone. We’ve made sure, we– I won’t let you have him.” The second time he said it, the air seemed to spark. Remus tasted magic like it was static on his tongue. His mother clung to him tighter. 

“I’m not here to take him from you,” the bearded man said, and then paused. “Not in the way you’re accusing me of, at least.”

“I don’t believe you,” Lyall said. “They’ve sent you. I know they have. The Ministry, or– or–” 

The man tutted, sighing kindly. 

“Mr. Lupin, if it had been my intent to harm your son, I…” he petered off, clearly second guessing himself. “Hm. Allow me to begin again.” Remus felt the air shift somehow. “Professor Albus Dumbledore,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m here to offer your son a spot at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” 

Behind him, Hope Howell-Lupin sucked in a breath.

That was then. 

It was all sort of strange ever since. Remus couldn’t quite pin the events down in order. Dumbledore had presented him a letter, small and white and sealed with wax, which seemed largely a formality, but Remus accepted it wordlessly nonetheless. It had his name on it, after all.

They had gone shopping, returning with a stack of used books and a secondhand cloak. They had packed. His mother had helped him, and had shaken her head when she saw how half of his socks had holes in them. They had gone to Ollivander’s, and Remus had swished a wand that spouted feathers, and a wand that backfired ash into his palm, and a wand that had made a sound like a ticking clock, before finally he wrapped his small, thin fingers around a 10¼", Cypress wand, unicorn hair core, and he tasted metal and morning dew in his mouth, and Ollivander had smiled at him. He had read the letter.

These things did not necessarily happen in that order. 

The full moon had come and gone in that in-between time. Lucky, Dumbledore had called it. This way, he would have almost a whole month to settle in at Hogwarts before his next transformation. Remus did not feel lucky . He felt a crawling beneath his skin, and a crack as his bones broke and rearranged themselves, and a pounding behind his eyes as he returned to himself. 

He felt blood under his nails and in his teeth. It was his own, he knew, but it frightened him all the same. 

He felt his mother’s arms around him, and his father’s hand on his shoulder, and he felt their words in his chest when they said them. We love you, they said. Next time, we won’t be there, they said, but you’ll be safe. We would never send you where it wasn’t safe. 

Remus wasn’t quite sure if he felt safe, just now. Though, in fairness, he wasn’t sure if he’d recognize the feeling if it came to him. 

He ran his thumb absentmindedly across the blue seat and stared out the window as the two other boys in his cabin chatted easily with each other. He wasn’t paying much attention, still being swept along by the absurdity of it all. 

This is never going to work, he thought to himself. It was not a dismayed thought, but rather a statement of fact. A certainty. He watched the landscape pass by, rolling hills and green grass and large lakes that glittered and it made Remus feel a surge of homesickness. It was not for their current home, but for one of their older ones, one he hardly remembered– it was off in the middle of nowhere, north, maybe, and Remus couldn’t remember why they left, only that it was because of him. It was never anything else. This is never going to work.  

There was a loud clacking sound, and the door to their compartment was suddenly thrown open. Remus turned with a start as a scrambling shape slid inside, ducked below the window that watched the hallway, and closed the door very, very carefully. Remus stared down at the shape, which was a boy no older than the three of them in that cabin. He had long, wild black hair that brushed his shoulders and gray eyes that were glittering with nervous excitement. He looked around at the three of them in the cabin giddily and held a single finger up to his lips. There was a shrill voice outside their door in the hall.

“Sirius!” it called. “Sirius, you brat, get back here!” A rather severe looking girl’s face appeared in the window above the boy, and he ducked his head lower. She glanced around the compartment through the glass, and her eyes settled on Remus. She had strikingly blue eyes. He blinked at her, and she huffed an exasperated sound before continuing urgently down the hall. 

The boy craned his neck up, peering out the window to make sure the girl had gone before reaching up and pulling the curtain closed over the glass. He turned back to the boys in the cabin and grinned. 

“Thanks! Sorry about that,” he said cheekily, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “Had to lose her somehow, I’ve been trying for three cars now.” He threw himself down into the empty side of the bench beside Remus, and instinctually Remus drew himself closer to the window. “Hope you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” one of the other boys in the car said, speaking for all of them. Remus looked at the one who spoke closely, now, having hardly acknowledged his presence when he and the shorter boy joined him in the car. He wasn’t sure if they’d just not introduced themselves then or if he hadn’t been paying attention. The one sitting across from him had brown hair and glasses, and though he had a sort of doe-ish quality to him, it was countered by a near tangible confidence that bubbled behind his smile. The other was short and unassuming with messy, mousy brown hair that fell over his forehead and front teeth that were a bit too big for his mouth. 

“Sirius,” the newcomer said, holding out his hand. “Sirius Black.” The boy across from him took Sirius’ hand and shook it like they were forty-something-year-old businessmen. 

“James Potter,” the other boy said, and Sirius’ eyes lit up with excitement. 

“Oh, that’s perfect,” he beamed. “Bloody perfect.” He sounded like he meant it, but Remus was a poor judge of sarcasm. “Fantastic. And you?” He turned to the mousy boy. 

“Peter Pettigrew,” he said. His voice was squeaky and high and anxious.

“That’s a fun one,” Sirius nodded in approval. It was Remus’ turn, then. Sirius turned to look at him animatedly. His cheeks were high where they arched above his smile, and the sheer force of his enthusiasm was enough to make Remus forget his own name for a moment. It had been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone aside from his mother and father.

“Remus,” he said. Sirius raised his eyebrows. Remus thought that there wasn't really a point in providing his surname considering its insignificance, but he obliged. “Remus Lupin.” He hardly thought it was possible, but Sirius grinned wider.

“Pleasure.”

Chapter Text

“My aunt met her’s at school, you know.”

“Really?” 

“Third year.”

“That young?” 

“Got herself a nasty scar during a quidditch game, and the next day my uncle Elliot shows up to potions class with the same mark in gold.” 

“Ugh, how romantic,” the shorter of the girls sighed.

“Not really,” the taller one said. “She threw a dung beetle at his head and stormed out. She thought he was a right git. They didn’t start liking each other until seventh year.” They both giggled, clinging to each other as they made their way up the stone stairs toward the Great Hall. 

“My brother said it’s not as common as you’d think. He said people pass like ships here.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

“I dunno,” the shorter one shrugged. “I think it’s a saying.”

Sirius had heard the same– it was sort of surprising, considering how many witches and wizards went to the school, but it ended up being pretty true. People passed by each other here, swept up in their studies or their friendships or both, and then they went out into the real world and got real jobs and did real things. That’s where you met your match, out there, and unless you were looking hard and paying attention, you might never realize they were under your nose the whole time. 

“Do you reckon you’ll meet yours here?” James asked from his spot behind Sirius. They were crowded in the stairwell waiting for McGonagall to come back and fetch them to enter and in such close quarters he’d clearly overheard the same conversation.

“Maybe,” Sirius said. “I hope so,” he added. 

“Oh?” James replied. Sirius shrugged. 

“My parents have always hated the idea of fated matches and soulmates and whatnot,” he explained. “It’d be fun to piss them off just a little more.” 

“So, then, they’re not…” James trailed off. Sirius shook his head. 

“No, definitely not. The Blacks only about keeping the pureblood lineage pure. ” He didn’t bother trying to hide the spite in his voice. These were someone else’s words, and he wanted that to be clear. 

“Pureblood?” Remus asked, turning to look at him. Sirius noticed that this was the first time he’d spoken without being directly asked something. 

“Yeah,” Sirius answered. “Pureblood.” He said it like a dare. At first, he thought Remus was questioning him as a criticism, like he was scrutinizing, but then he saw the confusion in Remus’ face and realized the boy had no idea what he was talking about. That was a nice change of pace, he thought. “Wizards who come from wizard families, where everyone is magic. No muggles. Magic runs more powerful that way," he explained. "Supposedly," he added.

“Oh,” Remus said quietly. 

“You’re muggleborn then?” Peter asked bluntly. 

“My dad’s magic,” Remus replied. Sirius waited for him to say more, but he didn't. He just kept looking around at the hall. 

Sirius had to admit, it was breathtaking. His cousins and family had spoken before about Hogwarts, though not with much respect for the place. To the Blacks, the school was more of a means to an end. Sirius knew that he was expected to act like he was underwhelmed, like he’d seen this before, that this was nothing compared to the glory of his family’s legacy, but when they’d crossed the lake and saw the castle towering above them, he was speechless, grinning like… well, like a child. His mother would have scolded him, but stepping out of line was second nature by now. 

“Is anyone in your family a match?” James asked Sirius. 

“Depends on who you ask,” Sirius said.

“On if they’re a match?” James raised his eyebrows. 

“On if they’re family,” Sirius replied. “My cousin Andromeda married her match, a muggle called Ted Tonks, and she was disowned for it.” 

“Christ,” James breathed. 

“And my mom’s dad’s dad’s brother’s daughter married Septimus Weasley, and my family still holds that grudge.” 

“Your mom’s dad’s dad’s…” Peter repeated, tracing his finger in the air like he was drawing out the tree in his mind. 

“She was disowned as well, then?” James asked. Sirius nodded. “Is everyone who married their soulmate in your family disowned?” 

“No,” Sirius said, “some of them are disowned for other reasons.” It was funny to him, but it seemed it wasn’t to anyone else. “Andromeda seems very happy with how her life’s turned out. But I don’t reckon I’ll meet my match here.”

Sirius had known for a long time the true nature of his soulmate. The first scar had appeared when he was five. It was a jagged, awful looking thing, even in its sparkling metallic shine, solid in spots like someone had taken a chunk out of the side of his stomach and replaced it with gold. Around it, there were little crescent marks and patterns. Sirius was not blind to the reality of this, and nor was his mother– it was a bite mark. When Walburga Black had realized this, she had spent a brief moment considering the implications of the bite, and then had wasted no further time casting incendio on the glittering gold scar. It remained, though rippled with burnt skin and difficult to source. This was, of course, her intent. 

Sirius wondered what that burn looked like in gold. 

From then, it became clear: in no uncertain terms, his fated match was a werewolf. There was no use denying it or censoring it, as much as Walburga insisted he do so, as much as she clipped his ear when he said the word or silenced him when he tried to speak of it. Each full moon, new golden scars would appear on his body. They were small at first, tiny claw marks and scratches, and some of them even faded over time until they were nearly invisible. But as he grew older, the lines became larger, more savage, splitting across his chest and shoulders and back. Maybe this wolf was part of a pack, Sirius thought. Maybe Sirius would run away from home and go live with werewolves. Maybe that would actually stop his mother’s heart. 

Eventually, Walburga gave up on hiding the scars with burns. She never ceased hating Sirius for them, though. It was an indication of his character, in her mind. Of course her disgrace of a son would attract monsters with the very existence of his soul. It was a failure on his part. Another pebble to add to the endless mountain of disappointments she saw in him. 

Sirius loved all of this, of course. How satisfying to see her angry at something she couldn’t even see. Her rage had no direction aside from fate. But Sirius knew the reality of this was that he would likely never meet his soulmate. Werewolves had no place in the wizarding world, and humans had no place in the werewolf world, if there was such a thing. The two would never mix, and never meet. Sirius sighed. He would have to settle for Walburga’s mere bitter knowledge of what his soulmate was.

“How about you, Remus?” Sirius asked, turning to face the boy. 

Remus was slightly shorter than him now, but he had a look about him that seemed to imply he’d outgrow the lot of them in time. Remus turned and blinked at him, his amber eyes glowing warmer in the candlelight of the stairway. He had a disoriented expression on his face, half absent with the grandness of it all. Sirius made a note to make sure he didn’t wander too far, lest he vanish into the maze of stairs and halls and passageways and never be heard from again.

Remus raised his eyebrows.

“Reckon you’ll meet your match, here?” Sirius repeated patiently. 

“My match?” Remus parroted. Blimey, he might as well already be lost. Has he been listening at all?

“Your soulmate,” Sirius said, careful to keep any frustration at repeating himself from his tone. Remus made a soft oh sound and went back to looking around the hall, examining the moving portraits and floating candles and high, arching ceilings, and for a moment Sirius wondered if he was simply being ignored, but then Remus shrugged.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” he said softly. Five words , Sirius thought. New record. 

“Have you got any marks?” Sirius asked. Remus thought about this question for longer than seemed necessary, but in fairness, he seemed to do this for every thought he had. Eventually, he shook his head. Sirius hummed. “How about you, James?” he said over his shoulder. The name already fit so comfortably in his mouth. 

“One,” James said, “but it’s just a tiny little thing. On my foot of all places. Not very much help, I should think.” 

“What’s it look like?” Peter asked curiously. James shrugged.

“Nothing special,” he said simply. “Positively banal.” 

“I’ve got two,” Peter said proudly, as though it were a testament to his skill in some way. “Right on either side of my left knee. My dad says muggle scars look like that when they do hospital things.” 

“Hospital things?” Sirius asked.

“Like… when muggles get hurt, they don’t have magic, so they need to cut into each other and dig around and fix stuff.” 

“That’s terrible,” James scrunched his face up. 

“But he thinks that means she’s muggleborn,” Peter went on. “Which I guess means I won’t meet her here,” he lamented.

“Muggles can have magic children,” Sirius said, not harshly. 

“Oh,” Peter said. “Right.” It sounded as though he’d genuinely just forgotten. 

McGonagall came and fetched them, then, hushing them almost immediately with just a finger in the air. She led them through the doors into the Great Hall, and it was even more magnificent than Sirius would have thought. Above them, the ceiling seemed to stretch for infinity, an endless night sky dotted with stars, a large moon peeking out behind clouds. He saw Remus pale when he looked up at it. 

The sorting ceremony was as simple as his mother had described; each of them waited for their name to be called, walked up to the stool at the front of the hall, and waited for the hat to send them off in any of the four houses. 

Sirius was the first to go out of their newly formed quad. 

Coincidentally, he was also the first of any first years to be sorted into Gryffindor.

And coincidentally again, he was also the first of any member of the Black family to be sorted into Gryffindor in all the years the family had attended Hogwarts. 

This, Sirius thought, was certainly something. 

He had a feeling it was the first of many times he’d disappoint his mother in his time at Hogwarts. It made him positively giddy. The Gryffindor table welcomed him with thunderous applause, and from across the hall, Sirius felt Narcissa’s eyes burning into him. He joined his house in cheers when each new student was sorted here or there, and grinned wider than ever when Remus, Peter, and James were all sorted into Gryffindor with him.

James had beamed a glittering smile when he heard the hat call out his house; Peter looked shocked to hell and back to hear the news; and Remus, bless his heart, seemed like he hardly knew up from down when he sat, and the hat scarcely touched his head before announcing him a lion.

Chapter Text

Remus had never been much of a talker. He had not said his first words until he was nearly two, and even before then had rarely babbled or cried or laughed. His father told him he was a watcher, ever observing, taking things in. He was a quiet boy, and he didn’t have many people to talk to, and because of all of this, speechless didn’t seem quite the word to express what Remus felt walking through the Hogwarts halls. 

The word didn’t go quite so far as to describe the wonder he felt at seeing the castle stretch up above him, nor the fear he felt when he saw the moon in the night sky in the ceiling of the Great Hall. It did not fit his reaction to the sorting hat, or to seeing the common room, or to seeing his bed. Remus was not speechless , because he had never really been speechfull, but as each new miraculous thing piled onto the last, it seemed it was the only word left to describe his awe. And so Remus was truly, wholly, newly speechless . 

He wondered how quickly his father had made friends here when he was a student. Lyall and Remus were similar in their quiet awkwardness. On the few occasions that Remus had found himself wondering (as every child did) if he was truly related to his parents, he was reassured by the nearly identical tension the two of them held in common when faced with the task of socializing in any capacity. 

There were, to his credit, no less than three people who now knew his name, though he wasn’t exactly sure as to the tally of how many words he’d really said to them. He wondered when this progression of then to now would stop feeling so much like a top spinning in place and would settle precariously on a side where he could get his bearings. 

Clearly not yet. 

The place was magnificent. Massive moving portraits and paintings decorated the halls, and the subjects waved at them and called out greetings as students walked past in large bustling groups. Stairways stretched out above and below, criss-crossing over cavernous towers, and everywhere there were candles and sconces and torches that seemed to give off more light than physically possible. Every passageway wound up somewhere unexpected. Remus considered himself fairly good at navigating, having moved around so much, but this was something else.

The magic was something else altogether. It seeped from the walls themselves, floated up from the floorboards, crept from between stones in the masonry. Every professor that swept past has an aura that sparked in the air and made the hair on the back of Remus’ neck stand on end. It was thrilling. On several occasions, he was sure James or Peter or Sirius were directing questions at him, but he was too swept up in the beauty of the castle to hear them, or to really process the sounds as words.

As they walked, Remus tried to picture himself here–  really here. He pictured himself in his robes, walking hurriedly through the halls to get to his classes. He pictured himself holding his wand, casting spells, brewing potions. He wanted to know things, the things that Sirius and James and Peter already seemed to know– the things that made this so unsurprising to them that they were able to laugh and chat with each other and dismiss the moving paintings and changing stairwells like they were entirely ordinary. 

The Gryffindor common room was at the top of an immense staircase dotted with narrow windows and paintings. At the top, there was a large, life sized portrait of a woman dressed in billowing white robes in front of a picturesque nature landscape. They paused there, and Remus looked out one of the windows at the sights beyond. It was a dizzying height, one that made his stomach turn. He wondered what he would have done if he was afraid of heights. He felt a tug at his robes and turned, startled.

“Sorry,” Sirius said. “I wanted to make sure you heard.” Remus turned to look at him, and clearly his face painted his confusion , because Sirius smiled at him. “The password is aurum leo. It opens the door.” 

“Door?” Remus asked, and when he looked back, he saw the painting had swung to the side on a hinge, revealing a tunnel. Oh. Door.

Aurum leo, Remus repeated to himself. Aurum leo. The password would only be useful, of course, if he could also remember how to get back to the tower in the first place. One thing at a time.  

The common room was warm and welcoming, a fire crackling in the hearth and long, plush couches lined up all around. There were desks and chairs and cushions on the floor, and red and gold banners decorated the walls. Remus tried to picture himself here, too, with slightly less success.

From there, it was an even more severe whirlwind of information– they were free to choose their rooms upstairs from the common room, which contained either four beds or six, each with its own bathroom, and switches were allowed only if both parties agreed; their trunks were already transported upstairs as well, magically of course, though Remus considered the idea for a moment that someone had lugged each and every one of them up the stairs; the Great Hall was open at all hours for meals or studying or loitering; classes would start Monday, and Remus found he had to think hard to remember what day it was today. There was something about books, something about supplies, where to go if you needed information on this or that or the other, what to do if you got lost, how to call for help if you got trapped on a moving staircase, who to talk to if you needed help. 

Remus remembered hearing once that everything a person ever heard or saw or read was tucked away in their memory somewhere, waiting to be recalled– he hoped this was true, because otherwise, there was very little hope for him now.

Shortly after they’d seen the common room and come upstairs to claim their chambers and their beds, the Gryffindor prefect (whose name Remus had forgotten almost as soon as he had heard it) came up and told him that Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey wished to see him. The sentiment earned him three curious eyebrow raises from each of his roommates (Remus didn’t know exactly how it had wound up that he was rooming with the first three people he’d met here at Hogwarts, but they seemed to make the decision for him, and he wasn’t exactly going to protest).

“What’s that about?” James asked almost as soon as the prefect started back down the stairs. “In trouble already?” Remus was only half certain that he was joking.

“Madam Pomfrey doesn’t give detentions,” Peter pointed out. “She’s the matron here, isn’t she? Are you sick?” 

“Uh… sort of,” Remus said. He tried to remember what he’d been told to say. 

They’d gone over a cover story, of course. Lying wasn’t Remus’ strong suit, so coming up with something on the spot was out of the question. He’d had a long talk with Dumbledore that day he’d come to the Lupins’ cottage, sitting tensely on the couch in their small living room as Dumbledore detailed exactly how they intended to manage Remus’ problem. Remus thought that was putting it lightly, but he didn’t say it. Dumbledore seemed like a man who was impossible to talk to, and so Remus simply elected not to open his mouth at all. If the professor had any strong feelings either way about how Remus was conducting himself, he didn’t voice them. Remus nodded along, listening, absorbing– or attempting to.

He genuinely did try to keep up. And he wouldn’t lie, a magic school sounded exceptionally interesting– far more interesting, he had to admit, than mindlessly trudging through public school halls or sitting at the kitchen table with his father reading from an elementary textbook and scribbling out solutions to problems or essays that no one would ever read. 

He had wondered if there was a library at Hogwarts. There must be.

The lie went something like this: Remus Lupin had a chronic health condition (true) that frequently put him in the hospital wing (true) where he’d need a day or two to recover (true) from a muggle disorder called epilepsy (false). Dumbledore saw fit to make the story as close to reality as possible, aside from the fact that epilepsy did not turn its sufferers into violent and dangerous creatures with every seizure, but that detail could be conveniently left out in favor of saying he simply wasn’t himself in those moments. Remus would go to the hospital with each full moon for his transformation, and a few other times during the month he’d stop by as well or stay a night here and there. 

“Otherwise,” Dumbledore explained, “it might get a little strange that you disappear once a month, on the dot, right at the full moon.” 

This made sense to Remus– about as much sense as any of this could make. 

What made a little less sense was how a magical tree was going to stop students from finding a secret tunnel that led directly to a house in the nearby village where Remus would transform… but Remus figured that the school had been around long enough for its professors to know what they were doing. Dumbledore seemed confident, at the very least– although, Remus thought, that might just be because of the beard.

Sirius, Peter, and James were all watching him now, waiting for an answer that would make sense as to why Remus was already called away to meet with their head of house and the school matron, and Remus very heavily considered the idea of simply walking out on them and not saying anything at all. 

He considered it so heavily, in fact, that he did just that. 

This was likely not the best way to accrue trust, but neither was telling a poorly disguised lie, and so Remus chose the lesser of two evils– he turned silently and left the room with little regard to how the three boys were likely looking confusedly at each other in his wake.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were waiting for him outside the Gryffindor common room entrance. The Fat Lady watched with curious eyes as Remus emerged from the tunnel, craning his neck to look up at the two women. He looked between them. Remus had only seen professor McGonagall a few times, mostly in the Great Hall and during the sorting ceremony. She was a tall woman, taller than his mother, with wiry light hair that disappeared into a black pointed hat. Despite the tight tenseness of her face, the corners of her eyes were wrinkled with smile lines and her cheeks were high and rosy. She had a sincerity about her that Dumbledore had lacked. 

The other woman, Madam Pomfrey, was dressed in a red and white uniform, a high flat collar around her throat and a nurse’s cap. She looked kind. Remus didn’t quite know how else to describe her. She smiled at him, and he felt that perhaps she knew more about him than he knew about himself.

“Hello, Mr. Lupin,” professor McGonagall spoke first. “I was so happy to hear you sorted into my house. Gryffindor has a fine addition.” This felt to Remus like something McGonagall had rehearsed saying several times before she got here. “If you’ll walk with us, we’d like to discuss some things.” 

Remus nodded. McGonagall led them through the halls, and Remus made a note in his head of every turn they made, every hall, every door and archway that shot off in every direction. He was certain he’d need a map. 

“Your father went here as well,” McGonagall said. “Did he tell you about it?” she asked. Remus shook his head. Lyall Lupin rarely spoke about himself. Remus had once found an old photograph of him that moved animatedly on black and white film of a younger version of his father. He was dressed in sweeping robes, a raven embroidered on the pocket. Remus suspected his father avoided talking about Hogwarts to spare him the disappointment of never being able to attend, and yet here he was. “He was a spectacularly bright student, exceptional at charms, though I think Defense Against the Dark Arts was his favorite. I believe he had professor Merryforth, then,” McGonagall mused. “A Ravenclaw,” she added. “He showed me what you’ve been learning up until now. Seems he and your mother have given you a good education on muggle and magic studies alike.” 

“I guess,” Remus said. McGonagall smiled at him again. It made him itch a little, as though despite his distinct lack of verbosity, she interpreted a thousand times more meaning than he intended. People always tended to think a lot more into the things Remus said than he’d like.

“Here we are,” Madam Pomfrey said as they arrived at two large, dark wooden doors. 

One of them was open, and inside there were white cots and privacy screens set up. Along the walls there were cabinets lined with little bottles and bowls and bandages and all sorts of things. Despite its occupation as a hospital wing, the room looked surprisingly comfortable. The ceilings were high, the floors a warm color of reddish wood, and the room was lit by candles, bathed in a soft glow.

"Would you like to sit?" Madam Pomfrey asked. 

Remus didn't, really, but this seemed like more of a request than a question, so he sat on the edge of one of the beds, his feet dangling slightly, not quite touching the floor. Madam Pomfrey sat comfortably on the bed that was directly next to his, and McGonagall pulled over a wooden chair. Their proximity to him now made his chest tighten.

"How are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Remus looked between the two of them. He wondered if there was a right answer to this question. "It must be overwhelming," she continued, "coming here, seeing all this. McGonagall tells me you didn't grow up with much magic around you." 

"My father is magic," Remus said, an echo of what he'd said to Sirius, James, and Peter earlier. 

"Oh, I know," she smiled. "I just meant, some students from partially magical families will live among wizards, and receive a more formal magical education.”

Living among wizards was a concept that had been, up until now, a truly terrible thing. To Lyall, the world of magic was a dangerous place for his son– werewolves were drawn to magic, and the wizarding world was not kind to half-humans to put it lightly. Lyall had instilled in Remus a suspicion of magic users that bordered on outright fear. Remus had thus managed to convince himself that any witch or wizard who glanced his way longer than a few seconds knew his secret, and the instinct had taken significant work to undo since he’d arrived.

"How much do you know about your condition?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Remus swallowed, looking around. Dumbledore had reassured him that he would be safe here, protected, his secret kept. Remus wondered if he had to be careful about the paintings hearing as well as the students.

"We're safe to talk, here," McGonagall said gently, and Remus was certain his anxiety was showing on his face. He resigned himself to trusting her word. He had no way of knowing if it was true. 

"I know some," Remus said. "My dad told me." 

"Your father has had a lot of experience with magical creatures," McGonagall nodded. 

"There's not much to know," Remus said, looking down at his hands. "I’m not myself when I change, and it’ll get worse as I get older. And there's no cure." 

"Yet," Madam Pomfrey added. He looked up at her. His mother had always said that. Yet. Ever the optimist. Remus didn't share the sentiment. "There are some things we can try. Professor Slughorn has some ideas for potions that may help make the transformation easier." Remus furrowed his eyebrows.

"Slughorn?" He asked.

"He doesn't know," McGonagall said quickly, seeing the fear pass across Remus' face. "He thinks he's researching as a favor to Dumbledore, for a friend of his. And he's well aware that Dumbledore is friends with all kinds of company– he won't say anything." Remus nodded slowly. "The full moon isn't for a few weeks, I'm sure you know," Madam Pomfrey said. 

Remus knew. He could chart the moon's phases fairly accurately just based on how he felt; just before the moon, he ran hot, feverish and achy, like his skin didn't fit quite right. After, it was like a weight being lifted from his chest. Midway through the month, he felt cold and clear headed, and then as the moon drew closer, that weight would return. He would get antsy and restless and his tolerance for frustration became dangerously low. Now, with the moon only a week behind him, he felt light. 

"There isn't much we need to worry about for now," Madam Pomfrey continued. "The day of the moon, I want you to come find me here in the hospital wing before sundown." Remus nodded along to this. "But if you start to feel anything before then, anything out of the ordinary, or… well, if you need anything, I want you to know you can come to me. You'll have help, here." 

Remus nodded along to this, too, but slower, more uncertain. McGonagall smiled at him and placed her hand gently on his knee. He knew it was meant to be comforting, but it made him freeze. When she touched him, he felt like there was a low hum of electricity shooting through his muscles. It was the same feeling he got when his dad touched him, a feeling of magic. It was the same feeling he got in the halls and around the other students and professors, but condensed, now, channeled by that contact. He thought perhaps she noticed his reaction, because she removed her hand, and when she did he realized he’d been holding his breath.

"It'll be different here, Remus," she told him. "It might be stronger, or more difficult because of all the magic in this place. But you'll also have people here who can help, who can do more than your parents could do alone."

“They did all they could,” Remus said, more coldly than he intended, suddenly feeling the need to defend his mother and father. He knew what they had sacrificed. He knew they had done everything in their power to keep him safe, to keep others safe, to make sure he knew he was loved. Everything they did, every choice to pack up and leave and every home they left behind and every night they cried alongside him, they’d done it for him.

“Of course,” McGonagall said, smiling as she shook her head. “Of course. I only meant that we have more resources at our disposal here. Charms and enchantments and protection spells and the like, and it’s possible Professor Slughorn can brew something to make the shift less painful, or to make you less–” dangerous was clearly the word that belonged here, but McGonagall stopped herself. ”To allow you to control yourself better. It must have been hard for the three of you to handle this alone.” Remus swallowed hard.

“You won’t let me hurt anyone, right?” he asked. He wanted a guarantee. He wanted them to be certain. Dumbledore had said it, but he wanted to hear it from everyone, everyone who knew.

“Hogwarts is the safest place for you to be, and the safest place for everyone else to be as well. You’ll all be protected here,” McGonagall said with so much certainty that Remus found himself believing it. He nodded mutely. Both women smiled at him, and he felt, briefly, that he wasn’t alone. At least for this. At least on moons. He wondered if that would change when they saw. If they saw. He supposed, maybe, they’d only hear. Though perhaps that would be enough as well.

“Remus, I wanted to add… your father told me you’ve done quite a number on yourself before,” Madam Pomfrey noted, clearly choosing her words carefully. “He believes that with no outlet, the transformation is frustrating. He expressed some concerns about your scars.” 

Remus tugged the sleeves of his cloak down self consciously. Lyall hadn’t told him that he was worried about his appearance outright, but he’d dressed Remus in a long sleeve button down and made certain the cuffs were tight and wouldn’t slide up and that the collar was high enough on the back of his neck.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Madam Pomfrey added. “But I wanted to offer you something.” She reached into one of the pockets of her white apron and produced a small vial of white, swirling liquid. “I won’t tell you what to do, but it may be easier for you if those are covered up.” She handed him the vial. It sparkled slightly in the light like and moved like a stormcloud. “One drop, right in the morning. It’s a disillusionment charm, but I don’t think you’ll learn about those until third or fourth year. You can try it now, if you’d like.”

Remus stared down at it, feeling very much watched.  

His father was right about the frustration, at the very least; Remus often woke in the mornings after the moon with the anger still coursing through him like acid. The wolf tore at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, rioting until its claws bled, and when it was clear there was no escape, it turned on its own body instead, biting and clawing. It had only gotten worse as Remus grew older. The wolf tended to leave his arms alone, aside from a few silvery lines and one thick mark where he had bitten himself and torn flesh from his forearm. More often, it clawed at his chest and back like it was trying to release something from inside of him. 

It may be easier for you if those are covered up.  

He knew she was right, but it didn’t sting any less. Naively, he wanted to be here as himself, as much of himself as he could be, but every lie made that person more and more obscure.

He pulled the dropper from the vial and tapped the excess liquid off on the rim. Slowly, he brought it up to his mouth, tilting his head back, and squeezed it gingerly until he felt the drop hit his tongue. For something so small, it held a cacophony of flavors, sour and icy and somehow refreshing like water and muddy like a swamp. He grimaced, lowering the dropper. 

“Not the most pleasant taste, but it shouldn’t be too awful,” Madam Pomfrey said sympathetically. Remus felt himself shudder, an involuntary movement.

He hesitantly pulled up the sleeve of his cloak, undoing the button on the cuff of his sleeve and sliding it back. Where there were once a handful of thin, crisscrossing scars, it was now smooth. The scars weren’t gone, not entirely– there was a few light pink patches of skin marking the borders of where they had stood out starkly, but it was ordinary, like a sunburn or a birthmark, and hardly visible in the light. He stared at it blankly and wondered what the rest of his body looked like unmarred. 

“I’d say that’s a success,” McGonagall smiled. “Up to you if you’d like to keep using it, of course.” Of course, he thought, but not really. Questions about his scars would only make things more difficult. It would be another lie to keep up with, and what would he do when more started appearing? What would he do if they became obvious, if he clawed at his hands or his face? 

He pocketed the vial. 

Easier this way, he reminded himself. 

Later, when he returned to the common room, after he’d dodged questions about where he’d been with a simple felt sick and after he listened to James and Sirius and Peter talk animatedly about the classes they were excited for and after they’d turned down their beds and crawled in and pulled the curtains closed, Remus finally gathered the courage to sneak to the bathroom, remove his shirt, and look in the mirror. 

The scars on his chest were gone, replaced by the same pale splotches, unidentifiable as the deep lacerations they had been before. He looked new. Fresh. He wanted to recognize this version of himself, but he couldn’t. It was like he was seeing another timeline, one where he was different– or one where he wasn’t different. 

Cautiously, he turned so his back faced the mirror and craned his neck to look over his shoulder. 

It wasn’t his own scars he was curious about, then. As he turned and looked, his suspicion was marked true; where there were once long, straight, thin golden lines scattered across his back, now there was nothing, not even an indication that they were once there. Somehow, that felt even more wrong. He sighed, facing himself once again in the mirror, examining his own eyes and trying to focus on the parts of him that were unchanged. He was still Remus, he tried to convince himself– still the same. Just… different.

Easier this way, he echoed, and went to bed.

Chapter Text

“Can I please borrow your potions notes?” Peter asked for the third time. James thudded his head down on the library table, a hollow noise echoing dully through the shelves. He mumbled something incoherent. After a painful silence, Peter turned. “Sirius?” he asked sheepishly. 

“I’m using them right now,” Sirius sighed. “Borrow Remus’ notes, his are better than mine anyway,” he added, nodding his head toward Remus, who raised his head from where it was buried in his book with a quiet hum. 

“Can I borrow your potions notes from yesterday?” Peter asked. 

“Oh,” Remus said. Silently, he pulled them out of his bag and passed them to Peter, who grinned widely. Sirius wanted to scold him for encouraging Peter’s bad habits.

“You’re amazing, ” Peter beamed. “Honestly, Remus, I don’t know how you manage to pay attention for that long, Slughorn just goes on and on and on and–  wow, your handwriting is so good,” Peter said, getting sidetracked halfway through his own sentence. Sirius glanced over and found that Peter was right– Remus’ notes were meticulous, divided into categories with headers and footnotes as though he would be graded on his studiousness alone. 

“Merlin, Lupin, no wonder you’re so quiet. All your thoughts are on paper,” James said, leaning over to have a look as well. Remus looked between the three of them, scratching the back of his head. 

“I find it interesting,” he shrugged. 

“Clearly,” James laughed, shaking his head. “I thought I was on top of things.” 

“You are on top of things. Painfully so,” Sirius said. 

“Better to start off strong, yeah?” James smiled. Sirius sighed, looking back down at his potions textbook. He really hadn’t intended to be such a good student, if he was being honest. It was sort of an unexpected side effect of being around the three of them. 

For one, Remus took any opportunity to be in the library, often tucked into some back corner with books spread around him. He devoured knowledge like he’d been starved of it for years. He wanted to know anything and everything, regardless of how it related to his studies, and in a way it was at once endearing and intimidating to observe.

Next was James who, of course, was a dedicated learner, excited to try new things, to learn and grow, the way kids were when their parents encouraged them to experiment and explore and fall and scratch their knees and get up again. He was bold and kind and charismatic. He carried himself like an old man sometimes, in that wise, eccentric sort of way. 

And Peter, to his credit, wasn’t a bad student, but it took him significantly more effort to keep up than many of their peers, and so as a result, much like Remus, he spent a lot of time in the library as well. He had more determination than Sirius had seen in any student, though. He often recruited James to help him with his work, and the two of them found themselves migrating toward Remus wherever he had hunkered down.

All of this was well and good, but it meant that Sirius was left either to muck about by himself wandering the lonely halls, or suck it up and go study with the lot of them. And so, quite by accident and rather begrudgingly, he found himself excelling in all of his classes with little else to do. 

He supposed he’d have to find some other way to disappoint his mother and father, now that Plan A was out. There were worse situations to be in.

“I hate you for making me care about school,” Sirius groaned, leaning back in his chair. He put his palms against his eyes. Remus made a soft noise, the closest he often came to laughter, and when Sirius opened his eyes again he saw Remus duck his head back into his book. He shook his head. 

“School is fun,” James said. 

“Shut up. Shut up. Oh my god. That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever said. I can’t believe you haven’t had your head shoved in a toilet yet,” Sirius replied. James snorted. 

“I’ll get right on that,” he laughed. “Remus, do you know what a levitrina is?” 

“Like leviosa and latrina? ” Remus asked, raising his eyebrows, and Sirius had to duck his head into his book to muffle his laughter. 

“It's when they levitate you upside down over a toilet and charm the water to spray your head,” Peter explained, and Sirius made a strained noise, trying to stay quiet.

“That’s creative. We call that a swirly , but muggle kids just stick your head right in the bowl and flush.” 

“Oh, that’s good too. Honestly, you should try it, James,” Sirius said. “You won’t have to work hard to find someone willing. The glasses oughta help. Maybe grow a little shorter than you already are.” 

“Ouch,” James huffed. “Don’t be mean just ‘cus you’re bad at potions.” 

“I’m perfectly good at potions!” Sirius shouted, and was almost instantly shushed from two different directions in the library. “Ugh. Tell him, Remus, I keep up with you , don’t I?” he said, hushed now. “Come on, now. I’m perfectly good at potions.”

Remus looked up at him, and then to James, who shook his head vigorously, and then back to Sirius. He pursed his lips, clearly doing his best to hold back a smile and failing. 

“You’re perfectly good at potions,” he said, voice strained, and looked back down at his book. 

“ Hah! ” Sirius scoffed. 

“That means nothing ,” James frowned. “You told him what to say.” 

“Excuse you. Remus is perfectly capable of handing out sincere compliments, James, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply–” 

“You coerced him!” 

“I most certainly did not! Remus!” Remus jumped a little at his name, and Sirius made a note not to say it so harshly next time. “Have I coerced you? Do you feel coerced?” Sirius leaned in and batted his eyes at Remus, and he could have sworn he saw Remus’ cheeks turn pink.

“Don’t answer that!” James insisted. “Remus, don’t answer! He’s–”

“Well, now who’s coers… coercion…ed…ing– coercing? Coercing.” 

“Coercing,” Remus confirmed and looked down at his book, smiling. Sirius felt stupidly proud of himself for that.

“It’s not coercing ,” James rolled his eyes, “I’m– it’s preventing miscomm–”

A loud, clattering thud interrupted Sirius, making all four of them jump. Several books fell from the shelves above Remus and James’ heads, raining down over them, with one particularly heavy looking tome bouncing off of Remus’ shoulder as it fell and another one smacking James over the head. Remus flinched, holding his arms tight to his body. James’ glasses were knocked askew on his face, and there was a red mark down his cheek where the corner of a book scratched him.

Sirius jumped to his feet. Through the spaces in the shelves where the books once were, he saw faces peering back at him. James stood as well, wheeling around to stare down their assailants and finding himself face to face with Mulciber, Avery, and Snape, each of them sneering in a way they likely thought was menacing but in actuality made them look like greasy little rats. 

“Piss off,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. He picked up a book from the ground and threw it through the shelves for good measure. Mulciber barely dodged it, laughing, but it hit Snape in the chest and he made a pathetic squeak. The three of them ran off, and from the front of the library, Sirius heard Madam Pince scold them for running.

“They really think they’re hilarious, don’t they?” James sighed deeply, leaning over to pick up one of the fallen books and reshelve it. Remus slowly unwound the tension in his arms, rolling his shoulder back where the book had hit him. “Bloody brilliant pranksters, eh? Bet that one was Snape’s idea.” He spat the name like he was saying a swear word.

“Why does he hate you, again?” Remus asked, exasperated.Unfortunately, Snape and James’ rivalry had spilled over into all of their laps, and Remus, despite never having said a word to Severus as far as Sirius had ever heard, had become a target along with the rest of them. Bizarrely, it seemed Mulciber and Avery were more set on him than James , though Sirius couldn’t quite figure out why.

“I think I insulted him on the train,” James sighed, straightening his glasses, “in fact I’m certain of it. But for the life of me I can’t remember exactly what I said.” 

“Something about his hair, maybe,” Peter chimed in. Sirius snickered. 

“Whatever it was, I clearly didn’t mean it,” James said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s his own fault, taking everything so personally. And did you see how he looked at me in Defense Against the Dark Arts yesterday when I asked that Evans girl for a quill?” 

“Like he was trying to light you on fire with his mind?” Sirius supplied. 

“Exactly. They’re weird, the two of them. I don’t get why she’s friends with him,” James shrugged. “And all that shite he spews about half-bloods and muggleborns… It's no wonder he wound up in Slytherin, the bloody supremacist. I don’t know how anyone could put up with it.”

“But isn’t Lily a mudblood?” Remus asked. 

Sirius froze in place like ice had crept through his veins, staring straight down at the book he was bending to pick up before looking up slowly at Remus. 

He wanted to respond, but he had no clue where to start. His mouth was ash, and he felt anger building in his chest, the heat of it fighting off the chill of shock. He’d worked so hard to get away from these types of people, and yet here he was… but he’d never expected it from Remus. Peter and James had stopped short as well, James watching Remus with his mouth hanging open slightly. He closed it after a second, his lips forming a thin line.

“Remus,” James said, to his credit rather gently, and far more gently than Sirius could have been. “Where did you hear that word?” 

Remus opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it, glancing between the three of them. It was clear from his face that he didn’t quite know what exactly he’d done, only that it was something, and he was slowly trying to work through where he’d gone wrong. He swallowed hard.

“I dunno… some Slytherin boy?” Remus answered, his voice cautious. James nodded. 

“Okay. And do you know what it means?” he asked. The patience in his tone was impressive. Remus fixed his gaze slightly down and to the right of James’ eyes. 

“Apparently not,” Remus admitted quietly. “I thought… I thought it meant muggleborn. ” 

Relief flooded through Sirius like a tidal wave. Of course Remus didn’t know. Thank god Remus didn’t know. All the reading and studying and learning he did, and he never came across the word once– perhaps that was for the best, though. Sirius had heard his parents, his whole family, and anyone who the Blacks graced with their presence spit that word a thousand times. It was far too evil to come from someone like Remus Lupin. It was wrong, like it shouldn’t have even fit between his teeth.

“It doesn’t, does it? You…” Remus drifted off, looking between the three of them, and Sirius pulled himself together enough to find his words. It seemed like no one else wanted to explain it to Remus either way, but someone had to.

“It… does , in a way,” Sirius explained tiredly. “But it’s–” He picked his words. “It’s a terrible word for someone with muggle parents. Pure-bloods… well, some pure-bloods believe that witches and wizards from muggle parents, or who have muggle relatives, have dirty blood, that they’re of lower breeding. ” He hated the words as they came out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Remus said, suddenly a few shades paler. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of their gazes on him. “I thought– oh.” He looked mortified.  

“You didn’t know, mate,” James stepped in, leaning forward in a way that was clearly intended to be comforting, but it made Remus lean back slightly. “It’s not exactly in A History of Magic, you know?” James smiled, and Sirius could see the relief on his face as well.

“I didn’t mean…” Remus furrowed his brow, but James shook his head.

“Better you said it here than to someone else, right?” James smiled at him. “I think Lily would have slapped you.” 

“I think Lily would have kicked you in the balls, actually,” Peter added. Remus still looked stricken. Sirius watched him carefully, eyes narrowed, but it was difficult to doubt Remus’ innocence in this. He looked genuinely sick just at the thought of Lily finding out about this, and in general, those who claimed themselves pure-bloods were not so mild in their attempts to belittle anyone below them, nor so quick to take it back.

“Who said it, Remus? You said a Slytherin boy?” Sirius asked. He wouldn’t put it past any of that lot, but Remus shrugged and shook his head. “Well, who’d he say it to?” Remus looked down at the table, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Me, I think,” he mumbled. Sirius felt a new anger in his chest.

“ You? ” Peter asked incredulously, loud enough that they heard a shush come from a few shelves over. “Sorry,” Peter called softly. “But… your dad’s a wizard, isn’t he?” he whispered. Remus nodded. 

Sirius found himself boiling, then– Remus didn’t mention his parents much, but he knew Hope and Lyall Lupin sent him letters often, and when Remus received them, his face would relax into an emotion that Sirius didn’t think he’d ever felt in his life. He knew Hope was a muggle. He knew she loved Remus. That was all that was needed, wasn’t it? To be good? And yet just her existence was nothing more than a stain to some– not to some. To the Blacks . To Walburga and Orion. To pure-bloods. All that mattered was that it wasn’t clean– toujour pur. He hated it.

“Doesn’t matter much to people like that,” Sirius spat, the words echoing in his head like a siren. James looked at him, surprised. “Any muggle blood is dirty blood to them. They’re less than animals. Vermin.” 

He ground his teeth, thinking about his cousin Andromeda, about her husband Ted, about how happy they were. He thought about all the awful, evil things his mother and father had said about the two of them when she left, when she ran . He thought about how much he wanted her to take him with her. He thought about how he had been too afraid to ask. His hatred burned hot in his throat. 

He looked up to find James staring at him intently and Remus blinking at him like he didn’t know exactly what to make of the sentiment. Peter looked afraid. Sirius took a breath, unclenching his hands, not realizing he’d dug crescent marks into his palms with his nails.

“Sorry,” he said. “My family… the Blacks hold some pretty awful values.” 

“Sounds like it,” Peter muttered. Sirius grimaced.

“And the Slytherins… they all think that, too?” Remus asked. Sirius suddenly felt guilty being the one to reveal to him that this is how some wizards thought of him, of his mother, of Lily. Remus hadn’t even realized he was being called names. He hadn’t realized what it meant, how it was meant. He didn’t know. He heard, and he repeated, but he didn’t know.

“Not all of them,” Sirius said carefully. “But the Slytherin house values ambition, and that’s what… that’s what those wizards believe they’ve got when they treat muggles that way. That’s why every Black for a hundred years has been sorted into Slytherin. Ambition. ” 

“Except you,” Remus noted. It was an innocent observation. For some reason, that made Sirius smile. 

“Except me,” he nodded. “I guess I’m the black sheep of the Black sheep.” Remus’ expression relaxed slowly, some tension leaving his body. “Not really sure what that makes me, then.”

“Brave,” Remus said with certainty. Sirius blinked at him. “You kept your own values even though… well, despite what you’ve been told. And… that’s what Gryffindor values, right? Bravery?” Sirius couldn’t find the words to reply to that, but the smile on his face grew wider. Remus pursed his lips, looking nervously at the three of them. “You won’t tell Lily, right? I didn’t mean it… like that. At all,” he said miserably. 

“Our lips are sealed,” James grinned at him, making a hand motion at the corner of his mouth like twisting a key. Remus nodded, letting out a breath. “Just, you know. Be a bit more careful repeating what you hear.” Remus swallowed hard and nodded again.

“Well, now, hold on,” Peter interjected. “Are we just going to gloss over the fact that someone called Remus a mud – that someone called Remus that?” Peter asked, leaning forward on the table. 

“Oh, I don’t intend to ignore it at all,” James replied, smirking. “I intend to get revenge.” 

“I don’t even know who said it,” Remus said, his eyebrows pinching together. “It’s not– I don’t care, really–”

“You should,” Sirius said coldly, and Remus closed his mouth with a click. Sirius scolded himself for interrupting him. “You should care,” he said, more gently this time. You should be angry, Sirius wanted to say, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen Remus angry, and he wasn’t sure he’d like to.

“I don’t know who said it,” Remus repeated.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius shrugged. “We’ll get the lot of them. Not just Snape, Mulciber, and Avery. Slytherin has been terrorizing first-years for weeks , since the moment we got here.”

“You’re not against a little petty payback, are you Remus? Think of the possibilities,” James asked. Remus considered this for a moment, and Sirius thought for a moment that he’d reject the idea, but then the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

“Something better than throwing books off of shelves, yeah?” he asked. Sirius stifled a laugh. Oh, there’s mischief to be found in you, yet, Lupin.

“Oh, loads better,” James nodded. “They won’t know what hit them.”

Chapter Text

In the end, it was Remus’ muggle intuition that provided them with prank fodder. Wizards, he had found, relied far too much on magic to solve their issues rather than thinking through the simplest cause to their problems. 

James had supplied their cover– literally. The invisibility cloak had apparently been passed down from parent to child in his family for generations, and his dad had evidently snuck it into his trunk without his mum knowing, since apparently she was adamant that he not have it while he was at school (for this exact reason). Remus hadn’t the foggiest idea how it worked, only that it did work, and that was good enough for him. With the cloak around all of their shoulders, it was easy enough to sneak into the Slytherin dungeon behind a group of oblivious first-years. They waited there until dinner, when all of the students were out eating in the Great Hall, and then got to work. 

It was simple, really– all it took was a few balls of parchment, rags, and toilet paper tied up with dental floss, and then each and every one of the toilets in Slytherin’s house was clogged and overflowing with water each time they were flushed. It was so mundane that no one expected it– and so mundane, in fact, that no one thought to simply conjure a plunger and unclog the pipes. 

Instead, for two days straight, Slytherin students attempted every counter and charm and repair spell in the book to undo what they believed was surely some kind of terribly powerful toilet-clogging hex, determined to solve the problem on their own lest their pride be forever damaged. Finally, it took a miserable Severus Snape showing up to potions with his socks soaked through and squelching in his shoes for Slughorn to finally notice there was a problem. 

Filch solved it in a matter of minutes with a simple drain snake, but not before the entire school had a good long laugh about how Slytherin house had been outsmarted by simple muggle mischief. It was a perfect ridicule to their pure-blood pretentiousness. 

Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter were, of course, in stitches, cackling every time they saw a Slytherin student trailing toilet water behind them on their way to class or sprinting down the halls to find the nearest communal bathroom. When Snape had walked into potions, Sirius had choked, coughing to cover his laughter and James had to slap him hard on the back. The display had earned all four of them a terribly bitter look from Lily Evans, but it was a reasonable price to pay in their opinions. 

Peeves the ghost was heard singing songs of a band of mischief-making marauders terrorizing the toilets, which only cemented their glee in getting away with the prank scot free. Remus had to admit, he hadn’t laughed so hard in years as he did when they arrived back in the common room after sneaking back out of the Slytherin dungeon.

Snape, Mulciber, and Avery were certain that the four of them were responsible for the prank, but they had no proof. It helped that both McGonagall and Slughorn seemed to enjoy the chaos of it all despite themselves, and even Dumbledore had a chuckle at the simplicity of unclogging a toilet when he announced the plumbing had been restored to a functional state at dinner the next night. 

All in all, Remus’ first month at Hogwarts thus far was a resounding success, but as the weeks drew on and the full moon grew closer, anxiety began bubbling in his chest like a cauldron over fire. He felt his temper shorten and his frustration grow. He ran hot, now, a fever constantly burning through him in the days before the moon that made him sweat through his sheets and made his cheeks turn pink. He’d learned long ago that the moon made him impulsive and mean when he wasn’t careful, and so he often elected to keep his mouth shut and his head down as it drew nearer. 

To Remus’ surprise, James, Sirius, and Peter did, in fact, notice this change in his behavior. He hadn’t expected them to watch him so carefully, or to know him so well just in those short weeks. They didn’t pester him when he needed space, let him be silent when he needed, and didn't falter when he snapped at them. He had worried, just as his parents had, that he’d be alone here– not for the transformation itself, but for everything else. In a way, that was the part that mattered most.

“Feeling sick again, mate?” James asked after Remus had placed his forehead down on the dining hall table. 

It was cold against his forehead and made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. He nodded silently. Everything ached like his skin was too tight. He could feel all of his teeth pressing against each other in his mouth, and it hurt to think.

“Are you going to the hospital wing again, do you think?” Sirius asked, quieter, leaning forward. Even though he wasn’t touching Remus, his magic made the air feel electric, like standing too close to a campfire. 

Something like that, Remus thought. 

Tonight, he’d see exactly what Dumbledore’s plan was for his transformation. Part of him held onto a blind dream that the headmaster would have some miraculous solution that would knock him out cold until everything was all said and done, and he’d wake up feeling fresh and spry and normal. It was nothing more than a fantasy, of course. 

Remus had held up his end of the lie fairly well, he thought, despite the guilt he felt about it. The first time he had been called away to go see Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall on their first day at Hogwarts, he had avoided the question by simply ignoring it entirely, but he knew he couldn’t do that forever– especially now that James, Sirius, and Peter were so dedicated to being his friends. After dinner during the second week, Madam Pomfrey had requested to speak with him again, and they’d caught on that there was something going on. 

“I have epilepsy,” Remus had said, feeling rather sour about it, and received three very blank looking stares.

“Is that a spell?” Peter asked, and Remus realized it would actually be much easier to lie about all of this since the three boys had an impressively low level of knowledge on the non-magical world. That only made him feel worse.

“Oh. No,” Remus said. “It’s, uh… a muggle thing, I guess. I had an accident when I was five, and it makes me have episodes.” To his credit, that part was true. “I get seizures. Like fits.” And there was the lie. 

“That’s awful,” Peter gasped. “Is there a cure?” 

“Madam Pomfrey is having me try some potions,” Remus explained– again, true.

Since then, he had gone to the hospital wing once more under the excuse of feeling an episode coming on– lie– because Madam Pomfrey had recommended he come by every so often under the guise of his illness acting up so that it wasn’t obvious he was disappearing every full moon. Then, he didn’t feel sick at all. He sat in a hospital bed with the curtains drawn until he thought enough time had passed for him to have “recovered.” 

While he was there, he read. 

He’d asked his mum to pick up a book from the library on brain disorders. He figured if he was going to lie about this, he had a responsibility to know what he was saying. He already felt a great deal of guilt about claiming the illness without having it; there was something about it that made him nauseous, like an impostor– which he was– but it was as close to the truth as he could get without outright saying it, and he needed to say something. And in some selfish way, he was using this lie for his own comfort as well. He wanted them to understand, in whatever way they could. He wanted them to try. He wanted them to feel the weight it carried when he said he felt sick, to believe him, to see it for as big a part of him as he saw it for himself. 

Because at this point, there was very little he did in his life that did not require careful planning in consideration of his condition. It affected his moods, his body, his mind, the way it felt to be touched or spoken to or seen, and above lal of this was the mortifying fear of being discovered – of being seen as other, unsafe, untrustworthy, a thing to be afraid of.

If he couldn’t tell them the truth, he could tell them something close. It would have to do, for the both of them. 

So he read, and he studied, and he understood, because if he was going to use someone else’s story as his own, he at least felt the need to pay his due respects. 

“Remus?” Sirius repeated, and Remus realized he’d never answered him earlier. He’d become lost in his own memory, disoriented, and as Sirius called his name, the din of the Great Hall filtered back to him. The worry was clear in his voice even without seeing his expression, and he repeated his question from before. “Are you going to go to the hospital wing?”

“Yeah,” Remus croaked. He sounded terrible. It was always like this right before the full moon, like he’d been hit by a truck and simultaneously lit on fire. 

“Do you want us to walk you there?” Sirius asked. Remus shook his head, and for some reason, the question made him irritated and bitter. He could take care of himself. He had to, here. He didn’t have his parents this time. 

“No, I’m… I’ll be fine. I’m–” He couldn’t be in the hall any longer– it was too loud, too warm, too much. He couldn’t bear to be anywhere any longer. He was crawling out of his own skin. “I’m gonna go now, I think,” he said tensely, swinging his legs over the bench. His muscles felt stiff. When he stood, he wavered slightly, and Sirius reached out to steady him.

“I think one of us should go with–” 

“I’m fine ,” Remus snapped, pulling his arm away before Sirius could touch him. He couldn’t handle that feeling right now, the magic. It was always too much here. Whenever he brushed up against a student in the halls or when someone tapped him or when James or Sirius or Peter nudged him with an elbow or a shoulder, he felt it, like fire, like a spark. And now, before the moon, it was everywhere. 

He knew Peter and James’ eyes were on him as well, and he ground his teeth so hard he felt his jaw pop. He considered apologizing, or explaining, or anything , but anger was building in his chest again, and everything was loud and ringing and too much. 

“I’m fine, alright?” he repeated, and he didn’t mean for it to sound so angry, but it always seemed to come out that way. “I’m– I’ll see you later.” Tomorrow, he wanted to say, but he knew that would worry them more.

He turned and left before he could say something he’d regret, knowing Sirius was probably sharing some infuriatingly knowing look with James. He dug his nails into his palms. 

Just one night, he reminded himself. Just one night. He’d worry about the next once he was through with this one, and then the one after that, and after that… but for now, it was just one night. 

Darkness fell slowly.

He waited, sitting on a hospital cot, his feet not quite touching the floor, staying as motionless as he could so as not to feel the scratch of the sheets or the movement of air over his skin or the magic in the air, and even so, he still felt blood running hot through his veins. 

When it was time, he followed behind Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall as they opened up a passage out of the school and trudged down a long, dark tunnel. It was possible they were speaking to him, maybe with words of comfort or encouragement, but he didn’t hear them.

Remus spent the moon in a dingy, run down house. 

The walls were wood paneled and dusty and splintered in places, and when the night started, Remus had very little confidence the shack would manage to keep him contained. There wasn’t much time to worry about it. He was left alone, waiting, feeling the weight of the moon as it crept higher in the sky.

When the shift came, Remus screamed until his throat was raw. He thrashed and choked and scraped his fingernails against the floor until they became claws

When he woke, his first thought was to wonder where his parents were, how they had spent the night… if they had heard him. 

If they had wanted to be here. 

Remus wanted them to be here. 

He didn’t want to be alone.

When he became himself again, he was curled up, his arms hugged tight around his stomach, knees pulled up as close to his chest as he could get, head ducked between his shoulders. The air was cold and wet and it rasped against his throat when he breathed. He could feel blood on his back, tricking in thin, slow rivulets. He shivered as it dried. Everything was always colder when he came back. Colder and lonelier. And Remus felt very, very alone. 

As he lay there, he ran his fingers idly over his skin. The scars were familiar, grounding in a way he couldn't place, something leftover that was both a reminder of what he was and a reminder that it was over. In his slow, foggy mind, he mapped the scars across his body, and when each of his own scars was accounted for, he let his thoughts drift to the other marks that decorated his body in gold. 

He found himself wishing he could feel them, too, wishing they were raised so he could run his fingers across the ridges and wonder how they were put there.

Slowly, carefully, he peeled himself off of the floor, dressed, wrapped himself in the blanket from the bed, and waited for Madam Pomfrey. She called him dear and asked him how do you feel and are you alright. She told him oh, these aren’t too bad and had him drink something sweet and thick, and she walked him back through the long, winding tunnel, out into the silent castle and through to the hospital wing, where he sat down on a cot as she fussed over him and absently realized he felt numb, that he couldn’t feel the spark when she cast a healing spell on him, that he couldn’t feel the hum of the castle and the grounds and the people, and it was then, only then , only when he realized he was so small compared to this place, that he finally cried for the first time since he’d arrived. 

She didn’t touch him. She just sat with him. That made it better, he thought, but it didn’t make him feel less empty.

He cried until he slept, and when he woke, the sun was coming in streams through the windows making his face feel warm and soft. The confusion of his initial waking had left him, and now he felt a little more clear, his thoughts lining up neatly rather than bouncing around wildly in his skull.

“Are you awake, dear?” Madam Pomfrey asked. 

At some point, Remus must have sat up, because he was looking at her now, leaning against the headboard behind him. He felt foggy like after a summer storm, but the clouds had parted. “You still look a bit peaky,” she said gently. Remus blinked, and the back of her hand was against his forehead. The numbness was still there, he realized. He couldn’t feel her fingers, nor the warmth of her skin, nor the electric spark that should have accompanied the touch. “Fever’s gone, though. Do you think you could keep food down?” 

Remus swallowed and realized his mouth tasted like acid. He didn’t trust his voice, so he shrugged. 

“It’s a little after lunch,” she continued, taking her hand away, and Remus felt the pressure of it leave his skin. “Here,” she said. He looked up and found she was holding a glass out to him. He looked at it, and then at her, and then took it.

The liquid wasn’t water like he expected. It was warm and tasted like honey and mint. He breathed deeply, feeling his lungs expand in his chest, stretching his ribs. His skin felt like it fit right again. That was his favorite part about coming back, he thought. He could never explain it. He just felt like his body was in the right place.

“Alright?” she asked, and he was surprised to find that he was. He felt his thoughts running a little clearer, his eyes less heavy. When he inhaled, it was crisp. He felt awake.

“Yeah,” he breathed. Madam Pomfrey smiled at him. 

“Alright,” she said definitively. “You’ve got some color, now. I still want you to stay here for the rest of the day. Better safe than sorry.” 

“It only lasts the one night,” Remus said, furrowing his brow, and Madam Pomfrey chuckled softly.

“Yes, I’m very aware, dear,” she replied kindly. “You just might feel a little different here. From what I’ve read, magic can affect these things differently, and there’s quite a bit of magic in these halls.” 

You’re telling me, Remus thought.

“You’ve read about this?” he asked instead. He tucked his feet underneath him, sitting cross legged on the bed. “There’s books?” 

“Of course,” she said. “Not many, but a few. Would you like to read them?” Remus hesitated, but he nodded. “They’re mainly educational, or regarding policy– there’s one on medicine, too– but I’ll lend you the ones I’ve found so far. You’re welcome to–”

She drifted off as there was a knock against the large wooden doors to the hospital wing. She and Remus both turned to see it creak open slowly, just enough to let three heads poke through the crack. 

“Sorry,” James said quietly, his voice sounding very small in the large room. “We wanted to see if Remus was alright.” Sirius and Peter were in the door as well, peering at him, and he felt something swell in his chest, beating back against the loneliness he’d felt since the night before. He tugged the sleeves of his shirt down, careful to cover the scars on his arms. 

“We got your homework,” Peter added. “Slughorn and Flitwick both said you’ve got a few days extension. Oh, and we took notes!” 

“ Sirius took notes,” James corrected him. “ Your notes look like they were written by a murtlap,” he said, directed at Peter. 

“He’s right, Remus, honestly,” Sirius said, pushing the door open further. “It’s no wonder Peter keeps failing Slughorn’s quizzes.” He paused, looking between Madam Pomfrey and Remus where he sat on the cot. “Are you… is he…?” Sirius half asked, and then gathered himself a bit. “Are you alright?” There was so much sincerity in his voice that Remus just stared at him, his mouth hanging part way open. 

“He’ll be fine with a bit more rest, boys,” Madam Pomfrey answered for him after he floundered for a moment. “But I think Remus would prefer–”

“They can stay,” Remus interrupted her, not entirely intentionally, but the idea of sending the three of them away after they’d come just to check on him made his chest tight. The idea of sending them away when they were so close hurt more. He looked over at her. “Can… can they stay?” he asked apologetically. 

“You need to rest,” she urged him. 

“I’ll rest,” he insisted. “I’ll stay right here. I just…” He couldn’t put it into words, the loneliness he had felt that morning waking up, the way it weighed him down, how it was now lifting, but Madam Pomfrey seemed to understand. She pursed her lips, looking up at the trio of boys that stood at her door, and finally sighed. 

“Alright. An hour–  at most, ” she said, turning to walk away, and Remus felt his mouth tug into a smile as Sirius, James, and Peter all grinned and ran to his bed. Sirius leapt onto the foot of it, landing hard enough that it bounced Remus up into the air slightly. Remus thought he saw a glint of gold under his collar as his robes settled down around his shoulders.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, pulling his legs up onto the bed as well. “But you’re seriously gonna love this–” 

“Marlene McKinnon slapped Snape in potions today!” Peter blurted out, and then clapped a hand over his mouth when he received a stern look from Madam Pomfrey. Sirius and James both shot him a truly withering look.

“Oh, you’re both awful, ” James groaned, rolling his eyes. He plopped down his books onto Remus’ bed and sat next to Sirius. “ I wanted to tell him,” he pouted.

“Merlin, you should have been there, Remus,” Peter sighed almost dreamily, sinking into the wooden chair by the head of the bed, but then he frowned slightly. “Not that– not that you should have been there, just– I wish you could have– well, you’ll be there for the next time.” 

“Next time?” Remus breathed a laugh. 

“Oh, there will be a next time,” James said, shaking his head. “The look on her face, lord… and Lily didn’t even try to stop her. Deep down I think she knew Snape deserved it. His pure-blood superiority complex rivals only Napoleon.” Remus blinked at him. 

“Napoleon was a wizard?” he asked dazedly. 

“Of course he was a wizard,” James laughed. “Why else would he dress like that?” 

Sirius snorted, and Remus’ face cracked into a smile. 

“That makes sense, honestly,” he said. He wondered how many people in his history books were wizards, or if there were any famous muggles in wizarding books. The latter seemed far less likely. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to him that their worlds could collide like that. “I just thought it was because he was French.”

“Yes, well, that had a lot to do with it as well,” Sirius mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. His expression softened a bit and he looked at Remus. “Really, though,” he said sincerely, “how are you feeling?” 

Remus tried to take as accurate inventory as he could with Sirius staring at him so intently, but he found himself floundering a bit. Half of him was trying to figure out how he was supposed to feel, and the other half was trying to figure out how he actually felt. 

“We tried to check on you earlier but Madam Pomfrey sent us away,” James added. He sat on the bed far more gently than Sirius had. Remus pushed himself back a bit to make more space. “Which– I mean, you can send us away as well, if you want.” 

“No! No, it’s–” Remus swallowed and tried to stifle the desperation in his voice. Madam Pomfrey was right that he felt different, here, but it wasn’t because of the magic, he thought. It was because of this feeling he had when he woke up, knowing his parents weren’t there, knowing they weren’t waiting on the other side of the door. It was because there was no one waiting there who knew him. And while Remus wasn’t entirely convinced that the three boys knew him just yet, they were getting there. They were certainly trying their hardest, at least. “Stay,” Remus said. James smiled, and it was just as warm and sunny as ever. 

“Seems like you’re in a better mood, at least?” Peter asked, and Remus cringed internally. He was always the worst version of himself right before the moon, he was sure of it. Usually, it was only his parents that he ended up pushing away on those days, and his parents knew him well enough to understand it wasn’t all his fault, nor his intention. He just had this urge to… he didn’t really know what it was. It was hard to put into words. It made him angry and bitter, to dig deep and twist the knife. 

“Yeah,” Remus said simply. 

He didn’t think he’d said anything terribly cruel this time. Sometimes, he did, and the guilt stuck with him in every moment after. Once, he’d told his father that he hoped the shift would kill him someday, and he didn’t think he’d ever see grief like that again, the way his dad’s face scrunched up, how he stumbled a step back like he’d been hit. He hadn’t meant it, he didn’t think. He said it because he knew it would hurt, and he hurt, and everything hurt. It was then that he decided it was better to stay silent before the moons. 

“It just gets hard to… you know, before…” Remus frowned, words escaping him just like they always did. The fog hadn’t lifted, not fully, and probably wouldn’t until the next morning. But even then, it never felt like a simple thing to speak. 

“No, no, I get it,” Peter interjected, holding his hands out in front of him. “Well, I don’t get it, but I mean, if I was– if I knew I was gonna– well, I’d be in a pretty moody state as well.” 

Peter was clearly trying very hard to pick the right words, and was also clearly very afraid of saying something offensive, and it honestly made Remus want to laugh, because there was very little that any of them could say about this that would make him upset with them for being here.

“Was it hard?” Sirius asked, and Remus turned to look at him. He was such a strange person, Remus thought. He was all fearless bravery and adventurous mischief and unyielding confidence right up until he was alone with just the four of them, and then he became quieter, gentler– vulnerable, even if only slightly. Remus couldn’t really imagine being more than one way other than what he was, but Sirius had mastered quite a few masks. 

“It was a bad night,” Remus answered truthfully. “I get those sometimes. Just… bad nights.” Sirius nodded solemnly. This was as close as he could come to reality. It would have to be enough. “I’m alright now. Really. And… thanks for coming to check on me. It…” It means more than you think.

“Of course, mate,” James nodded. “This band of mischief making marauders has to stick together, yeah? Otherwise what’ll Peeves go singing about?” Remus smiled back at him, feeling his ears go a little warm. Mum, he thought to himself, I’ve made friends! It felt like such a simple thing to be proud of, something that should have been easy or obvious or expected, and yet.

“Tell me more about Marlene and Snape,” Remus asked, leaning forward, looking between the three of them.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Sirius grinned.

Chapter Text

Sirius knew loneliness when he saw it. It was like meeting someone’s gaze and seeing his own eyes staring back at him. It was a simple thing, really– there weren’t really words he could ever find to explain it, but it was instinctual and strange and comforting, in some guilty way.

In the past, his eyes had been Andromeda’s– when they’d become dark enough, she left, and Sirius liked to think that she looked back, only for him. Narcissa’s eyes were his, sometimes, though Sirius never knew her well enough to understand why. She had a major disinterest in their family, carrying out her duties silently and coldly in the way only a youngest daughter could. And some part of Sirius knew, though he’d refuse to admit it for a long time, that he’d seen his own eyes in Regulus as well, on many occasions, or maybe a constant, the same as looking in a mirror.

But most recently, his eyes had belonged to Remus. 

Andromeda had once told Sirius that he was far too young to be so lonely, and he never understood why she said that until he saw it in his friend as well, and he found she was right. Something about it felt out of place.

It seemed, though, that where Sirius had learned to fight back against that loneliness, to counter it with anger and spite and disobedience, or to make himself loud and seek to outshine it wherever he could, to surround himself with people, to become someone , Remus had learned to accept it quietly like a wave moving over him. When they’d arrived at Hogwarts, Sirius recognized it– he wasn’t sad, Sirius thought, or hoped, at least. He was just… quiet. It was clear, in those first few weeks, that if he was allowed the chance, he’d pass through this place like a ghost, unseen and unheard. 

And yet now, in some incredible, marvelous feat of perseverance, Sirius was beginning to see that the shadow had lifted from Remus’ eyes as he found himself brighter and louder and vibrant in a way he hadn’t been before. 

So Sirius was alone in a new way– before, there was a comfort in knowing he was not alone in feeling lonely , at the very least; he got a weird sort of solidarity from it. Now, there were no eyes to recognize anymore. It was a cruel thought to have, he knew, to wish this same numbness on someone else. But Remus had shaken it. Sirius hadn’t. He couldn’t. 

There were times when his mother was right about him, and this was one of them; a resentful, jealous, bitter little child. 

Ungrateful.  

He was happy for Remus. Obviously he was happy for Remus. He was happy for him every time he entered a room, when his face lit up at seeing Sirius or Peter or James, when he sought them out just to be near them, silently, like it was enough just to know they were there. They weren’t strangers on the train anymore; they weren’t just friends, either– they were the marauders. Slowly, bit by bit, they were leaving their mark on this place, signing their names as one.

Remus had, unsurprisingly, turned out to be a wallflower. He watched carefully, and as a result he had a ridiculous knowledge of the comings and goings of the students and teachers of the castle. This worked well in James and Sirius’ favor, because it meant that Remus knew the general routines of many of their favorite prank targets, particularly Snape, as well as the walking routes of the teachers who were most likely to catch them, and Remus himself came across as so immensely innocent that no one ever suspected him as a lookout. 

And, additionally, though Remus would never acknowledge it, most of their ideas were really his . He was a brilliant strategist and a creative mischief maker, and eventually he’d realize it, Sirius was sure. He was one of them. They made sure he knew it. Once he shook off his persistent uncertainty, he’d be an unstoppable force of confidence and kindness.

Sirius, on the other hand, liked to make believe that he was already an unstoppable force of confidence– kindness was… up for debate. It was on the train that he’d set his heart on being someone here, and so he let himself be shaped by this place in as many ways as he could. He’d spent eleven years being little more than a rebel at best and a nuisance at worst. Eleven years being the heir and nothing more. Eleven years under the thumb of toujour pur. And the fact was that he realized, right on Platform 9 ¾, that he didn’t really know who he was outside of the manor at Grimmauld Place. He hadn’t really had an opportunity to find out. When he ran from Narcissa, who had been tasked with keeping her eye on him, and he ducked away from the last person there who had known him, he felt a bit like a shell. And so from the second he got on the train, he began to figure out how to be Sirius.  

There wasn’t much to work with, he found. 

So he studied James’ relentless charisma, the golden-child grin he’d perfected, the genuine joy he hoisted on his shoulders, and he learned it carefully. He applied it in doses to his professors, to upperclassmen, practiced it with the paintings on the walls, smiled at himself in the mirror to see if it looked as natural as it did on James. He fixed his posture– and he found it funny that he only did so now, when his mother couldn’t see, despite the infinite times she’d tried to force him not to slouch in the past.

He accepted the necessary evil of being a good student that came alongside being friends with Remus and even went so far as to take pride in it. He gave his professors no excuse to dismiss his intelligence or chalk his success up to anything other than his own merit. He was not bright because he was a Black– he was bright because he worked for it. Alongside that, he attempted (less successfully) to appropriate Remus’ tendencies toward quiet observation. Sirius learned, slowly, that it was easier to figure out what he was not rather than what he was, and it turned out that he was not, in fact, a wallflower.

And he was even going so far as to learn restraint – he had Peter to thank for that, ever on the lookout for consequence and implication and impact in a way Sirius was entirely unused to. There was a method to his fear that Sirius didn’t even think he was aware of, timing his choices perfectly for maximum benefit, which included strategizing their mischief making so that it would give them the optimal low number of inconsequential detentions. 

Sirius had not, however, mastered the concept of restraint quite enough to save him from the fate that awaited him over Christmas break. 

The blissful release of his mother’s talons was relieving at first. It was like taking his first real breath. He felt the freedom of relinquished surveillance, no more prying eyes, his every move no longer being watched, and it was weightless. There was silence from Walburga and Orion. Narcissa, still tasked with keeping an eye on the Black heir, was doing so only insofar as was necessary, and she kept out of Sirius’ way as much as humanly possible. Every so often she’d run into him in the halls, give him a once over, and then stalk away. 

On his birthday, she graced him with a nod. 

Sirius was sure she was reporting back to his mother in some capacity, but he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was writing about him, and he also sincerely didn’t care.

The silence was welcome, at first. 

Then it drew on, and on, and on, and Sirius heard nothing and nothing and nothing from Grimmauld Place, and he grew restless. 

He never thought he would want a letter from his parents, but he had grown used to knowing what to expect when he lived at home. Now, he was returning to a mystery with only his best guess as to what his family had to say. And he was sure there was a lot, beginning from the moment he was sorted into Gryffindor. 

And he wondered, every so often, about his brother. 

There were never many words to be shared between the two of them. That hadn’t changed the day Sirius left for school. Regulus had stood by the door as Sirius lugged his trunk to the car, and Sirius had ruffled his hair, very intentionally undoing the precise way in which he had styled it that morning. 

“Be good,” he’d said, grinning at the way it made Regulus scowl. 

“Piss off,” Regulus had replied, and Sirius snorted at him. It was hilarious coming from a ten year old– like an angry kitten.

“Don’t let mummy hear such foul language, Reggie,” Sirius smirked. The nickname made Regulus bristle. “Don’t get into trouble when I’m not here to enjoy it, yeah? You know I love a good–” 

Regulus had no more interest in talking to him after that. He closed the door in Sirius’ face without saying goodbye. 

Sirius had not expected to hear from him while he was at school, and so it was no surprise that he never got a letter from Regulus, either. 

As the holiday grew near, a very new sort of tension was lodged in Sirius’ throat. 

“We should do something for Christmas,” Peter proposed. The four of them were sitting on their four-posters, and even though it was long after dark, they weren't quite tired yet. They’d spent the day in the library studying for exams that were right around the corner, and Sirius was still running through potion ingredients in the back of his mind without even meaning to. Remus had spread out what seemed to be a hundred pages of notes on his bed, sorting them into piles based on criteria Sirius couldn’t hope to puzzle out. “Meet up over the break, maybe?”

“My family always does a big Boxing Day dinner,” James said. “You’re all welcome! Mum loves a big crowd, she and my dad are great hosts.”

“I could ask my parents if I can come,” Peter replied, grinning. “We might be going away at some point, but dad likes to plan those things last-minute. We might be home around then.”

“Slughorn might be there, fair warning,” James added sheepishly. “He and my dad are friends. Well… he’s friends with my dad. I think my dad thinks he’s a bit insufferable at times, but he’s too nice to say it.” 

“Christmas with your professors…” Peter mused, a brief look of disgust crossing his face. “Odd choice of company.” 

“Well, he wasn’t my professor until very recently, in their defense,” James shrugged. “And the last time he was there a few years ago, he brought a very tasty holiday blancmange.”

“What the hell is a blancmange?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s just… white eat in French. ”  

“It’s just a pudding thing, like… almond flavor or something,” James waved a hand through the air. “He put plums and figs in it, it was honestly quite good. And since when do you know French?” 

“I don’t,” Sirius lied. 

“Well, you could come over and try it for yourself,” James sighed, leaning back against the bed on the heels of his palms. 

“No offense, James, but I think my parents would skin me alive if I tried to spend my holiday with the Potters,” Sirius sighed, leaning back on the heels of his palms. “ Blood-traitors and all that. I think I’m stepping into enough fire already just by existing in this tower.” 

“Oh,” James mumbled, and Sirius felt a little guilty at how he’d chosen to phrase that. “Right.” He scrunched his face up bitterly. “I expect you’ll have a fun Christmas, then,” he said sarcastically. 

“Hah,” Sirius said coldly. “Very funny.” 

“Sorry, mate,” James shook his head. Sirius shrugged. 

He had spared them the more gruesome details of his relationship with his family, particularly with his mother, but it certainly wasn’t hard to sort out exactly what Sirius thought of going home. He understood why Andromeda ran away more than ever, now. The idea of leaving and never having to return was mouthwatering.  

“How about you, Remus? Doing anything for the holiday?” Sirius asked, shifting the attention off of himself. Remus thought carefully before answering like he always did. It tended to take him a moment or two to figure out his words, but the three of them had learned to wait patiently. 

“We usually just spend Christmas with each other,” he replied. 

“Just you and your parents?” James asked. 

Remus nodded. “Right now we’re at a little place in the countryside. Mum and dad like the quiet.” He said it wistfully, like he was back there in his mind.

“Did you move recently?” Peter asked. Remus looked for a moment like he’d said something he hadn’t meant to, but as soon as the look passed across his features it was gone. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve moved around a lot. Mum’s job transfers her a lot.” Sirius didn’t know much about Remus’ mother aside from the fact she was a muggle and did something with insurance. “But this one is one of my favorites, I think.” 

“I bet the snow looks gorgeous out there,” James sighed almost dreamily.

“It does,” Remus smiled. “There’s this fence that surrounds the farm next to us, and mum’s put birdhouses on the posts.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Sirius was honestly relieved to see it. Remus didn’t seem like he dreaded going home, and in fact, he seemed excited by the thought of it. He seemed the type to be homesick. He was curious what the Lupin family was like, just the three of them, if they were all just as quiet and reserved. He bet they would light a fire and sit around in their pajamas and watch something on television and open presents one by one. He bet Hope Lupin named all of the birds and checked in on the eggs and left out straw and yarn for them to build nests. He bet Lyall was the one who built the wooden houses, and he let Remus help.

“Well, you’re all welcome to swing by if you’d like,” James replied, interrupting Sirius’ thoughts. “Otherwise, I’ll be the youngest there, and– oh, Merlin, they’re all going to ask me about school, ” he lamented. “I can’t handle the same question a hundred times, I’ll explode.” 

“Just tell each of them a different lie,” Sirius suggested. “Something bizarre. In potions, Slughorn made us drink polyjuice and pretend to be professors. Or in Defense Against the Dark Arts, they let loose cornish pixies into the rafters. ”

“McGonagall transfigures students into owls if they misbehave,” Peter supplied. 

“Professor Binns floats up though the dorm floor and haunts your bed if you don’t turn in your homework,” Remus added.

“Oh, that’s fun. Maybe I’ll try that,” James smiled, already formulating stories in his head. “And that pixies idea isn’t bad for a prank, too…” 

“Where are we gonna get cornish pixies ?” Peter asked, laughing. 

“Doesn’t have to be pixies,” Sirius said thoughtfully. “Do you think there’s a spell to control rats or spiders or something? We could set them loose in the Slytherin common room.” 

“ Arania Exumai is the one that repels spiders. I don’t know if there’s one to summon them,” Remus mused. “But I think there’s one for birds…” He pushed aside some pages of notes, flicking through several sheets of parchment until he found his Charms textbook buried underneath all of it. Just like that, he was lost, reading through and examining intricately scrawled notes and diagrams he’d left page by page. 

Sirius shook his head. It was so easy for him to vanish into a project. Once his mind was given something to chip away at, he worked on it until it was done. It was that determination that had let them successfully clog the Slytherin toilets, sneak itching powder into the Slytherin team’s quidditch kits, and turn the bathwater in the dungeon pink. It was useful for other things, too, of course– school, for example. But that bit was boring. 

“What are you going to tell your family?” James asked, turning to Sirius. Sirius furrowed his brow. 

“About what?”

“I dunno… school, the sorting, classes, all that…” James said cautiously. “You’ve mentioned how bad your mum can be about… things.” 

“I’ll tell her the truth,” Sirius shrugged. His voice was steady. “I’m not hiding from her. I’m not gonna roll over and pretend I think the crap she’s spouting is true.” He could survive break. He knew he could. He’d survived his mother for eleven years already, and now he’d had these months away to grow bolder, to become more , even just a little, and while he was certain she would detest it, it was a fact he could use as a wall. He would keep himself separate. There was there, and there was here, and the two would not mix. Andromeda found her way at Hogwarts, so he could too. He had to.

He’d go home, and he’d be a Gryffindor, and maybe a blood-traitor, and very likely a disgrace, and a disappointment, and even so, he’d be proud.

And yet even sitting here, still at school, still surrounded by his friends, Sirius felt sour at how he was still so lonely. They didn’t understand. They knew Sirius was dreading going home, and they knew he’d hate it, and they knew he’d suffer every second of it, but they didn’t understand . Because to James and Remus and Peter, the scariest thing about returning home was the questions and the parties and the chores.

Sirius was not scared. He refused to be scared. If the scariest thing waiting for him at Grimmauld Place was his mother and father, then he would not be afraid, because he was a lion now. He was brave. He wouldn’t be a Gryffindor if he wasn’t brave– if nothing else, that had to be true, otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting here now. Right? So he wasn’t scared.

He looked up to find Remus watching him carefully, his eyes studying him. The charms notes were abandoned, resting under his fingers. His eyebrows were pinched and his eyes narrow. Sirius stared back at him. Part of him bristled like it was a challenge, and, perhaps subconsciously, he squared his shoulders. 

Say something, he dared. Say it out loud.  

But then Remus’ eyes softened, and the tension left him just a little. 

“Be careful,” he said. 

That was all he said. Be careful . 

Sirius wondered how he knew exactly what warning to give, and if he knew that Sirius would forget it almost as soon as he stepped foot into the Black family home just before Christmas. 

I don’t need your advice, Sirius wanted to say. I don’t need your help. You don’t understand.  

He stayed silent. The conversation moved toward more meaningless things, end of term exams and essays and packing and presents, and they all agreed they’d only do handmade gifts for each other, primarily because James clearly had every intention of spoiling all of them, and because Peter would have tried to convince his parents to buy out every candy shop wherever they wound up vacationing.

It was the little things like this that made Sirius a portrait of his upbringing– he had never made a gift by hand before; he had never received a gift made by hand before; he had never been spoiled, nor had he ever convinced his parents to buy anything on his behalf, and certainly not for someone else. Christmas at Grimmauld Place was nothing short of a political event, a play put on by all parties to convince each other of their pure-blood standing and their birthright superiority. Sirius and Regulus would be paraded as the heirs to the Black family fame and fortune, dressed in scratchy clothes and told to sit straight and act proper and say things like hello and how are you? and oh, yes, I agree, the ministry is corrupting the good name of magic by allowing dirty blood into the Wizengamot jury.

And now this year Sirius could say, yes, I was sorted into Gryffindor, what of it? and actually, I’ve got quite a few muggleborn friends, and frankly they’re better wizards than the lot of you. And then he’d probably be sent to his room without dinner, and he’d wake in the morning to find the door still locked, and he’d sit on the floor, and wait, and wonder how long it would be this time until someone let him out. 

And maybe, for fun, he’d meticulously pull the threads out of his Christmas dress shirt until it was nothing but scraps, and he’d leave the pieces all around the house for Kreacher to find when he went back to school.

Sirius wondered if his parents would even allow him to be around their family and friends (if they could be called friends). It was a possibility he’d be swept from sight almost instantly. But if that was the case, he assumed they’d have told him to stay at school for Christmas. No, they’d have something in mind, he was sure of it. Something to save face.

Out of the many unfair things that he found himself resenting about his upbringing, this was one that felt immensely more unfair than the rest– knowing he’d be punished somehow for being what he was now; a Gryffindor. This was, he was certain, his greatest offense so far, and definitely his greatest offense since his former greatest offense, which was the realization that his soulmate was a monster. Also, coincidentally, something out of his control. The consequences for that had been severe, and he hardly even remembered them. 

In the face of all of this, he forced himself to be certain; he was not scared. He would not let himself be scared. He was brave, now, and he was not scared.

Chapter Text

The scar was new, but it wasn’t his. 

It bloomed from his chest, right above his heart, a winding, intricate thing, the color of sunlight, small and dense right at the center and spiraling out in thin lines until the edges where it was dotted like sparks or embers floating from a fire. It was a deliberate looking thing, nothing like the scars Remus gave himself. Those were chaotic– desperate even. They were jagged and random and criss-crossed over each other. There was no intent. Not like this.

This was from magic, Remus knew. Nothing else could leave a scar like that. Nothing ordinary. 

The not knowing was the worst part, Remus had decided. Not knowing who, not knowing how, not knowing why or where. Only when. Now. There was before, when the mark wasn’t there, and now, when it was, and somewhere, right at that moment, someone had created a mark that would last forever.

Remus didn’t feel it– not the pain of it. He only felt the warmth as the new mark showed up on his skin, and then nausea that accompanied it. The latter was not a common side effect– it was unique to him, brought on by the dread of not knowing, and the guilt of knowing . 

The knowing was also the worst part, Remus had decided. Knowing there was someone. Knowing he’d never have the courage to find them, or to tell them.

The mark had appeared shortly after he got home from Hogwarts for Christmas break. 

His parents had picked him up from the train station, and he’d never run faster to see them. He’d tucked his arms in close to his body and pressed himself against his mother’s waist and buried his face in her shirt, and she was so surprised that for a moment she forgot to wrap her arms around him as well. Remus was not one for physical affection by any means, but it was a relief to be held so tightly after so long and by someone who didn’t make his skin burn. And the two of them had always had this way of hugging that was more her hugging him than them hugging each other. His father had knelt down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and even with all of Lyall’s magic, it wasn’t as painful as he thought it would be. It was familiar.

“What happened?” he asked. “Are you alright?” The concern in his voice made Remus’ eyes burn. He shook his head. 

“Nothing happened,” he said quietly, peeling himself away from his mother, and he couldn’t help but smile as he looked at his dad’s face. “I just missed you.” Hope cupped a hand under his chin, smiling knowingly right back at him, and he knew she understood. 

“We missed you, too,” she sighed, patting the top of his head. “Did you have fun?” she asked, and Remus sort of felt like he’d been away at camp or something rather than attending wizard school. Remus smiled back at her and nodded. 

“I actually–” 

“Remus!” 

He turned at the sound of his name to see James walking towards him, dragging behind him a man with an impressively thick mustache and a woman with shockingly similar features to James’, and it was clear instantly that these were his parents. 

“Oh, good, I thought you’d left! Sirius’ mum really hustled him out of here, I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” James lamented, and Remus looked around and found he was right. Sirius was nowhere to be seen. Remus felt disappointment ache in his chest. He’d wanted to see him one more time before he went home, to offer him at least a little assurance. “Are these your parents?” James asked as Lyall stood. Remus’ father was a tall man, and he towered over all of them. Despite that, he had a gentleness to him that made him approachable, and James grinned. “James Potter,” he said, holding his hand straight out to him. 

“Lyall Lupin,” Remus’ father replied cordially, shaking James’ hand like he was a tiny businessman. James extended the same handshake to Remus’ mother, who took it as well. 

“Hope,” she said. “You’re one of Remus’ friends?” 

“Best mates,” James corrected cheerily, and Remus felt his cheeks redden a bit. James’ parents both introduced themselves as well, and they spoke briefly while James and Remus said goodbye. 

“You’re still invited for Christmas, you know,” James said. “But I’ll understand if you want to spend it with your parents. I think Peter’s coming, too, so it’ll be busy. And I know you don’t like crowds.” 

Remus blinked at him, surprised. Was it that obvious? 

“Okay,” he said, having no idea what else to say. “Thanks. I’ll let you know,” he added, though he really had no means of doing so. They didn’t have an owl. Remus wasn’t even sure he knew how owls worked. 

“Happy Christmas, then, Lupin,” James smiled, straightening his back. 

“Happy Christmas,” Remus echoed. 

The mark had shown up almost as soon as he’d gotten home. 

He felt it. It was hard to describe. He’d never gotten a mark as big as this, aside from the one over his bite scar, but he didn’t really remember that one very well, and he avoided thinking about it with every fiber of his being. It wasn’t the soft tingle of warmth like the other ones were. Right at the center, it was sharp and electric like he’d been shocked, and then it bloomed out in a radiant heat that made the hair on his neck stand on end. 

When it hit him, he dropped the handle of his trunk, and it hit the wood floor with a thud that seemed to reverberate through the walls. He placed his hand over his chest and couldn’t speak for a moment even when Hope knelt down in front of him to ask what was wrong. 

He stumbled blindly to the bathroom, pulling his shirt off over his head, fairly certain he popped off the top button as he did, and stared in the mirror at the new mark that decorated his skin. Hope appeared behind him, Lyall at her elbow, and they both watched as he traced the new pattern with his fingers. The heat had dulled to a quiet warmth like a fever, and even then, it was slowly fading. 

“It’s alright,” Hope said gently, and Remus wiped the back of his hand against his eyes. He didn’t know what this feeling was. He couldn’t name it. It was something like fear and panic and yearning and… something more. He couldn’t name it. “Darling, it’s alright.” She cupped his head in her hand and leaned down, placing a kiss against his forehead, and he squeezed his eyes shut. As his skin cooled, he shivered. 

There was something that felt wrong about this mark. Every mark had a certain sourness to it, and every one that appeared made him curious in the worst way. Remus had always thought that no one his age should ever have quite as many scars as he did, and now there were two of them, equally as marked as the other in different ways. And now there was a new one. Something inside of him knew that this was not placed here by accident.

He snapped his eyes open with a start when he felt fingers graze over his back, looking into the mirror to find his mother inspecting his skin with a pinched expression on her face. 

“These are new,” she said quietly. He didn’t know what exactly she was seeing, but he knew whatever she was looking at, she was probably right. She wasn’t thinking about his soulmarks now– she was more concerned with the marks he’d given himself. A mother’s first priority was her own child, of course, and the only person who knew his scars better than he did was his mum. He took a shaky breath in and blew it out slowly. “Oh, my Moony,” she sighed, drawing Remus closer to her body, holding him tightly, and Remus felt himself melt a little at the name, not realizing how much he’d missed being here. Being home. For a moment, he let his eyes close again, and he was just a child– nothing more. 

There was a strange hurricane of emotions circling in his mind, and he couldn’t really pinpoint any of them even when he tried, so he let himself be held and let his mother comfort whatever state she thought he was in. 

The holiday from then on was lovely, honestly. The mark slipped from his mind unless he was looking at it. He felt a bit guilty about that, in some odd way.

It snowed a solid few inches in the days before Christmas, and Remus and his mother took walks along their property in the mornings, refilling Hope’s bird feeders and catching up on all they’d missed while Remus was gone. Remus wondered what lies James was telling about their year so far at Hogwarts, and he hoped he was having fun, of course, but Remus didn’t need to lie to his mum. The truth was already more fantastic than either of them could believe. 

He told her about his friends, about how they’d met on the train, about how they’d wound up sharing a room. He talked about his classes, what he’d learned, how the library seemed to carry an infinite number of books with more and more every time he went. He could talk for hours– and he did. Even though he’d put all of this in letters, she was just as excited to hear it all again, to ask questions, to get the details. It felt easy to talk to her in a way it wasn’t for others– it was simple, like breathing. They talked about the marauders, about how he’d helped clog the toilets, and his mother didn’t scold him for breaking the rules or chide him for being friends with troublemakers– she laughed, and she suggested adding dish soap to the back of the tank next time so it made bubbles as well. 

There was nothing Remus wouldn’t tell his mother. Among the things he revealed were more inconsequential things; James’ father’s hair growth potion and subsequent fortune, Peter’s incredible history of travel throughout Europe with his family, how Professor McGonagall could turn into an honest-to-god cat, how History of Magic was taught by a ghost, how the paintings and staircases and candles in the Great Hall moved, and how even after months he still hadn’t gotten used to that.  

And then there were the more important things, or to Remus, his most pressing worry over break; Sirius. More specifically, his tumultuous relationship with his family and their values. Hope listened intently to Remus’ explanation of tensions between certain pure-blooded families and the rest of the wizarding world, and she listened even more intently when Remus repeated some of the more disturbing things Sirius had told them about his family’s moral principles. 

She pursed her lips and nodded along carefully, and said she was glad that now, at least, it seemed Sirius had a place to be his own person. Remus hadn’t really thought about it like that, but it felt accurate. Sirius wasn’t a Black at Hogwarts, very unlike how James was still a Potter and Peter was still a Pettigrew, and even how Remus remained a Lupin . He was just Sirius. 

He wondered how his friend was spending his days over break. Staying out of trouble, he hoped, but he knew better than to believe it was true.

In the evenings, the Lupins cooked dinner and read and shared each other's company, as they always had before. It was easy to fall back into old routines. Remus had realized only once he was away from home that he and his parents spent a lot of their time silent when they were together. At school, it was loud. There were always conversations, always something happening at all times, something to talk about. Even though his friends understood him well enough to allow him to quietly watch and listen in, they themselves weren’t quiet people. They were loud and excited and talkative and social, and they always had things to say. 

But at home it was quiet in a way it could never be at school, in a way it could never be with the marauders. He was happy there– he genuinely was. He was happy here, too, but in a way they were two different types of contentment. 

Remus had forgotten about the new soulmark he’d gotten at the start of break almost entirely until the full moon. It fell after Christmas, just before the return to school. His father had put up all the usual wards and spells to protect him, and to protect them , and they had spoken to him gently through the door while his body tore itself apart and reformed. 

He had missed that, he realized. 

The way they talked him through the shift, the way they stayed with him, just beyond the veil of protection, but still there. He was less alone than he’d been while he was at Hogwarts. In those moments so far from home, when he knew there was no one behind the door, no one waiting for him, no one telling him he would be okay, he felt like he was the only soul in the world. Here, this was proof he was loved.

In the morning, when he came back to himself, he found the wolf had carved two long, curved gashes over the new golden scar on his chest. The wound bled sluggishly. Remus wondered why; why the wolf had taken such issue with that mark, why it had gone after it specifically. He sometimes wished he could remember exactly what the wolf was thinking on those nights, but it was a risky thing to ask for.

When Lyall healed it, it turned silvery like the rest, and the two marks, gold and silver, had a strange sort of beauty to them. When Remus stared at them closely enough, he could picture them as the moon and stars.

This, he didn’t miss, though; the time just after the night was over, when his father dismissed the wards that kept him in and they entered the room and saw– saw whatever new scars he’d given himself, whatever fresh claw marks he’d carved into the floor, whatever fear and exhaustion and confusion he wore on his face. His father always healed him silently,  his face tense, his jaw tight, while his mother held him against her body, and he was numb and cold and disoriented. 

His father wouldn’t look at him, after. 

He never had, not as long as Remus could remember. After, he thought, it was the hardest for Lyall. He could live with himself between moons, and he could live with himself when night fell, and he could even live with himself when Remus screamed so loud it tore his throat to shreds, but it was in the morning that he couldn’t bear to see what he’d done. 

Because unfortunately, and undeniably, it was something he’d done. It was, in fact, his fault.

Remus didn’t blame him. He knew it was his fault, but he didn’t blame him. It was a strange line to toe, if there was a line at all. Somehow, those two realities existed at the same time. It could be said, of course, that no one had forced Fenrir Greyback’s hand. No one had held a knife to his throat and told him to attack– he had done that of his own accord. But he had acted because of Lyall, because of his words; werewolves were soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death. Greyback had somehow proved him right and wrong all at once. 

Lyall ate his words nonetheless, and it wrecked him every day since.

And so it was in the mornings that Lyall was silent. In the weeks before, this was his son– this was Remus– this was someone he knew. During the moon, his son was no longer his son– he was other–  he was that soulless, evil, undeserving creature that Lyall claimed he was. But in the mornings, Remus was a reminder that the before and the during could combine into the after, and the cycle would repeat into infinity, because there was no cure, and there was no escape, and this was his fault.  

There were no words that Remus could give his father, and no words his father could give Remus, and so they were at a stalemate with no way to help each other out. Remus could tell Lyall that he didn’t blame him, and it would be true, but he’d never believe it. This was his lesson–  Remus was his lesson– and he learned it every day, without fail and without faltering. He bore blame because he believed it was his duty to do so. 

Remus had never asked if his mother blamed his father, though. He knew she would tell the truth, and that frightened him. 

These were strange realities that all mingled at once; blame and fault, before and after and during. They were trauma and tragedy, together, the three of them, and so together they remained. Remus believed, wholeheartedly, that if his father had left, if he’d abandoned them, then he would have blamed him. It would have been his fault, and he would have blamed him. But Lyall had stayed, and so any anger and resentment and bitterness that Remus held toward him fizzled out when he woke up on those mornings after his transformation and he saw his father’s eyes, and that icy numbness was melted even if only slightly by the simple fact that he was there. 

It was possible that someday, Lyall would figure that out for himself. For now, Remus was eleven, and he was tired, and he didn’t know enough words quite yet to make his father understand. Lyall healed him, and Hope held him, and he fell asleep before they managed to usher him into his own bed.

The Lupin family got a Christmas card from the Potters and from the Pettigrews. The images on the front moved, faces smiling and waving. From Sirius, he received a letter detailing how he’d hung Gryffindor banners in his room, and how Remus should have seen the look on his mother’s face, and how he’d have to recruit Remus’ help figuring out a way to affix them there permanently since his mother had torn them down and burned them. 

“You’ve made friends,” Remus’ mother had said with a smile as the Potters’ postcard arrived, carried delicately by an owl that landed on their window sill in their kitchen. She’d tried to give it birdseed in return, but it seemed uninterested. “I knew you would.”

“I didn’t expect to,” Remus admitted. She put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed. “I think they actually like me.” 

“Of course they do!” she said. “What’s not to like?” Remus could have come up with a list a mile long if he had half a mind to, but he shrugged instead. 

“Are you happy there?” she asked quietly, and Remus looked up at her. She was still staring out the kitchen window. Remus suddenly felt guilty, like he’d left her and his father alone, like he’d abandoned them.

“I missed you,” he replied, looking down at his hands. He picked at the skin around his thumbnail. 

“I know,” she sighed, turning to look at him. She put her hand over his, halting his idle fidgeting. “We missed you too. I missed you,” she added, more pointedly. “But are you happy there?” She wanted an answer. She wanted a real answer. She only asked questions like that when she wanted a real answer. He didn’t have to think long about it, really. He told his mother everything, after all.

“I am,” he said, and meant it. She smiled at him. 

“Good.” 

“Was it strange here, while I was gone?” Remus asked. “It was strange without you two, there.” 

“A bit,” Hope mused. She was still trying to get the Potters’ owl to take a treat from her hand, but it cooed and tilted its head at her. “I was a bit lonely, I’ll be honest.” Just as Remus told his mother everything, she told Remus everything as well. She wouldn’t hide the details from him just because he was a child. “Your father and I didn’t really know what to talk about, at first,” she smiled, noting this with humor. “It’s been a very long time since we were apart from you.”

“I was lonely, too,” Remus admitted. “Especially at first.” 

“We’re all like that, I suppose. The Lupins ,” Hope sighed. “Lonely even in the sincerest of company.” The owl closed its eyes gently as she ran her fingers over its head, smoothing the feathers down. “Are you lonely, still?”

“I don’t think so,” Remus said thoughtfully. “Sometimes, maybe, but not– I’m not…” She seemed to know what he meant even when his words left him. 

“This is a very nice bird,” Hope nodded. “We should get an owl. How does one get an owl? Do you have to register it like a car? Or is it like a post box? Do you put the stamps right on the feathers?”

Remus giggled at the idea. 

“Do wizards have stamps?” she asked, but she directed the question at the owl rather than at Remus. “Seems like they’d have something, don’t you think? Do they pay you in rats, sir? Er… ma’am? I’m not very familiar with…” she waved a hand vaguely. 

The owl spread its wings dramatically, waving them through the air and knocking a few stray papers from the counter. 

“I’ll bet you could write a letter back,” she noted, and Remus perked up. She was right, he thought. He probably could. His mother knew him very well, of course, because she was his mother, and so she was already holding out a pencil for him to take.

Chapter Text

James had become truly, thoroughly insufferable. Sirius hadn’t thought it possible for him to become even more obsessed with Quidditch than he already was, but this was another level altogether. It seemed impossible that someone could hold themselves in such high regard– but here they were. 

Winter break had gone exactly how Sirius had expected it to, and he didn’t intend to elaborate any further than that. His friends didn’t pry, at least. He was thankful for that. It helped that there were other things to talk about, namely that on the train back to school, word had spread quickly that Emmeline Bernard, the youngest of Gryffindor’s chasers, had apparently transferred to Beauxbatons Academy in the south of France to be closer to her family. And as a result, rumor had it, Gryffindor would be holding a secondary try-out for the position. 

James was determined, Sirius would give him that– he just wished that didn’t meant the rest of them had to be determined with him.  

“I’m rubbish at flying, James, honestly,” Peter moaned, clinging to his broom desperately as it floated no less than two feet off of the ground. “I won’t be any help! I hardly even know the rules…” he tried to straighten up, but his broom shook underneath him and he gripped it desperately again. 

“You don’t need to know the rules,” James waved his hand, leaning back on his broom easily like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Just throw the quaffle when I tell you.” 

“Which one’s the quaffle?” Peter asked. 

“The big one,” Remus supplied. Sirius looked over to see him sitting on his broom, certainly more comfortable than Peter was, but moving backwards rather than forwards. 

“Why’re you going in reverse?” Sirius asked. 

“If I knew,” Remus said, shooting him a withering look, “do you think I’d be doing it?” Sirius snorted. 

“Lean forward more,” he instructed. “Like this.” Sirius tilted his shoulders forward, and Remus mimicked the movement a little too quickly and shot toward the ground, pitching over the front of his broom and landing softly in the snow. 

“Ugh,” Remus groaned. “Thank god flying is a pass or fail class,” he sighed, brushing himself off. 

“Not quite sure you’re passing, mate,” Sirius said, stifling a laugh.

“Har har,” Remus muttered, picking his broom up out of the snow.

“You’re both useless,” James said, shaking his head. He circled above them higher, flying figure-eights in the sky. 

“Hey!” Peter squeaked. “We’re trying our best!” 

“Speak for yourself,” Remus mumbled under his breath so only Sirius could hear. He picked up the quaffle from the case James had brought out with them and tossed it to Sirius. “Are you trying out, too?” 

“Oh, absolutely not,” Sirius laughed. He tossed the quaffle from one hand to another. “Not really interested. And besides, James’d kill me if I stole his spot.” 

“Shame,” Remus said. “You’re not bad. Next year, maybe,” Remus said idly. 

“You’ll root for me in the stands?” Sirius grinned at him, and Remus breathed a laugh, fogging the air in front of him. 

“Oh, I’ll paint my whole face red and gold,” he smiled. 

“I’m holding you to that,” Sirius replied. Remus shook his head, and Sirius flew higher, tossing the quaffle as hard as he could into the air for James to catch. They threw it back and forth, Sirius sending it flying in seemingly impossible directions for James to catch and James somehow managing to get there in time. He was fast and agile on a broom, and when Sirius had watched the tryouts at the start of the year, he was certain that James had only barely missed the cut. 

Now, James was more determined than ever, which meant that Sirius was awake far earlier than he ever wanted to be, freezing his bum off in the dead of winter so that James could make the team. And he better make the bloody team, Sirius thought. Otherwise, I’ll kill him for this.  

Sirius looked down to see Remus and Peter sitting on their brooms sideways, feet hovering above the snow. Peter was waving his hands, probably telling Remus some story about his family’s trip to Switzerland over break, and Remus was nodding along, ever a good listener. 

“Heads up–!” James said, and not a half second later the quaffle hit him directly in the chest. 

It knocked the wind out of him. He held the ball against him for a moment while his breath came back. Under his shirt, he felt the sore skin there ache just above his heart. If he had been any less stubborn, when he got back, he would have gone to the hospital wing for a healing draught, but that would bear the risk of explaining how exactly he’d managed to obtain such an injury, which was out of the question. 

“Sorry, mate, I thought you were watching,” James said, flying down to his level. Sirius waved him off, still grimacing. Remus and Peter were looking up at them now, too. He steeled his expression. 

“With a throw like that, you’re sure to make the team,” Sirius wheezed.

“Sorry,” James repeated. Sirius passed him the quaffle, rubbing his chest with the heel of his palm. He winced when it stung. “You haven’t seen Madam Pomfrey yet?” He asked, quieter. Sirius rolled his eyes. “You said you were going to!” James crossed his arms. 

“It’s fine, ” Sirius said through his teeth, glancing down again at Peter and Remus. It seemed they’d gone back to talking. 

“Merlin, you’re stubborn,” James shook his head. 

“ I’m stubborn? I’m sorry, I was under the impression we were out here at the crack of dawn for you, not for me,” Sirius laughed. 

“This is different! You really should tell someone–” 

“I’m not having this conversation again,” Sirius cut him off. “This is exactly what I told you not to do.” Sirius started to make his way back down, but James flew around and stopped him. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. I won’t– I won’t bring it up again.” Sirius knew instantly, just by the tone of James’ voice, that he’d never be able to keep that promise, try as he might, but he didn’t push it. 

Sirius wasn’t used to being particularly careful in hiding the marks his family left on him. Up until now, it was really only the one– the burn over his stomach, covering the golden bite mark. He didn’t really think the little ones counted. And that one was easy to talk away when there were questions; an accident when he was a child, his own fault, really, getting into so much trouble, and as he grew it pulled and stretched in a way where you couldn’t really tell it was made by magic. 

Besides, it was always the gold marks he was more intent on hiding. It seemed far more necessary, for some reason, though he wondered if those were his mother’s words and not his own.

But because he was not careful, and because he had frankly thrown caution to the wind over Christmas break after everything that had happened, James had walked in on him pulling down the collar of his shirt to plaster a bandage down over the burn, albeit without much care for precision, and for a long moment James had just stared at him. 

There wasn’t much reason to lie, Sirius thought, because there weren’t many lies that would be believable. No one tripped down the stairs and burned a hole in their chest, after all. And then there was some part of him that just wanted James to know, and to tell him what he already knew, which was that this was wrong.

So they sat on the floor of the bathroom right near the sinks on the cold stone and Sirius told James about his winter break, and James listened carefully, silently. 

“Just for being sorted into the wrong house?” James had asked, the question nothing more than a whisper. 

“Just? ” Sirius had scoffed. “No Black has ever been sorted into anything but Slytherin since… since ever.” 

“But that’s not your fault,” James said, and it was almost like he was trying to convince himself in some strange way. Like he was trying to rationalize this, trying to argue with Walburga after the fact, like it would undo anything. 

“That’s now how she sees it,” Sirius shook his head. He had learned how exactly she saw it the moment they got home. Though, if Sirius was being honest, he didn’t remember a lot. His mind had sort of drifted, stuck on disbelief and cutting him off before he got to fear or pain like a thread being snapped. 

It was only after she’d done it that she found the words to explain. He was, she insisted, a stain to their family’s purity– they had now been accused of consorting with the enemy (Sirius hadn’t realized they had enemies), of undermining the nobility of the Sacred Twenty-Eight (if there was any nobility left to be had) , and apparently, a rumor had been spread that Sirius was a bastard (that one… Sirius hadn’t expected). Walburga had only been able to dismiss this accusation because Sirius looked so disgustingly similar to Orion, unmistakably his son, which oddly seemed as revolting to Walburga as it did to Sirius.

Do you think of anyone but yourself? She’d demanded, and Sirius thought he might have remembered her crying. He thought he might have remembered feeling sorry for her.

Later that night, when Sirius stood in front of the mirror and just stared at the mark she’d left, Regulus had hovered in the doorway, meeting Sirius’ eyes in the reflection. She said she was sorry, he had said, hardly even a whisper. I don’t know if you heard. But she said she was sorry. Sirius hadn’t heard. And he didn’t believe it. And he didn’t care.

Christmas had passed in a sort of blur from then on. It felt almost like sleepwalking. It was only on the train back that Sirius began feeling like he could breathe again.

“Don’t tell Remus or Peter,” Sirius had said when he was finished. “They’ll worry.” 

“And I won’t?” James had scoffed, but he agreed nonetheless. 

The only person Sirius had really ever confided in before was Andromeda, but it didn’t feel quite the same. She knew. She’d experienced it. There was something distinctly different about saying these things to someone who didn’t already know the Blacks, and the expression on James’ face was relieving in a sick sort of way. This isn’t normal, it confirmed. This isn’t right.  

The rest of his family didn’t quite get that, Sirius thought. Maybe it was because Andromeda had taught him young that there was more to life than the Black family values, but Sirius had never accepted Orion and Walburga Black’s conception of order and discipline. The harsher they were, the more he fought back against it. It was a hellish cycle, one Sirius knew wouldn’t last forever, but he wouldn’t be the first to break. He’d made a promise to himself. 

James had a talent for reading between the lines in a way Remus and Peter didn’t. He listened to the silent truths, which made it easier for Sirius, who often left most things unsaid. There was an intuition between them that Sirius took comfort in.

He wanted to reassure him. She’s never done this before, he wanted to say. Not like this. So you don’t need to worry. After all, he’d say, it’s not like I could do much worse. You can only get sorted once.  

But Sirius couldn’t say that, because she had done this before. She had done this when he was five, when the bite appeared in gold, and it was the same, then– equally as out of his control, equally not his fault. Her worst rages were ones he could never have avoided. 

I’m doing this so you’ll understand, she had said. 

There were many things Sirius wanted to understand– about his family, about his life, about the world– but her cruelty was not one of them. Whatever it was Walburga had intended for him to learn from this, he had barred it from his mind. He had intentionally, willingly let it fly over his head and disappear into the winter night.

It had no place here, he decided. Here, at school, or here, under his skin, or here, in this new scar. And of the very few things that brought Sirius any semblance of comfort in the mark his mother had left on him, he could at least picture how beautiful it must look in gold.

It was a thought that would tide him over until the burn scabbed and healed and scarred, and as Christmas became, blissfully, distant. It would be a reminder there, even when he was practicing on the pitch with James and Peter and Remus, even as classes started up again, and as papers were assigned and potions were brewed and pranks were proposed and planned and executed with precision. It was a reminder, and then it was healed, and it was forgotten unless it was being seen.

***

January passed in a flurry of papers and tests and exams, punctuated by the chaotic comings and goings of the marauders. Peeves’ nickname had stuck from their first few weeks at Hogwarts, and now whenever there was mischief to be made in the castle, one could bet the four of them were behind it. 

Well, more often it was credited to two of them; Sirius and James were often the spearheads of their antics, being the ones most likely to actually carry out the pranks themselves. Peter had gotten in trouble a few times as well for failing miserably in his duty as a lookout, but Remus had managed to avoid detentions altogether by simply going unnoticed . He was quiet, and he got his homework done, and he finished his classwork on time. On several occasions, their professors had assigned James and Sirius seats next to him in the hopes that he’d be a good influence, a comment which even Remus had to bite his tongue not to laugh at. 

Remus was, to put it lightly, an enabler. 

To put a bit heavier a hand on it, he was the mastermind . 

Whenever James or Sirius had a half-baked plan or a hint of an idea, Remus would somehow show up with exactly the right spell or know the exact routine of the targets or once, he just reached over and silently flipped Sirius’ potions textbook to the particular recipe he needed to dye Snape’s hair bright red for the day. 

Lily had been furious with them for that one, and had turned a dark, angry shade of pink when James had called after her, now you match! Sirius was sure that if she had known any dueling spells at the time, James would have been sent to the hospital wing. 

In fairness, they already spent a reasonable chunk of time there anyway over the course of the year– certainly more than anyone else they knew (aside from perhaps Chester Barrows who fell off his broom every single flying lesson). Remus was in and out often, sometimes for only an hour or two, but sometimes for an entire day. Sirius didn’t know much about muggle illnesses, but this one seemed particularly rough at times. Some days when they had gone, Remus would perk up when they came to visit him. They’d sit on the cot with him and review notes from classes he missed or tell him about the latest drama among the upperclassmen or groan about how pompous Snape had been, and he would smile and listen to them until Madam Pomfrey shooed them away. 

Some days, though, Remus wouldn’t even let them in, covering his head with the sheets and muttering something to Madam Pomfrey that made her face pinch in concern before she ushered them back out of the wing. 

“Not today, gentlemen,” she’d say quietly, and Sirius would try to peek around her to see Remus curled into himself on the bed. 

Those days, he came back to the common room late, eyes tired, moving slowly like his whole body was sore. Sirius was curious– it was difficult not to be– but the muggle studies books he’d found in the library were about as vague as Remus had been when he’d explained it to them at the start of the year. Remus never seemed keen on talking about his episodes either. When he’d come back like that, all achy and exhausted, and they’d ask if he was alright, all he would give them was a simple bad night . He’d smile as he said it, too, and James and Peter and Sirius would all share a look and ask nothing more. 

Remus never complained. He hardly even mentioned it. Even when they could see him getting antsy, when they could practically feel the heat of his fever, when he’d sit in the dining hall with his hands over his ears to block out the sound, he never complained. It would be admirable, Sirius thought, if it wasn’t so self destructive. 

***

James’ first debut as Gryffindor’s newest chaser was in late February, which was unfortunate because it was absolutely bloody frigid out, and Sirius was pretty sure his fingers were going to fall off if he wasn’t careful. He sat on his hands, shoulders pulled up to his ears, and chanted along with the rest of them as red and gold streaked across the sky. 

A fourth year, Aimee Crenshaw, was announcing the game, babbling animatedly about the captain, Clyde Spindlewood, who was apparently being drafted onto the Appleby Arrows in June , and the seeker, Holly Hawke, a fifth year with quite a mouth on her, that one, and James Potter, Gryffindor’s latest addition and the team’s youngest ever chaser – to Sirius’ delight, the stands exploded in cheers. James was hamming it up, kicking his legs and waving to the crowd like he was a king among men. 

“Good to know he’s kept his humility, yeah?” Sirius said to Remus over the din, and Remus grinned. He still had dark bags under his eyes, having spent the day before in the hospital wing, but he insisted he wanted to be there for James’ first game. Madam Pomfrey had bundled him up in an obscene amount of layers and given him a potion to keep him warm, and in hindsight Sirius wished he’d asked for one as well. Remus’ cheeks were pink, and he had a large red and gold blanket around his shoulders. 

“I didn’t know they flew so high up,” Peter called over nervously. He had his eyes trained on the ground beneath them, evidently displeased by how high up the towers were for spectators. “It seems dangerous.” He scrunched his face up like he’d eaten something sour. 

“Nah,” Sirius shook his head. “The death rate’s only like, once every two years or so.”

“ Death rate?” Peter gawked. Sirius snorted. “Oh. Hah hah, very funny. Don’t say things like that!” 

“He’ll be alright,” Remus said, nodding towards James who was currently taking up his position in the starting lineup. 

“What happens if you fall?” Peter asked. 

“He won’t fall,” Sirius laughed, shaking his head. 

“Well how do you know?” Peter crossed his arms. 

“Because he’s James–” Sirius was cut off by a roaring cheer as the quaffle was released. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Remus flinch, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. 

When they’d left the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had given Sirius a very specific look, one Sirius assumed meant keep an eye on him . Though, Sirius doubted that anything he said to Remus right now would get him to leave the game even if he really needed to, so in the likely case that Remus’ head was pounding, there wasn’t much Sirius figured he could do about it other than make a note to get him some good earmuffs for next time. 

Sirius hadn’t ever given much thought to Quidditch before, mainly humoring James in his obsession and paying just enough attention in Flying class to make sure he wasn’t failing, but watching it at that first game made him downright envious. The players zipped through the air faster than fireworks, spinning and rolling in intricate patterns. Hufflepuff played fairly safely, passing in zigzagged patterns and holding their defense strong. Gryffindor, Sirius noted, played far more intuitively, their plays less rigid and particular. They were more scattered, but also more aggressive, which despite Hufflepuff’s keeper’s admittedly impressive efforts, meant Gryffindor was leading 70-50 by the time Gryffindor’s seeker spotted the snitch. 

Sirius wondered if maybe he should start taking flying lessons a little more seriously. Remus had suggested he tried out earlier… maybe he’d take that advice. He could see himself really having a blast with those bats the beaters used. And he really did quite enjoy the visual of Remus in the stands, his face painted red and gold, cheering him and James on.

He was so invested in the game that he hadn’t even noticed he was shivering until Remus silently threw one side of the blanket over his shoulders. Sirius looked at him, half startled, before he nodded a thanks and tugged the blanket closer.

***

It was an unfortunate truth that time passed quickly at Hogwarts. 

Before they knew it, exams were finished, rooms were packed, banners and posters taken down and trinkets cleaned off shelves. Remus had gone down to check in with Madam Pomfrey once more before he left, and Peter was returning a large stack of books to the library, which left Sirius and James alone in the room checking under their beds and in the back corners of their dressers to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. James, being James, asked exactly what Sirius was hoping he wouldn’t. 

“Will you be alright?” Sirius shot him a look, eyes narrow. “Don’t look at me like that,” James snapped, crossing his arms. “It’s the last day, and I haven’t bothered you about it all term. I’m allowed to be worried.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Sirius said, shaking his head. What else was there to say? He would be fine, because he had to be fine, because if he wasn’t fine, he’d never survive in that house. From the look on his face, James clearly trusted him as far as he could throw him on that. 

“Will you write?” James asked.

“I’ll try,” Sirius said. “But if you write back, just know my mother’s probably going to read it. So maybe… maybe don’t sign it as Potter, yeah?” James nodded. Sirius was grateful that James never took the Black’s hatred of the Potters too personally. He understood it was all some political game where family names meant something more. 

“You’ll be careful?” James asked, and Sirius snorted. “Of course you won’t,” he sighed, defeated. 

“James, I’ll be fine, ” Sirius insisted. “You worry too much.” 

“I worry a very appropriate amount, thank you, considering the state your mother left you in last time,” James huffed, shoving the last of his clothes into his trunk and locking it with a click. Sirius bristled at the comment. “You don’t worry enough.” Sirius had nothing to argue on that point; James was almost certainly right. Sirius closed his own trunk, sitting on top of it and looking around at their barren room. 

It’s only a few months, he thought. Only a few months, and then you’ll be back, and you’ll be here, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Just make it through summer. He hated the way his mouth tasted like acid. You’re fine. He stood up. 

“Come on,” he said, stretching his back. “I want to steal some food from the Great Hall before we leave.” 

“I don’t think it counts as stealing if it’s free,” James said, following after him. 

“Fine, then I’ll find something else to steal,” Sirius shrugged.

“Well, now, hold on–”

Chapter Text

Dear James,

My mum and I convinced dad to get an owl– I’ll be honest, it makes a little less sense than the postal system here, but it’s cheaper than buying stamps, so points for that. She’s named it Agatha. I’m afraid my letters won’t be very interesting. We don’t really vacation over the summer, and I doubt you’ll find muggle hobbies very interesting. 

I’ve taken up running, though. Easier than flying. More grounding– get it? 

How’s summer for you? Tell your parents hello from us all. My dad finally realized where he recognized your dad’s name from– I didn’t realize there was such a market for hair-loss potions. Explains the mustache. Or is that natural? Don’t tell him I said that. I feel like he might be offended. 

I hope this owl knows where to find you. 

Best,

Remus

***

Remus! 

Tell Mrs. Lupin that Agatha is a lovely name. My parents say hello as well. Did you see Peter is in Prague? He sent me a postcard, we’ve got it up on the fridge. 

Summer’s fantastic– dad bought me the newest Nimbus model for making the Gryffindor team. I think he’s just surprised there’s an athlete in the family. We’ve got hoops set up in the yard and everything.

Keep an eye out for your book list, also. Dad says he heard a rumor from a friend that Hogwarts might be getting a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Staghart was good and all but I got the feeling she was going a bit senile at the end there. Mum says that’s rude to say, but honestly, she started trying to teach the paintings how to cast the Knockback Jinx, so at a certain point, it’s not really rude, more just accurate, right? Right.

Oh, dad’s got this friend who’s into muggle things, and he wants me to ask you how the postal system works. Give me something funny to tell him, something ridiculous, like… like they hire people to carry the letters in little pouches and slide them under your door while you’re sleeping. 

Don’t be a stranger,

James

***

James,

I don’t know how to tell you this, but that’s almost exactly how the postal system works. Doors have mail slots for the postmen to slip the letters through, and in the mornings, little kids on bikes deliver the morning news by throwing papers at your front porch. 

Best,

Remus

***

Remus, 

You’re messing with me right? I don’t believe you. 

Prove it. 

No, honestly, I don’t even want to know. When I told Mr. Weasley, he nearly fell out of his chair in awe. I wonder what would happen if you tried to send a letter the muggle way to our house. I leave that to you.

James

***

James,

Have you heard from Sirius? Agatha’s been bringing the letters back unopened, so I wondered if I was doing something wrong. They seem to be getting to you okay. Well, all except the one I sent through snail mail. That one came back to me marked “return to sender.” You owe me 50 cents for the stamp (that’s muggle money). 

I know he wasn’t looking forward to the summer. Do you know if he’s alright? 

Remus

***

Remus, 

Why on earth would muggles send snails to deliver letters? That seems counterintuitive.

Sirius’ mother is intercepting his mail, I’m afraid. Something about making sure he only got his information from reliable sources, if you can believe that. He’s alright. He’s managed to send me a few notes about his comings and goings, but he’s not trying very hard to stay out of trouble. 

Did you know he has a little brother? Apparently he’ll be coming to Hogwarts next year. Don’t tell Sirius I told you, my dad was the one who told me, and he only knows because Professor Slughorn told him, and he still keeps in touch with him on account of the whole potion-maker thing (which Slughorn really loves to take credit for, somehow). Do you think he’ll be just as moody? 

James

***

James, 

Snail mail is a figure of speech. It just means having something delivered through the post. We’re all very aware that it’s slow. 

Glad to hear Sirius isn’t just ignoring me, I suppose. My mum says that reading others’ mail is an infringement on privacy and personal property, but somehow I doubt that the Blacks care very much about that. 

I just got the book list. Any idea who this Ironwood fellow is? My dad says his name sounds familiar, but he’s not sure from where. 

I only just got Peter’s postcard from Prague. Do you think that owl had to fly all the way from there just to deliver it? Mum thinks that’s a little cruel. She wants me to ask if they get breaks. She thinks they should. She’s always had a soft spot for animals.

Remus

***

Remus, 

I don’t think Sirius could ignore you if he tried. 

I’m picking up a muggle studies book when I get my textbooks this year. I don’t believe you about this postal system business. 

Dad says he’s never heard of a Professor Ironwood before. I hope he’s good. Not that Professor Staghart was bad, but… well, we’ve been over this. Sirius wants me to tell you that the hair dying potion we made for Snape also worked quite well on Narcissa. I’m sure you and I are both cringing at the thought of that. 

How come you didn’t have an owl before? Your dad’s a wizard, right? Tell Mrs. Lupin that the owls are well compensated for their work, the Pettigrews’ especially. Have you seen how fat that bird is? Bloody hell. 

James

***

Remus,

I’m going to need you to fact check this muggle book. There’s no way this is all true. You’ve just got gas running through your house? How have all of your buildings not caught fire? Absurd. 

I picked you up a book from Diagon Alley I think you’ll like. Don’t ask me what it is. It’s a surprise. 

James

***

Remus, 

I haven’t heard from you in a minute. Don’t tell me your mother’s put your bird on strike. I promise, they’re treated very fairly. 

James

***

Remus,

You’ve got me worried. Mable’s brought your letter back with her feathers all in a twist because she couldn’t figure out where to deliver it. Maybe you’ve just gone on vacation. Wish you would have told me first. Hoping this one finds you.

James

***

Remus,

Trying this again. Write back or something, okay? Mabel’s got no idea where to go. Not that Peter isn’t fun to talk to, but he keeps sending cheesy postcards and his handwriting is atrocious. 

And Sirius is giving me chest pain. 

You alright?

James

***

Remus, 

I had to go through quite a bit of trouble to get you this one, so it better have worked. My dad has a friend who’s got an uncle in the ministry, and he took this letter in and is theoretically trying to slip it under your dad’s door, so if you get this, I suppose that means it’s worked. He said your dad’s taken a few weeks off work. 

I just want to know that you’re alright. Are you alright? I can’t think of much else to say aside from that. 

James

***

James,

Sorry. Everything’s fine. I can explain on the train.

Sorry for worrying you. 

See you soon,

Remus

Chapter Text

Remus had now found that being yelled at by James Potter was almost worse than being yelled at by Hope Lupin, and that was impressive. 

The experience was similar in that it seemed both James and Hope’s ire were sourced from the same place of deep concern, their words marked by relief at having gotten through whatever it was that caused the worrying, and from now being able to yell about it in hindsight. 

James had first made sure that Remus was alright, all in one piece, ten fingers and ten toes and a sound mind, or as sound a mind as Remus had possessed before, whatever that was worth. Their parents had greeted each other with a short hello and how are you and blimey, look at  the time, because apparently both the Potters and the Lupins had a tendency toward being just on time, and so they were shuffled onto the train with very little time to spare, all the way toward the front where the other half of their ridiculous quartet was certainly not situated. 

James had swept his eyes over Remus, opened his mouth, closed it, peered around Remus like he was checking that he hadn’t grown horns or a second head, and once he was certain that Remus was, in fact, still Remus, he placed both of his hands on either of his hips, took a deep breath, and tore him a new one. 

Remus realized, then, that James had an overwhelming amount of care stored up in his heart– far more than Remus had acknowledged before. He felt sort of silly only noticing it now as James was going on about how he worried him half to death and how he almost filed a missing wizards report (which Remus assumed was markedly worse than a missing persons report) and how he had sent Mabel flying in circles trying to find him, and how his parents had tried to convince him that it was probably fine and that Remus had just gone on vacation or something mundane like that, and James barreled on before Remus had a chance to explain any of this in the moment. And that was something familiar, because as much as James was a good listener, when he was going on and on about something, he really went. 

Unfortunately, the thing James was going on and on about was Remus, and Remus felt guilty about this, of course, but more than that, he felt surprised. 

It was not necessarily a depressing thought but more of an objective fact that Remus had simply not had friends up until this point in his life. His childhood was defined by this fact, out of necessity. It was rare for the Lupins to stay in one place for long– typically, they moved halfway through school years, around Christmas, so that summer would break up the pattern of Remus’ monthly absences. It was strategic isolation, well thought out similarly to how Remus’ moons were thought out now, all timed and technical. 

Eventually, Lyall elected to homeschool Remus, which eliminated the possibility of friends entirely. It was not the intent, but it was the effect. But rather fortunately, the homeschooling allowed the Lupins to stay in one place for longer, which wound up doing wonders for Remus’ perpetual aversion to sudden change. Moving was a nightmare, and doing it every six months had left him on edge and terribly volatile for a good few years in his childhood.

But when he was in school, sometimes, even their brief half years were too long. Muggles had a knack for skepticism. Whether or not they knew what exactly they were catching on to when their suspicions grew toward Remus and his family, the doubt was in and of itself a dangerous thing. So they would move, and move, and move, and no one would ever look for them. No one ever asked where Remus Lupin had wound up. No one ever wondered what had become of him. 

Except now, when James had his hands on his hips and was staring at him with his eyebrows pinched in and he felt like he was being scolded by his mother for staying out far too late, her voice pitching up with worry as she demanded where have you been?  

And no one else aside from Hope and Lyall Lupin had ever looked at him quite like that before. With so much care. 

Remus didn’t really know how to process it, if he was being honest.

“Oh, no, don’t– I’m sorry, Remus,” James said hurriedly, and he reached out, holding onto Remus’ wrist. The touch made his skin tingle, and he was so baffled by the crumble in James’ demeanor that he didn’t even tense away from it. “I didn’t mean– I shouldn’t have yelled.” Remus was confused for a moment before he realized his cheeks were wet. He blinked, pulling his arm from James’ fingers and wiping the heels of his palm across his eyes. 

“Sorry,” Remus breathed quietly. Embarrassment made his cheeks hot, but… well, he didn’t know how to stop crying because he didn’t know why he’d started in the first place. It had just sort of happened.

“Oh, Merlin,” James muttered. “Look what you’ve done, James, this is exactly what your mum was talking about,” he mumbled to himself. Remus hadn’t thought it possible that James Potter could become more of a James Potter, but he’d gone and done it over the summer somehow, like a caricature of himself. He straightened his glasses, shaking his head.

“I’m– I’m alright,” Remus said, half to reassure James that he was fine right now, and half to assure him that he was fine in general. “I’m sorry,” he added. James stared at Remus for a long moment as he wiped his eyes, and then sighed. 

“You just worried me, is all,” James said quietly. “I’m not angry, I’m just…” He huffed out a tired breath. “Apparently I yell when I’m worried, and I only really learned that about myself this summer, because–” 

The compartment door behind James opened abruptly, and he nearly fell through. A wide-eyed student stared at them for a moment before muttering a quiet apology and squeezing around them to get to the bathroom, which they were apparently standing in front of. James sighed.

“Come on, let’s find our boys, Lupin. Bloody hell.” Remus followed him as he started down the train aisle, looking into each compartment and waving at the students he wound up peeking in on. Remus very intentionally did not make eye contact with anyone. He was still rather startled by the exceptional weight of James’ panic. “I was just worried , that’s all– Merlin, I know I’ve said that a hundred times. But Peter was who-knows-where in Prague of all places, very difficult to reach, and I already couldn’t get through to Sirius and he’s sort of a nightmare-number-one, you know? And then you dropped off the map and not even Mabel could find you, and she’s a bloody brilliant bird, Remus, honestly.” 

“I am sorry,” Remus said, trying to find the words to explain himself. He wiped his eyes again. He hadn’t expected to start crying– it had just sort of come over him. It was relief, maybe, or surprise, or affection. Surprise seemed to resonate the most. Evidently, it was passing now. His voice was steady. “Just… a lot happened, there. Right at the end of the summer.” 

“I’ll say,” James sighed. “And then you went and grew, what, six inches to boot?” James looked back at him, and Remus realized he was looking down at him now, just slightly. He could see the tops of James’ wire framed glasses. “Insult to injury,” he shook his head. That made Remus smile. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he shrugged, and James rolled his eyes dramatically. Remus sighed. “We moved again,” he added quietly. “Mum and dad and me.” 

“Oh,” James frowned, and went back to looking into compartments. “Because of your mum’s work again?” Remus bit the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out exactly how much he could say, because he really didn’t have the energy to lie. Not right now.

“Um… no, actually,” Remus replied. “Dad, this time. I can’t really…” he rubbed the back of his neck and swallowed, attempting to get his thoughts together. “Someone he…” He frowned.

Remus wasn’t good at this part. Things were easier over the summer when he could write letters, or when all he had to say was a word or two and his parents understood him instantly. James turned, raising his eyebrows, but not in a hurried way. Just listening. He tried again and found his words this time.

“My dad works in the department for the regulation and control of magical creatures,” Remus went on. (True– and the title was a mouthful.) It was easier to talk, though, when James wasn’t looking at him, instead searching ahead in the corridor as they moved between train cars. “And someone he’s, um… had  dealings with in the past sort of… showed up again.” (True.) James paused before opening the door between trains, turning back to look at Remus. 

“Dealings?” he asked. Remus nodded. James opened up the door and they both slid through into the next train car.

“My dad’s… er… paranoid about these things,” Remus said. (True. Very true. An understatement. Perhaps the understatement of the century. Perhaps so much of an understatement that it was almost false.) “So when he found out…” 

“You just up and left?” James asked. 

“Sort of, yeah,” Remus shrugged. Though a shrug seemed far too minimizing to boil the summer down to. 

It had been great, up until the end. James’ letters had punctuated long, warm days, and Lyall had coped with the particular loneliness of being away from his son by purchasing any and every book he thought the boy might enjoy– and so the summer was passed laying about in the grass and lounging on his dad’s reading chair and flicking through Year with a Yeti and Sonnets of a Sorcerer and Quidditch Throughout the Ages right alongside the usual pile of muggle books.

And then word of Greyback’s sighting trickled through the ministry in early August. 

Lyall had come home that night, grave and pale, and had sat Remus and Hope down and told them the news, or the lack of news. All they knew was that he’d been seen for the first time in years in southeast Romania, and that the word was passed down, spotted by someone who told someone who told a ministry spy in some small wizarding village that was practically off the map, and yet there was no doubt that it was him. Greyback was unmistakable. There was no indication of his intent nor his direction, only that he was, and that was enough to make Remus’ hands tremble as he listened.

And he had not stopped trembling for a long, long time.

It was time for them to move, Lyall thought– not to another muggle town in the middle of nowhere, though. Now that Remus was in school and with the promise of secrecy from Dumbledore, it seemed it would be safer for them to take up housing in a wizarding community, somewhere the ministry could offer them protection. Lyall hated the idea even as he proposed it, it was obvious, but even the mention of Greyback’s name had them holding each other a little tighter. 

“We moved where the ministry could protect us, if we needed it,” Remus continued.

“ Protect you?” James asked, turning to raise an eyebrow at Remus. Remus swallowed, and James turned to glance into a different compartment, his face a little more grave. “Blimey. Can I ask, mate… who is it that your dad’s worried about?” Remus held his arms a little tighter around himself. God, he wanted to tell him, to tell him everything, to tell all of them everything. He just wanted someone to talk to. But even just thinking about this made the muscles in his chest seize up.

“I shouldn’t say,” he said instead. 

“Right,” James breathed, shaking his head. “Of course. Sorry. They put wards up, then, I suppose? As a precaution? That’s probably why Mabel couldn’t find you.” 

“Maybe,” Remus replied. He hadn’t paid as much attention as he should have. When the people from the ministry came to check on their new house, a little townhouse tucked between two other buildings, Remus had hidden in his room like a scared child, holding his breath and hoping they couldn’t smell the wolf on him the way he could smell the magic on them. He was supposed to feel safe there. He was supposed to feel protected, but he felt nothing but fear, in only a slightly smaller dose now that there was at least something standing between his family and Greyback. The magic there was nowhere near as strong as it was at Hogwarts, but dread made it heavy.

“Well, I’m sorry you had to move,” James said. “That sounds rough. I’m sure it was stressful, your dad being so scared and all that.”

“Thanks,” Remus nodded, unsure of what else to say to that. He didn’t know how to say that he had been just as scared, if not more, and that moving into ministry monitored housing hadn’t made him feel even remotely better, because how was he supposed to explain that? “I’m sorry I didn’t send you a letter before. I didn’t know…” I didn’t know you’d be so upset, Remus considered saying, but then he thought that James might have an awful lot more to say about that, and he could only handle one thing to be guilty about at the moment.

“And I’m sorry I yelled at you,” James added.

“You were worried,” Remus shrugged. 

“As we’ve established. Still. I think I bit my parents’ heads off a few times this summer as well. Mum says I’ve got anxiety. Isn’t that fun?” 

“I don’t think so?”

“She said she thought it would pass once I saw you and Sirius still had your limbs attached to your bodies, and I must admit, I do feel like I can breathe a bit more, now,” James patted himself on the chest.

“Oh,” Remus mumbled. “I get that, I think.” 

“Anxiety?” 

“No–” Remus started, because what he meant was, I get that you just needed to see we were safe, but then he paused for a moment, because I get anxiety was also apparently marked as (true) when the thought went through his head. “Well, yes,” he amended. “I guess.” 

“Even more reason why I shouldn’t have yelled,” James sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. James frowned even harder. “Oh, and… do me a favor, mate, and don’t tell Sirius I bit your head off, too. He’d have my head for it.”

“Why would he–” Remus began, but he was cut off by the sound of one of the compartment latches flying open.

“James!” Sirius called, his head poking out of the door. “Remus!” He grinned at them, stepping out of the compartment and positively launching himself down the aisle into James’ arms. It wasn’t graceful at all, and James sort of thudded back awkwardly against another door and caught his elbow against the edge of a window. Sirius’ head knocked against James’ shoulder.

“Sirius!” James laughed as they pulled apart. “We were just– what did you do to your hair ?” James blurted out, aghast. Remus inspected Sirius now that he was closer. His hair was still as long as before, but cut jaggedly, messy lines skewing across and sticking out at awful angles like it had been cut with kitchen scissors. 

In fact, Remus was certain that was what had happened. He looked absurd.

“Terrible, right?” Sirius asked. “Did it myself. Wanted to look as unpresentable as possible when we came back.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” James shook his head. “You have to let me fix it once we get there.” 

“Sure, sure,” Sirius waved him off. “Blimey, Remus, I see you grew, eh?”

“I see you didn’t,” Remus replied factually, and James snorted, shoving Sirius’ shoulder. 

“He’s got you there,” James said. 

“Well, wait ‘till you see Peter ,” Sirius said, shaking James’ hand off. “He grew a foot in Prague, he’s all tall and tan and handsome now,” he waggled his eyebrows.

“No way,” James said.

“Go look!” Sirius insisted. “Prepare yourself, it’s quite a view, honestly I didn’t even recognize him,” he laughed as James pushed past him into the car. 

Remus poked his head through the door to see Peter staring back at the three of them. He was–

Still just as red-cheeked and short and pale as ever. Though his hair seemed a tad longer if Remus looked hard enough. Certainly not tall-er, tan-er, and handsom-er than he was before, but he was still Peter, and he still had a rather friendly face, honestly, so Remus thought that was a plus, at least?

“Oh, you git, he looks the same as ever!” James shouted over his shoulder to Sirius where the boy was giggling behind them. 

“Well, nice to see you too!” Peter squeaked angrily. Remus began to feel the tension of August slipping away from him, and his hands, which had been trembling just slightly since then, too, were starting to still.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Brothers

Regulus Black was like a smaller, much more irritating version of Sirius Black. 

It was quite an accomplishment, frankly, to be so annoying. Sirius had to give him that much. And Regulus made it look so effortless, too. Sirius didn’t bother with any subtlety in rolling his eyes as his brother’s name was called to be sorted and Regulus stalked up the stairs and sat on the stool like it was a throne, back straight and hair sleek and perfect, a prince among men. Barf. 

Sirius felt an elbow dig into his side and he turned to see James’ urgent face staring back at him. 

“ Ow, ” Sirius hissed. 

“You’re making faces, ” James whispered. 

“Yes, that’s what happens when I feel things. Like disgust. And resentment, ” Sirius snapped back at him. 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” James tutted.

“He looks like you,” Remus noted innocently, and it took all of the willpower in Sirius’ body not to throttle him from across the table. Remus clearly got the message because he pressed his lips together in a thin line and looked away like he was trying not to anger a rabid dog. Sirius turned back in time to hear the hat call out Slytherin , and the table across the hall erupted in cheers. Sirius groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Oh, well, now he’s mum’s favorite for sure,” he said. If Sirius had been anyone else, he was sure his friends would have cooed at him, oh, no, Sirius, your mum would never, how could you think that. But instead, Peter avoided looking at him and Remus grimaced and James watched him with intense eyes, because he was Sirius, and it was true. 

“Were you expecting any different?” Peter asked. Sirius couldn’t quite tell if he was asking it genuinely or if he was being a prat. 

“I thought it would have been funny if he got Hufflepuff,” he shrugged, and he watched Regulus as he walked to the Slytherin table. 

They opened their arms for him, clapping him on the back, congratulating him with sneering smiles, and he looked… mortified. Just for a moment. Sirius blinked, half wondering if he’d imagined it, but Regulus was lost into the crowd of snakes. 

“Eugh,” he muttered, sticking his tongue out. 

“You’re such a child , Sirius, honestly,” Lily said from a few seats down, rolling her eyes at him. 

“I don’t remember asking you, Evans,” Sirius spat. She furrowed her eyebrows at him angrily, turning to whisper something into Marlene McKinnon’s ear, and the two of them giggled. Sirius thudded his head down on the table hard enough that it would probably leave a mark.

Regulus being in Slytherin meant that the Black family had a viable heir again, one his mother could preen and perfect. He wondered if this would release Walburga’s talons from him, or if it would tighten her hold. He wondered what this meant for Regulus, perfect in all ways except one; his age. It was awfully fun for Sirius to be a disappointment and the firstborn son, but it didn’t leave Regulus much to work with, always catching up.

Now, this was one more way that their parents could compare them. Now that Regulus was here, and he was in Slytherin, they were not just set side by side anymore; they were in competition. Regulus would see it that way, at least. Sirius was fairly certain of that. ‘The Black Brothers.’ Sirius felt his stomach churn. He didn’t want to be ‘the Black’ anything. He didn’t want to belong to anyone. Walburga and Orion’s son, the Black’s heir, Regulus’ brother… but it felt wrong, then, to distance himself from Regulus. He didn’t know why. It just did.

Because when they were home, they were brothers. At home, they were side by side, and at home the things Sirius did were immensely, intentionally opposite to Regulus, and even so, they were brothers. 

When they were home, it was better for both of them if Sirius was the thorn in everyone’s side.

Reign him in, Orion Black had always said to Walburga. It was all he said, and he said it without ever looking at Sirius. Reign him in, like he was a wild animal. Sirius knew that this sorting marked a shift– he just didn’t know what kind yet. He was sure he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. 

“Sirius,” he heard Remus say. He hummed in reply without picking his head up. “Sirius?”

“ What ?” Sirius snapped coldly, lifting his head to look at Remus. The disdain Sirius was feeling must have been venomous, because Remus’ eyes widened slightly and he looked off to the side nervously. 

“Nevermind,” he shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing.” Sirius closed his eyes, urging himself to breathe, because there was still such a strong reaction in him toward fight. Everything made him on edge. As much as it hurt to spend so much time at Grimmauld Place, it hurt even more to come back and remember how different he was here, how much he changed, how much he was made worse just by being home. Sirius sighed, trying his best to make his face neutral. He felt guilty for snapping at him.

“What?” Sirius repeated, this time far more gently. Remus chewed on the side of his cheek. It seemed that habit hadn’t changed over the summer.

“The new professor,” he said quietly, nodding toward the front of the hall. 

Sirius looked over to find that the empty seat that had been between Slughorn and Kettleburn was now occupied by a professor he didn’t recognize, who he assumed was their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He looked young, Sirius thought. Younger than Professor Staghart, but that wasn’t difficult. He was rather ordinary, actually– his hair was dark and messy, his short beard a bit scruffy, eyes dark behind glasses. He was saying something to Slughorn, an easy smile on his face, and Slughorn laughed and then stifled it immediately. Sirius narrowed his eyes. 

“What was his name again? Iron something?” he asked, turning back to Remus. 

“Ironwood,” Remus supplied. “Jonas Ironwood. I think.” Remus liked to add I think to things sometimes to make it sound, as though he didn’t know exactly what he was talking about at all times.

“Huh,” Sirius said, looking back at the professors at their fancy table. “Think he’s any good?” Remus shrugged in his periphery. “I guess he must be if Dumbledore hired him.”

“He hired Staghart, too,” James added, leaning forward to get a better look as well.

“She was okay?” Remus supplied without much certainty.

“Yeah, centuries ago,” Sirius scoffed. “I bet she was a great witch when she wasn’t holding her wand backwards.” 

“I wonder if he’ll stick around,” James said, leaning back again to peer at Ironwood. Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. “Dad says Hogwarts has a reputation of sorts with Defense professors,” James explained. “They don’t last long.” 

“Well, that’s ominous,” Peter said and crossed his arms over his stomach. Sirius just hummed. 

The sorting left them with thirty-two new Gryffindor first years – apparently Remus had been keeping track, because of course he had. Their own class size, he had learned then as well, was twenty-nine in Gryffindor and a hundred and seventeen in total, and nine hundred and ninety eight students in all seven years, and Sirius was certain that Remus could have listed a dozen more statistics on the school if Sirius had let him. And as much as he would have loved that, he had a more particular aim as the welcome feast came to a close. 

The first years began filing out of the hall, and as they did, Sirius lingered just outside the doorway waiting to catch Regulus’ arm as he walked past. His brother made a startled sound as he pulled him aside, and as soon as he realized who was grabbing him, his face morphed into a scowl.

“ What ,” Regulus snapped at him. 

“Don’t what me,” Sirius scolded. “What are you all moody for? You got what you wanted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Slytherin,” Sirius said simply. “Bet you're proud of yourself, then.” Regulus crossed his arms, rolling his eyes heavily. 

“If you’re gonna have a go at me then get it over with. I need to take the tour,” he replied, and Sirius scoffed. 

“None of that’s useful, anyway,” he muttered. “You’ll have to let me know what mother has to say about all this.” 

“I’m sure she’ll tell you what she thinks of you all on her own,” Regulus said. “She always has.” Sirius narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you’d know, always lurking around to listen in.”

“I don’t lurk,” Regulus snapped, and Sirius laughed. “God, I knew you were going to be like this,” Regulus muttered, shaking his head. He held himself tensely, making himself small, and yet somehow at the same time his posture was straight and his head high. He was taller than Sirius– just by a fraction, but Sirius hated it. “It’s not my fault you got sorted into Gryffindor, so don’t blame me for being in Slytherin.” Sirius bristled. “Leave me alone. I’m not getting dragged into your nonsense.” 

Sirius ground his teeth and glanced over his shoulder at James, Peter, and Remus, who were waiting for him to join them, and decided that what came next was better said discreetly. He slipped into French.

“It’s not gonna get easier, you know,” Sirius warned, and he saw a few first years turn their heads at hearing any language other than English. But this was the real reason he’d caught Regulus before he could disappear into the crowd of faces, and he didn’t want anyone overhearing this part. “For either of us. She’ll be watching you, closer now probably–”

“I’m not an idiot,” Regulus hissed, cutting him off. “You think I don’t know that? Narcissa had her nails dug into me the whole train here because you ran your mouth off at the station.”

“Oh, poor baby–” Sirius groaned in English.

“Have you considered that maybe I didn't have a great summer either?” Regulus snapped. He always spoke faster when he spoke in French. Sirius had to think that this was because he wasn’t censoring himself, wasn’t picking his words as carefully, which unfortunately meant that he also said exactly what he meant as well. “You’re only worrying about yourself, you’re so bloody stubborn!” Regulus got the look on his face that he always got when they were fighting, red cheeked and wide eyed like he was about to cry, but he never did.

“You don’t get to whine to me about a bad summer,” Sirius said darkly.

“Because it’s always about you, isn’t it?” Regulus snapped. “My sorting is about you, my marks are about you, my summer is about you, right?”

“You never listen,” Sirius groaned. “I’m just–”

“Quit pretending you care what mum does to me and just admit you’re afraid of her already–” 

“I am not–!” 

“You are! So don’t act like you’re worried about me when we both know you couldn’t care less .” Sirius ground his teeth. That’s what you really think? he wanted to say. Maybe you are an idiot. “Just leave me alone.” Regulus said this in English, like he wanted everyone around them to hear. He shoved past Sirius, joining the crowd of Slytherin first years as they made their way out of the hall and to the dungeons. 

“Fine!” Sirius shouted after him, and a few of the Hufflepuff first years glanced at him nervously. He chewed his tongue, irritated and annoyed and angry. 

“Guess you don’t get along, then?” a voice over his shoulder said, and Sirius jumped.

“Christ, Lupin, don’t sneak up on me like that,” Sirius said, ducking his head slightly. 

“Sorry,” Remus said sheepishly.

“S’fine,” Sirius mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face. It fell awkwardly, and the choppy haircut he’d given himself suddenly made him feel like a stranger in his own skin. “We get along fine, he just doesn’t know it.” Remus gave him a puzzled look, but Sirius didn’t give him the chance to ask what he meant. “Come on. Let’s go unpack.” He patted Remus’ shoulder (which earned him a flinch–  lovely, already messing that up) and started walking, feeling the taller boy stalk behind him like a shadow. Strangely, it was nice having someone at his back. Usually he hated it. “Did Peter and James already go up?”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “I didn’t know you knew French,” he mused as they walked.

“Toujour pur,” Sirius shrugged, and if Remus had any questions about that, he didn’t voice them. “He wants me to leave him alone, so I’ll leave him alone. Not like I wasn’t already planning on it.” 

“You haven’t really talked about him before,” Remus noted.

“I don’t talk about any of my family. I don’t even talk to my family when I can help it,” Sirius shrugged. “At least I’m the oldest.” 

“Is that better?” Remus asked. 

“It means I don’t have to go around hearing ‘oh, you’re Regulus’ brother?’ all day. Bet Reggie’s gonna get real sick of hearing people call him my younger brother,” Sirius replied, and he thought that it would be something he found humorous, but instead the idea made him feel a little sour. Sirius could escape Regulus if he wanted to. Regulus couldn’t escape Sirius. He’d always be Sirius’ younger brother. “You’re an only child, right?” Sirius asked, but he answered himself before Remus could reply. “I guess we’d know if you weren’t, actually. You talk about your family enough.” 

“Oh,” Remus said quietly. “Sorry.”

“No, no–” Sirius shook his head, and he found himself getting frustrated with himself. The summer had been cold and miserable and tense, and it was all still swirling around inside him, leaking into his tone and his words and his body language. “It’s not a bad thing.” He forced the months-long scowl off of his face. “It’s sweet.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “I kind of like hearing about your mum and dad, honestly,” he admitted. 

It was true– Sirius wanted to meet the famous Hope and Lyall that Remus talked so much about, but each time they went home, Sirius had been swept away by his parents or ushered directly onto the train (Sirius didn’t really know why they thought he’d slip away before getting on the train back to Hogwarts, but he assumed it had more to do with an iron grip than a basis in reality). 

And Sirius took a terribly guilty little bit of comfort in the fact that Remus also seemed to carry some of the tension from his summer with him back to school. It was only a comfort in that it meant he wasn’t alone in adjusting– he took no pleasure in knowing that Remus’ summer had ended badly. It was clear that he’d been shaken up by the move, and that he was unhappy with it, and there was something else underneath that, something that looked a lot like fear, but Sirius couldn’t find its source. Remus was holding something back in his explanation, but it was no one’s place or intention to pry. 

Regardless, it seemed that he was the same as Sirius in some way, because both of them held onto that tension even though they were back at school, now. They couldn’t shake it off in an instant. He felt a little less alone in that.

“I asked mum to send me more letters,” Remus said, and when Sirius turned to look at him over his shoulder, he had a soft smile on his face. It made the corners of Sirius’ mouth twitch up as well. “We’ve got our own owl, now. I got quite homesick last year, honestly.” 

“Yeah?” 

Remus nodded. “Yeah, I mean… I hadn’t ever really been away from home before. I just felt a bit… out of place?” he added. “Mum said this year might feel a bit better.” Sirius felt something a little sour about knowing Remus hadn’t felt like he fully belonged, but something warm at the same time because he was talking about it. 

“Well, if it helps,” Sirius said, “you’ve always got a place with the marauders.” Remus grinned, looking down at the floor as he walked. “I’ve had quite a bit of time to brainstorm some shenanigans, by the way.” 

“Shenanigans,” Remus parroted, a smile in his voice. Remus always repeated his favorite words. 

“You’re the smart one, so I need your help figuring out the logistics,” Sirius continued. 

“I’m the smart one?” 

Sirius laughed. “Yes. Are you kidding? You’re the only reason I’ve got good marks.” 

“Not the only reason,” Remus pointed out.

“I fully intended to fail half my classes in first year,” Sirius shrugged. “Instead, I’m a nerd.” Remus tried to stifle a laugh, but instead it came out like a bit of a snort. “It’s very unfortunate.”

“If you’re a nerd, I don’t know what that makes me.”

“Brilliant,” Sirius supplied, and when he turned, Remus’ ears were a little pink. “Merlin, you got tall,” Sirius added, shaking his head. They had arrived at the Gryffindor tower stairs. Sirius stepped up one so that he was a bit over eye level with Remus, and Remus tilted his head up just slightly to look at him. “What’s your secret?” 

“My dad’s nearly six-foot-five,” Remus smirked, and Sirius rolled his eyes, groaning dramatically. “Mum’s shorter, but her dad was over six feet as well.”

“Not fair,” Sirius sighed. He started up the stairs. “I want to be tall. Even Reggie is taller than me,” he said bitterly. “Only barely, but it’s given him quite a god complex, I think.”

“You can ride on my shoulders,” Remus suggested.

“See, you’re joking, but I’d take you up on that in a heartbeat,” Sirius smirked. “Promise you won’t drop me, though.” 

“I make no guarantees,” Remus tutted. 

“We’ll practice,” Sirius nodded sagely. “It’ll be a party trick. You’ve gotta have party tricks.” 

“Or I can just avoid parties,” Remus proposed. 

“Fair point. Thought you might say that.” 

Remus breathed a laugh. “Am I that predictable?” 

“Not predictable,” Sirius waved a hand as they got to the portrait at the top of the stairs. “Consistent. It’s a good thing. What’s the password again?”

“Pluma lux,” Remus said, and the portrait swung open. 

“See? Consistent. You always remember the password.” Remus smiled, and they crawled through into the common room. It felt quite a bit like coming home.

“That’s because I listen when they tell us,” Remus pointed out.

“I haven’t got a reputation as a good listener,” Sirius smirked. 

“You listen to me,” Remus noted. Sirius turned his head away a little to hide his smile. 

“Yes, well…” Sirius mumbled. “You’re awfully interesting.”

Chapter Text

There was a rather popular rumor that there was a curse at Hogwarts: the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers never lasted more than a year. Remus wanted to point out that there was a pretty significant difference between never and rarely, but no one seemed to care much for semantics. He had learned of this rumor because the Gryffindor sixth years had organized a betting pool on why Professor Ironwood wouldn’t return the following year. 

Some thought he would be fired– there was a scandal in the past of a DADA professor stealing from the school, and one of a professor who apparently failed everyone except Ravenclaws. Some thought he’d be chased off by the chaotic bunch of seventh years that were apparently discussing making it their graduation goal to scare him away before the end of the year. In the past, professors left for better jobs, or transferred to another school, or disappeared off of the face of the earth. Some were relieved of their posts for having "unseemly pasts" which no one ever wanted to elaborate on.

One was apparently petty enough to leave because he had a smaller office than everyone else.

Remus couldn’t really understand why someone would want to leave this place, if he was being honest. Maybe being a teacher was harder, but it seemed to him that Hogwarts was its own little bubble of stability in a strange world. Remus had never given much thought to what he would like to do when he finished school– if he let himself think about it for too long sometimes he’d convince himself he’d be dead before then, and that was a dangerous path to let his mind wander down. 

But he could see himself teaching, he thought, if he let himself ignore all of the ways it could never be.

Professor Ironwood was not a bad teacher. He was a little awkward in the way he held himself, and he stumbled over his words, but if those were damning traits then Remus would have been dragged to hell long ago. It was endearing–  that’s what the girls said. Sometimes he got a little carried away, going off on tangents followed by tangents inspired by those tangents, and sooner or later he’d be talking about the applications of the fumos duo spell in wizard duels or the actual effectiveness of earmuffs against Banshees, but he clearly had passion for his subject. 

And often, by the time class was over, he forgot to assign homework, which was most students’ favorite aspect of his practice. 

Remus’ favorite aspect, however, was the practicality of it all. First year, Defense Against the Dark Arts was a class that was generally unengaging. Much of it was spent practicing wand motions without incanting spells, reading from textbooks, and writing papers that seemed like they were never read. On rare occasions, Professor Staghart would demonstrate spells and students would be able to practice them on their own if they were inclined, which the marauders certainly were (any spell could be useful for a prank, according to Sirius and James, even if it took more work to learn). 

But Professor Ironwood was different; he taught in experiments and demonstrations, bringing in miniature models of the creatures they studied that moved and wailed and scratched their hands and having them practice spells on dummies that were charmed to absorb the damage. Remus was sure that the class would get harder once Ironwood started remembering to give them actual assignments, but for now, his friends were enjoying it as much as he was. 

The beginning of the year seemed to pass in an instant– they received a flurry of review assignments and readings and analysis responses, potions had kicked off with a three week long lab, and History of Magic suddenly began looking like it was taught in another language. Blissfully, Remus was allowed to drop his flying lessons and instead began going for runs in the mornings before anyone was awake, reveling in the peace and quiet of the grounds when they were not crowded with students and professors and ghosts (though the ghosts never really slept). Sirius in particular seemed to take some issue with this–  what if you get sick while you’re out? What if nobody knows?  

Remus, for better or for worse, had become rather good at lying. 

He easily told his friends that he could tell if he was going to have an episode (true), and that he would be fine (true), and that he would be careful (debatable), and that his condition wasn’t dangerous (lie), just inconvenient (true). This seemed to satiate Sirius, though only barely. Still, it was better than the truth. Anything was better than the truth. 

Over the summer, his transformations had only gotten worse, just as Madam Pomfrey had predicted they would. He remembered more, only the emotions– frustration, anger, rage, pain. He’d wake up freezing and stiff and shivering and the chill wouldn’t leave him for hours or days. He gave himself new scars. One on his back, several across his chest, one that raked from the back of his elbow up over his shoulder and collarbone and nearly to his neck, and yet even when he woke and smelled blood his mind wandered to the same place as always, wondering what exactly those scars looked like in gold. 

Remus had received new scars as well. 

He felt them when they appeared, warm and tingling and he bent backwards and twisted strangely to see them in the mirror. While he was at school, he took his potion to hide all of the marks scattered on his body, but while he was home he didn’t need to– which also meant that he could look for the new marks when he felt them appear. 

They were long and thin. Like the rest, they faded slowly. Lyall had once mentioned offhandedly that they may have been healed using magic, but scars made by magic would always leave a mark. Even though they faded over time, they were always there, and they reminded Remus of shimmering threads, only noticeable in the right light. They could never be fully erased. 

Remus had learned, then, that an injury inflicted by a werewolf was also considered magic. They didn’t fade much. They were too wide, too deep. He felt guilty about that, he realized.

Lyall had never said anything when he noticed the marks. Hope, on rare occasions, would smile sadly at him, or would run her fingers across them as she helped him dress his wounds after a moon, and once she told him how she thought it was very odd that wizards had such a clear marker for their fate.

But whatever further thoughts Lyall or Hope Lupin held toward their own son’s fate in love, they never voiced them, and every time Remus considered bringing it up, he felt a lump in his throat and a tension in his chest so heavy it made his hands shake. 

There was the guilt, of course; it came arm and arm with the knowing. This fate was impossible. It could never be. Rather, Remus had resigned himself to the reality that it would never be– or perhaps decided that he would never let it be. There was too much all tied up in this. It was far easier to push it into some dark corner of his mind.

He placed that guilt right alongside the shame he felt every time he saw the blotchy golden mark over his bite scar. These were things best not thought about, best not spoken of.

So he kept these things to himself. He didn’t put them to words. They were abstract, and they would remain abstract, because he didn’t know what it would look like if he opened that door.

Besides, there weren’t really many ways he could ask his mother if she thought he’d ever be loved without her bursting into tears, anyway. 

Hope and Lyall Lupin had tried so hard to make sure their son knew he was loved that Remus never doubted it for a moment, and he didn’t think he knew a way to ask the question in a way that made it clear he knew that, and that he knew he could be loved, and that he knew there was love in the world set aside for him.

It was enough– there was no shortage of things Hope and Lyall would do for him, and no shortage of things he would do for them. They had stayed, after all– after all of it. Lyall and Hope had stayed with him, and Hope had stayed with Lyall, and none of them blamed each other, despite how much Lyall blamed himself and believed Remus blamed him as well. 

Remus didn’t blame him. It would have been easy, he knew. It would have been simple to hate, but far more agonizing. There were times when Remus’ anger would rear its head, where he would feel the weight of all of this press down on him, the fear and the uncertainty and the pain, but it was not his father that he rallied against in those moments. It was himself.

If he were a better son, he would find a way to make sure Lyall knew that.

Hope Lupin was the more spectacular oddity of the three of them; her love had passed through each barrier like it was water, and the barriers were innumerable– among them: magic, werewolves, and Remus, to name a few, the former two having since combined to form the latter. And yet she never turned from him, and never hid, and never ran. She held him when he cried and smiled when he laughed and she told him she loved him when he became something else so that when he was himself again, it was the first thing he remembered.

While he was away, she wrote him letters, just like she promised.

They were signed by both of them, but while Remus had no doubt his father missed him just as much, they were unmistakably hers . 

My Moony, they started. Always the same. 

“ Moony? ” Sirius asked incredulously. “Who’s Moony?” 

Remus felt his cheeks turn pink and he snatched the letter from his friend’s hands far too quickly. 

The letter had been dropped on the table while he was serving himself dinner, and he hadn’t realized right away. It was just him and Sirius at the time– James and Peter were in History of Magic where Professor Binns was likely lecturing overtime without realizing it. Remus held onto the letter tightly like he was afraid Sirius would take it back from him, but Sirius just dipped his head slightly, raising his eyebrows. He had a tendency to ask questions he knew the answer to simply for the joy of hearing the answer from someone else. Remus tried to calm the storm in his mind. There was no way to avoid the answer.

“ I’m Moony,” he groaned, doing his best to sound casual about it and sliding his thumb under the letter to open it. “It’s just something my mum calls me.” In his head, he tried to come up with a plausible reason for the nickname that wasn’t I’m a werewolf . 

“That’s adorable ,” Sirius laughed, and Remus rolled his eyes. “What does Mrs. Lupin have to say to her Moony ?” Sirius asked, leaning forward. Remus hit him on the forehead with the letter, the paper making a soft sound on his skin.

“Nothing to do with you,” Remus said, unfolding the letter. Sirius tried to read it over his shoulder and Remus stuck his arm out, holding him back with a hand against his chest. He saw something about Christmas coming up, his mother’s displeasure at the lack of gardens, how she had invested in windowsill planter boxes but didn’t want to put anything in them until the chill left the air, but he was quickly interrupted.

“What are you bothering Remus about?” James had appeared across from them, sitting and swinging his legs over the bench. Binns must have finally let them go, though Peter wasn’t there yet.

“ Moony’s got a letter from his mum,” Sirius grinned, swatting Remus’ hand from his face and sitting back down. The name made him homesick.

“Moony? Who’s Moony?” James asked, and Remus buried his face behind the letter. Think, he told himself, think, think, think.

“Mama’s boy, here,” Sirius teased and poked Remus with his elbow. “Why ‘Moony,’ eh? What’s it mean?” 

“It’s just a nickname,” Remus insisted. He tried to read the letter, but the words swam. Oh, why did you have to address it like that? 

But he knew why she did it, every time.

She knew the name made him homesick, but it made him warm, and it made him feel like he’d brought a piece of himself here– a real piece. A genuine piece. And when they said it now, it was him . Even if they didn’t know what it meant. Even if they didn’t know his mother had called him Moony after he’d sobbed to her that he was a monster, that he was cursed, and that she had made him smile with how sweet it sounded coming from her, how sweet it made him sound, and even if they didn’t know how she loved him through every night he was someone else, and even if they didn’t know , if they didn’t really know.

“But what does it mean?” Sirius asked again. Remus said the first thing that came to him, and to his surprise, it was a pretty good response.

“I was born on the full moon,” Remus lied. Well, he wasn’t sure if it was a lie– though he felt that his mother would have shared that irony with him if it were true– and he doubted anyone had the time or energy to fact check him. 

“Aw,” James cooed. “That’s sweet.” 

“ Moony, ” Sirius repeated like he was swooning. 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Remus said, going back to try and actually read the letter. His parents wrote to him fairly often, and particularly after a full moon they made sure he had a letter waiting for him. It helped the pang of loneliness he always felt when he came back to himself, knowing that he could hold something in his hands to remind him of them. 

Remus thought that maybe he should squash this before it started– that he should tell them no, absolutely not, you cannot call me that. They would probably listen. They would probably let him set whatever boundaries he wanted. No, he could say, and they wouldn’t. 

But the name made him homesick.

“It’s not a big deal ,” Sirius said defensively. “Better than Looney.” 

“Who’s calling me Looney?” Remus asked skeptically, lifting his head from the letter. Sirius averted his gaze and Remus rolled his eyes internally. He was always the last to know when he was being insulted. At least this was better than the mudblood and half-breed comments that were slung around in the hallways every so often. “Nevermind,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to know.” 

“Don’t want to know what?” Peter asked, appearing next to Remus. He looked over Remus’ shoulder at the letter before Remus could hide it. “Who’s Moony? ” 

“I’m trying to read ,” Remus groaned. He’d been over the first line three times now trying to focus on the words his mother had written. 

“ He’s Moony,” Sirius said, pointing a finger at Remus. 

“Why?” Peter asked, sitting down. Remus felt like he was going to scream.

“ Because,” he snapped.

“No need to get so worked up, Moony,” James chirped, and Remus stared at him so hard that he had to look away first, trying to hide his smile.

“I think it’s sweet,” Peter said. 

“That’s what I said!” James grinned. “It has a ring to it.”

“ Our Moony ,” Sirius sighed dreamily, placing his elbow on the table and leaning his face against his hand. Remus felt something warm bloom under his skin, but he buried his face further into the letter. “Aw, look, he’s smiling,” Sirius pointed out. 

Remus was. He couldn’t help it. He tried to wipe it off of his face, but it only made him smile wider. The name made him homesick, but hearing it here made him feel something he couldn’t quite name.

“Shut up,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Let me read.” 

"So what's the letter about?" Sirius asked, and Remus looked up skeptically, about to wave him off, but he remembered what Sirius had said at the beginning of the year– Sirius liked when Remus talked about his family. He had a suspicion on the reason for this, even though it was rather sad; that Sirius wanted to hear about Remus' family because he didn't have stories like that for his own. What little they'd heard about his parents sounded truly awful, and even though Regulus was here at Hogwarts now, they received no tales of the Black brothers. In fact, Sirius seemed to take Regulus' demand to heart from the start of the year. He left him alone. He avoided him severely and with great dedication. 

So Remus relented, because he was finding he could never really deny a request from Sirius. He sighed, looking back down at the letter. 

"She's upset that there's no garden at the new house," he said, skimming over the text. "All our houses have had gardens before. She made sure of it. But she's putting planter boxes in the windows." Sirius nodded along, putting his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. "She'll probably plant rosemary," Remus mused. Hope hadn't written that in the letter, but he could take a good guess. "Mint, too."

"Does she cook?" James asked. "Mum grows tej patta to use in the kitchen, smells amazing."

"Dad cooks, actually," Remus replied, finding himself smiling. He'd always found that very sweet; Hope grew the herbs and Lyall used them to make dinner.

"What else?" Sirius urged him on, and Remus held back a laugh at how enthralled he was. 

"Let's see. Uh..." he skipped over the part where she asked about the moon. "Oh. She says to tell you happy birthday," Remus directed at Sirius. Sirius' eyes went a little wide. 

"She what?" He gawked. "How's she know my birthday?"

"I told her," Remus laughed. "How else?" 

"Oh. Right. How come you told her my birthday?" 

"I dunno," Remus shrugged awkwardly, because how was he supposed to say he told his mum literally everything about his friends? It felt a little embarrassing. "I must have mentioned it sometime." Sirius furrowed his brow, but it was more of a confused look than anything else.

"Well, tell her thanks for me," he mumbled. "Funny she remembered and my parents didn't," he added bitterly. Remus blinked at him, and over Sirius's shoulder, he saw Peter and James' faces twist into something half sad and half angry. "Sorry. Downer. Go on," Sirius waved a hand like it was the easiest thing to wave off. 

"Er... she says–" Remus cut himself off. The next bit was vague, but Remus knew exactly what it was about. No more news, it read. But I promise we'll tell you if we hear anything. He swallowed.

"Is everything okay?" James asked, leaning forward. Remus realized he'd probably gone a few shades paler. He shook himself a little. 

"Yeah," he mumbled. "It, um..." he blew out a breath, because why was it that any news at all about Greyback sent him into such a spiral? This should be good news, right? No news was good news. He tried to convince himself of it. He realized his friends were all looking at him expectantly. 

On the train, he'd decided he was a bit sick of telling so many lies, so he resolved to tell as much of the truth as he could. It helped the guilt only slightly. 

"There's no more news about, um... the person my dad's paranoid about," he said vaguely. 

"Is that good?" Sirius asked. Remus bit the inside of his cheek. 

"I guess. Kind of. I dunno," he frowned. "Its... I don't like not knowing, you know?" He received nods in reply. It was an anxiety he knew at least James shared, as was evident in his panic on the train. And he had a feeling Sirius knew it as well, just from the way he got going home. Remus often found he just wanted to know how things worked, what to expect. It was why he loved school so much, as much as Sirius called him a nerd for it. When things made sense, it put the storm in his head at ease. 

"Better than bad news?" Peter supplied. Remus knew it was supposed to be lighthearted, because Peter always tried to be as supportive as he could, but the thought of what exactly bad news would be sent Remus' mind to a very, very dark corner. His mouth was dry. 

"Yeah," he managed, forcing himself to look back down at the letter. My Moony, he read. He focused on that, on the warmth it held, chasing away that chill of fear. My Moony, my Moony, my Moony. "She says its weird living near wizards," he made himself continue. And then he laughed, a bit involuntarily, because of what Hope had written next. "She says it's cheating to use magic to get a nice lawn, and she refuses to let dad use the same herbology charm because she wants to prove a point."

James barked a laugh. "Must be weird to be a muggle in a wizarding community," he shook his head. 

"She kind of loves it," Remus smiled, thinking about the wild determination Hope had to solve her problems without Lyall's 'shortcuts,' as she called them. "Plus, wizards are clueless about muggle things, so she gets to answer the most ridiculous questions."

"Well, they've all got ridiculous answers!" James protested, and Remus remembered how shocked he was to learn about the postal system. "I'm gonna take muggle studies next year," James declared, "I want to know if you're just pulling my leg on some of these things." 

"I'll take it with you," Sirius smirked, shaking his head. "I'm wildly curious. And it'll piss off my parents." 

Remus laughed. He folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. When he did, he noticed there was a stamp in the top right corner. It had a little cardinal on it. He peeled it off carefully and stuck it on his finger, holding it out to James. 

"Here," he said. "Give this to your dad's friend who likes muggle things. This is how you pay to send a letter." 

"With stickers?" James asked incredulously.

"With stamps. The stamps cost money," Remus explained. "The money goes to the post office. The post office mails the letter." 

"That makes no sense. Why would you pay to mail a letter?"

"Think of it like feeding your owl. You take care of it so it can deliver letters," Remus said. James made a face. 

"Ridiculous," he shook his head. "Just use owls."

"Muggles used to use carrier pigeons to send notes, sometimes, way back when." 

"See, now I know you're lying," James narrowed his eyes. Remus laughed. He looked around, searching for someone to back him up, and he spotted an ever recognizable head of red hair. 

"Lily!" Remus called, and down the table, Lily turned away from her conversation and raised her eyebrows at Remus, and then she scowled at James for good measure. "Carrier pigeons," Remus said. She narrowed her eyes. 

"What about them?" she asked.

"They were a real thing, right? James doesn't believe me." 

"Well… yeah. In, like, the middle ages," she shrugged. "What, suddenly Potter knows more about muggles than we do?" she challenged, and Remus laughed.

"Well, carrier pigeons are pretty weird," he replied. 

"No weirder than owls," she scoffed. 

"True," Remus shrugged. "Thanks," he added, turning back to James. "See?" He said, but James had turned bright red and placed his head down on the table, muttering something incoherent.

Chapter Text

Sirius would be the first to admit that making the Quidditch team had done nothing to quell his truly enormous ego. 

It didn’t help that he beat out not one, but two fourth years for the spot as a beater, and it certainly didn’t help that James was practically singing his praise from the peak of Gryffindor tower. The youngest beater Gryffindor has ever seen– nay, that Hogwarts has ever seen! Sirius hadn’t the heart to tell him he was quite easily proven wrong. He was having too much fun. 

Sirius rather enjoyed being insufferable as well. He’d made a reputation of it, actually. Now, not only was he insufferable, he was insufferable and armed. A beater’s bat wasn’t as powerful as a wand, but it certainly had more weight to it.

He believed menace was the exact word Remus had used. 

He was fairly sure Remus knew him well enough to know he’d take it as a compliment, and he was fairly sure he knew Remus well enough to know he meant it as a compliment as well. For a week he’d carried the bat around to wave it ominously at Slytherin first years until McGonagall finally threatened him with detention to get him to keep it with his uniform. 

When James had gone on and on about Quidditch the year before, Sirius couldn’t see what the fuss was about until he watched that first game. And now when he was in the air he understood what James had felt– there was something so exhilarating about it all, being so high, moving so fast, feeling the adrenaline and the danger of it all. He could see why Peter and Remus both hated it as well. They were both too logical– somehow, that clashed with the spirit of the game. 

There was also something particularly satisfying about hearing nice one, Black! shouted across the skies as they flew. Sirius never expected that he’d enjoy the sound of his last name, but knowing that this was what he was known for was rewarding all on its own. Narcissa and Regulus Black could form whatever reputations they saw fit for the family name, but this would be the piece he carved out for himself, he decided, for now.

In that way, and only that way, he thought he may be even more obsessive over this than James. 

James, of course, had him beat in every other possible aspect. 

His determination to be the best was in no way diminished by the fact that he’d made the team; in fact, it was the opposite. He pushed further, woke up earlier, trained harder. And because Sirius was his friend, he was dragged along as well, much in the same way he’d been dragged along to study in first year. It seemed unavoidable that his friends would make him a better person. Sirius thought he’d have to find some way to return the favor. 

Someday, maybe. But today, he was dragged along once again at the crack of dawn to quidditch practice, and worse, voluntary quidditch practice, which meant that half of the team wasn’t even there and they spent the early hours of the day running drills and going over plays and generally getting sweaty and tired before the day had even really got going. Despite the February chill, Sirius felt hot and sticky by the time they finished, and the showers of the locker rooms were like a carrot on a stick driving him forward. 

It may have been the exhaustion that made him careless, or the simple safety he felt in this place, or sheer stupidity – perhaps (likely) some combination of the three – but he stepped from the steam with nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist and nearly ran headfirst into James.

“Christ, mate, sorry–” James started, but then he trailed off, his eyes traveling down a little to Sirius’ chest, and then he was staring at him with his mouth half open. 

Sirius might have been flattered if his heart hadn’t jumped so far into his throat. 

Because he’d really thought James had already left the showers, already made his way back to the lockers, already started getting dressed. He expected to step out and throw his shirt on before he was even fully dried off, just like always.

James had seen the scar his mother had left him the Christmas before over his heart, but that wasn’t what he was looking at now–because what he’d never seen before was the gold . James’ eyes tracked down across his chest, lingering on each long mark until finally they settled on the scar from the bite, dense in its shine and larger than any of the others, and Sirius’ stomach dropped. He grabbed his shirt from the bench outside the showers, holding it over the bite mark, but it was a shoddy attempt at concealing it, now.

“Do you knock?” Sirius blurted out, which made James frown. 

“There’s no door– what–” James stammered, and then he shook himself a little, pushing Sirius' hand away from where he was covering himself. “Bloody hell, Sirius, what–" 

Without really thinking, Sirius clapped a hand over James' mouth, pulling him to the side away from the other lockers. Most of the other boys had left already, but Sirius wasn’t certain they were all gone. Despite the muzzle of Sirius’ palm, James still stared down at Sirius’ chest.

"Shut up,” he said. He felt a headache building behind his eyes, the exact same feeling he got when he was stressed about a test, but this was worse. This was so much worse. “Don't– ugh, damn it," Sirius groaned. 

How could he explain this? There was no plausible reason, none that would satiate James’ curiosity nor his confusion, and Sirius' heart pounded so hard he thought maybe the other boy could see it through his skin. James nudged the hand away from his mouth and leaned forward slightly, inspecting closer, his voice hushed. 

"What– how did you–" James narrowed his eyes, looking closer now at the marks on Sirius' skin. He began to reach out and Sirius tensed, but his fingers stopped an inch before the skin on his side. James paused, furrowing his brow. "They're not yours," he said finally. Sirius shook his head. 

"No," he replied. It was practically a dare. Say something. Say anything . James just stared at him for another long moment, inspecting the long, jagged marks scattered over his skin in gold. His eyes traced their way back up his chest and onto his shoulders, and he craned his neck slightly to peer around to Sirius’ back. 

"You said you didn't have any marks," James murmured, his eyebrows pinching even further. 

"I never said that," Sirius muttered. 

"You never said this," James breathed. "Bloody hell," he said again. “How does that–”

“Not here,” Sirius interrupted him.

“Sirius, what kind of thing leaves a mark like–” 

“ Not. Here. ” Sirius stared at him, his eyes dark. James closed his mouth, nodding slightly, but he still looked a bit pale. “Fuck,” Sirius said simply, and pulled his shirt roughly over his head. Where could they go? Where were Remus and Peter? In class by now, he thought. Potions? Transfiguration? He’d memorized their schedules, but now he couldn’t remember, everything swimming around in his head. Was there anywhere safe? 

Christ, he’d only made it a year and a half before slipping up. Maybe he really was as incompetent as his mother claimed.

James evidently understood that this was something. That it was important. He kept his mouth shut while Sirius shoved his stuff into his locker with no regard for organization, slamming it before anything managed to tumble back out. He kept his mouth shut while Sirius led James silently out of the lockers, kept his mouth shut over the grounds, up the stairs, up to the tower and then up to their rooms, and kept it shut until they were around the corner and into the bathroom where Sirius was certain they were alone. 

Only then did Sirius take a long breath in and close his eyes. 

The whole walk he turned the situation over and over in his mind, weighing it like it was something physical, like it was something he carried– and he wondered if it was something else James could carry, too, to carry alongside him. He wondered if he’d say this thing, this secret, and James would look at him like his mother looked at him. 

But no, he thought– he didn’t think James was capable of a look like that.

This would be the test, though, wouldn’t it? 

This would tell whether or not Walburga had gotten it right; if this was some indication of his character, of the company he kept, of his fall from grace. He hated himself for it, but he wanted to know. He wanted someone to know. He wanted James to know. He wanted to know if she was right. He wanted to know she was wrong.

So when he spoke, it was the truth.

“Werewolf,” he said very simply and very bluntly and very tensely. He opened his eyes to find James staring at him blankly. 

“What?” was all James managed.

“You wanted to know what kind of thing leaves a mark like these,” Sirius said slowly. His mouth was dry. “A werewolf.” James blinked at him, and after a long silence, he narrowed his eyes.

“You’re… you’re not joking,” he breathed. Sirius shook his head. “Wh… how? How do you know?” 

“The mark from the bite showed up when I was five,” Sirius explained, leaning back against the sinks. He felt weightless. He felt like maybe this was a dream, and so he dug his fingernail into his thumb. It stung. “Ever since then, every month, right on the moon, I get more of them. More marks. Only on the moon.”

“That’s impossible,” James said quietly. 

“I’m telling you –” 

“No, no, sorry… not impossible. Just… I’ve never heard of anything like that before. A– a werewolf? Your soulmate's a bloody werewolf?" He said the word like someone might say unicorn or dragon, something like wonder in his voice, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. But it wasn’t fear , Sirius noted. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t turning from him, not yet. “Can… can you show me again?” James asked. He said it softly, like it was a dangerous thing to request. Sirius glanced to the door again, but their dorm was silent except for their breathing.

Sirius swallowed hard, pursed his lips, and pulled his shirt off over his head before he could second guess himself. From the corner of his eye, he could see himself in the mirror. Morning sunlight filtered in through the frosted windows and made his skin glint slightly where it was gold. 

“Jesus christ,” James said, and this time he did touch Sirius’ skin like he was drawn in magnetically. His fingers were cold and icy and they prodded at the marks gently as if James didn’t quite believe what he was seeing was real. Even though his skin held onto the chill from outside, the marks felt as warm as always. James poked Sirius’ shoulder, nudging him to turn his back so he could see the marks there as well. Sirius hadn’t memorized these as well as the ones he could see, but he knew they were just as harsh. “Jesus christ, Sirius,” James repeated. 

“Stop saying that,” Sirius said. 

“Sorry,” James mumbled. “What… I mean, what does this even mean ?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean? ” Sirius said, turning back to face him.

“How do you even… how would you… jesus christ,” James shook his head like he had no idea how to finish the sentence. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be done about it,” Sirius shrugged, pulling his shirt back over his head. 

“But… okay, wait. Wait,” James said, stepping back from him slightly. “That… you said you were five? When the bite showed up?” Sirius nodded. “So then…” there were gears turning in James’ head, but Sirius couldn’t quite tell what they were leading to. James frowned heavily. “Someone… turned… a child,” he breathed finally. Sirius didn’t expect him to say that. “ Five years old, ” James echoed, and then sucked in a breath. “Unless the age gap is, like,” he whistled, waving his hand upwards through the air, “then that’s… bloody hell. That’s awful.”

Sirius had considered the same thing on many occasions. After the full moons when he felt the new marks appear, warm and glittering, he pictured himself going through the same – transforming, his bones reshaping, his body becoming something else, something monstrous– and every time he did, it made him sick. He couldn’t even imagine it. It was impossible.

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, because it was all he could manage. James opened his mouth and started to say something, but paused, considering his words. 

“Does anyone else know?” He asked slowly. 

“My parents,” Sirius said. “Narcissa, I think. Maybe. Regulus.” 

“No one else?” 

“Just you,” Sirius said quietly. “James, you can’t–”

“I won’t tell anyone,” James said with certainty. “I promise.” 

There was something so childish about that–  I promise. Sirius felt very small, just then. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” What do you think of me, now? he wanted to ask. What’s changed? He studied James’ face, but he held himself with the same bold determination as always, an almost fierce truth in his eyes. “And… god, I really don’t think I want the answer to this,” James muttered as if to himself. Sirius raised his eyebrows. “The… the burn. That’s a burn, isn’t it? Over the bite.” 

The question was unsaid, but Sirius knew what he wanted to know.

“My mum,” he said simply, and James looked like he was about to throw up. Alongside the nausea, there was an anger Sirius didn’t think he’d seen since James had seen the scar over his heart. This was almost worse. Sharper. 

“Why?” he demanded. 

“She didn’t want anyone to see,” Sirius said quietly, the sheer force of James’ rage making him feel small even though he knew it wasn’t directed at him.

“I– she–” James spluttered for a moment, but then he wiped a hand over his face and then waved his hands vaguely in front of him in a very comically confused motion. “I don’t even know what to say about that, mate, that’s– you were five.”

“Yeah, well,” Sirius crossed his arms. “She’s never been particularly level-headed. She’s…” he sighed. “She’s pretty convinced this is some sort of– of– damning indication of my character,” he used her words. James pushed his fingers through his hair, leaning back against the wall behind him.

“Well that’s a load of shit,” he muttered. Sirius blinked at him. “Just because your soulmate’s a beast doesn’t make you one.” 

Hah, Sirius thought, feeling very weightless all of a sudden, because James was the best example Sirius had found so far of a good person. And if a good person thought that Sirius was a good person, or at least not a bad person, then… well, maybe it meant something. Even if they were just kids. 

Maybe because they were just kids. His throat felt sharp.

“It’s a bit of a bad draw, though, isn’t it?” James mused quietly, biting his lip. “I mean, you’d… I don’t really know much about werewolves. I don’t think we learn about them until next year, but… I mean they’re not just out and about, are they?”

“Not as far as I know,” Sirius shrugged, or tried to shrug, but he thought it might have come across as more of a twitch or a shudder, because that was the other piece of this. The feeling of loss. “I’ll never find them,” he said, poorly masking the misery of the statement from his voice. “We could never…”

“It’ll be okay,” James said. If Sirius were someone else, he might have cried just then. Instead, because he was himself, he was silent. “It’ll be okay,” James repeated, nodding assuredly. “Not everyone meets their match, and they’re all perfectly happy. You can be perfectly happy, Sirius.”

Well, that did something inside of him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, really, but he was fairly certain no one had said that to him before. In fact, he was entirely certain. And Sirius didn’t really think he’d ever thought it for himself, either. 

He let out a breath slowly, holding his arms over his stomach like it would quell the nervous tension he had felt there ever since James first saw, but that feeling was leaving him now. I was right, he wanted to say. He wanted to scream it into his mother’s face. I was right, and you were wrong, and I told you so. I told you so.  

James was good, and James thought Sirius was good, and Sirius attributed none of that goodness to his upbringing, to his family. This was his, he decided. He’d carved this out for himself.

“And honestly, maybe this opens up a world of possibilities for you,” James pointed out, interrupting the swell that was building in Sirius’ chest. Sirius blinked at him.

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, you’ve got… you know… options,” James said. 

“Options…” Sirius echoed. 

“You know, ” James waved his hands. Sirius blinked at him. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, I guess? Lots of people hold out, you know? They want to wait… but you don’t really have to do that. You could… explore .” 

“Explore,” Sirius repeated after him, but he raised his eyebrows, hiding a smirk. 

“ Stop, ” James groaned, shoving his shoulder. “You know what I mean. Merlin, can we get out of this bathroom? This is weird, now,” he threw his hands in the air, flustered, and Sirius laughed. 

“You’re the one saying you want to explore, ” Sirius pointed out. 

“Ugh, you’re terrible, honestly,” James said, making his way out the door. “I was just trying to help –” James stopped as he exited the bathroom, and from behind him, Sirius could see Peter walking into the room from the staircase. 

“Help… what? What were you–” Peter said, raising his eyebrows. Sirius snickered, pushing past James. 

“James was just telling me I should explore my options,” he said, reveling in the way Peter and James both turned pink. Peter turned miserably to James. 

“Do I want to know?” he asked.

“He’s being a prat,” James muttered, shaking his head. “Nothing new.” 

“ Hey, ” Sirius said, but he didn’t argue any further, nor did he deny it. “Where’s Remus?” he asked, noticing that Peter was alone. Peter made a face. 

“Hospital wing,” he said simply.

“Is he alright?” Sirius asked, frowning, and Peter made a second, worse face. 

“I think it’s a bad one,” he explained. “He was all… you know…” Sirius knew– on bad days, Remus looked like a dead man walking. He would get hot and clammy or he’d stumble over his words or forget he was speaking halfway through a sentence, and he’d snap at them if they pointed any of this out, particularly harshly if they implied he was anything other than fine. Once, a month or two ago, the nausea had hit him so hard he had to kneel on the ground with his head against the floor for a few moments waiting for it to pass. And he didn’t like being touched on those days, so Sirius had just crouched next to him and hugged his own knees and waited for Remus to catch his breath. 

He’d looked a little pale that morning, Sirius thought. Remus had been walking to the shower just as Sirius was heading out for practice. He had considered saying something, but when Remus got like that, pointing it out only made him angry. It was rare to see Remus angry. Sirius had a strong stomach, but when he saw that glint in Remus’ eyes, it made him feel like he’d swallowed a rock. So he’d said nothing.

“Maybe we should go see him?” Sirius suggested. He already knew the answer but felt like he had to ask it anyway.

“He told me to leave,” Peter shook his head. “He was a bit rude about it, honestly. Not that I blame him,” he added. “And Madam Pomfrey gave me a look, and well… she scares me, so–”

“She scares you?” Sirius asked incredulously. 

“She’s intimidating!” Peter said defensively. “It’s the uniform, I think, or I don’t know…” he shook his head, throwing his bag down on his bed and laying back, splaying his arms out to either side. “We have to re-do our potion, too. Remus got all confused and mixed up the ingredients, and then he sort of stormed out, and Slughorn went after him… Ugh. I hope he’s alright.” 

“He’ll be fine,” James said reassuringly. He would, Sirius knew, but they all still worried. The room was a little colder when one of them was gone, harder to fall asleep, like something was missing. 

Maybe it was that coldness, or maybe it was the conversation he’d had with James, but when the new gold mark appeared that night, Sirius felt it a little stronger than usual. He hadn’t even realized it was the full moon, but when that warm tingling woke him up, tickling across his back, he knew without even having to check what it was. He wrapped the blankets around him a little tighter and rolled over, burying his head into his pillow and willing himself to sleep, and in the dark, his face pressed against fabric, he allowed himself a victorious little smile, because this time he didn’t feel quite as sour when it appeared.

Chapter Text

“Bat spleens?” 

“No, rat spleens,” 

“I thought it was rat tails?” 

“Rat tails were used in the hair-raising potion, Mr. Lupin–”

“Right, right, so– sorry– so,” Remus waved his hands in front of him like he was sorting his thoughts into the proper piles. “Dried nettles.”

“Yes.” 

“Pufferfish eyes.” 

“Yes.” 

“Rat spleens.” 

“ Bat spleens,” Slughorn corrected.

“But I thought you just said –” 

“ Rat spleens for shrinking potions,” Slughorn said. “ Bat spleens for swelling potions.” 

“They really ought to make this a little clearer,” Remus sighed, shaking his head. “Those are two very different things.”

“They certainly are,” Slughorn agreed. 

“And rat tails aren’t in either?” 

“Afraid not.” 

“Shame,” Remus sighed, and Slughorn chuckled. 

“Honestly, my boy, I don’t think I’ve ever known you to make a mistake ,” Slughorn said jokingly, and Remus shrugged.

“Must’ve misheard you, that’s all,” he shook his head, scratching out the error in his notes. 

“No, you’ve– that’s the wrong– you scratched out the wrong one, Remus,” Slughorn muttered, and he reached over and took the parchment out of Remus’ hands. “ Bat spleens,” he said, and re-wrote the note for Remus. As he did, Remus looked over his shoulder where James was creeping his way out of the potions classroom, notably alone. 

Remus raised his eyebrows at him, and James made a sort of circular motion with his hands and mouthing for Remus to keep going. James glanced back into the classroom urgently, waving his hands about something either Sirius or Peter was doing just out of sight. Remus rolled his eyes, looking back to Slughorn. 

Remus was surprisingly good at stalling, he’d found. It was not even remotely suspicious for Slughorn to find him wandering about in the dungeons, as Remus was a notorious wanderer, nor was it a strange claim for him to make to have been looking for the professor about a potions problem, as Remus was similarly a notorious nerd, as Sirius had put it. All it took was simply procuring a piece of parchment he’d kept in his pocket (he’d started keeping track of the hidden passages he’d been finding on his wanderings), scribbling a few (incorrect) notes about their most recent lesson, and pretending like he’d been puzzling over the solution for hours. 

Slughorn took pity on him, of course, being far more thoroughly invested in his students’ understanding of the subject than nearly any other teacher aside from perhaps McGonagall. And Ironwood, now. And he’d been looking out for Remus quite a bit more ever since the little meltdown Remus had displayed when he messed up his potion just before the moon. He didn’t quite remember it, but it must have been startling to make Slughorn soft toward him.

“And how’s the shrinking potion made, then?” Remus asked in faux curiosity despite knowing the answer already. 

“You won’t learn that until next year,” Slughorn said, waving the quill in the air for a moment before continuing to write. 

“Not the same ingredients, then?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Slughorn said, not looking up. 

Behind him, James was ushering Sirius and Peter out of the classroom, each with a bouquet of valerian sprigs, aconite, and dittany. Peter nearly tripped over the doorframe and Sirius caught him by the back of his collar, a motion that made it look like he was picking up a kitten by the scruff. 

“You won’t learn the shrinking potion until third year,” Slughorn went on, “but… well, you know, if you’d like to talk a bit more about more advanced potions, I’ve got a club of sorts you might look out for.” 

“Oh?” Remus raised his eyebrows. Slughorn passed the parchment back to Remus with the correction. 

“You’re a bit young for it, now, I dare say,” he said. “But if you keep on track doing as well in potions as you are now, you just might earn yourself a spot!” 

“I’ll certainly keep an eye out, sir,” Remus smiled. He knew all about the Slug Club, a strange sort of social gathering where Slughorn’s hand-picked favorites gathered at fancy dinner parties all dressed up and formal, and it frankly sounded like a nightmare to Remus. He already avoided the common room when there were more than three people in it, at most, and more often than not those three were the other marauders. 

The three who, at that moment, were sneaking their way back behind the painting of Elizabeth Burke that hid a shortcut back to the entrance to the dungeons. Sirius had propped it open with his balled up tie just so that he wouldn’t have to repeat the password again–  Slytherins are supreme.  

As they slid back into the passage, Sirius gave Remus an animated thumbs up, a ridiculous grin painted on his face, and they closed the hinged painting behind them. Remus sighed.

“Alright,” Slughorn said. “Repeat it back to me now. No peeking.” 

“Dried nettles, pufferfish eyes…” Remus echoed, pausing for dramatic effect like he was thinking so hard about what came next. “Bat spleens.” 

“Wonderful!” Slughorn cheered. “I knew you’d get there.” Remus felt the need to defend himself, to explain that he’d known all along, but that would defeat the purpose of his bluff. He’d have to suffer the loss. “Happens to the best of us,” he added. “The other day, I nearly used peppercorn instead of peppermint in a calming draught!” 

“Perish the thought,” Remus said, and Slughorn laughed. 

“Indeed! And then I went and mucked it up anyhow using too much peppermint oil,” he went on, waving his hands. “Waste of a crocodile heart. Goes to show you shouldn’t rush these things, you know.” 

Remus was curious, then, and it got the better of him before he could stop himself. 

“What were you brewing a calming draught for, professor?” he asked. He had a feeling he knew, but part of him still wanted to push it. “Has something happened?” 

“Oh, er… it’s not for me, dear boy,” Slughorn said. “For a friend of a friend, let’s say. Quite a rough lot in life. I said I’d try to help, you see.” 

Well, Remus thought. That solves that. McGonagall had mentioned early in first year that Dumbledore had Slughorn working on some potions to help his “friend” suffering from lycanthropy. It seemed Slughorn didn’t suspect Remus in the slightest, which made him feel a bit bold.

“Help?” Remus asked, but Slughorn seemed a bit too lost in thought to clarify on what he meant.

“Though if I’m being honest, I wasn’t quite sure how well it was going to work,” he mused. “It’s for quite a particular ailment. We ended up deciding against it for– well, I can’t really say. But it was possible the effects could have… oh, listen to me go on and on, you probably want to be off–” he cut himself off. 

“No, no,” Remus shook his head. “I find it very fascinating.” He did, in a way. Madam Pomfrey had asked Remus to try a myriad of potions, most of which had no effect whatsoever aside from a sour taste or a tingling in his hands. One had made Remus hiccup for several hours. Another made him see red– literally, like there was a film over his eyes.

“Do you really?” Slughorn said, looking quite pleased to hear it.

“I’m interested in potions,” Remus said. “James’ father is a potion maker. I never thought much about it as a career until recently.” 

Remus realized he was getting uncomfortably good at lying. It helped that no one ever thought he’d say anything but the truth. James had told him he had an honest face, and Remus had no idea what that meant. Sirius said that it was because he always looked like a lost puppy, and that only made slightly more sense. 

“Ah, yes, Fleamont! Quite a rascal, he raised, though,” Slughorn grinned. “Never taught him, but he consulted me years ago about his hair potion, and look at him now!” Remus got the impression that Slughorn was trying to take credit for Fleamont Potter’s success in some way. 

“But the calming draught?” Remus asked. 

“Oh, yes, well… you see, if you add too much peppermint oil, it can cause a burning sensation in the mouth, and uncontrollable sobbing in truly incorrect doses,” Slughorn explained. “And it's particularly poisonous to dogs, interestingly enough.” 

“Dogs,” Remus repeated. Subtlety was not the professor’s strong suit. Slughorn hummed. 

“But, see, if I could use another mint instead , perhaps alongside a shrivelfig flower– that’s also an ingredient in shrinking potions, you know! Or I could use the sopophorous bean for its effect on memory– have we used those yet?” Slughorn asked, but didn’t pause long enough to let Remus answer. “They look quite a bit like mistletoe berries, actually– oh!” Slughorn got a look in his eye like he’d just figured out something miraculous. 

“Sir?” Remus asked. 

“I hate to cut this conversation short, Mr. Lupin, but I’m afraid I’ve just had a thought!” God forbid, Remus thought to himself, but he smiled politely at the professor. 

“No mind,” Remus said.

“I’ll see you in potions, then, my boy– make sure you get back to the tower safely,” Slughorn said, already turning to walk back into his classroom, lost in whatever idea he’d been overcome with.

Remus watched the door for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He wondered what mistletoe would do to him. When Pomfrey had first started giving him the potions, he had hope that maybe they’d help. There’s no cure, he had said on his first day. Yet, she reminded him. He wanted to hold onto that, the yet. But nothing had changed. Yet, he reminded himself. It felt like someone else’s word, like he’d stolen it. 

He could hear tinkling vials and Slughorn muttering in the classroom, and he took it as his cue to leave. He glanced toward the painting, but it was in such direct view of Slughorn’s classroom he didn’t really want to risk the professor seeing him make his exit. He elected to take the long way back through the winding corridors. 

Remus really couldn’t understand why the Slytherin common room was in the dungeons of all places. It seemed a little too on the nose, if he was being honest. Awfully depressing with the lack of windows and cold lighting and all that. The paintings seemed to glower at him as he walked, even though Remus liked to believe he was on fairly good terms with the portraits around the castle. He spent enough time exploring to be well acquainted, and some of them even gave him little hints as to the locations of secret passages and hidden doorways. Even so, Remus kept his gaze trained on the ground, occupying himself by trying to step directly on the tile cracks so they landed right under the arch of his foot. It was a rather satisfying game, and when he missed one, he backtracked and did it again so it matched up just right.

He was, evidently, a bit too focused on this task, because at some point near the entrance to the dungeons he ran headlong into Mulciber. Bizarrely, Remus realized he didn’t know the boy’s full name, but that was irrelevant at that moment because Mulciber proceeded to throw all his weight into Remus’ shoulder. 

Remus was tall for his age, but he was lanky and thin and awkwardly built. Mulciber was dense as a brick in more ways than one, and so Remus found himself splayed on the ground, catching himself on his elbows. He felt the crack of the stone travel up to his shoulders. 

“Watch it, Looney ,” Mulciber snickered, and Remus resisted the immense urge to roll his eyes. 

“Original,” Remus muttered. “Think of that yourself?”

“I can think of worse, if you’d like, mudblood, ” Mulciber hissed, stepping towards him. There was a disgust in his eyes Remus wasn’t expecting. 

He had been under the impression that Mulciber and Avery’s hatred of the marauders was rooted in the rivalry between Snape and James– but Snape was nowhere to be seen, and Remus was on his own. He wasn’t a threat by most anyone’s standards. There was no real reason for Mulciber to stand against him right now, but he was.

“We don’t take kindly to rats down here,” Mulciber said coldly. Remus narrowed his eyes, starting to pick himself up off the ground.

“Plenty of snakes, though, eh?” he replied, sort of unintentionally, if he was being honest. Maybe he was spending a little too much time around Sirius. It seemed the attitude might be wearing off on him. Muliber’s eyes went a little wild.

He saw Mulciber reach for his wand. Remus began to reach for his own, but he was still clumsily rising to his feet, and Mulciber cast brachiabindo before he even remembered which pocket his wand was in. Remus felt his arms pull tight against his body, legs locking together, like there was a rope snaking its way around his body. He stumbled to his knees, struggling against it. The spell burned in a way he didn’t think it was supposed to, something dense and heavy about it that made it hot and made his mouth taste like ash.

Mulciber held his wand under Remus’ chin, and he felt his heart leap into his throat.

“ Langlock, ” he spat, and Remus felt his tongue glue itself to the roof of his mouth. 

He felt something cold in his heart, then, despite himself, unable to move and unable to speak. He felt his heart start to hammer in his chest, claustrophobic in his own body. Mulciber crouched down so he was on the same level as Remus, staring at him venomously. 

“Nothing to say now? Snape taught me that one,” Mulciber smiled at him, his teeth crooked and sharp. “You must be used to this, right Lupin? Being useless?” The wand under his chin angled, digging into the soft underside of Remus’ jaw, and he winced. “Where’s your little gang? What do you call yourselves? The marauders? ” Mulciber sneered.

Remus struggled against the restraining of the spell again, but to no avail. He wondered where they were, now– the marauders.  He wondered how long he’d have to be missing before them to wonder, for them to come looking. And he honestly felt a little embarrassed, frankly. This wasn’t exactly how he’d like to be rescued. He wouldn’t like to have to be rescued at all, actually. Frustration started to seep into his bones.

“I’m surprised they’ve kept you around,” Mulciber shrugged. “Dirty blood and all. Must be pity, huh? Poor looney Lupin , stringing you along for the sympathy points,” he tutted. “A stray mutt.”

It was cowardly, Remus decided. To pick a fight like this. To pick a fight where your target couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak. It wasn’t even a fight, really. He let his anger show in his eyes, and he hoped it burned into Mulciber. Mulciber’s eyes burned back into him. For someone so young, his face held a disdain Remus didn’t think he had ever seen before. Or maybe he hadn’t ever noticed before. When these things were muttered in the hallways or hissed in passing, Remus never bothered to search for the source. This wasn’t the same as Snape’s disdain for James, which had always felt sort of meaningless and childish. This cut deeper. 

“You shouldn’t be here, mudblood,” Mulciber said, his voice icy and quiet. Remus had a feeling he didn’t just mean the dungeon. 

Something about the situation made Remus’ mouth taste like acid, rising in his chest alongside a panic he didn’t want to acknowledge, making his face feel hot– the wand bruising his chin, the restraints around his body, the way his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, Mulciber leering at him just centimeters from his face– he couldn’t reach his wand, and the spells still burned, and all of this combined made him a little desperate. A little desperate, and a little angry. 

So he leaned back, just slightly, and then rammed his forehead against Mulciber’s nose. 

Mulciber reeled backwards, falling back and clutching his face. Remus smelled blood and saw him raise his wand, a new fury in his eyes. 

“Oh, you filthy fucking–” 

“ Mulciber!” A voice roared down the hall.

There was a flash of magic and Mulciber’s wand flicked out of his hand and unceremoniously clattered to the floor across the hall. Remus turned to find the unexpected; Alan Cornus, a Slytherin prefect, with his wand drawn on Mulciber. He waved it sharply and instantly Mulciber paled, straightened out like a board, and fell against the ground. Blood trickled from his nose, which was a little crooked on his face now. 

Alan strode down the hall, his cloak billowing behind him, the glint of his pin standing out against the dark fabric. He had black hair and strikingly dark eyes and he glared down at Mulciber when he got to them, standing over him menacingly. After a moment, he sucked his teeth and turned to Remus, his wand drawn, and Remus braced himself. 

“ Emancipare, ” Alan said tiredly, and suddenly the tension around Remus’ body released. The burning feeling disappeared, too, and he hadn’t realized how much it made his skin crawl until it was gone.

Remus pitched forward, catching himself on his hands against the stone tiles. He scrambled to his feet, pulling his wand from his pocket as he did, and he kept it pointed at Mulciber’s frozen form.

“Easy,” Alan said. He sounded exasperated, exhausted by the entire situation despite just having got there. “You already did a number on him. Impressive, that,” he nodded down at Mulciber. There was already a bruise blooming under his eyes. “How’s your head?” Remus blinked at him, his tongue still locked in his mouth. “Good? Bad? You do know how to talk, don’t you?” Remus tried not to let that make him even more angry and gestured vaguely to his mouth. “Oh,” Alan sighed. “ Finite.” 

Remus felt his jaw pop as the tension released. He rubbed the underside of his chin, narrowing his eyes at Mulciber before looking up at Alan. 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. 

“Pleasure,” Alan replied. “You alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Remus said quickly without doing much of an inventory to see if that was true. “Better than him,” he added. Mulciber was tracking them with his eyes. 

“He deserved it,” Alan shrugged. “Nice move with the nose, by the way. These kids always forget that magic isn’t the only way to fight back.” Remus swallowed. 

He wasn’t sure how to talk to Alan. Seventh years felt like aliens to him, off limits– even some of the sixth and fifth years, too. Some of them gave off the same dense magic feeling as the professors, and it made his hair stand on end. He felt it in the hallways when they passed like a static shock. Alan made the air feel sharp. 

“What’s he on your case about, anyway?” Alan asked. “Thought Snape was the one you lot had an issue with.” Remus shrugged, and Alan stared at him intently. It made him feel antsy as the moment drew on longer. 

“I dunno,” he said tensely. Alan shook his head. 

“I can take a guess, I suppose. Something about blood?” Remus didn’t reply. “Yeah. Right. Idiot,” he muttered down at Mulciber. Alan looked back to Remus, and Remus looked away. “I make you nervous,” he added, a statement rather than a question. Remus opened his mouth, but nothing really came out. “That’s fine. I won’t take it personally,” he waved a hand in the air.

Alan studied him, looking him over like it was the first time he’d ever really seen him, which it very well might have been. He sighed, then, and looked down at Mulciber like his presence was a personal affront to his evening.

“You should be going,” Alan said simply. His voice was surprisingly neutral compared to Mulciber’s earlier malice. “I’ll make sure this one doesn’t bother you again,” he added. “Well… while I’m here. There’s consequences for using dark magic against other students.” 

Is that what that was? Remus wanted to ask. Is that why it hurt like that?  

“Okay,” he said instead. Alan nodded at him curtly, and Remus backed away from the two of them slowly, half wondering if once he turned his back, Alan would throw some new hex his way.

He didn’t. 

So Remus made his way out of the dungeons, through the halls, back toward Gryffindor tower. As soon as he was out of the dark, he felt a little lighter, a little warmer. He didn’t know what to make of that– of all of it. Up until then, he hadn’t considered Mulciber much of a threat. He was a guard dog to Snape, just like Avery. But he had a hatred in him that was unexpected. Alan said he would keep Mulciber away from him, but Remus didn’t know if he believed it. 

Until then, the extent of ill-will Remus felt at Hogwarts from any given source was at most an unoriginal insult. Looney or mudblood didn’t really mean much to him. It was all words. This felt… he didn’t really know how it felt. Confusing, perhaps, then. Puzzling. He didn’t really understand it. 

When he finally got back to the base of the tower, he nearly ran into James, Sirius, and Peter coming down the stairs. 

“Moony!” Sirius said, and Remus felt his cheeks warm at the nickname. “Merlin, Remus, we were just coming to look for you!” 

“We thought maybe Slughorn might have caught on,” James said. “Thought you’d be right behind us, but then you didn’t show up for a while, and Peter got all nervy–”

“ Me?” Peter gawked. “ Sirius was the one losing his head! Going on about how you’d lose your no-detention streak…”

“We started talking about other potions,” Remus explained simply. “And–” he opened his mouth to go on, but something made his stomach twist. He didn't want to admit it, he realized. Didn’t want to admit he’d been cornered, that he’d been taken off guard, that he hadn’t drawn his wand quick enough. That he had to be saved by a Slytherin prefect of all people. “Slughorn likes to talk a lot,” he finished instead. It wasn’t a lie. Not quite. It just wasn’t the whole truth. Did that count? 

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“Of course you got distracted talking about school,” he smirked. “Look, we’ve got everything for the Babbling Beverage, but we need you to do the incantation.” 

“Me?” Remus raised his eyebrows. 

“You’re better at those things,” Sirius explained. 

“ Curses?”

“No, no, just– wait, it’s a curse? I thought it was a charm?” Sirius frowned. “See, this is why we need you,” he shook his head. “Come on, then!” 

He grabbed Remus by the wrist and began pulling him up the stairs. Where their skin touched, Remus felt a tingle, but it wasn’t painful like the dark magic had been. It was warm, a little sharp like standing too close to a fire, and it surprised him enough that Remus let himself be dragged forward. A few steps up, Sirius seemed to realize what he’d done, and he dropped Remus’ hand. 

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. Remus blinked at him, feeling the cold absence of that touch, and then shook his head.

“Let’s go,” he smiled, and Sirius grinned back at him. 

“This is gonna be great,” Sirius laughed, taking the stairs two at a time. “I can’t wait to see Snape’s face.”

Chapter Text

“Emergency!”

James’ voice startled Sirius so badly that he threw his drink into the air. It splashed down half on the table and half on the people around him, which earned him several dirty glares from the others sitting at that unfortunate bench.

“James, honestly–” Sirius started, exasperated, but James grabbed him by the back of the cloak and dragged him back over the bench. 

“Emergency! Let’s go– tower–  now!”  

“I’m– I was eating! James!” Sirius spluttered. James continued to pull him until he stumbled to his feet, and then whirled behind him and began pushing him by his shoulders out of the Great Hall. “I wasn’t done–”

“Too bad,” James snapped, still marching him forward. 

“Well, now, that’s a bit rude, don’t you think?” Sirius asked, intentionally leaning backwards and digging his heels in to make it harder for James. 

“Where’s Remus? Peter?” 

“I dunno,” Sirius shrugged, “Astronomy? History of Magic? Library?” James groaned exceptionally loudly.

“Oh, you’re useless–”

“Aw, ouch.” 

“Sirius, use your legs! ” 

“Oh dear,” Sirius said, bringing the back of his wrist to his forehead. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how,” he sighed and dramatically crumpled to the ground. 

“Sirius–  Sirius, I swear on Godric goddamn Gryffindor if you don’t stand up and walk –” 

“What’s the fuss, anyway?” Sirius said, laying on the stone floor. A group of third year girls walked past them, casting them strange looks, and Sirius winked at them. One of them rolled her eyes.

“The fuss ,” James said, picking up one of Sirius’ ankles, “is private,” he began slowly dragging Sirius down the hall, “which is why, ” he yanked again, “we need to go!”  

“You look tense, Jamie,” Sirius tutted, observing the way James’ face was pinched with something like anxiety or fear or half baked worry. “Why the long face?” 

“Oh, you f–” James cut himself off with a groan, censoring himself for who knows what reason– it’s not like Sirius hadn’t heard him curse like a sailor on the quidditch pitch. But he did genuinely look fairly stressed, now, if Sirius looked closely.

“I don’t see what could possibly be the cause for so much drama,” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest.

“ Me? Dramatic? You– what– ugh, you’re insufferable.” James dropped Sirius’ ankle and Sirius laughed, letting his foot fall against the floor with a thud. James walked over, crouched next to Sirius’ face, and leaned forward, his lips startlingly close to Sirius’ ear.

“Look, mate, I know we talked about exploring–” Sirius began, but James cut him off. 

“ I know who my soulmate is, ” he hissed through his teeth, and Sirius shot upright so fast they almost knocked heads. He stared at him, but James’ face was painfully serious, and painfully anxious as well, and his eyebrows were pinched.

“ What. ” 

“I said –” 

Sirius clapped a hand over James’ mouth, stopping him short.

“I heard you,” Sirius said. He blinked slowly, letting the idea turn over in his head a few times, and then jumped to his feet. “Well, what are we sitting here for?” he demanded. James rolled his eyes as Sirius grabbed the sleeve of his cloak, hurrying both of them onward toward Gryffindor tower. 

“Oh, so now we’re rushing,” James muttered. 

“You’re being serious? Like, actually, really serious?” 

“You think I’d joke about this?” 

“Well, I don’t know, sometimes you like the attention–” 

“ Sirius!”

“I’m just saying!” Sirius said, putting his hands up defensively. “You’re sure?”  

“One hundred percent,” James said, rather miserably.

“Why are you so nervous then?” 

“It’s– complicated,” James frowned. Sirius frowned as well.

Part of him couldn’t believe this. The chances weren't zero, obviously– even though it wasn’t common, it was still a possibility that one of them would meet their soulmate at school. And honestly, if it were going to happen to anyone, of course it would happen to James. It certainly wasn’t going to happen to Sirius. Remus and Peter had a chance, Sirius thought, though they’d both have to grow out of their awkward phases some. Peter had a bit of growing up to do emotionally. And once Remus grew into his long, lanky limbs, Sirius had to think he would be a bit of a catch, all tall and… well, he had a look about him–

“Sirius, are you even listening?” James interrupted his thoughts, and Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Ugh,” James sighed. “I’m having a crisis, here, mate.” 

“Crisis? What makes finding your soulmate a crisis?” They began climbing the stairs to the tower, plodding step by step.

“I’ll tell you once we get back to the room,” James shook his head.

“Merlin, you’re dramatic,” Sirius said, and James gave him a look that very distinctly said oh you’re one to talk. “Just tell me.” James gave him a much deadlier look. “What? Is it bad? Is it someone you hate?” 

“Sirius.” 

“Is it someone we hate?” Sirius’ heart lurched. “Oh my god, James, if it’s Snape–”

“Sirius!” James spluttered. “What– no! Merlin, no, if it was Snape…”

“I think I’d kill you,” Sirius said, nodding. 

“Me?” James demanded. “Hold on! Why me? Why not kill him?”  

“Fair point. I’d kill him, and then you,” Sirius amended. “And then myself.” 

“Well, you can’t go leaving Peter and Remus all alone,” James said, his face oddly sad at the thought, and Sirius laughed. 

“I’ll kill them, too. It’ll be awful, just a massacre, Biblical proportions–”

“Sirius, shut up!” James pleaded, so desperate that Sirius almost laughed at how truly severe James’ expression was.

They got to the Fat Lady and crawled through the passage into the common room. Sirius hardly got through saying “evening” to the few Gryffindors scattered on the couches before James dragged him up the stairs into their room. 

Remus was sitting on his bed, a book spread in front of him, sitting half cross-legged and bent over himself in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, and he looked up when they came in the room.

“Remus!” James yelled, and Remus jumped, startled. He raised his eyebrows. “Sirius said you were in astronomy!” 

“I did not,” Sirius said. “I said astronomy, or history, or the library, and then you called me useless if I recall correctly–” 

“Oh, hush,” James said and Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Do you need the room?” Remus asked, sitting up and folding the corner of the book page he was on. “I can go–” Remus started, but James cut him off. 

“No! No, this is perfect. Where’s Peter?” Remus nodded toward the bathroom. “Perfect.” 

“What’s…?” Remus glanced to Sirius. 

“Don’t ask,” Sirius said. “I’m sure he’ll tell you in a second.”

“Oh!” James exclaimed seeing Peter come out of the bathroom, still wiping his wet hands off on his pants. “Peter. Perfect. Okay.” He led Peter by the shoulders and sat him down on his bed, where Peter stared at all of them with immense confusion. “Remus!” Remus startled again, his eyes widening slightly, and Sirius wanted to smack James across the head just for making him jump. “Cast that spell!” Remus looked at Sirius, visibly thrown off by James’ ridiculous, anxious energy. “Cast the– the… the locking one! The– oh, Merlin, you know!”

“Oh,” Remus pulled his wand. " Colloportus,” he said easily with a slow wave of his wand. The door to their room made a mechanical sort of sound like gears despite the fact that it had no lock.

“Yes, that one! Ugh, you’re a legend, Moony,” James said, reaching to pat Remus on the shoulder but backing out of the motion almost instantly when he saw Remus lean away from him, settling for a wavering thumbs up instead.

“James, cut to the chase,” Sirius said sternly, and James composed himself, taking a deep breath. 

“Okay. Listen,” he said. And then, “okay.” And then, “okay, okay–” and Sirius had had enough at that point. 

“He’s found his soulmate,” he said, and Peter gasped like a child at Christmas. Remus just raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening. 

“Really?” Peter asked, enthralled. “Who? James, who?”  

“Now listen, you can’t be angry,” James said, turning to Sirius, and Sirius suddenly felt very singled out.

“Why would I be– what? You already told me it wasn’t Snape,” Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“You thought it was Snape?” Peter gawked. Sirius waved him off. 

“Hold on,” he said, crossing his arms. “Hold on. Why would I be angry? Why would I be angry?” he repeated, emphasizing himself in the second.

“I need you to hear me out–” 

“Is this why you’ve waited until Remus and Peter are here, too? You think I’ll be angry?” Sirius stepped toward James, and James shut his eyes tight, attempting to form words. “Who is it, James?” 

“You can’t be angry. You really can’t, like actually, because– it’s fate! It’s fate, Sirius, so it’s not me–”

“James.” Sirius began to put it together, then. Who would Sirius be angry about his best friend being fated to? What could make him so upset that James wanted Remus and Peter to be there to back him up?  Who–

“It’s fate! It’s fate, Sirius, so honestly– and you– well, listen, because– listen–” 

“James, no,” Sirius breathed, feeling his stomach drop like it fell from Gryffindor tower itself. Because jesus christ, no.

“I really didn’t–”

“James!” Sirius shouted, and James shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. Even Peter and Remus seemed to freeze. “You’re serious?” 

“Well, actually, you’re Sirius–” 

Sirius lunged toward him, and James yelped and jumped behind the bed that Peter and Remus were sitting on. Neither of the boys made any move to defend James in any way, and instead shared a very confused look between them. 

“I take it back, I’m killing you first,” Sirius groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. “You’re dead.”

“Sirius–” James started, but Sirius kept right on.

“I’m killing you , and then Reg , and then myself , and then Remus and Peter.”

“What!” Peter squeaked. “Why us?”

“How are you going to kill us if you’ve already killed yourself?” Remus asked, always the one to pose the far more important questions.

“Oh, I’ll find a way, Moony,” Sirius muttered, and he heard Remus make a noise in his throat at the endearment that he couldn’t quite place at the moment because oh my god, really? “Fucking hell, James. Regulus? Why? Why did it have to be him?”

“Regulus?” Peter asked incredulously, the pieces finally clicking for him and Remus both as their eyes widened. 

“It’s not like I planned it!” James retorted. “I’ve never even said a word to him, not once! How was I supposed to know–”

“How do you know?” Sirius demanded suddenly. There must be a mistake. There must be. There was no way…

“Yeah, I thought you only had a mark on your foot?” Peter added tentatively, as if Sirius might bite his head off as well if he wasn’t careful. Maybe he would. Sirius was really in the mood to bite someone’s head off right now.

“Okay, so, listen–”

“If you say okay or listen one more bloody time, James, I swear to fucking–” Sirius said, but James held his hands up.

“We were in potions!” James interrupted, tension making his voice tremble a bit. “We were in– we had to check on our Girding potion between classes– which is going to be on the final, by the way,” he noted, and Peter made a miserable face. “I was working with Leland Leveret, which was fine and all because he’s honestly very good at potions, as daft as he is, and Lily Evans was there working with Marlene McKinnon, right?”

“James–” Sirius warned.

“It’s relevant!” James insisted. Sirius pressed his lips into a thin line, crossing his arms over his chest again, wondering if it made him look more intimidating, because it sure seemed like it did by the way James quivered a little.

“There were first years there as well, some Slytherin boys who were getting help from Snape since they’ve got their first big final coming up and honestly, I think Snape is really trying to suck up to Slughorn–” Sirius gave James a very pointed get on with it look, and James swallowed. “While we’re working, Lily and Marlene start laughing about something, I don’t know what, so I asked.”

“Of course you did,” Sirius muttered. 

“What were they laughing about?” Peter urged. 

“Not important,” James shook his head, and Sirius wanted to throttle him. “Snape got all pissy that I was getting into Lily’s business and told me to butt out, and Marlene got angry at him for calling me a bloody windbag, and then Snape said he didn’t take criticisms from half-breeds, and I think Lily was about to wail on him because she turned so fast that she knocked her cauldron right off of the fire!” 

“Is this part important?” Peter asked. James held up a finger, and he went quiet. 

“ But, when Lily knocked the pot over, it sort of rolled a bit and got everywhere and hit Regulus–” Sirius winced at his little brother’s name– “and splashed boiling potion on his hip– that’s the important part– and then look,” James said, slipping out of his cloak and throwing it onto his bed. He untucked his shirt and pulled down the waistband of his pants just slightly. 

All three of them leaned in– and there, undeniably, there was a mark, sort of blotchy and hard to make out any distinct edges and gold and glinting in the light. 

“No way,” Peter breathed.

“No fucking way,” Sirius echoed.

“I felt it when it happened,” James said almost as though it should earn him sympathy. “It was, like, warm and tingly. You know,” he said, and turned to Sirius, and then sort of hurriedly turned away at the look on his face. “And then Regulus went to Madam Pomfrey to get the burn looked at, and I just sat there, like, what just happened? Leland thought I was mad just sitting there all wide-eyed.” 

Sirius let the story settle in the air for a moment, making sure it was real. Making sure everyone else heard it as well. And by the looks on their faces, they had, and it was real, and it was true, and here was the proof, right there on James’ hip, because what were the chances? It was impossible, and yet.

“ Regulus,” Sirius repeated. “Regulus. Regulus?” He was a broken record. 

“Sirius–”

“How could– my best friend and my fucking brother– James–” Sirius felt like his head was about to explode. “He isn’t– we weren’t–  I haven’t even spoken to him in months and now you–” He felt a bit dizzy, honestly, like the room was spinning around him, and he pinched the side of his finger with his thumb just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, because Merlin this was practically nightmare fuel. 

“I know!” James groaned. “I know, okay, and I won’t–” 

“Christ, and what now? You start courting him like some bloody romantic? Are you gonna bring him fucking flowers James? Oh, god, he’ll kill you if he finds out– he’ll kill both of us– have you even said a word to him? Ever?”

“No!” James cried out almost defensively. “No, and I don’t–” 

“This is– this is–! Fuck, James, you can’t–” Sirius stammered, and he realized right then that the terrible, acidic, writhing feeling in his chest wasn’t just frustration or anger or bitterness, but it was jealousy, and that snake reared its head so abruptly that he was almost breathless against it. Because this was James. This was his. His friend, his life, his thing to protect and hold dear and shelter from the rest of his fucked up life, from the rest of his family, and now Regulus would take that from him without even knowing– he could feel his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

“I’m not going to tell him!” James blurted out suddenly, and Sirius’ mind grinded to a halt. It was like James had single handedly plucked every thought from his head and scattered them in the Black Lake.

“What?” he managed.

“I’m not going to tell him,” James repeated with certainty. “I’m not even going to talk to him, Sirius, I don’t– I have no reason to talk to him,” he said, far more confidently than anything else he’d said so far.

“But he’s… he’s your–”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” James insisted, and Sirius’ thoughts had yet to return to his head, because he couldn’t do anything but let his mouth hang open slightly. “Look, I– I knew this was going to be hard. But I had to tell you, okay? I couldn’t– I don’t want to keep secrets from you, but more than that, I just– I need you to know that it doesn’t matter.” 

“Why?” Remus asked, and his voice startled Sirius a bit. It was the first thing he’d really said since he realized it was Regulus they were talking about, and he looked confused, like he was trying hard to puzzle together this whole conversation, to put it into place in his head. He looked lost.

Sirius remembered their first night at Hogwarts when they’d talked about soulmates, how James had mentioned the mark on his foot, how Peter had talked about the two little scars on his knee. Sirius had asked if Remus had any marks, and he’d said no. He wondered if he had any, now, or if Remus would have told them if he did. He wanted to think that he would tell them, but sometimes Remus said so little about so many of the important things.

“Because this matters,” James said, gesturing widely. Remus frowned, his eyes reflecting something unnamable. “And you matter,” he added, turning to Sirius. “To me. And you’ve made it clear that you don’t want your family to overlap with your friends and your choices and your life– and that’s very valid of you, by the way, considering… everything– and you’re allowed to set that boundary, and I intend to respect it. I’ll respect it, okay?”

Sirius felt like the breath had been punched out of his lungs. He couldn’t hear his heart in his ears anymore– it felt like it was stopped altogether. Because here was James, ever the romantic, ever the optimist, ever the charismatic little shit that he was, turning his nose up at the possibility of being with his soulmate, with his perfect match, with his fate, just for Sirius’ own happiness. 

Just for his comfort.  

Out of respect.  

“Then why did you tell me?” he asked miserably. He moved his arms, no longer crossing them over his chest but instead sort of holding each elbow in his opposite palm like he was cradling himself. 

“Would you rather I didn’t?” James replied. Yes, Sirius wanted to say. “Would you rather you find out years from now, that I’ve kept this from you, that I’ve hidden it away because I thought you couldn’t handle knowing? That I didn’t trust you with it?” Yes, Sirius wanted to say, and then wait, no– and then  I don’t know. 

“Christ, James,” Sirius said instead. He sunk down, sitting on his own bed, the fight sucked out of him. He put his head into his hands, trying to form any coherent thought, but none came. “My brother.”

“Ask me never to tell him, and I won’t,” James went on. Sirius made a sound in the back of his throat, and he swallowed something sharp. “Ask me never to talk to him, never to even look at him, and I won’t. I need you to believe me, Sirius.” 

Sirius looked up at James and found such urgency in his eyes that he wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was like staring at a house on fire, mortified, but unable to ignore the heat, because it was James. And James always knew exactly what to say. James was willing to sacrifice this for him, and it didn’t make sense. 

No one sacrificed anything for Sirius. Not ever. Especially not this.

“He’s your soulmate, James,” Sirius finally breathed, and James had the audacity to smile at him.

“Plenty of people don’t wind up with their soulmate, Sirius,” he said. Sirius wanted to cry, but he could never quite make that happen. Even when he felt like this. “And besides” James continued, “if we’re on the topic of confessions, I– well, I honestly rather fancy Lily Evans,” James admitted, and for some reason, that made Sirius bark out a laugh just at the sheer absurdity of it and then cover his mouth with his hand, embarrassed. 

“Evans?” he asked, hushed. “James, she hates your guts!” 

“I know, isn’t it just lovely?” James sighed like a man in love, and that made Sirius laugh harder. “You’ll see. I can be quite charming.” 

“Christ, James,” Sirius repeated, shaking his head. He felt like James had pulled the world out from underneath him, rearranged it, and then replaced it with a stronger foundation than before. He felt like there was something there to catch him now– catch him from what, exactly, he didn’t know, but James… James was there.  

James was there, and he needed Sirius to know that he was there, and he needed Sirius to believe him, and so he took a leap of faith and told Sirius what could have easily been a deep, dark secret, one that is never uttered, one that is never shared and never spoken of. James told Sirius so that Sirius would know he meant it when he said he cared.

“Okay,” Sirius said. James blinked at him. 

“Okay?” 

“Okay,” Sirius repeated. “I believe you.”

“Oh,” James breathed, almost like he was surprised to hear it, but then he shook himself and dawned the crown of confidence he usually wore. “Well. Lovely.” 

“I don’t want you to talk to him,” Sirius said slowly, like it was a test. 

“Done.” 

“And I don’t want you to tell him.” 

“Done. Can’t tell him if I already can’t talk to him, right?” James asked, and Sirius gave him a pained smile. 

“And I– I don’t want you to talk to me about it again,” Sirius finished. James nodded solemnly. 

“I won’t,” he promised instantly. 

For some reason, Sirius felt like he was going to be sick. James had just… agreed. Sirius barely even had to raise a finger to draw a line in the sand and yet James leapt back from it like it was fire. 

“Well,” Sirius croaked, mirroring James' own sentiment. “Lovely.” James smiled at him, and it made his brain scatter in a dozen strange directions, like his thoughts had been released back into his skull all at once and they were bouncing around fighting to be heard.

He wondered, stupidly, uselessly… now that James had found his soulmate, who would be next? Maybe they’d go down the list, James to Remus to Peter, and then further down, Lily to Marlene to Mary to… to fucking Snape, until all that was left was Sirius, and Sirius would be left trying to explain how he’d never meet his own soulmate somewhere so simple as a potions class, somewhere so ordinary as Hogwarts, or in Hogsmeade, or out there in the real world. He’d have to go looking if he wanted to find his fate, and only wizards with a death wish went looking for werewolves. 

But James had such a look about him now that Sirius found it difficult to be upset with him, or to be jealous, or to be spiteful, because how could Sirius be jealous of him and still tell him he couldn’t have what fate had promised him? How could Sirius sit there and wonder when, if, it would ever be his turn, when he had stolen James’ turn out from under him and thrown it where it could never be found? 

“I’m sorry, James,” Sirius breathed.

“I forgive you,” James replied, not missing a beat, and somehow that was worse than it’s okay or don’t be sorry or sorry for what? Worse, but also better, because it’s exactly what Sirius needed to hear, because James always knew what Sirius needed to hear. “Honestly, mate. I’ve never even said a word to him. And he’s certainly never said a word to me.”

“You’re not missing much,” Sirius said, and he hated how those words were so terribly untrue in ways he couldn’t even fathom understanding right then. 

“Do you forgive me, then?” James asked, and Sirius looked up, confused. “For… you know. This.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Sirius shook his head. “Fate’s a bitch.” 

Sirius and James shared a look, then, one so incredibly clear that they both knew exactly what the other was thinking without even a moment’s doubt– there was so much unfairness in it all. Sirius could never have his soulmate for infinite reasons, and James could never have his for just one– just Sirius. At least they could be miserable together. 

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, mate,” Sirius smiled, shaking his head. “With Evans.”

“Oh, I know,” James grinned. “Won’t it be just wonderful? Nothing good comes without a little work, after all, and– oh, I don’t know what it is about her. Maybe it’s because she hates me so much. She’s just so passionate about it, you know?” He practically swooned. 

“Is this how you’re going to be now?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just a hopeless romantic?” 

“Hope ful, Peter,” James corrected. “You’re all sworn to secrecy, by the way,” he added. “No telling Lily– no telling anyone. ” 

“Even Snape?” Sirius asked. James shot him a withering look. “Oh, come on, it would be so fun to see his reaction! He’s obsessed with her.”

“Not a soul!” James replied. “Ugh,” he sighed and threw himself backwards onto the bed. “ Lily and James Potter, ” he said. “It’s got a ring to it.” 

“You’re already putting her first?” Peter laughed. James sat up. 

“Never first. Never before the marauders,” he declared. “If she can’t handle us, then… well. That’ll be that!” 

And there it was again; James, so willing to throw his own joy away for the sake of his friends. There was something destructive about it, and yet it made Sirius feel so safe– this declaration that James would do anything for them. James’ grin made Sirius smile, and it made a laugh bubble out of Peter, and Remus–

Sirius froze a bit, then. Remus wasn’t smiling. He was watching them, watching with intensity, with his eyebrows pinched slightly and his eyes narrowed and a tense line in the muscle of his neck, the same look he got when he was reading something difficult and couldn’t quite get it. He’d read and reread and reread again, and he’d never ask for help because he wanted to know all on his own, and this was one of those moments, Sirius realized. Remus wanted to know, all on his own, but he couldn’t understand.

Sirius studied Remus’ face. He was curious what he thought of all of this, the only one of them who didn’t have a mark– theoretically– and the only one with a muggle parent. Muggles didn’t get marks, he knew. If Remus’ parents were soulmates, then they wouldn’t know it. He wondered if there was a way to tell, though. If they could just feel it, somehow, even without the help of some magical fate. He wanted to ask if Remus thought they were soulmates. He wanted to ask if his father knew, somehow, if his mother knew, if Remus knew. 

Because it seemed like something you would just know, just from being near someone, from being close enough to them, from being in the same space. Like their souls would attract like magnets or like water droplets traveling down a window, waiting to merge until the last moment when they realized they were on the same path, and then they’d become one. 

Was that fate, Sirius wondered? 

He realized Remus was staring back at him, his eyes puzzled and curious and warm, as though the act of catching Sirius looking at him had startled him from his need to understand. 

Sirius looked away first and didn’t look back, pushing down something heavy and impossible in his chest.

Chapter Text

Remus had found that he took a great deal of comfort in the moon when it was anything other than full. There was something about it that was reassuring– something that told him he was human in that moment, that he wouldn’t be anything other than human right then, that the terrible, monstrous part of him was held at bay just by the fact that the moon was a sliver in the sky and nothing more. 

So he stared up at it now, and despite the chill in the breeze and the darkness of the night, he felt warm.

The feeling was interrupted only slightly by Marlene’s irritated groan.

“I can’t find Leo Minor,” she huffed, pulling her face away from the telescope . “It’s supposed to be there, right?” She pointed, but pointing at the sky really wasn’t an effective way of communicating anything. 

“Where are you looking?” Lily sighed, making her way over.

“Leo Major is there,” Marlene muttered, looking through the telescope again. “So it should be past it, right? Further south? But those three don’t look right.” Lily nudged her out of the way, peering through the glass. Remus furrowed his brow, glancing back down at his notes. 

“You’re looking at Sextans,” he mused. Lily, Marlene, and Mary all turned to look at him, and he felt a little startled by how they all seemed to move in sync sometimes–  the girls, as Remus and his friends often referred to them, and there was no need to clarify who, because they sort of embodied the power behind the title. He cleared his throat, turning his notebook toward them. “Sextans is between Leo and Draco, south of Leo. Leo Minor is more overhead.” Marlene took the notebook from Remus’ hands, holding it very close to her face to look at the little dots Remus had drawn on the page. “And it’s… um… there’s no Leo Major. It’s just Leo.” 

“Really?” Marlene asked. “But there’s an Ursa Major, right?” 

“Yeah,” Remus nodded. “But for Leo, it’s just… Leo.” 

Marlene frowned. “That’s silly,” she muttered, looking back through the telescope again. “They should at least be consistent.” Remus breathed a laugh. “Okay, I see it, I think… Okay.” She turned back to the parchment they’d been charting the stars on, marking Leo Minor’s positioning. 

“Now we just need…” Mary looked down at the assignment. “Virgo, Canis Minor, and Centaurus.” 

“Centaurus isn’t visible in March,” Remus shook his head. “Not from Scotland.” 

“Then why’s Professor Catts got it on the list?” Lily frowned, crossing her arms. 

“Trick question?” Remus supplied. He wouldn’t put it past her. She was always trying to trip them up in class with fake stars and invisible constellations, because apparently, knowing what is there is just as important as knowing what isn’t. The concept made sense to Remus, surprisingly, but it didn’t make it less frustrating, nor confusing. 

The assignment they were currently working on had them divided into groups of four charting the month’s stars, but to the marauders’ disdain, Catts had separated the boys in retaliation for James and Sirius’ antics enchanting the stars drawn on the board to spell Gryffindor Rulez– in Remus’ opinion, not their best work, and now they didn’t even get to work together. But he supposed working with Lily, Marlene, and Mary was certainly not a terrible thing, and they were similarly enthusiastic about working with him as well. It had made him a little warm how quickly they’d said yes when he’d asked if he could join them.

“Ugh, of course,” Lily rolled her eyes, scratching Centaurus off of their list. She yawned, tilting her head all the way back. “Alright, so two more. I’ll do Virgo if you do Canis Minor, Remus.” 

Remus nodded, taking up a spot at his telescope. 

“At least we’re getting it done early,” Mary noted. Remus could hear her scratching notes down on their assignment. “Catts said it’s way easier to find them when the moon is thin like this. But I swear to god, if Glenn Codde asks me for my charts again because he waited until the full moon, I’ll scream.”

“You screamed at him last time already, Mary,” Lily pointed out. 

“He deserved it. It’s cheating,” Mary huffed. Remus looked away from the stars. 

“It is?” he asked. Mary raised her eyebrows at him. “I’ve given him my notes before. He said he wanted to compare.” 

Mary scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, no,” she mumbled. “He just forgot to do his own report.” 

“Oh,” Remus frowned. That made a bit more sense. It explained why no one else was giving Glenn their help. “I hope Catts doesn’t think I helped him cheat,” he added worriedly, looking back through the telescope. He found Canis Minor easily, turning away to write its location down on their parchment. He sat on the bench near the railing, crossing his legs underneath him as he sketched the stars.

“I sincerely doubt she’d blame you, Remus,” Marlene shook her head.

"But if he asks you for your work again, just tell him to sod off,” Lily added, and then she pursed her lips a little. “That goes for anyone. Including Potter and Black, by the way," Lily said, and it took Remus a while to realize that 'Black' was referring to Sirius. “I know they wait until the last minute, too.”

"James and Sirius don't ask me for my work," Remus mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. Lily looked skeptical of this. “If they did, they’d get better marks in Astronomy,” he noted, and Lily laughed. 

“Fair,” she admitted. “How come you’re so good at stars?” Good at stars was a funny way of putting it, Remus thought.

“It’s all patterns,” he shrugged. “Once you know them, it’s kind of like a puzzle.” 

“You’ve just got a brain for it, I guess,” Lily sighed, looking back into her telescope lens. “I hate puzzles. They take too long.” After a moment, she pulled away. “Alright, I think I’ve got Virgo. Then we just have the write-up–”

She was interrupted by footsteps coming up the astronomy tower stairs. A second later, a familiar head of black hair emerged from below. 

“Moony!” Sirius exclaimed simply, grinning when he caught sight of Remus, and Remus felt his cheeks go a little warm at the nickname the same way they always did. At least it was dark, he thought, so the girls couldn’t see. “Girls,” he added as an afterthought. 

"Black," Lily greeted just as casually, and Sirius recoiled a little. 

"Don't call me that," he said. It was simple and cold, and somehow that gave it more weight. Lily rolled her eyes a little as Sirius made his way over to the bench Remus was sitting on. "Why're you scowling at me, anyhow? Isn't James the one you have an issue with?" 

"You're both terrible," she sighed. 

"How come Remus gets a free pass from this treatment?" Sirius laughed, throwing himself down onto the bench beside Remus, and Remus hadn't realized that he was harboring any tension until he felt it release at the familiar presence Sirius brought with him. 

"Because Remus doesn't cause any trouble," Lily crossed her arms, and Sirius snorted so loud that it echoed off the stone of the tower around them. Even Remus had to purse his lips to avoid smiling. "What? You and Potter are in and out of detention every other day. You're a bad influence." Sirius had to cover his face with both hands to avoid giggling. 

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius waved a hand, leaning back in his spot. "Sure. That's me. The bad influence. Remus could do no wrong, eh?” 

“What do you want, Sirius?” Lily sighed, crossing her arms. 

“Yeah. We’re working,” Marlene added. 

“I’ve come to steal my friend back from you,” Sirius shrugged. “This is the part where I’m a bad influence. We’ve got places to be,” he smirked, waggling his eyebrows. Remus glanced confusedly at him, because he was fairly certain they didn’t actually have anything interesting planned for the near future. “I need you to come with me to return a book,” he explained a little glumly. “Madam Pince won’t give me detention for it being late if you’re there backing me up. She loves you.” 

“That’s a shoddy excuse,” Lily scoffed. “You’re getting up to something, aren’t you?” 

“Not this time, unfortunately,” Sirius said, sounding genuinely miserable about it. “Is it really so unrealistic?” 

"You're telling me you like to read?" Lily asked incredulously. 

"Unfortunately for you, Evans, the one thing you can't insult me about is my brains," Sirius shrugged. "I've got better marks than all three of you." Mary rolled her eyes at him. "Besides, being friends with Remus also means being friends with the library," Sirius shrugged. Remus felt the corners of his mouth turn up a little at that. 

"Yes, well, fortunately for us, there's plenty more to work with for insults," Mary replied. Sirius grinned like this was a compliment. 

"If you're such good friends with the library, what are you reading right now?" Lily asked like it was a challenge, half a smirk on her face like she’d already won, but Remus knew this wouldn't be a puzzle for Sirius at all. 

"Right now? The Great Gatsby."

"No way," Lily scoffed. "That's a muggle book." 

"It's still written in english, Evans," Sirius raised his eyebrows, leaning back. "Remus leant it to me."

"And what's it about?" Lily asked. 

"What is this, a quiz?" Sirius asked. She looked at him expectantly, and Sirius rolled his eyes, leaning forward. "Fine. This guy Nick moves to a new place, and he makes friends with this bloke Gatsby who's super rich," he started. Lily looked unimpressed. "And Gatsby's looking for his old crush, Daisy, but she's married to some dick named Tom who's cheating on her with what's-her-face from this gas station–"

"Myrtle," Remus supplied. 

"Right, her. And they’re all very American about it. Cars and fights and weird gas stations and whatnot. I haven't finished it yet, but I feel like Nick's gonna realize he's in love with Gatsby or something, 'cus there's an awful lot of tension there," Sirius finished, leaning back casually against the railing behind him, and Remus frankly felt quite proud (and also a bit guilty, because that's not how the book ended at all, but honestly it would have been better). 

Lily stared at Sirius with her eyes narrowed like somehow she was suspicious of him for his answer, and he crossed his arms over his chest and stared right back at her. Finally, her expression changed a little like she'd just remembered something she wanted to say. 

"Remus, did you bring a lot of books with you?" She asked. Remus raised his eyebrows, a little surprised to be addressed. 

"Oh. Uh... some," he replied. Sirius snorted. "A lot," he amended. Lily hid a smile. 

"I didn't have much room in my trunk for mine," she sighed. "Are they all muggle books?" Remus nodded. He’d learned the year before that the library’s muggle studies section was largely underpopulated. "Maybe I could borrow one sometime? No one seems to get why I like them more than wizard stories.”

"Sure," Remus said, and then he bit the inside of his cheek. "I like them, too. I feel like muggles invent magic because they don't have it. It makes them appreciate it more." Lily blinked at him, and from behind her he saw Marlene smile. 

"Well, that's awfully profound," Sirius smirked. Lily shot him a withering look and Sirius held his hands up in placation. "I mean it! He's right. Wizards take it for granted." 

"Your family certainly would," Lily rolled her eyes. 

"Don't talk about my family," Sirius snapped abruptly, and Lily looked a little startled. Remus bit the inside of his cheek. The year had been hard for Sirius when it came to this particular topic. Regulus was at school now, which meant he was already reminded of them when he didn't want to be. And then to add insult to injury, James had learned that he was Regulus' soulmate. Remus didn’t think Sirius had quite recovered from that, despite James’ assurances that nothing would ever come of it. 

That was still something that thoroughly confused Remus– the entire situation as a whole. Soulmates had seemed like something abstract right until that moment, something that existed but that wasn't real, not really real. Remus knew he had one, but nothing more. Where there was magic, there was a bond that tied souls together. It all seemed like a very theoretical thing to Remus, despite the very real proof written in gold across his body. Everything was just conjecture, a thought experiment, a what if. It was something he and his parents had talked around, never about, something unsaid. Something impossible.

But now it was real, because it was James, and it was Regulus, and it was right in front of them. 

That had already been difficult to parse through. And then as soon as it was real, it was dismissed in an instant. Remus felt like he hardly had a chance to process the concrete proof in front of him before James had gone and promised that he'd never even do anything about it, that he'd never even talk to Regulus, which... Remus didn't know what to make of that. James had thrown fate to the side in an instant, sure, but he'd done it so easily. It was an act that felt like torture to Remus, because Remus had decided long ago that he'd never do anything to pursue this gold thread that tied him to someone else.

To Remus, throwing this fate aside was something guilty, something unfair, something terrible. A choice that seemed like the only possible path. 

But James had stepped onto that path with grace. For Sirius. And Remus wondered, briefly, if maybe the universe had made a mistake, because that felt like something only your soulmate would do for you. Like the universe should have bound James and Sirius to each other in some way– but maybe it had, just by placing them in each other’s proximity.

In any case, it was obvious that to Sirius, far too much of his family had leaked into this place he called home. It put him on edge. And it put the rest of them on edge, too, trying to shield those comments before they made their way back to him. Remus found himself wishing he was James, because James would have been able to deflect this or diffuse it expertly. 

"Don't snap at me," Lily scolded. Remus felt the air change just slightly. He didn't think Sirius knew it, but when he got angry, his magic seeped out of him a little bit stronger, a little sharper. And Remus was fairly certain that others could feel it too, because when it happened, he could see the little wince in other people’s faces.

"Then don't talk about things you don't understand," Sirius scowled. Lily glanced over at Remus, an exasperated look on her face, and Remus tried to force his feelings to show on his face (something he'd learned he was apparently notoriously bad at). Right now, his thoughts fell mostly along the lines of don't push this button, mixed in with a bit of general desperation.

"I understand the pureblood mentality perfectly well, actually," Lily crossed her arms, and Remus wanted to put his face into his hands. That's the button, he thought to himself miserably. He saw Sirius bristle, his jaw tensing, teeth grinding together so hard Remus almost thought he could hear it. 

"What do you have against me, Evans?” Sirius demanded, standing abruptly, and Lily looked a little surprised. “Because I was under the impression I was just irritating– and that’s fair–” Sirius shrugged, but it was a tense movement, loaded with frustration. “But if you’ve got some sort of vendetta, I’d like to know what it’s about–”

“Because it must be about you, right?” Lily shot back defensively. She looked flustered, like she hadn’t expected this, like she was trying to catch up to Sirius’ energy, and Remus tried to think of anything he could say to jar them out of this conversation as a whole, but nothing came to him.

“Considering I’m the one you’re talking to? Yeah, I’d say that’s my assumption,” Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Well, it’s about all of you,” Lily crossed her arms. 

“All of who?”

“You purebloods.” Lily said the word like it was a joke.

“Pure – you– I don’t see you going after McKinnon and MacDonald!” Sirius waved a hand in their direction. Marlene looked anxious. Mary was frowning heavily. Remus couldn’t tell what any of them were thinking.

“Fine then. The Sacred Twenty Eight,” Lily spat. Sirius faltered. “That’s you, right? The purest of the pure? God’s gift to humanity?”

“Are you kidding me?” Sirius scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “That’s what this is about? What, did Binns mention it in History of Magic, then?”

“He did, actually,” Lily replied. Sirius rolled his eyes heavily. “Gave us a bit of a list, too. You’re on there–”

“I’m well fuckin’ aware I’m on there,” Sirius cut her off, taking a step towards her, and Remus wanted to grab his arm and pull him back. Somehow, the night felt a little darker. Stop, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. Stop it. Stop talking. Go back to before. It was fine, before. But Sirius’ anger was like a freight train sometimes, and Lily wasn’t stepping out of the way.

“Well, that’s where you and all those families get that superiority complex from, isn’t it?”

“My family–” Sirius started, but he gritted his teeth, digging his nails into his palms. “You know who else is on there? Avery. That’s Snape’s little friend, right? Did you have a go at him as well? And what about Slughorn? Did you know he’s there, too?”

“Avery’s just as bad,” Lily muttered.

"As bad as who? Me? What have I done to you, exactly?" Sirius demanded.

“That’s not what I–” Lily started, shaking her head, but Sirius didn’t give her a chance to backtrack.

"How many times have I called you a half-breed, Evans? How many times have you heard me say you’ve got dirty blood? Must be more times than the company you keep for you to hate me so much, right?”

“I don’t–”

“Must be more times than your sweet little Severus–”

"Shut up," Lily snapped. 

"No, I want to know!" Sirius spat. "You've got proof, surely? That I'm no better than my family? Go on, tell me. Because I'm painfully aware that they're awful, trust me, I know," Sirius said, and there was a distinct heaviness to it, more than just anger, more than just hatred, almost like mourning. Almost like fear. Lily recoiled from it a little. "Tell me what part of myself makes you think I'm like them and I'll burn it out of me." 

Remus felt sick at that. His mouth went dry.

It was a challenge, but it was more than that. It was genuine. Sirius wanted to know. He wanted to know so that he could be different, so that he could change. So that she wouldn’t see him as a Black. So that no one would. 

Lily didn't answer. She stared at him, a little startled, a little frustrated, a little guilty. But she said nothing, and Remus had to think that it was because she realized what she was up against, here. Not just a grudge, not just a meaningless little fight. This was something real to Sirius. Something she didn’t understand. Sirius scowled, snatching his bag from the floor by the bench and turning to leave, and Remus’ stomach lurched.

"Sirius–" Remus started, reaching out to grab Sirius' cloak at his sleeve, but Sirius whirled on him.

"Leave me alone!" he snapped. The air sparked. Remus yanked his hand back like he'd been burned, the tips of his fingers tingling. Something around them smelled a little singed, and Remus was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who could feel it. Sirius blinked at him, his expression twisting from anger to regret in an instant. Remus could see him struggling, like he was fighting himself in his own head. 

There was still that scent of fire. Sirius opened his mouth and then closed it, his jaw working, and he swallowed hard. Without meaning to, Remus leaned away from him. For just a moment, Sirius looked horrified, and then the expression dropped to something far worse to Remus, which was emptiness. It was like he had stepped out of himself, just a shell leftover standing in front of him, gone. He said nothing, just turned on his heel and left. With him, the static left as well. 

When it was gone, and when Remus could think straight, he found that he was angry.

"That was mean," he said coldly, turning to Lily, and even though it sounded childish and stupid and a drastic oversimplification of the past few minutes, it was true. Lily ducked her head a little, frustration making her cheeks pink. 

"I’m– he– he's the one who thinks he's better than everyone–" she said defensively, but Remus cut her off, bitterness making him bold.

"No, he thinks he’s better than them. His family. Because he is better than them," he insisted. "He is. You've got no right to compare him to his family. You don't even know him." He started sweeping his papers and books into his bag. He wanted to go find Sirius, but he wasn’t sure if he should. At the very least, he didn’t want to be here anymore. The air felt wrong. It was a little hard to breathe. “He’s my friend.” 

“I didn’t mean to say he was the same as his family,” Lily mumbled.

“Well, you did,” Remus said. “You can’t blame him for his blood,” he added, standing up and crossing the space to the stairwell, trying to peer down and see if Sirius was still in sight.

“I’m not–! Remus, wait–” 

She grabbed his wrist.

It felt like every hair on his body stood on end, like every nerve in his arm was touched by acid. He jerked away without grace or caution, wrenching himself out of her grasp, and he knew that in that moment he must have looked truly wild, because her eyes widened and she looked startled. And he didn't really know what to say, because now Lily was staring at him, and Marlene and Mary too, and he felt wrong, like something had been shaken loose in his head and he was trying to herd it back into place, rather unsuccessfully.

"Don't... don't do that," he said tensely, and the words hurt to force out. It wasn’t lost on him the way Mary shared a look with Marlene. 

"Sorry," Lily stammered. "I'm– I'm sorry." Remus rubbed his wrist, looking down at it, because he half expected to see her handprint on his skin. It wasn't, of course. He held his arm close to his chest, flexing his fingers a little. He had been so ready to grab ahold of Sirius just a minute ago. He didn’t know why this felt so much worse. "You're right," Lily added quietly. "It was mean. I shouldn't have... I'm sorry." Remus felt the burn slowly disappearing from his skin, leaving him feeling frustrated and raw. 

"You don't need to apologize to me," he shook his head, trying to relax, even if only on the outside, but it wasn’t working. 

“One of the Slytherins called me a mudblood yesterday,” she admitted quietly. “In front of our whole herbology group, and no one even said anything. And I’m just… I’m on edge. I’m sick of it, and it's only been two years here, it’s– it’s not fair. And then Binns starts going on about true pure blood families and how they think everyone else has been contaminated, and it’s impossible to tell if he really believes that or if he’s just repeating it because he’s so monotone about everything…”

Remus sighed. He understood the sentiment even if the word didn’t hold much weight to him. It wasn’t for lack of meaning– he was aware that the term was horrible, that it was derogatory, that it was cruel– but it just felt so foreign that it was hard to find meaning in it. How could blood be dirty? It felt ridiculous. Even so, Lily was turning a little red. 

“Sirius isn’t like that,” Remus mumbled. “His family is, yeah, or– or his parents, at least,” he corrected, not particularly comfortable implicating Regulus in this since he didn’t really know him. “But he’s… he hates it. They say it to me, too, and he hates it.” 

Lily sighed, looking terribly guilty. “I know,” she muttered. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t think he’d get so upset, he– I just got defensive, I guess.” Remus understood that, he was pretty sure. He got like that, too. He just didn’t ever have the words to say anything.

“Awful lot of tension at Hogwarts about this,” Mary mused quietly. “I never heard it until I came here. And I’m a pureblood,” she added, saying the word like it was entirely made up, just like Lily had said it earlier. 

“My mum says it’s always been like that,” Marlene noted. “Apparently Salazar Slytherin wanted to have no muggle-born witches and wizards at all. He got out-voted, I guess… well, obviously… but she said it was the same when she went here. And the hat sorts them all into the same place ‘cus they’ve got it in common with the founder of their house.” Marlene went a little quiet, then, biting the inside of her cheek. “But I guess… I mean, Sirius is in Gryffindor.” 

Lily’s face twisted in regret. “I should go apologize to him, shouldn’t I?” she sighed dejectedly. “He’ll probably bite my head off. He’s got a worse temper than my sister,” she added, shaking her head. 

“You’ve got a sister?” Remus asked, a little distracted by that.

“Yeah,” Lily nodded. “She’s not a witch, though. She– well, she thinks I’m a bit of a freak, so…”

“I feel like if I were a muggle,” Mary interjected, “I’d be pretty excited to know magic existed. Maybe she’s jealous. I’d be jealous too, I think.” 

“My mum says magic is too complicated,” Remus noted. “And she says she thinks being a muggle balances out my dad.” 

“I wish Petunia was like that,” Lily groaned, leaning back in her chair. “Once she found out, she hated me for it. I don’t really get why. Sev was the only one back home who understood.” 

Remus bit his cheek at the mention of Snape. He didn’t understand why Lily was friends with him. He’d said awful things, and he knew she knew it, but it seemed like she was still holding on to some idea of him that wasn’t true. He wasn’t brave enough to point it out. Evidently, at the very least, Mary seemed to feel the same, but she was much worse at hiding it. She rolled her eyes heavily, crossing her arms. Lily shot her a glare. 

“Whatever,” Lily muttered. “Remus, are you going to find Sirius? Can I come with you?” 

Remus weighed the options here; on the one hand, Sirius was certainly in a bad mood, and he’d told Remus to leave him alone. On the other, Remus knew he’d stew over this infinitely unless it was addressed. A moment of discomfort seemed better than a long lasting grudge, so finally, Remus nodded. 

“Sure,” he said. “He really is going to bite your head off, though,” he added. Lily’s shoulders sagged. 

“I deserve it, I think, taking this out on him. I’d bite my own head off, too. Is Slughorn really one of the Sacred Twenty Eight?” she asked. Remus shrugged as they started heading down the stairs, Lily following behind him, and he noticed that she was keeping a bit more distance from him.

“I dunno,” he replied. “I hadn’t ever heard of the list until just now.”

Chapter Text

There was really no better indication of Professor Ironwood’s effectiveness as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher than the fact that the seventh years had called off their mission to make him quit before the end of the year. It was unclear whether this was because they thought their underclassmen deserved a skilled teacher in the coming years, or because they were actually having too much fun learning bombarda maxima and organizing expert level duels, but either way, Sirius was pretty pleased knowing that there were now no concrete plans to run off arguably the most fun professor at Hogwarts (as cool as it was that Professor McGonagall could turn into a cat). 

Defense Against the Dark Arts was also one of the few classes all four of the marauders had together. Their time slots hadn’t lined up quite as well as the year before. Sirius didn’t really mind it when it came to the more boring classes like History of Magic, but it was much more fun to share the more practical classes with his friends. 

It meant he got to watch James get knocked on his ass by Peter’s disarming charm.

“You’re supposed to aim at the wand, Peter,” James groaned, pulling himself to his feet. He rolled his neck to either side, wincing. 

“It’s a very small target!” Peter defended himself.

“You saying James’ got a small wand?” Sirius elbowed Peter in the side, and Peter rolled his eyes heavily at him. 

“I’m saying he’s got a big head,” Peter flexed his fingers, adjusting his grip. “Much easier to hit.” 

“Oi!” James barked from across the room. Next to him, Lily snickered, and James went red. “Expelliarmus!” he called, and Peter’s wand launched out of his hand, skittering across the floor. “See? Like that.” He flashed a grin towards Lily, who rolled her eyes. 

“Expelliarmus,” she said, rather casually, and Mary’s wand sailed out of her hand, arching gracefully through the air until it landed perfectly in Lily’s hand. “Like that?” she echoed. 

“Nicely done, Miss Evans!” Ironwood called from across the room where he was helping another student with her wand movement. She held back a grin in favor of shooting a very smug look toward James, who looked absolutely infatuated (a look that would read as shock to anyone who didn’t know him). It was Sirius’ turn to roll his eyes. 

“Bit dramatic,” he shrugged, squaring his shoulders to face Remus. “How’d you do that, Evans? Is it in the wrist?” 

“Figure it out yourself, Sirius,” Lily teased, and even though it had a little bite to it, Sirius couldn’t help but notice how she never called him Black anymore. Ever since Lily had sort of forced him to talk things out with her, they’d been on fairly good terms, actually. James had demanded to know how exactly he’d managed to shrug off her cold shoulder, a question which was far more fun to dodge just to make him seethe a little. But nonetheless, they’d apologized to each other, Lily for hitting a little too close to home (even if she didn’t really know what she was doing), and Sirius for tearing her head off about it. 

Sirius hadn’t expected it, honestly. He had been very prepared to hold a grudge for the rest of his life, if need be. And then Evans had gone and made him feel rather immature (which he was) by being so willing to talk things through instead of letting them fester, and he’d been so genuinely startled by the concept that he actually let her explain herself instead of storming off. 

And Sirius had also quietly resolved to figure out who exactly it was who called Lily a mudblood in Herbology so that he could better aim their next prank.

“Ready, Moony?” Sirius asked, directing his attention back toward Remus. They were paired together to practice the spell, and his face was twisted a little. He was holding his wand tight, but he nodded determinedly nonetheless. Sirius took a breath. “Expelliarmus!” Remus’ wand shot straight up so fast it hit the ceiling, and Remus stumbled back a step, shaking his fingers out like he’d been shocked. His wand clattered to the floor beside him a moment later. Sirius had started noticing, now that they were practicing the more practical spells, that no matter what he cast, it always had a certain explosiveness to it.

He felt a little bad about it, then, because Remus hunched his shoulders up, holding all sorts of tension in his body. He’d been jumpy the last few days, the way he sometimes got when he was getting sick, but Sirius had held onto a little hope that their class would lighten his mood. Remus stooped to pick up his wand, shaking his head a bit. 

“Bit more finesse, bit less power, Mr. Black!” Ironwood noted, and Sirius resisted the urge to scowl. “Give it a go, Lupin, go on,” Ironwood urged. Remus swallowed hard. Come on, Moony, Sirius thought. 

Out of any of them, Remus’ magic was admittedly the most unpredictable. There were times when he wielded it expertly and with impressive precision, a force to be reckoned with, but there were other times when it was wild and chaotic and sparking, or alternatively when it seemed like it dodged him at every turn. James said he thought it had something to do with his mood, just like Sirius’ sometimes did– sharper when he was angry, smoother when he was calm– but Remus’ emotions didn’t seem to govern him in quite the same way as Sirius’ did. He’d thought about asking Remus outright, but it seemed like something he might be self conscious about, so he let the question stew in his head.

In any case, just now, Remus looked both uncertain and determined at once, and so Sirius didn’t really know what to expect when he cast the disarming charm. The few times he’d tried it so far had fizzled out or created sparks that danced uselessly in the air. It seemed to Sirius like Remus’ wand was working against him, sometimes, like it had been muted somehow, and he could see the frustration building every time.

“Expelliarmus!” Remus called.

This attempt took a sort of swirling shape through the air, launching out in front of him but then looping up in the space between them and fizzling out sometime before it hit the rafters. 

“Finish that loop out, Remus,” Ironwood said, making his way over. He waved his wand in demonstration. “It’s a twirl, not a swirl. All in the wrist, see?” Remus nodded jerkily, adjusting his stance to try again, but he tensed up even more as Ironwood approached. To his credit, Ironwood was a bit more aware of his surroundings than other professors. He tended to give Remus his space. He leaned against a desk, watching carefully, but Sirius was pretty sure that any observation was too much observation right now. 

“Expelliarmus!” Remus tried again. This one found its mark in Sirius’ hand, but it didn’t disarm him. Sirius fumbled with his wand, his fingers going just a little numb, but he held onto it despite the charm.

“Almost, Moony,” Sirius called, shaking his hand out. It was meant to be encouraging, but Remus’ face twisted.

“I daresay we need a bit more oomph than that!” Ironwood laughed lightheartedly. Not helping, Sirius wanted to say.

“Basic charms too difficult for you, Lupin?” Snape jeered from a few pairs down, and Sirius shot him a venomous look. It was met with equal disdain. When Sirius looked back, he could see Remus grinding his teeth– could practically hear it, too. His grip on his wand went white-knuckled. 

“Expel–!” Remus didn’t even get all the way through incanting the charm before the red blast of light was exploding from his wand. Sirius found himself rather grateful that Remus’ aim was a bit off today, because when the spell flew over his head, the air smelled like lightning had just struck. It shot through the air, twisting wildly, before shattering straight through the window behind Sirius. 

A few students screamed. The sound of glass was sharp and splitting, and Sirius ducked as shards rained down, but before any of it fell on any of their heads, Ironwood lashed his wand out and it all turned to sand without even a word. As he did, the silence in the room was almost deafening.

Remus’ own spell had sent him sprawling backwards, his wand gone from his hand, and he was picking himself up off the floor amid a flurry of swirling papers and pieces of parchment and grains of sand. His hands were shaking. For some reason, that was the first thing Sirius noticed. Second was the mortified expression on his face. 

Ironwood was the first to speak after the piercing silence had lingered in the room long enough, ever trying to lighten the mood.

“Bit of a backfire,” he shrugged, almost jovially. “Nothing to–”

Remus was already storming out of the classroom, his head ducked in shame or embarrassment or anger, Sirius couldn’t quite tell. Ironwood cut himself off with a surprised sort of oh sound, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. The door slammed behind Remus.

“Well… fresh air never hurt anyone, aye?” Ironwood clapped his hands. “Back to it, come on!” he urged, waving a hand, and the other second years slowly raised their wands, hesitantly casting the charm again, though now with much more care having seen the consequence of getting it wrong. Sirius crossed the room to get to the professor, who was bending over to pick up Remus’ wand where it had been abandoned.

“Professor–” Sirius started, but he was cut off. 

“Go check on our young Lupin, will you, Mr. Black?” Ironwood said, holding Remus’ wand out for Sirius to take, and Sirius was surprised enough that he didn’t scowl at hearing his last name again. “I think you may have a bit more success consoling him than I. I fear I may have made that worse,” he mused. 

“I… er…” Sirius stammered, taking the wand. Was he supposed to be honest, here? Because yes, Ironwood had almost certainly made it worse, but he also wasn’t quite sure that anything would have made that better. “I’ll go find him,” he managed, electing to avoid the statement entirely. 

“Good,” Ironwood patted his shoulder. “Let him know we can find a better time to review the spell if he needs to take a bit of time for himself, now. Oh, and do assure him that the window will take no time at all to fix, please,” he added.

“Right,” Sirius nodded hesitantly. Ironwood went back to instructing, and Sirius shot an anxious look toward James and Peter, who shared the same worry as he did, evidently. “Right,” Sirius muttered again to himself. He tucked Remus’ wand into his cloak pocket and started toward the door. 

“Maybe he ought to go back to swish and flick,” Snape sneered as Sirius passed him.

“Deripio,” Sirius flicked his wand casually, and Snape's trousers pooled around his ankles. He didn’t stick around very long to see if he’d get in trouble for that, but it was a good bit of satisfaction to hear the bark of laughter that was no doubt coming from James. He closed the door behind him swiftly.

He looked around for a moment, puzzling through where Remus might have gone. Likely not far, he thought. He’d be too anxious to ditch class entirely, especially not knowing whether or not he had actually been dismissed, or if he was in trouble. There were students in the little sitting area to the left of the classroom, so Sirius headed down the stairs and off to the right where he knew there was a back corner one could easily tuck themselves away in. 

Sure enough, Remus had done just that. He was quite good at tucking himself away. It was a good thing Sirius was quite good at finding him. 

“Alright, Moony?” Sirius asked softly as he walked over. Remus was sitting with his back against the wall, arms wrapped around his legs, resting his chin on one knee. He didn’t look at Sirius when he spoke.

“Sorry,” Remus said miserably. His eyes were a little red. He wiped his hand under his nose. “I didn’t hit you, did I?” 

“Not a scratch,” Sirius smiled. He slid his back down against the wall until he was sitting beside Remus.

“Have I got detention?” Remus asked, and Sirius held back a laugh and passed Remus’ wand to him. Remus took it gingerly, tucking it away quickly like he was ashamed to touch it.

“No, no, of course not,” he waved a hand. “Ironwood said to tell you that you could come back later to learn the spell. Oh, and that the window won’t take much work to fix.” Remus groaned, tucking his head between his knees. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I blew up a window, Sirius,” Remus mumbled, his voice muffled by his cloak. 

“It was pretty wicked, honestly,” Sirius noted, but Remus tensed, catching his cloak in his fingers in a tense grip. Right. Don’t joke. Got it, Sirius thought to himself. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said instead. “Spells backfire sometimes, or go weird.” 

“Bit more than weird,” Remus sighed. “I just couldn’t– it wouldn’t work,” he shook his head. “I feel like sometimes, I know exactly what I want to happen, but it won’t– it’s like my wand’s blocking me. And then I get frustrated, and it all comes… exploding out,” he gritted his teeth. Sirius could tell he was holding his breath a little. 

Sirius nodded. “I get that,” he shrugged, trying to diffuse the tension a little. “The exploding bit, I mean… I had an issue with that when I was little, you know.” Remus lifted his head, tilting slightly toward Sirius, an indication that he was listening even if he wasn’t quite looking at him still. “I kept setting off sparks whenever I threw tantrums. Set fire to our curtains once or twice.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded. “It’s magic, you know? Not exactly the most stable thing in the world. Sometimes it just reacts.” That’s what Andromeda had told him when he was seven and melted the ends of her hair by accident. He thought she’d be furious, and he braced himself for it, readying his little mind for a screaming match. Instead, she laughed, and it punched all the fight right out of him. “Not like you did it on purpose, right?” 

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” Remus shook his head. “You’re supposed to have intention casting spells, and I just– I just–” he made a vague motion with his hand, waving it out from his body, but Sirius got the gist. “Sorry,” Remus said again, putting his chin back against his knee.

“Are you, um…” Sirius started, but he hesitated. Remus raised his eyebrows, glancing halfway towards him. “Are you feeling sick?” Remus frowned severely, which was exactly why Sirius didn’t really want to ask, but it also confirmed his suspicion. “I just mean… I– I noticed sometimes when you’re sick, your magic is a bit… off,” Sirius explained.

“It doesn’t matter,” Remus muttered. 

“But it’s not really your fault, then–” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Remus snapped frustratedly, and then his face twisted in regret. He pursed his lips, folding his hands over the back of his neck. “It…” he took a breath. “It shouldn’t matter. I can’t just freak out every time the–” Remus cut himself short, like whatever was coming next got stuck in his throat. “Every time I feel sick,” he mumbled, but he seemed a little guilty when he said it. “I already freak out enough as it is,” he added quietly.

“What do you mean?” Sirius prompted, lowering his voice a little to meet Remus on his level.

“I mean…” Remus sighed. “Everything just gets so overwhelming sometimes, you know?” he murmured. He wiped a hand across his brow, and Sirius realized there were little beads of sweat at his temples. He had a fever. That meant this would be a bad one. He felt his heart twist a little. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to be a person.” 

That struck a little too close to home, Sirius thought. Most of the time, he felt like he didn’t even know how to be himself.  

“I get that, too,” Sirius mumbled, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. “Like you’re faking it and waiting for everyone else to notice,” he added. It felt a little dangerous to say out loud, like he was admitting a secret. Remus looked up, and even though his eyes caught on Sirius’ for hardly half a second before he looked away again, Sirius tried to memorize the patterns in his irises. He hardly ever got the chance. 

“Yeah,” Remus murmured. Some of the tension left his shoulders. Sirius counted that as a victory. “Exactly,” he added, even more quietly. They were silent for a moment before Remus eventually blew out a long breath. “Do I have to come back to class?” he asked. 

“I don’t think so,” Sirius shook his head. “Professor Ironwood said you could come back some other time if you needed a breather today… so I think that means you can be dismissed, if you want.” Remus nodded, seemingly relieved by this. “Are you gonna go back to the tower?” Sirius asked, a bit hopefully, but Remus shook his head. 

“No, I think… I think I’m just going to go to the hospital wing,” he mumbled.

“Oh,” Sirius mumbled. “I can walk you there?” 

“No, it’s… I’m okay. I might get some dinner first,” Remus said. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he added, starting to stand, but Sirius frowned. 

“Tomorrow?” He asked. Remus froze a little, his gaze darting off to the side. “It’s… it’s gonna be a bad one, then, isn’t it?” 

It would have been a little naive to think anything otherwise, Sirius knew. They’d all known Remus long enough now to pick up on the signs, even if no one said them out loud. There was the frustration, the jumpiness, the tension, the fever, the way he distanced himself, held himself tightly, like if someone so much as brushed against him it might burn. It was unspoken, largely because Remus didn’t ever want to speak about it, but they all knew. Sometimes, Remus spent a few hours in the hospital wing here and there, but sometimes, it was like this.

Remus bristled a little, but it didn’t feel like the frustration was directed at Sirius, this time. It was just sort of a general discontent. 

“Yeah,” he admitted a little bitterly.

“Can I… um…” Sirius faltered, but Remus waited. “Can I ask you something? And– and you don’t have to answer. If you don’t want.” Remus paused for a moment, but then he nodded. “What’s it feel like?” There was a silence between them, a sort of contemplative thing, and Remus furrowed his brow, considering the question thoroughly. Sirius wondered if he was going to get an honest answer. “I’ve read some,” he explained, “but there’s not a lot to read on muggle conditions, and nothing really… no one really says…” Remus lifted his head a little, and Sirius trailed off. 

“It’s… it’s sort of like…” Remus started, but he bit the inside of his cheek, finding his words. Sirius waited. “It’s kind of like something else is controlling me,” Remus went on tentatively. Sirius frowned, but he didn’t interrupt. “Like… it’s hard to explain. I’m me, before… and then I sort of just wake up, after… and in the middle, I’m… I’m not there.” Sirius liked to believe he knew when Remus was lying. He at least knew what the truth sounded like. This felt honest– or about as honest as Remus seemed he was willing to get.

“Does it hurt?” Sirius asked. 

“Yes,” Remus replied without hesitation. 

“A lot?”

Remus paused, but he nodded. “Yes,” he repeated quietly. From the classroom above them, they heard a loud thud and a clatter like furniture falling over, and Remus flinched a bit. 

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled. “I know you don’t like talking about it.” 

“It’s not that I–” Remus started, but he second guessed his words. “I just don’t want you to worry,” he amended. “It’s… managed, you know?” 

“But there’s really nothing that Madam Pomfrey can do? Magic can cure a lot–” 

“No,” Remus cut him off quickly, and Sirius closed his mouth. “There’s no cure. It’s just… it’s just how it is.” 

“Okay,” Sirius murmured. “Sorry. I guess you would have tried everything,” he added, because of course they would have tried to find a solution. “I… are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to the hospital wing?” 

Remus shook his head. “I’ll be fine. You should go back to class,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, really, which brought Sirius some relief. Prying too much right now was a bad idea, he knew. He didn’t want to make things harder. 

“Right,” Sirius nodded. Remus pushed himself upright, using the wall behind him to steady himself a little, and Sirius hauled himself to his feet as well. “We’ll come by and visit you tomorrow, then, okay? Bring you lunch?” 

Remus smiled a little at that, nodding. At the very least, Sirius was sure of this– that Remus did truly love to see them when they came by in the mornings, once he felt like himself again and everything had passed and run its course. He would be exhausted, bags under his eyes and pale and cold and clammy, but they’d poke their heads in through the door and he’d light up in an instant. It never really got old, Sirius thought. That smile made him warm every time, just like it did now. 

“Tell Professor Ironwood I’m sorry about the window,” Remus said sheepishly.

“Sure. He did say not to worry about it, though.” 

“When have I been known not to worry about something?” Remus shrugged, and Sirius laughed. 

“Fair,” he sighed. “We’ll see you soon, Moony,” he added gently. Remus smiled a little exhaustedly, nodding his head a little before he made his way off down the hallway. Sirius chewed on his lip as he watched him go, picking at the skin around his thumbnail before shaking himself and marching back up the stairs to the classroom. 

James and Peter both swung their heads around as soon as he opened the door, and James shot his eyebrows up so high Sirius thought they might fly off of his head. It almost made him laugh as he walked over. Ironwood was working with a group of boys who were still trying to figure out the precision in aiming that the spell took to actually disarm and not just throw someone off their feet, but he nodded at Sirius when he came back in. 

“He’s fine,” Sirius said before James had a chance to spiral. “Just got frustrated. He’s sick. Er… bad,” he added, a little more hushed, and James and Peter both nodded solemnly. “I told him we’ll come see him tomorrow and bring him lunch.” 

“Snape told Ironwood you pantsed him,” Peter noted. 

“Prat,” Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“Ironwood told Snape he could learn a thing or two from your wand work,” James smirked, an absolute shit-eating grin on his face. Sirius had to cover his mouth to avoid snorting. 

“Fantastic,” Sirius laughed. “Have I missed much else?”

James shook his head. “Nah. No assignments unless you didn’t get the charm right yet, then you’ve got to do extra practice–” 

“Right!” Ironwood called, interrupting him to address the class. “Everyone’s clear on what you’ve got to work on, yes?” He received a chorus of affirmations. “Fantastic. Let’s call it there, then, shall we?” 

No one protested, of course. They all began grabbing their bags, tucking their wands into their pockets, shoving papers where they certainly didn’t belong. 

“Mr. Black,” Ironwood interrupted as Sirius was aiming to do the same. Don’t call me that, he wanted to snap for the millionth time. He turned to see the professor beckoning him over to his desk at the front of the room. 

“Be out in a sec,” Sirius said to James and Peter as they headed out. He made his way over to the professor.

“Not a fan of your name, eh?” Ironwood asked, and Sirius blinked at him. “You’ve got a poor poker face. And I’ll admit, I’m rather oblivious as a person, but I do think I’ve noticed a pattern of disdain whenever I address you as Mr. Black.”

“It’s… not my preference,” Sirius muttered, a very kind way of putting it, to his credit– he was reminding himself that it wasn’t really appropriate to point out to a professor how he had to be fucking blind not to notice how much Sirius hated to be called Black anywhere except the quidditch pitch, the only place where it felt far more like an act of rebellion. 

“I do seem to recall I’ve seen that exact look of disdain on your brother’s face when I call him the same, actually,” Ironwood mused. That made slightly less sense in Sirius’ head, although to be fair, it seemed Regulus had in fact made an effort to put some distance between himself and their parents as well (to Sirius’ surprise). “And even more so when I called him your brother at all. Nearly bit my head off,” he shook his head. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes a little. “If it’s any consolation, professor, I might have done the same,” he pointed out. 

Ironwood laughed. “Ah, well. You and Regulus are…” he trailed off, and Sirius realized he really must have a very bad poker face, because whatever bitterness was simmering in his eyes, it made Ironwood hesitate. “Ah. I sense I may be overstepping. Allow me to put my foot in my mouth.” 

Sirius had never seen someone back out of a dangerous conversation so swiftly, nor so unsubtly. It was almost admirable how quickly he changed the subject. 

“Is Mr. Lupin alright?” Ironwood asked instead.

“He– uh– yes,” Sirius stammered, shaking himself a little. Going from the Black family name to your brother Regulus to Remus’ wellbeing all in a series of perhaps three sentences was giving him whiplash. “He’s alright. He’s, um… sick.” 

“Ah,” Ironwood tutted. “I was told he had an ailment. A muggle disorder, yes?” Sirius nodded. “Must be terribly frustrating, I’m sure. I hope he wasn’t too upset about the window?” 

“Oh. Well, um… Remus tends to worry about things,” Sirius said vaguely. 

“He does seem the type,” Ironwood nodded. 

“I told him he wasn’t in trouble,” Sirius added. “He’s not in trouble, right?” 

“No, no, of course not. Better these things happen in the classroom than out in the world, right?” Ironwood smiled. Sirius found himself smiling back a little.

“Right.” 

“It really is a quick fix, anyhow,” he added, and as if to demonstrate, he waved his wand over his shoulder. 

Trails of sand wove their way up from the floor into the air, sparkling and shifting, coming together to form back into shards, which formed into panes of glass, which fitted themselves neatly into the metal frames of the window, and after a few seconds, it was like nothing had ever happened. Dusky sunlight shone in through warped glass. Sirius blinked. He hadn’t even said a spell. 

“No harm done,” Ironwood smiled, tucking his wand back into his cloak. “I’ll reach out to Mr. Lupin myself to make sure he’s alright and find a time to work on that charm. In the meantime, do try to encourage him not to worry too much about this.” 

“I’ll try,” Sirius nodded.

“Lovely. That’ll be all then, Mr. Bl–” Ironwood caught himself. “Sirius,” he corrected himself. “Do me a favor and give me that look if I get that wrong again, will you? You know the one.” Sirius laughed. 

“Yes, sir,” he nodded again, excusing himself.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t difficult to see the fear in Sirius’ eyes as the year came to a close, if you knew what to look for. 

He got reckless–  more reckless– mouthing off and instigating fights wherever he could. He flew dangerously on the Quidditch pitch, celebrated big, drew attention to himself. He made himself known. He left a mark.

It wasn’t really a far stretch from Sirius’ usual easy recklessness, the type that made him the first one professors turned to when there was trouble. But as the weather got warmer and final exams came and went, that careless persona had an air of urgency behind it. It was like there was something driving him forward, a fire at his heels. He did everything like he was an animal being starved.

Like it was the last time he’d ever have the chance.

And because Remus knew what to look for in the older of the Black brothers, he recognized it when he saw it in the younger of the two as well. One’s dread was a mirror of the other, identical in its weight and only differing in which side of the reflection they were on. Where Sirius was reckless, Regulus was quiet. He kept to himself, avoided people, found small corners to slip away into and dodged the friends that Remus had seen him with earlier in the year. There was an urgency in his avoidance as well, the same as the urgency in Sirius’ recklessness, a paranoia that reflected in the darting of his eyes and the tension in his shoulders.

Not that Remus was looking– or rather, looking specifically. Remus was a people watcher. He really couldn’t be blamed for noticing things like this. And then once James had made his promise to avoid Regulus at all costs, it had strangely made it all the more important that Remus did know where Regulus was, who he was with, where to find him, even if only to dodge him when necessary.

There was a reason for this fear, Remus knew. There had to be something more than what he knew, something more than what Sirius would tell him. But on every occasion that he had tried to bring it up to Sirius, he dismissed it expertly. If his intent was for Remus not to worry, he had sorely missed the mark. Remus watched him even more intently, and Sirius had noticed, and so there was a tension between them that could be cut with a knife– Remus asking nothing about what needed to asked and Sirius saying nothing about what needed to be said. 

Remus had seen this fear before, or some of it. Sirius had made no real attempts to hide the beliefs his parents held nor his disagreement with those ideals. It was no mystery that they didn’t get along, that they fought, that Walburga Black in particular was controlling and harsh and authoritarian. Sirius dreaded going home, and it seemed Regulus did as well. 

Remus had been able to set aside this line of questioning before, though with great difficulty. After the summer, before Christmas, after Christmas– when he saw Sirius’ eyes darken in this same way, when he returned a little more cold, a little more numb, he’d been able to keep this sick curiosity to himself. Sirius didn’t want to talk about it– he didn’t want to talk about any of it, anything that had to do with his family. This was how it had always been.

The year was ending, though, and Remus felt the need to know so strongly that he felt acid in his throat with every passing second. There was no more time. And recently, a terrible idea had entered into his head, and he hadn’t been able to shake it aside. It felt like a loophole, like something that shouldn’t be exploited, something that was selfish to pursue, but even so, it was an opportunity– it was a way to get around this line that had been drawn.

He decided that if he couldn’t get the answer out of the older of the Black brothers, he would have to settle for the next best thing.

“I need to talk to you,” Remus said. 

“No, you don’t,” Regulus replied easily, and tried to step around him. Remus cut him off, an action that surprised both Regulus and Remus himself. He was taller and more imposing, having grown even more over the course of the year, and Regulus had to look up to talk to him– though none of this seemed to calm the fire behind the first year’s eyes. 

“Yes,” Remus insisted, “I do .” Regulus crossed his arms. The hallways weren’t crowded, nearly empty as students packed up their things and made last minute runs to the Great Hall or returned books to the library. There was no more time. Remus lowered his voice anyway, despite the quiet. “It’s about Sirius–” 

“Oh, leave me out of it, will you?” Regulus groaned, rolling his eyes. He leaned against the wall behind him, his jaw tense. 

“It’s important,” Remus said. He didn’t know how to ask what he wanted to ask, only that he needed to. There was no more time. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” 

Remus meant that genuinely. He already felt guilty talking to Regulus at all. Sirius had forbidden James from speaking to him, and Remus knew he hadn’t said such a command to Remus or Peter, but it seemed implied. Regulus was off limits. He was outside of some invisible line, and Remus was stepping past that now. He was stepping past it in more ways than one. It was self destructive and selfish and terrible, but he was already here.

“Oh, don’t want to be seen with a snake , huh?” Regulus snapped. Remus leaned back slightly at that, furrowing his brow.

“What? No,” he shook his head. “You told Sirius to leave you alone. I figured that applied to all of us.” Not a lie– not technically. But it was easier than telling the full truth. 

“Right, sure,” Regulus muttered. The anger he wore seemed like a mask, Remus thought. Something he dawned as soon as he’d been confronted, and something he wasn’t very likely to cast off. And while he’d never say it aloud to Sirius, or to anyone, really, the two of them really were brothers in that regard. “What, then? What do you want?” Remus bit the side of his cheek.

“He doesn’t want to go home,” he said.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Regulus replied as though it was obvious. 

“Why?” 

Regulus looked up at him. His eyes were darker than Sirius’ eyes– still gray, but somehow more shadowed, like they didn’t catch as much light. And it wasn’t even so much that he was looking into Regulus’ eyes but more looking at them, like some sort of object detached from that familiar tension that came with meeting someone’s eyes. It was like an inspection. The more he looked at Regulus, the more he saw of Sirius, and the less as well. This was the first time they’d spoken, Remus realized.

“Why do you think ?” Regulus spat. 

“Your mother,” Remus guessed.

“Smart,” Regulus said. “Maybe they should’ve put you in Ravenclaw, figuring out that mystery.” 

“I knew that already,” Remus shook his head. “But you don’t want to go home either,” he pointed out, and Regulus stared daggers into him. The coldness in his expression told Remus he was right. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Regulus hissed lowly.

“Then tell me,” Remus replied. He kept his voice steady, neutral, trying his best to be clear that he wasn’t picking a fight. If it became a fight, it would be overheard. If it was overheard, it would make its way back to Sirius. 

And honestly, the fact that the idea of that made Remus nervous should have been a much larger hint that this was a bad idea.  

“Piss off,” Regulus said. He moved to try and get around Remus again, but Remus cut him off once more. It was desperate. It felt foreign, absurd to put himself so firmly in front of someone, to do anything but duck to the side and let himself be passed by, but he did it anyway. He needed answers. “Get out of my way, Lupin.” He said his name like a swear. “What goes on in my family is none of your business.”

“What can I do?” Remus asked, and Regulus frowned at him. This was the real question, though, wasn’t it? The important one. The only thing worth asking. “It was like this last year, too. He was afraid.”

“ Afraid ,” Regulus sneered. “Sirius is too much of an idiot to be afraid. If he was afraid , he wouldn’t provoke her like he does. He does everything he can just to paint a target on his back.”

“He wants to be left alone,” Remus said, feeling the need to defend Sirius despite going behind his back. Regulus laughed then, a spiteful laugh, and it was startling.

“ I want to be left alone!” He pointed a finger at his own chest harshly. “ This is how you get left alone. You stay in line. What Sirius is doing is suicide.” 

“What Sirius is doing?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “What is he–”

“All of it!” Regulus huffed. “Hanging out with Potter, associating with you, with all you half-breeds , defending you lot every chance he gets.” When Regulus said half-breeds, it sounded like he was saying a word in a language he didn’t know. It sat awkwardly on his tongue, didn’t fit right between his teeth. “If he wants to be a bloody martyr, he’ll get his wish. There’s only so much damage she can do before she kills him,” he spat. 

There was a silence between them, punctuated only by a door opening and closing with a creak down the hall.

“Damage,” Remus said dumbly, realizing the implications of his words with slow understanding.

“Come off it,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes. “You had to have known.”

“I…” Remus started, but he didn’t know what to say. “She wouldn’t–”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” Regulus cut him off. He looked like he was in pain, then. Like it hurt to say anything, now. “She would. She does.” 

It had clicked into place all of a sudden– the tension Sirius had before he went home, the near tangible relief he had when he came back, the way his eyebrows pinched and his face paled when he got a letter from Walburga. How he held himself so gingerly when he returned. It was more. It was worse. Maybe Remus had known, in a way. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come to Regulus, who was now staring at him expectantly.

“Is–” He had to know. Once he’d started knowing, it was impossible to stop. ”Is it the same for you?” Remus asked carefully, and a new fire lit in the boy’s expression. Regulus pulled his wand, pressing it against Remus’ chest. The magic that coursed through it made his skin feel icy. Remus was too surprised to even say anything, feeling the shock of it vibrate in his chest. There was something so awfully curious about it, and something so strange about how it felt, not quite painful, like the intent to harm wasn’t really there like it had been earlier that year when Mulciber had pressed his wand under Remus’ chin. And yet whatever button he’d pushed here was evidently big and red and dangerous, and Regulus wasn’t afraid to pry Remus’ fingers away from it or break them trying.

“What goes on in my family,” Regulus echoed his earlier statement, his words venomous, “is none of your business. ” Regulus pushed him backwards just by the tip of his wand, and Remus let himself be nudged out of the way. 

"Regulus Black,” McGonagall’s voice boomed from down the hall. It made both of them jump. “I must be imagining things, because it looks like you've got your wand drawn on a fellow student.” Regulus ground his teeth, tucking his wand into his pocket again. 

“Of course not, professor,” he replied over his shoulder. To Remus, he lowered his voice. “Leave. Me. Alone . I’m not saying it again.” He turned on his heel and walked down the corridor, his cloak sweeping the ground behind him. Remus watched him. His skin still felt cold. And for some reason, all he could think about was how different that magic felt from Sirius’. Sirius burned. Regulus froze. And they were both afraid.

McGonagall watched Regulus with skeptical eyes as he passed, but he hardly acknowledged her. She raised her eyebrows at Remus, but Remus couldn’t really bring himself to say anything, so he just forced an awkward smile in her direction, straightening his shirt and turning to walk the other direction. 

So now he knew. 

Though he didn’t know what difference it would make. If he told Sirius what Regulus had told him, Sirius would likely wring his brother’s neck. And Remus’ neck. Or actually, Remus knew he wouldn’t lay a hand on Remus at all. He’d go cold, and he’d stop talking to him, and he’d avoid him, and that was worse. That would be infinitely worse. As he walked back to the tower, the acid didn’t leave his throat. Knowing did nothing. Knowing meant nothing. 

Remus found himself darkly curious– curious to know exactly what went down in the Black household, curious to know what Sirius did to incur such wrath, curious to know how exactly it had happened that both of the brothers, who carried themselves so boldly, so fearlessly, came to dread going somewhere so simple as home.

And this was what was so dangerous and destructive about curiosity, because it led him to places like this. It led him to knowing, and it led him to seeking, and it led him to lying. And it led him with nowhere to turn, now.

That acidic tension stayed with Remus as he climbed the staircase, growing with each step until he reached the top. Gryffindor tower was practically empty, but when he entered their room, James was quietly folding clothes into his trunk. He looked up at Remus, but when his smile faltered, Remus knew his face betrayed how he felt. There was a hurricane in his head, and it was swirling behind his eyes, and James knew him too well not to see it.

“Remus?” James asked, and Remus realized there was no point in subtlety. 

“Sirius isn’t safe going home,” Remus said bluntly. The words burned when he said them. His face felt hot. James stared at him for a moment and then his eyes widened. 

“You know, too?” He asked. Remus’ stomach dropped.

“You already knew?” he asked in return. 

“Since just after last Christmas,” James nodded. 

Remus felt a spark of anger in his chest– he wanted to feel betrayed. How could you? he’d say, how could you let him go home? How could you let him go if you knew? But what was James supposed to do? He was a kid. They were all kids. How could you not tell me? How could you know and not tell me? Why wouldn’t he tell me? Why did he think he couldn’t tell me?

“How do you know?” James asked. He’d dropped his clothes, abandoning whatever he was packing.

“Regulus,” Remus replied, strained. All of the pieces came together now to create something terrible, and regret was beginning to pool like tar in his stomach. James could offer his soul to Sirius, and it meant the world. Remus could offer him nothing, and so instead he borrowed from somewhere else, and this is where it led him– to stealing little pieces of knowledge from places that weren’t his to poke his head into, to crossing lines, to lying and lying and lying.

James always knew exactly what to say. Exactly what to do. Remus didn’t. When Remus tried, when he really tried, this was how it went. 

He didn’t have it in him to lie, now. Not to James. Not if he was asked. It wasn’t a lie, really, if he kept it to himself and no one brought it up, but he’d already told so many lies that adding another felt like torture when it was so blatant. But where was the line? Was there a line? He didn’t know.

“ Regulus?” James asked incredulously. “Why’s Regulus talking to you?” 

“He’s not,” Remus shook his head.

“You went to him?” James gawked. Remus winced, and that was all the confirmation James needed. “Remus, how could you– you can’t–” he stammered, running a hand through his hair tensely. “Moony, if Sirius finds out–”

“I know,” Remus shook his head, cutting him off. “I know, okay? I just– They’re both…” Remus dug his nails into his palms. “He’s afraid to go home as well.” James frowned, looking down, and they were both quiet for a moment. “They’re both afraid. They’re both– Sirius is–” he couldn’t make himself say anything that needed to be said, because he didn’t know what needed to be said. He felt sick. “I don’t– I don’t know what to do .” Remus felt something sharp building in his throat and swallowed it down, but it just came back again. 

“Remus–” James started, but Remus folded at the waist like he’d been gutted, wiping his palms furiously over his eyes as the feeling swelled so strongly he wondered if he’d explode. He crouched down, sitting on the ground with his back up against the bed and tucking his chin against his arms.

“What do we do?” His voice shook. He hated it. It wasn’t about him. He pressed his face into the sleeves of his cloak. “What do I do?” There was a long silence, and Remus heard James moving slowly towards him.

“It’ll be alright,” James murmured, crouching down on the ground in front of him. “It’s only a few months, and then we’ll all be back together.” 

“Months,” Remus echoed helplessly. “And then what?” he asked, his voice muffled. “They do that every year for the next five years?” James said nothing. “What if it gets worse? What if– what if he doesn’t come back? What if she sends him away, or– Regulus said he was gonna get himself killed–”

“Remus, you’re spiraling here,” James said calmly, his voice steady. “Breathe.” He hadn’t realized he was holding so much tension in his chest, but it felt impossible to release. 

“I don’t know what to do ,” Remus said again, shaking his head. 

“They won’t pull him out of school,” James said steadily, confidently, and Remus wanted to demand to know how he could be so sure. “Sirius has told us a thousand times, the Blacks are obsessed with their image. It wouldn’t look good for them if their heir suddenly vanished from public view. Okay?” Remus nodded numbly, but the word vanish rattled around in his head. “And we’ll make sure he’s okay while he’s here. We’ll make sure he knows he’s safe with us.” 

“Okay,” Remus mumbled. 

“Okay,” James echoed, and then sighed. “Look, it’s– it’ll be alright. We’ll figure it out. Right now, we just… we just have to be here.” 

“Okay,” Remus said again. It felt like nothing, but there was nothing more, and so this was it. Wait. Be here. Be the same. Which meant that Remus had crossed the darkest line Sirius had ever drawn for nothing.

James let out a slow breath and moved to sit next to Remus, placing his back against the bed frame as well. They sat like that for a moment. James was an inch or two from him, but Remus could still feel the magic around him. It was more dense, sort of foggy, an ache in his bones where Sirius’ was like a burn of embers, where Regulus’ was cold and freezing. The weight of it was comforting in that moment, Remus realized.

There were moments like these when he realized he’d shied away from this feeling for so long, he didn’t expect it to be anything but painful.

They sat there for a while, neither of them moving, Remus breathing slowly with his head ducked into his arms and James waiting patiently beside him. Neither of them knew what to say because there was nothing left to say, despite how little had already been said. Remus wasn’t sure how he was supposed to just go home now. 

The knowing was the worst part, Remus had decided. He’d decided that long ago. The knowing and the not knowing . It was an impossible helplessness. He was too curious for his own good. Selfishly and self destructively curious, consumed by it and detesting it at the same time. All he could do was wait and hope Sirius had the self preservation to come back to them safely come September. 

Some time later, James shifted slightly, and Remus realized how long they’d been sitting there silently with each other. 

“We should pack,” James said. Remus picked his head up, and the world seemed a little too bright. “Otherwise the trunks will be taken down and all our stuff will still be here,” he added lightheartedly.

“Right,” Remus said numbly. James stood and offered him a hand to help him up as well. Remus looked at it for a moment. 

He wondered what it was exactly that made magic feel the way it did for him. 

It clearly wasn’t the same for anyone else from the way they acted with each other, sharing hugs and handshakes and bumping into each other in the halls like it was nothing. Remus’ father had told him that others with his affliction were drawn to magic, being magical creatures themselves, and that he’d be able to sense it. That was why it was safer to live among muggles. That, and the fact that despite muggles’ skeptical nature, they wouldn’t be able to identify the patterns in behavior that Remus presented as indicative of his specific problem. But sometimes it felt like more than that.

There were rare occasions when the feeling was bearable, though, he’d been realizing– when he was prepared for it, or when he was far between moons, or even sometimes when the jolt would bring him back to reality and remind him of where he was.

And there were even more rare occasions, he realized now, that he craved it.

He took James’ hand and felt his magic, a thrumming in the thin bones of his fingers like plucking a steel string wound too tight. And then alongside that, he felt the warmth of his skin, the smoothness of his palm, the steadiness of his grip. 

James hauled him to his feet, patting the side of his arm reassuringly, and then let go. The feeling faded. Remus stood still for a second, trying to trace it as it traveled weakly up his arm and into his shoulder before vanishing sometime before it got to his ribs. He wanted to apologize, or say thank you, or say anything, but he couldn’t. Whatever understanding he and James shared, now, it was unnamable. But it was there.

He turned, walked to his trunk, and packed.

Chapter Text

Greetings from Sweden!

Remus, you’d love it here. It’s all forests and lakes and mountains and nature– my parents are dragging us to every trail and hike they can find. Muggles really love to ride bicycles, don’t they? Mum and dad tried to get us to learn how to use them, but it’s honestly harder than flying if I’m being honest, and it hurts much more when you fall, which I didn’t think was possible. At least a broom doesn’t fall on top of you as well.

I sent chocolates with this postcard, so I hope they haven’t melted. They’re called Kex, which I thought was funny because it sounds like hex. Doubt that was intentional. 

Hope summer is treating you well!

Peter

***

Dear James,

I got a postcard from Peter, but mum won’t let me send Agatha all the way to Sweden because she thinks she’ll get too tired. If you send him something back, can you tell him thanks for the sweets? They were great. Did he send you the same ones? They were called Kex (which sounds like hex. Peter thought that was funny).

I think my mum really missed having me home. Somehow, I still haven’t run out of stories to tell her from school. She loves hearing about all the mischief you and Sirius get up to, and when I told her I wasn’t getting into any trouble, she told me to “live a little” if you can believe that. 

Maybe I’ll have to up my game this year…

Remus

***

Remus,

I’ve never been happier to hear that you want to get in trouble! But I feel that I should remind you that most of the Marauders’ antics are, in fact, almost entirely your idea. Take a little credit, mate. We can’t steal all the glory.

Oh, and Mr. Weasley wants to know what the difference is between a gas stove and an electric stove. I told him probably the gas and electricity, but he didn’t think that sounded right.

All my best,

James

***

Moony,

You’ll never believe it, but Narcissa is helping me send letters out this summer. Apparently, she and her mum had a big fight on account of her dating this Malfoy bloke, and my mum took her mum’s side because get this– they had apparently gone and agreed to an arranged marriage with some other family (who's no doubt related to us somehow… honestly, Moons, you should see how many branches connect on this family tree…) so now she’s mad at the lot of them… couldn’t care less, of course, boy drama and all that, but it means I get to actually talk to people. 

Mum’s been all on Regulus’ case, almost more than she’s on mine. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to give her a reason to disown me and name him heir instead. Merlin, that sounds so ridiculous– “heir.” What are we, a royal family? I’m sure she’d love to think so. 

Summer’s pretty boring here, all in all, but there’s more people in and out recently. Keeps my parents distracted, at least. Maybe if they throw a dinner party, things could get interesting…

Wish I could come and visit. It’s bloody dull. 

Sirius

P.S. If you send letters back, address them to Narcissa. If you’re feeling cheeky, you could put little hearts all around and make her mum think she’s got admirers. 

***

Lily,

If you were to name the weirdest wizard invention you’ve ever seen… what would it be?

Remus and James are messing with a friend of the Potters’ trying to explain how all these muggle things work, and it’s got me thinking, are there things that muggle-born witches and wizards think are ridiculous that non-muggle borns think are totally normal? Surely this is a two way street. I’m sure we’ve got our own absurd inventions we’ve made for very simple tasks.

Go on, give it your worst. 

Hope summer is treating you well,

Sirius

(P.S. If you want to write back, address it to Narcissa Black. That’s my cousin. It’s a long story… but she’s helping me send letters this summer. Just don’t write directly to me. That’s the important bit.)

***

James,

Tell Mr. Weasley that electric stoves are powered by little mice that run on wheels creating energy under the floorboards. I think that would be funny. I’ve attached a diagram for your viewing pleasure. 

Remus

***

Sirius,

Oh my god, there’s a million. Wizards make the most complicated solutions to the world’s easiest problems. Quills?? To name one?? You’ve got the quill itself, and then the pot of ink, but oh, you need to enchant the pot so it doesn’t run out, or enchant the quill so it doesn’t break, and cut it at the right angle, and it’s got to be made in a specific way from some specific bird… christ, just use a pen! Ball point, ever heard of them? Fantastic. 

And how about all the floating candles and lanterns everywhere? Is there genuinely no electricity at school? How much easier would it be to just put a lamp in our dorms instead of enchanting the sheets not to catch fire? 

Oh, or how come all the money is coins and not paper? No one thought about how heavy that would all get? Or how loud?

And how come everyone and their mother has got a years’ supply of pumpkin juice but no one ever has a can of soda???

Have you ever had a coke? It’s like– well I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s coke. Dad’s addicted to the stuff. Which is funny, because– wait, are there wizard drugs? Because coke is like… a muggle drug. But is there, like… magic coke? 

I’ll bring a few cans of coke with me to school, how’s that? 

Regular coke. Soda. 

Not the drug. 

Obviously. 

Sincerely,

Lily

***

Narcissa, if you’re reading this, hope you’re well… please deliver this to Sirius. I appreciate your help.

Sirius,

I’d tell you to be careful, but I don’t think it would do much, would it? 

Come back in one piece. Please. 

I wish you could visit, too– though I don’t think you’d find my summer much more interesting than yours. We do a lot of reading here. I’m still going on runs, which honestly I think you’d enjoy if you gave it a chance. I know you don’t like waking up early, but it could be fun together. I don’t think James could tear himself away from those voluntary Quidditch practices, and Peter isn’t a functional person until at least noon. 

Here’s something fun to think about– I told James to tell his dad’s friend that muggle stoves are powered by mice running on wheels in the floorboards. You should help me come up with some more things to tell him. 

Try to stay sane.

Moony

***

Moony,

Tell him about microwaves. You don’t even have to lie. Just tell him about them.

Weirdest muggle shit I’ve ever heard of.

Sirius

P.S. No promises… 

***

Remus,

The diagram was very helpful. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed that hard. You had my mum convinced as well, but I think she caught on after she saw that the mice were wearing little hats and ties.

I don’t know if your dad tells you anything about his work at the Ministry– but I overheard my parents talking about how there’s more purebloods spouting that “superior beings” crap in the news lately. I know you said you moved to a magic neighborhood last summer. Hope you’re not feeling that attitude too much. Wizards can be weird about muggles sometimes. I’m sure you know more than the rest of us. Seems Sirius is also catching wind of that from his family, as well. Ridiculous, all of it. 

In any case, Mr. Weasley seems to have an appreciation for the muggle contributions to the world, so we’ve got him at least. 

Best,

James

***

Remus,

Sorry, got your second letter just after I sent that last one. I’m sure Sirius is fine. He just messes around and makes jokes like that. You know how he is. 

I don’t think he would have said it if he knew you knew how his mum really was.

And… well, mate, if I’m being honest, I think you should tell him that you know. You don’t have to tell him how… frankly, I’m not quite sure how to broach that particular subject, but… I don’t know. It’s important. He doesn’t like secrets. And I don’t think you like them either, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite for not telling you, either, but I promised him I wouldn’t. It's all very convoluted, isn't it? 

This is just going to make things complicated when we get back, is all I’m saying. I know this is all stuff you know, I just… I don’t know. Think about it, alright? 

Best,

James

***

James,

I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do. I know you’re right, but every time I try to write to him now, I just can’t. He made one joke, and now I can’t write back to him without saying something, but I also can’t just say something because I don’t know what I can say at all. 

Is this all it takes? One joke and I can't be the same anymore?

What do I say? How do I say it? And now it’s been so long, I bet he thinks I’m avoiding replying to him or something, which– I don’t know, maybe I am, but it’s not intentional. 

Mum says that I should just be honest, and that I was just trying to help, but now I’m realizing I shouldn’t have told her, either– but I tell her everything, I don’t know how to keep things from her, it just doesn’t work. 

I shouldn’t have ever asked. It wasn’t my place. I’ve gone and messed everything up.

He’ll hate me when he finds out.

Remus

***

Moony,

Thought of another muggle thing you should tell James’ dad’s friend about. Electric kettles. You lot already figured out fire, and then you had to go and get rid of it just to make things more complicated, and then, what, you wind up at the same spot as before? 

Does he know what electricity is? 

Maybe start there, actually. 

Sirius

***

Remus,

Sirius would never hate you. 

Look, what if I helped? I could just tell him that I think you’ve figured it out for yourself, on your own. That you asked me about it or something, or that you said something in a letter. And I’m just giving him a heads up, that’s all. 

I don’t know. It’s better than a whole lie. But you’ve got to talk to him about it yourself.

Just let me know how I can help. I know it’s hard. He’s alright. He might be upset, but he’ll know you were just trying to help.

Best,

James

***

James,

I think I might’ve offended our Moony. I told him he should tell your dad’s friend about microwaves, and then electric kettles, but now I’m realizing I called it “muggle shit” and I said “you lot,” which… I dunno. Is that offensive? I don’t think muggle stuff is “shit,” I was just trying to say… well… “stuff.” And I wasn’t trying to imply Remus was a muggle. But also, I don’t think he’d mind if I did? But maybe it was rude to poke fun… oh, I don’t know. I just haven’t heard from him in a minute. Maybe I need to be more careful about all this. Don’t want my parents to rub off on me. 

Christ, wouldn’t that be terrible.

Sirius

***

Sirius,

I’m not sure how else to say it, so I’ll just say it– I think Remus has figured out a bit more about your family than he’s let on. About your mother. Or, I suppose, about the things she’s done. I didn’t tell him, of course, but I just wanted you to know he knows. He might talk to you about it. 

Just let him know you’re alright, yeah? He worries. 

Best,

James