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Chapter Text

The staircase at 12, Grimmauld Place, London, is old, and creaks like a boggart in a closet, and doesn’t allow for sneaking around, unless you’re prepared to cling to the wall and inch your way down three stories practically tiptoeing on the skirting board at snail’s pace to soften the transfer of your weight downward, and all without disturbing a single portrait. Or decapitated house elf, for that matter. Sirius Orion Black, eleven years old, pernicious, incorrigible, and a bad influence on his little brother, is prepared to do most any ridiculous thing at any given time. He is, however, caught by Kreacher on the first floor and is therefore entirely unsuccessful in his goal.

He gets yelled at for it, and his mother cracks his fingers open on the banister. It happens so quickly he almost doesn’t believe it has happened, except for the shape of fractured white bone etched onto the backs of his eyelids. She fixes them quickly, but the pain still haunts him. The clean snap of bone. Regulus watches from the floor above, nine and half in shadow.

Sirius glowers at Kreacher and clutches at his fingers, trying to stop them from shaking. He’s lucky that his mother fixed his fingers full stop, given what a tizzy everyone is in- Andromeda’s getting married to Rodolphus Lestrange in three weeks, and the Black household is a sort of hellish whirlwind of wedding preparation.

‘What were you even trying to do?’ Regulus asks, leaning forward to watch their mother storm down the stairs.

“I just wanted to say goodbye to Andie. I’m leaving in a week, you know,” Sirius replies, turning to scowl at Walburga’s retreating form. Regulus’ eyes flatten to stone, and he moves back, into the shadows of his doorway.

“Obviously I know.” Sirius glances towards his brother and softens, leaning over to tuck Regulus into his side.

“you’ll be fine without me; I know you will.”

“Siri-“

“I’m the troublemaker, remember? You’re the golden boy here.” Sirius laughs, softly. “I can never stop myself from fighting with her, but you’ve got that natural knack for survival. You’re not like me, you know better than to throw yourself off a cliff just to spite her.”

“I’m still standing on the cliff edge.” Regulus turns his face into Sirius’ shoulder to hide the tear that snakes its way down his face.

“Then enjoy the sea breeze while you’re there. And- and you can look up at the night sky, whenever you get lonely, and I’ll be there, ok?’

Regulus buries himself in his brother’s chest, shaking silently.

“And in two years, you can join me at Hogwarts. Two years isn’t that long, really. We can play on the quidditch team together, that will be fun, won’t it?” Regulus nods, slightly, and Sirius manages a shaky smile for him.

“What if you get new friends your own age and you’re too cool to hang out with your little brother”, Regulus whispers, and Sirius tilts his jaw up to look him solemnly in the eye.

“I will never be too cool for my little brother.”

Sirius does get to say goodbye to Andromeda, though it’s rushed, and Bellatrix is glaring at them the whole time.

“what’s her deal?” he asks, and Andie smiles tightly and does this little shake of her head.

“Just middle chid jealousy.”

Bellatrix is sitting on the stairs, Andromeda above her on the landing. Sirius stands beneath them both in the hallway- Andie seems far away, in more ways than one. She doesn’t look well, pale and drawn, knuckles tight against the stair railing.

“You’ll love Hogwarts” she says, the light reaching her eyes this time, and he grins up at her- he’ll miss Regulus, and probably spend half his time worrying about him, but-

Hogwarts. Freedom. Sirius Orion Black, pernicious, incorrigible, and a bad influence on his little brother, is going to Hogwarts.

“It’s not cool, Lily, it’s weird. Weird and wrong, and, and, freaky, like your weird friend”

“Severus isn’t weird, Petunia!”

“Yes! Yes, he is weird! He has no friends and he’s miserable and he doesn’t like me because he wants you to be lonely and miserable like he is!”

“He doesn’t like you because you’re mean, Tuney!”

“You think you’re so special just because you can make strange things happen, but you’re not special, Lily, you’re a freak.”

“So what if I’m a freak? You’re jealous of my freakiness”

“I am not”

“You are! Severus says-“

“Oh, Severus says? Severus doesn’t know anything about me!”

“Tuney-“

“Go away. GO AWAY, Lily. Go and play with your freak powers and your freak friend.”

Lily Evans turns up to platform nine and three quarters with her parents, a wand, an owl, a trunk full of clothes and books and parchment, and her best friend.

Sirius Orion Black turns up with all that, minus one best friend and plus one sibling. They pass each other on the platform at one point, Lily looking around in wonder, Sirius hurrying onto the train and out of the watchful gaze of his mother.

Lily and Severus find a compartment together- there’s someone else there already, a small boy, asleep and hunched into the window, a faded, jagged scar cutting harshly across his drawn face. Severus sneers- “already asleep, and the train hasn’t even started moving. That’s a Hufflepuff if I’ve ever seen one.”

Lily frowns.

“don’t be so quick to judge, Severus, that’s not nice. I’m sure it’s not Lupin’s fault that he’s tired.”

Severus turns to her, startled.

“Wh- how do you know his name?” Lily raises an eyebrow, and points to the trunk above the boy’s head, which reads ‘R. J. Lupin’. Severus gets that look on his face that he sometimes gets, when he realises he’s not the smartest person in the room. Lily giggles at him- much to his chagrin- before drawing him into a conversation about potions to smooth his frown.

James Fleamont Potter does not pass either of them on the platform, because in his excitement to finally get to Hogwarts he forgets his owl and his trunk, so his father has to apparate home to get them, and James very nearly misses the train and barrels into a compartment at the last moment. He grins broadly at the other occupants, two boys his age, as he collapses in a seat, struggling for breath.

“Hey! I’m James Potter, it’s great to meet you.”

“Peter Pettigrew. It’s nice to meet you, too” One of the boys says- short, and blonde, in muggle clothes- shooting a timid smile back to James.

“I’m Sirius. Black.” Says the other- he looks like a Black, all porcelain skin and guarded, flinty eyes. James jolts, turning his entire body towards him in surprise.

“Black? And you’re not moving to get away from a Potter? Seriously?” Peter’s eyes flicker between them, anxious. Sirius smiles wryly.

“I think you’ll find I’m always Sirius.”

James cackles, delighted.

Chapter Text

Remus John Lupin is independent.

That’s what all his primary school teachers say on his reports. His father is pleased to see it, or at least Remus thinks he is. He barely glances at the report- not because he doesn’t care, he’s just a very busy person, he can’t afford to be wasting his time on Remus, especially since Remus is so difficult anyway- but he nods and pats him on the head when Remus points out the bit that says ‘independent’, and Remus lives on the golden high of that head pat for days.

So maybe Remus is a monster, but he is independent, which is a good quality, and not at all like being a monster. Miss Anders, his teacher, says so, and she knows about most everything except magic- she doesn’t know about wizards.  Miss Anders thinks Remus is better than he is, because she doesn’t know that he’s a monster, but she thinks that Remus is very good, and surely that means he must be a little bit good.

So, Remus Lupin may be a monster, but he’s independent, and he does well in school, and he’s not at all clumsy. If he weren’t a monster, he’d be doing better than Micheal who sits at his table in English and never pays attention. The only thing his teachers ever complain about is his monthly absences, which really just shows that being a monster is Remus’ only downfall.

Well, Miss Anders is also worried that he doesn’t have any friends but- but-

That’s not because Remus can’t make friends, he’s just decided not to, because his dad says that no one wants to be friends with a monster, and if his dad says so, then he must be right. He wouldn’t do that to his classmates.

He’s not really sure where he’s going for secondary school. Everyone else seemed to know where they were going, except Remus. He asked his dad, once, but his dad just waved him off, and Remus knows better than to bother him with trivial things. So it’s March, and Remus is trying to swallow the painful twist he gets in his stomach every time someone asks him a question he doesn’t know the answer to, and the letter arrives.

It comes by owl, not in the post, which is unusual, and therefore interesting. And then Remus reads the front of it, and it says Remus Lupin, all fancy and handwritten.

He doesn’t know what it could possibly be. Maybe it’s the Ministry. Maybe they want to lock him up, for being a monster. He gets that painful twist in his stomach again, and his hands start to shake.

Except- it’s thick and heavy, on expensive parchment, and there’s a fancy symbol in the wax seal.

He puts the letter down on the kitchen table. Spends ten minutes pacing, trying to decide whether or not to open it. Eventually, he decides to wait for his father to get home from work, and ask him what to do. He gives up after six hours, steals some bread to curb his hunger, and neatly slits it open with the letter opener his father keeps in his desk.

Inside, there are three pieces of paper and a train ticket.

The first piece of paper is an invitation to attend Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, the second is an equipment list, and the third is a letter from Headmaster Dumbledore telling him that arrangements have been made for his ‘condition’, and that he should not let his ‘unique circumstances’ prevent him from accessing the finest magical education in Britain.

Remus sits down heavily, head spinning.

His father is as shocked as Remus is. At least, Remus thinks he is- Lyall Lupin is a hard man to read. But he stares at the letter for a long time in silence. Eventually, he nods.

“Train leaves on the fifth.” He says, and Remus stiffens. That’s two days after the full moon.

“You can follow this list yourself,” says his father, consideringly, and Remus stands up straighter, suddenly, dangerously, hopeful. Remus John Lupin is independent.

“You can go down to London early- if you get there at nine you should be able to get a few books and a wand and get to Kings Cross in time.”

Remus can hardly breathe. He thinks he might be dreaming. Hogwarts. Magic.

He doesn’t let himself think about it through the end of school and into the summer holidays. Miss Anders asks him where he’s going to secondary school, and he can’t stop himself from beaming when he tells her he’s going to a boarding school.

“It’s very exclusive,” he says quickly, suddenly realising she’s a muggle, “You probably haven’t heard of it.” She looks surprised.

“Oh, I didn’t know that your father-“

“My mother went there.” Remus says, fingers shaking with the impossibility of it all, and Miss Ander’s face goes soft and sympathetic in the way teacher’s faces have always, when he mentions his mother.

He spends the whole of summer ignoring the hope on the horizon- there’s this fear, tucked into the back of his throat, that if he’s too excited about it, it might be snatched away. He doesn’t think about it at all, the weekend before school will start, because he’s too busy being in pain hurts moon wolf hurts help hurts silver dark moon help.

And then it’s the fifth of September. When his alarm goes off at three thirty am, he’s confused and annoyed and in pain, and then he remembers. Hogwarts. Magic.  

He makes a sandwich for his lunch, and scoops up the envelope of money his father has left him, a strange mix of magic and muggle- pounds for the trains, galleons for the magic. Hogwarts. Magic. It’s a whispered chant that keeps him awake through the two-hour journey to Swansea, and then through the three-and-a-half-hour journey from Swansea to London, then through Diagon Alley and robes and books (he stares longingly at the shelves full of knowledge, but knows that he has neither the time nor the money). A few shop employees crack jokes about him leaving school shopping a bit late, and he just smiles tightly. The clerk at Flourish and Blots, and the clerk at the apothecary both ask where his parents are, and Remus tilts his head up proudly and says, “I’m very independent.” They both laugh indulgently, and the clerk at the apothecary tells him to let his parents know to keep his ingredients the right way up. Remus is carrying his own ingredients, and his father, as a wizard, already knows this, but he supposes that he does look muggle born, what with his worn t-shirt and jeans.

Ollivander knows that he is a werewolf, and Remus’ heart near stops. Ollivander hands him the wand, and says “Cypress- strong, and durable, extremely resistant to decay. And the unicorn hair core is extremely consistent- you will make a fine wizard. Lycanthropy tends to breed resilience.”

And with that he disappears into the back room, leaving Remus standing in the shop, clutching his new wand in shaking hands.  

He hurries to the train, terrified of being late, and ends up early instead, so he slumps down in an empty compartment, the exhaustion of the early start and the lingering pain of the full moon catching up to him. He heaves his trunk above him, now heavy with books, and then falls asleep

He’s awoken with a shake to his shoulder- a redhead girl, with intelligent green eyes.

“Are you awake? We’re at Hogsmeade, now.” He looks up, groggy, and it is indeed dark. He missed lunchtime. Waste of a sandwich.

“Come on, Lily”, says a tall, dark haired boy hovering at the entrance to the compartment, and Remus staggers to his feet, ribs throbbing. The wolf hurt them on the full moon, he thinks. He doesn’t remember the moons, or the days after- it’s just sort of blurry.

Lily helps him get his trunk down, and he follows her off the train. They’re shepherded towards small boats by a large, booming man, and Lily huffs, annoyed, as she is separated from her scowling friend. They end up on a boat with Remus and three other boys, two of which are already chatting animatedly.

He makes brief eye contact with the third boy, who gives him a nervous smile, and Remus looks away quickly.

Remus thinks he still might be dreaming as Hogwarts- Hogwarts. Magic- comes into view, glittering above the water. Even the other boys are silenced by the sight of it, grandiose and immense, a thousand windows glimmering with candlelight across the lake. They sit in the quiet for a moment, awed.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” asks one of the boys as they start to dock and other students start chattering again, and another boy sighs.

“I’m a Black. I’ll be Slytherin.”

“I’m sorry,” replies his friend genuinely, and the other boy shakes his head.

“It’s better than the alternative. I’m already enough of a problem as it is.”

“My friend Severus is going to be a Slytherin.” Lily announces proudly as she climbs out of the boat, and the first boy scoffs.

“Well, your friend Severus sounds like a right tosser.” Lily straightens, inhaling sharply, and storms off.

Remus watches her go, glances to the boys, and glances back to the direction she left in.

They file into the great hall slowly, amid awed chatter. Remus would be staring, entranced, at the sky, if were not for the twist in his stomach telling him that Professor McGonagall could- and probably will- proclaim him a werewolf and throw him out. No one wants to be around a monster. He hides his shaking hands in his robes and focuses his attention forward to the sorting.

They get through the A’s quickly, and when ‘Black, Sirius’, is called the boy from the boat steps forward, face set as if being led to the gallows.

Chapter Text

Sirius Black isn’t a hat stall. It’s not a long deliberation, not a drawn out question, where could Sirius Black possibly belong?

The hat just pauses for a second, and then yells ‘GRYFFINDOR’

Sirius freezes. So does the entirety of the Gryffindor table, and Narcissa and Bellatrix, sat at the Slytherin table. He takes the hat off, hands it to McGonagall, and walks over to sit at Gryffindor table in a daze. One of the prefects starts a polite clap that the rest of the hall slowly echoes.

He shoots a look to Narcissa, and then quickly looks away again when he sees the barely concealed horror in her eyes, the white knuckled grip she has on Malfoy’s sleeve. Sirius casts his eyes down to the old wood of the table- he doesn’t really know, what this will mean. ‘Evans, Lily’, the redhead from the boat, joins him next, staring longingly after her friend. She’s followed by ‘Lupin, Remus’, another familiar face from the boat. He’s tiny, and minutely shaking.

When the hat is lowered onto his head, Remus is half expecting it to call out ‘Werewolf’ and send him home. It doesn’t.

A thirst for knowledge, it says, hemming, and loyalty- my, there is great loyalty in you. You’re made of sturdy stuff, aren’t you.

Remus doesn’t feel sturdy. He feels small and fragile and his ribs are still in pain.

Perhaps in Ravenclaw you would find your place- you would do well, I’m sure, surrounded by academics, your people. But would you reach your full potential? Would you simply retreat into this shell you have. Hufflepuff has the same problem, I fear.

Hmm. What to do, what to do. Cunning, certainly. Courageous, no doubt in it.

Remus has doubt in it.

The hat doesn’t say anything for a long time. There are whispers, in the great hall, and the other first years waiting shuffle awkwardly.

Maybe Remus doesn’t belong anywhere. Maybe this is when they finally send him home. But eventually, the hat opens its mouth, and proclaims ‘GRYFFINDOR.’ He takes the hat off quickly to applause, and Lily smiles at him from the table. He walks over to sit beside her with shaking legs.

The rest of the sorting happens quickly, Remus still in a daze. When the food finally arrives, Remus is starving to the point of nausea - he hasn’t eaten all day. He mostly just eats potatoes, plain and hot. The other first years around him are loud, introducing themselves- James is delighted to be in the same house as Sirius, who seems to shake off his uncertainty and draws Peter into conversation with them. Peter manages to make a few jokes that have them all cackling, and Remus just silently nibbles at potatoes, overwhelmed. Lily, beside them, is gazing longingly at her Slytherin friend, until Marlene pulls her into introductions with the other girls.

Remus can’t help but feel a little lonely. You’re a monster, he reminds himself. It’s not fair to make friends with people who don’t know that you’re a monster. They don’t want to be friends with a monster.

McGonagall pulls him away from the other Gryffindors after the sorting, and they watch him go curiously. She is silent as they walk, so Remus is too, heart in his throat. They finally arrive at what is clearly the hospital wing, and McGonagall gestures to a woman who has come out of the office at the far end of the room.

“Mr. Lupin, I wanted to introduce you to Poppy Pomfrey, our Medi-witch here at Hogwarts. She’ll be helping you, after the full moons.”

Remus stares at her, wide eyed, as she smiles down at him. No one has ever helped him, after a full moon.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you”, she says, still smiling calmly at him. No one has ever smiled to meet a werewolf.

“A- and you,” he manages to spit out, and McGonagall seems satisfied.

“You’ll come down to the hospital wing before the full moon every month,” she says, “I trust you keep track yourself.” He nods.

“Poppy will take you to the place we have arranged for you, during the full moon, and collect you afterwards.” Remus shivers- he doesn’t like to think of where he goes during full moons, the rest of the month. Maybe it will be a bigger space, at Hogwarts- they certainly have more space here, than he does at home. The wolf would like that, he thinks.

McGonagall takes him to Gryffindor tower and directs him to his dorm. Some of the older years still in the common room stare at him curiously, gazes prickling at the back of his neck.

There are four to a dorm room, and Remus ends up with Sirius, Peter and James. The bed left is the one furthest from the door, next to where Sirius has scattered his belongings. He draws the curtains, trying to separate himself from the panic and stress that has been this day.

“That Lupin’s an odd fellow,” he hears Sirius remark. You have no idea, he thinks. He’s not tired, too wired up from the sorting, and Hogwarts, magic, so he fishes a few textbooks out from his trunk. Eventually, when the other boys have all long since gone quiet, Remus finally falls asleep, a copy of his potions textbook lying open next to him.

Secretly, Sirius is delighted to be in Gryffindor. Peter’s nice, James is brilliant, and Lupin hasn’t said a word, but he’s not outright mean and he’s got a wicked scar. And he likes the idea of being a Gryffindor. He likes the idea of being courageous, and chivalrous, and to have his friends backs, to not have to worry about lies and backstabbing.

That doesn’t mean he’s not bloody terrified.

I’m not sure when you’ll hear the news, he writes to Regulus. I’m sure Bella’s already written mother. Vindictive witch. It’s probably not going to be great, back at home. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.

With love, your brother.

He doodles a little diagram of Canis Major, and puts little dashes around Sirius.

He gets a howler for breakfast the next morning, which must be a record. Who gets a howler on the first day of school? He’s able to tune out his mother’s rant- he’s had plenty of practice. It’s mostly predictable, anyway, all ‘A DISGRACE TO THE MOST NOBLE AND ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK’ and ‘HOW COULD YOU DO THIS NOW, WITH YOUR COUSIN’S WEDDING SO SOON.’ It’s not exactly like he had a choice, here, and they were the ones who chose to have Andromeda married in September.

James and Peter keep shooting him pitying looks, but Lupin is just staring at the howler, pale.

“What is that,” says the redhead- Evans, shellshocked, as the howler sets itself alight. Muggle born, then. Maybe he’ll become her best friend, just to be spiteful.

“It’s a howler,” says a Slytherin with black hair hanging heavily over his face, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere. “Wizarding parents send them to their children when they’ve done something terrible.” The look on his face implies he thinks that being sorted into Gryffindor does constitute as something terrible- despite Evan’s own sorting.

James scowls, standing up, but the Slytherin cuts him off before he can say anything.

“We have potions first; we don’t want to get lost.” Evans grins at him, and they traipse off together.

“I was right,” James says, “He is a tosser.”

Sirius laughs. “You think every Slytherin is a tosser, mate.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not until my brother gets here.”

“Your brother gets a pass, then” James concedes, “but only him, you hear me? The rest of them? Tossers.”

In potions, they have to partner up. Remus looks to Lily hopefully, but she’s snatched up by her Severus quickly, leaving Gryffindor at odd numbers. Marlene, already paired with Dorcas, winces sympathetically towards Mary as Peter awkwardly slides into the seat next to Remus. Mary shoots Severus a dark look and perches gingerly on the edge of a desk next to a blonde Slytherin boy, who grimaces at her.

Lily shoots a guilty look back, but turns around again as her friend says, “Don’t worry about them, the Blacks are all lunatics, you know, and who knows what’s up with loony Lupin over there.” It’s louder than he intended, and carries clearly back to the other Gryffindors. Lily slaps him on the arm, but the damage is done.

James is plotting revenge.

“Do you even know his name?” Peter says, leaning over to conspire with James and Sirius.

“No. But I’m not very well going to let some slimy Slytherin be disrespectful to my best mate, obviously.” Says James, and Sirius can’t help but smile at the fire in his eyes.

“Throw some myrtle in with his thyme.”, says Remus, frowning into his potion. All three boys turn to face him, and Remus pauses as he looks up from stirring his cauldron, staring back at them like a deer in headlights.

“You would normally use myrtle in potions to slow the magic development,” Remus begins slowly, “but you use thyme in this potion because of how the myrtle scent reacts with beetle eyes.” He mimes an explosion. “Also, his name is Severus Snape.”

“Severus? More like Snivellus,” James scoffs, “but that’s wicked smart, mate.” He says, grinning at him, and Remus ducks his head back down to his potion.

“Are you Welsh?” Sirius asks and Remus nods, still not looking at them.

Now, Slughorn isn’t exactly the most observant teacher, but James is also possibly the least subtle person Remus has ever met, and whilst there is a minor explosion in Snape’s cauldron, James and Sirius both end up in detention for three weeks.

They’re jubilant anyway as they march out of potions afterwards anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell Slughorn I came up with the idea,” says Remus nervously, gaze fixed on the floor, and Sirius claps a hand to his heart, outraged.

“I would never sell out a fellow Gryffindor like that, Lupin.”

“Just Remus is fine.” He replies, unable to suppress the smile that bubbles up. Lily glowers at them as she storms past.

Remus isn’t supposed to make friends. It isn’t fair to them. They don’t know that he’s a monster. But if he ends up camping outside Slughorn’s office waiting for the other two to get out of detention that Friday so they can all walk back up to Gryffindor tower together- well. He wouldn’t want Peter to be all alone. That would just be cruel.

The first few weeks pass in a blur of lessons and magic and moving staircases, and- it’s nothing like Remus ever imagined it could be. It’s so much more.

He’s been having trouble sleeping, which is to be expected- he’s had trouble sleeping his entire life, for one reason or another- so he spends a lot of time reading. Remus is hungry for knowledge, hungry for magic in a way that he never realised he was before. It’s like now that he’s got a taste of it it’s opened up this void in his stomach that’s constantly screaming to be satisfied. He doesn’t know how long he’s got until it’s all snatched away- what if after the first full moon they decide they can’t deal with him, and send him back? What if his dormates realise what he is, and want him gone?- so he just devours as much knowledge as he can. Sirius teases him, a week in, for spending all his time in the library and Remus unthinkingly shoots back a remark about Sirius spending all his time in detention, to which Sirius cackles. The thing about Hogwarts, is that- despite it all, Remus feels like he belongs.

He's never felt that, before.

Two weeks into the school term- a week and half before the October full moon- he’s sitting at the window of their dorm at close to midnight, blanket wrapped around him to ward off the chill of the old stone floors, looking up to the moon as it makes it’s way towards full. There’s the soft sound of the sleeping boys breathing around him as he sits, and he wonders if his mother ever did this. Sat in her dorm room in the Ravenclaw tower and just watched the moon. She stargazed; he remembers that. There’s a faded memory, tucked into the back of his heart, of when he was very young, and she was still full of life and magic, and she took him outside to see the stars. His back garden seemed to transform into this thing of beauty under the soft silver of moonlight, a thousand blinking lights thrown across the sky like faraway angels.

“Whenever you don’t know where you’re going,” she would say, “look to the stars. The stars love you, Remus.”

She was crying. Remus doesn’t know why she was crying.

It’s after the final detention that Sirius finally gets a letter back from Regulus.

Sorry I didn’t write back sooner, mother wouldn’t let me contact ‘that traitorous filth’. You were right, she’s furious. Well, you got the howler, I’m assuming.

But don’t worry, she’s forgotten all about it now. Seems impossible, I know, but it’s been chaos here. Chaos. Our aunt’s considering pulling Bellatrix out of school to fix this mess level of chaos.

You’ll never believe what’s happened- Andromeda’s run away.

Chapter Text

Every month is more frequent than most people imagine, when they think of werewolves. The ‘the full moon is every month’ thing is all fine and dandy in the abstract, until you actually have to do it.

All this being said, on the second of October, Remus tells his dorm mates that he’s going home to visit a sick family member, and walks down to the hospital wing. He’s been out of it all day, vision blurring, stumbling into things. James asked about it, concerned, which is where the whole ‘sick family member’ lie came from. The other boys give him sympathetic looks all day, and James even pauses in his revenge plotting to give Remus some peace and quiet.

(“Revenge for what?”, says Marlene, as Lily scowls at them from across the common room.

“Snivellus, of course! He got us in detention!”

“Oh, you boys are ridiculous.”

“I’m the one who got you in detention,” Remus interjects, and what follows is an awkward mix of indignant praise towards Remus, and sympathetic whispers to each other of ‘Oh but he’s not well, we shouldn’t bother him’.

It’s a disconcerting juxtaposition.)

Through all that, Remus is sick to his stomach. They know that he’s out of it, that he’s stumbling into things, but they don’t know about the rest.

Every silver button or earing or cutlery thrumming into his peripheral like fire, impossible to ignore or tune out of. The full moon, powerful and drenched in madness, heavy in the back of his mouth. The presence and the scent of humans all around him, sharp and alive and the wolf in the back of his head screaming hunt, eat, hungry, hunt, eat. The night before the full moon he lies awake all night, wired, and he can smell Sirius in the bed next to him and he fantasises about ripping his throat out with his teeth, devouring the flesh, dripping in blood.

Remus Lupin is eleven years old and he is scared. Remus Lupin is eleven years old, and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is a monster.

He is shaking as Madame Pomfrey leads him out to the whomping willow, and shows him how to pause its wild thrashing. When they get to the shack, he’s still shaking.

It is more room than he has at home. There’s a window. He can see the stars.

“I can see the stars,” he says. Madame Pomfrey just looks down at him, gaze full of pity.

“Yes.”

A tear escapes from Remus’ eyes, hot and salty as it traces a silver line down his face.

“What if- what if the wolf gets out?” he doesn’t say I. he never says I.

“It won’t.” Says Madame Pomfrey, voice firm. She doesn't say you. Remus is overwhelmingly, pathetically grateful.

He nods, shakily, and she leaves.

Whenever you don’t know where you’re going, look to the stars. The stars love you, Remus.

Andromeda has run away. Sirius glances over to the Slytherin table at breakfast, catching Remus just as he’s about to fall into him.

“Watch it, mate,” he says, and then makes eye contact with Narcissa. Her eyes are wide and fearful. She glances to Bellatrix, a few seats down, so he does too- she’s furious, dark brows set in simmering wrath. He looks back to Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy has captured her hands in his, and has leaned down to whisper to her, blonde hair obscuring both their faces. She sinks into his chest, her shaking subsiding somewhat.

Remus drops a fork, and it clatters against his plate loudly.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks, and Remus just stares back blankly, dark circles hollowing his face.

James leans over to inform Sirius in hushed tones that someone in Remus’ family has taken ill, and it must be bad- Remus has been out of it since he heard the news.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice,” says Sirius, “I kind of- have some family drama going on right now, too.” James follows his gaze to Bellatrix, who’s entire body is tense like a snake about to pounce, and winces, sympathetic.

Remus doesn’t remember the full moon, but he remembers the transformation. The way his skin cracks and peels open for coarse fur, the snap of bones and teeth and ligaments as his body breaks and gives way for the monster. He remembers searing, pounding pain, fire burning through his veins, leaving him hollow and starving.

When he wakes up again, he’s in the hospital wing, curtains drawn around his bed. Madame Pomfrey comes in a few moments later, holding a vial of something.

“I’m going to need you to drink this,” she says. “It should help with the pain.”

He’s never needed help with the pain before. He’s a monster, the pain is his penance for existence. But madame Pomfrey is not the sort of woman you argue with, so he downs the potion in one, grimacing at the bitter taste. She hands him a jar of ointment, next.

“There’s nothing we can do about old scars now,” she says, eyeing his face with sympathy, “Werewolf wounds tend to be tricky like that, but this should help with any new injuries.”

He stays in the hospital wing for another day, much to his chagrin. Madame Pomfrey just laughs at his protest, and says that she wishes all students had his commitment to school. He’s always just carried on as normal after full moons, though- why should it be different at school?

When he finally trudges back to Gryffindor tower, a day later, James and Peter are sitting in the middle of the dorm room, surrounded by textbooks, all open to seemingly random pages.

“How’s the revenge planning going,” Remus asks, trying to collapse onto the floor without too obviously collapsing. James turns, and his eyes light up when he sees Remus.

“Excellently, of course.”

Peter laughs, “it’s a disaster, mate. We have no clue what we’re doing.”

Remus chuckles, leaning back against James’ bed.

“We might have more of a clue if Sirius would help.” James exclaims, and Peter elbows him, darting a glance towards Sirius, who’s sitting on his bed, staring moodily into middle distance.

“My cousin’s eloped with a Muggle born.” Says Sirius, apropos of nothing.

James’ eyes go wide in shock, and an uncomfortable silence settles across the common room.

“Oh.” Says Peter. “Did… you want to be at the wedding?” Sirius scoffs, and flops back so he’s lying on his bed, staring blankly up at the canopy.

James winces, and shakes his head at Peter.

“Sirius’ family are the blood purist sort,” James explains in a whisper. “Andromeda was engaged to- what, one of the Lestranges, right?” Sirius nods.

“The alliance is screwed. And Andromeda’s been blasted from the family tree. At least everyone’s forgotten about me. Well, at least till Christmas.”

“Why do you need an alliance? We’re not at war,” Peter says, and James frowns.

“Not yet, we’re not.”

“You can stay here. For Christmas,” Remus interjects, trying to alleviate the dark tension that has settled across the first-year boy’s dormitory, “I am, too, so you won’t be alone.”

Sirius sits up. “You don’t want to go home? I thought you had a sick family member or something?”

Remus winces, caught.  “It’s, ah- it’s not practical, for me to be at home for too long. My father- he has a lot on his plate.”

Peter nods sympathetically.  James looks over to Remus curiously. “Is your dad a wizard? What does he do?”

“He- uh.” No one has ever actually asked Remus about his family. Everyone in his primary school new enough about his mother to steer well clear of the topic, and they weren’t wizards, anyway. “He works for the ministry- the department of regulation and control of magical creatures.”

“Is that why you’re so much better than me at care of magical creatures?” James asks, only for Peter to shoot back “Remus is better than you at every subject.” Sirius laughs, and Remus smiles at the sound of it, while James straightens, indignant,

“I’m a dab hand at transfiguration, you know,” and Peter snorts.

“a dab hand,” he mocks, and Remus can’t help but giggle a bit at the look on James’ face.

“My parents are boring,” Peter says, “my dad’s a herbologist and my mum works at Marks and Spencer.”

“Marks and Spencer?” Sirius echoes, confused.

“it’s a supermarket,” Peter explains. “You buy food and things there. What does your mum do, Remus?”

Remus freezes.

“She- she was- she’s a diviner.” He stutters out, and James sits up, interested.

“You mean she looks into the future? That’s wicked hard to do, especially as a job, my father says so, you have to be super good at it. Has she ever given you a prophecy?”

Remus shifts, uncomfortable. The stars love you, Remus.

“Could you ask her to give me a prophecy,” Peter asks, thrilled, and a sharp pain crawls up Remus’ throat like he’s swallowed glass.

“She- she’s the family member that’s ill,” he says, which- it’s not a lie, not really.  She was ill.

The other boys slump, sympathy in their eyes. Remus is getting a little sick of sympathetic looks.

The next phase of Sirius-Black-reacting-to- family-drama appears to be wilful destruction, which of course is utterly thrilling to James. He comes up with twenty or so pranks to play on Snape before Halloween, most of which are completely unachievable. 

“Maybe you should just keep it simple,” Remus says, staring at a diagram of the giant squid, having long since given up on trying to convince them not to prank Snape.

“that’s boring,” retorts Sirius, a crazed light in his eyes.

“What about veritaserum in his pumpkin juice,” suggests Peter, and James shakes his head. “Illegal, and I don’t particularly want to know what dark secrets Snivellus is hiding.”

Sirius cackles, alerting Flitwick to their trouble making, and James and Sirius scramble to hide their planning, whilst Remus distracts him with a perfect wingardium leviosa. Peter looks at him, respect glimmering in his eyes.

There’s no point trying to deny it anymore, Remus has friends. It’s hard to keep feeling so guilty, when he’s happier than he’s ever been.

Eventually, Peter finds a spell in an old book that will tie people’s laces together from afar.

“Can you imagine,” says James, “Snivellus just tripping over himself wherever he goes. Let him try and call my friend loony again.”

Sirius grins, this wicked thing.

“We don’t just have to do it to Snivellus. We could do it to the whole Slytherin table.”

Remus glances at Peter, who’s struggling to conceal his excitement.

The Halloween feast goes perfectly smoothly, and as it comes to a close and a few Hufflepuffs start to leave, all four boys are vibrating with excitement. Marlene shoots Remus a questioning look, and he just gestures to the Slytherin table, where a clueless third year has started to stand up.

They go down like dominoes. Sirius punches James to get him to stop laughing- he already has detention from transfiguration, he doesn’t need to give McGonagall more reasons to punish him. Slowly, the rest of the great hall begins to realise what has happened, and there is a smattering of muffled laughter. Lily hurries over to snape, worried, and Dorcas rolls her eyes. Remus can see Sirius’ cousin, black hair wild around her face, scowling towards Sirius, who just stares coolly back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

For their efforts, they’re treated to a school wide assembly about ‘not instigating unprovoked attacks against their classmates’, and James giggles through the whole thing. Remus, sat between James and Lily, who’s radiating fury like a mermaid, feels somewhat caught in the crossfire. As they exit, they shower peter with not-quite-whispered praise for his part in finding the spell, stopped only by Remus’ furious nudging as they pass McGonagall.

“you’ve joined quite the band of trouble- makers.” Madame Pomfrey comments knowingly as they walk down to the whomping willow, and Remus shrugs, unrepentant. She smiles, shaking her head.

Thinking of the prank does nothing to settle the terror squirming in Remus’ diaphragm. It’s Sirius’ birthday in a couple days, and James was trying to plan a surprise or something. Remus doesn’t know. He’s always blurry and out of it before the full moon- the sick mother lie won’t be sustainable, not for another seven years, Remus will have to-

This is the part he hates. The waiting, the anticipation. He can smell the moon in the air. The wolf will come, soon.

Maybe this only highlights the fact that Remus is a monster, but he can relate to the willow, thrashing in its roots, a wild, trapped thing.

The wolf will come, soon.

Chapter Text

When Remus gets back to their dorm room, James is attempting to levitate gold and red bunting to the top of their bedposts.

“Remus!”, he grins, dropping the bunting, “You’re back just in time! Listen, as soon as Pete says Sirius is coming-“ Remus had wondered why Peter was awkwardly sitting on the stairwell- “We’re going to shut all the lights off, and jump out and scare him, just like those muggle parties Peter was telling us about.”

“You’re supposed to surprise him, not scare him,” Peter calls from the doorway, and James grins.

“Exactly.”

Remus has never had a birthday party, and none of the muggle ones he’s been to involved scaring people. Remus hasn’t been invited to a birthday party since he was about six, though, so maybe things have changed.

Peter scrambles quickly into the room when he sees Sirius coming, but not quickly enough, evidently, because Remus can hear Sirius asking “Peter?”

Remus can see perfectly well in the dark, so he can see how Sirius takes stock of the dark room and straitens, raising his wand. Alarmed, he reaches towards James, but not before James leaps forward, turning on all the lights at once, screaming ‘Happy birthday!”

“What was that?” Asks Sirius as they traipse down to the hospital wing, James clutching at his broken nose

“A surprise party,” says James, indignant. “Muggles have them all the time!”

Sirius glances towards Peter, who shrugs.

“Back so soon?” Asks Madame Pomfrey when she sees Remus, and then “Oh,” when she sees James.

James and Peter don’t notice, too focused on the blood gushing from James’ face, but Sirius stiffens, fixing Remus with an assessing gaze. Remus ignores him determinedly.

“How did you even know it was my birthday?” Sirius sighs as James’ nose is being fixed.

“I bribed Evans into asking Narcissa. She spends half her time at Slytherin table, you know.” They know.

“What did you bribe her with?” Remus asks, and James frowns at him.

“You were there, Remus.” He turns to Sirius, “I promised her a bar of wizard chocolate. Her parents won’t let her buy any. I’ll probably get her two, actually, your cousin’s horrible. It’s lucky I found out when I did, we would have missed it.”

Sirius shrugs, “My family don’t really do… birthdays.”

James nods sagely. “That’s because all your family are wankers, Sirius. I’m not a wanker.”

Sirius,

Mother says you’re not coming home for Christmas. Is this true? Happy birthday, by the way. I suppose it will make things easier- for her and for you. I miss you though. I miss you lots and lots. I hope Christmas at Hogwarts is fun. Andromeda wrote to me. She says I shouldn’t be angry at you, for being Gryffindor. I am a little angry. I miss you. Don’t tell Andromeda I said that, she thinks I’m cool. Mum doesn’t know Andromeda’s been writing to me. If she knows, I’ll have to stop. I don’t want to lose my family. I’m scared, Sirius.

Lots of love and missing you more every day,

Regulus Arcturus Black II, second son to the most noble and ancient house of Black

Sirius,

Sorry I didn’t write sooner, it’s been hectic. I’m married. His name is Ted Tonks, and he’s a muggleborn. I’m sure you’ve already heard that part of it. The others would suck it up and marry Lestrange just for being a Lestrange but- I love Ted  with my entire heart and if I ever lost him I think I’d lose my mind. That’s a lot to say to a twelve-year-old (happy birthday!!), sorry. The others just wouldn’t get it. Narcissa’s got her Malfoy prat, and Bella- well. You know her. I haven’t talked to Regulus, about Ted. I don’t know how he’d react- he’s always been such a dutiful child. I fear for him.

You’re wonderful, Sirius. You’re ridiculous and brave and you don’t care what they think. Don’t let them change you. Please, don’t let them change you.

This will be my last letter for a while. The Lestranges want retribution, so we’re going to ground.

-Andie

Petunia,

I’m enjoying school, are you? You always enjoyed science, what’s it like in secondary school? Being at a boarding school is weird, I miss home lots. My dorm mates are all super nice, though! Marlene is very sporty, she’s been talking all term about how she wants to join our sports team next year (only second years and up are allowed), and Dorcas is super into music, she brought a record player to school with her, so we can listen to music in our dorm! I’ll have to buy some records when I’m home. And Mary always knows all the gossip, which is cool, even though she fancies Sirius Black, which is not cool (you’d like him about as much as you like Severus). Have you made friends at your new school? What are they like? James Potter has agreed to give me some wizard chocolate, maybe I could send some to you? Potter’s a bit of a twat, but I trust him to keep his word.

I miss home so much. I can’t wait for Christmas.

Lots of love, Lily

Dad-  

I am able to stay at school for Christmas and Easter.

-RJL

Mum and Dad,

Hogwarts is fun! I’m not getting bullied, I promise, I actually have friends. They’re all wicked cool. Their names are James, Sirius and Remus, and they ARE REAL. We share a dorm, which is super awesome, and we had a surprise party for Sirius the other day. It didn’t go too well- Sirius is pureblood, and I don’t really think he understands what a surprise party is, and none of us had presents to give him, because we didn’t know his birthday was so soon, but we put up bunting, and we sang Happy Birthday, and Sirius liked that, I think. I’m not struggling too much with the schoolwork, I promise, and Remus always helps me when I get stuck. He’s super smart, and he’s nice, too. Racheal, in Hufflepuff, who sits next to me in herbology says that everyone else thinks he’s super weird, but everyone else doesn’t actually know him. Sirius is the weird one, really.

See you at Christmas,

Peter

Remus leaves to go visit his mother on the first weekend of the Christmas holiday- which Sirius doesn’t get, if you’re only going to visit for two days, why not go for Christmas? So, Sirius is alone in the dorm, just sort of sitting there doing nothing. The quiet is odd- even back home, there’d be a ghoul wailing in the attic or something. He wanders down to the library, where there are a few fifth and seventh years revising. Sirius tries to get started on his transfiguration homework- he’s trying to win a few brownie points with McGonagall before the next prank- but he keeps drifting off, thinking about Remus.

Remus is always so odd, before he goes home- odder than usual, that is. He has this sort of stare that’s vacant and piercing at the same time, like a predator waiting to pounce that’s just drifted off, slightly. It’s an odd thing to notice, Sirius knows, but it’s an odd way to react to the prospect of going home. Sirius would just be scared, as much as he hates to admit it. And Remus does seem scared, but- excited, too. He’s wired, just before he leaves, every month.

Sirius is overthinking this, certainly. Anyone who loves their mother would be excited to see her. Anyone with a deathly ill mother would be scared to see her.

He just can’t shake the thought of Remus’ eyes.

When Lily gets home, her parents want to know everything. Lily keeps getting caught in this trap of rambling about potions or charms or moving staircases or floating candles, before catching sight of Petunia, sitting in a stony silence.

She asks Petunia about school, about friends. She receives terse, concise responses. Severus has stayed at Hogwarts, which Lily can’t blame him for, but it does mean she has no one to rant to, about it all. No one gets her like Severus does. Dorcas might roll her eyes at their friendship, but she doesn’t get it either.

She wants to be excited about magic, about Hogwarts, but she can’t be. Not if that means losing her sister. So, she redirects conversations to Petunia, and refers to muggles as ‘normal’, and does her homework in a notebook, with a biro- she can transcribe it when she gets to Hogwarts. She tags along with Petunia and her friends, feeling out of place and not getting any inside jokes, and gossips about people she doesn’t know, and saves her love for charms for when she’s alone with her parents. She doesn’t let her owl into any other part of the house, and doesn’t ever dare to suggest inviting her friends over, and Petunia starts to soften.

But late one night, she’s getting a drink of water, and trying not to revel at the fact that the fridge works without magic, because it’s just a fridge, that’s ridiculous, she’s had a fridge her entire life. A few months doesn’t erase that. And she wonders.

She wonders if she’s already lost her sister.

Sirius!

Happy Christmas! I hope you and Remus aren’t too bored there, without me. I know it must be terrible to be without my beauty for so long, but fear not, this letter comes accompanied by presents! I know it’s a bit early, but I don’t trust this owl as far as I can throw him (he’s a pretty hefty owl). Hopefully this gets to you by Christmas.

Bored and deprived of friends,

James

James sends Sirius and Remus a truly absurd amount of chocolate, and Sirius spends two days agonising over if he should eat it, since it’s not actually Christmas yet. To Remus, just back from a full moon, it’s like he’s just had liquid gold poured into his lap. Sirius takes one look at Remus’ haunted, desperate eyes, and agrees to open the chocolate, Christmas be damned.

The nights are odd, now, without the sounds from the other boys. Remus is stargazing again, trying to ignore the splitting pain in his shoulder that Madame Promfrey couldn’t heal. Damn dark creature.

“You can’t sleep?” whispers Sirius, and Remus startles. He hadn’t realised Sirius was awake.

“I can never sleep.”

Sirius drags his blanket over to join Remus at the window, bumping his shoulder against Remus’, who does his best not to wince as his wound is jostled. “Do you do this often?”

Remus nods. “Ever since my mother-“ He cuts himself off, before he can say ‘died’.

“You can’t see the stars, in London,” Sirius says, “They’re so beautiful, here.”

Remus smiles faintly. “Which one’s yours?” Sirius reaches out to drag invisible lines between Canis Major.

“It’s the brightest star in the sky, you know.”

“I know.”

“Why do you stargaze?”

Remus pauses, considering how much to say. It’s dark, and quiet, moonlight spilling across the stone floor like a leaking vial of veritaserum, and they’re both still whispering, even though they’re the only ones in the dorm. It’s a still sort of moment, divorced from reality in the way that only dreams and two children half shadowed in moonlight at some undisclosed hour of night can be.

“I told you my mother was a diviner,” Sirius nods, “She did a lot of tea readings and such, for clients, but she liked the stars the best. Always thought that the centaurs got that right- the purest form of divination is the type of divination that isn’t trying to be your future, specifically. And it’s so constant, too. Tea leaves change with every cup, crystal balls at any whim. The stars are always there- the stars love you, even when no one else does.”

Remus pauses, feeling like he’s accidentally bared his soul, a bit. Sirius is staring at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

“I like that,” Sirius whispers. “The stars love you.”

Remus nods, and, to his horror, starts to cry. Sirius leans over and tucks his shaking frame into his arms, holds him through trembling sobs, body heat warm against Remus’ slight skeleton.

They don’t talk about it, the next day, or any day. Spring term begins, and Sirius doesn’t utter a word about it. Except for when, sometimes, long after the other two fall asleep, Sirius will come and sit beside Remus, and they’ll stare up to the stars together. The brightest star in the sky and the moon’s cursed little thing.

Chapter Text

Stepping onto the Hogwarts express feels like a breath of fresh air. Mary’s squeal when she sees Lily, less so.

“Come on, let’s find a better compartment,” Mary says, slamming the door of her previous compartment behind her. From inside, James Potter frowns, indignant.

“Why were you sitting with Potter and Pettigrew?” Lily asks, amused, as they settle down in an empty compartment, and Mary grins.

“If I make nice with them two, maybe they’ll put in a good word for me with Sirius.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Why are you so fascinated with him?”

“Because he’s cool, and super talented at magic, and he’s twelve already, did you know?”

“I’m twelve, Mary.”

“You’re not a boy, Lily. Just because you’ve got your Severus-“

“not like that, ew-“

“-doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t pine over boys.”

“You only ever pine over him when you can see him, or one of his friends. Mostly, you forget he exists.”

Mary huffs. “You don’t get it.” Lily shakes her head, unrepentant.

“How was your Christmas?” Mary asks. “My sister got me this jumper, it’s brill.”

Lily shifts, uncomfortable. “It was- nice. I like seeing my sister.” She smiles tightly.

“Petunia, right? Isn’t she a muggle? That’s gotta be a bit awkward.” Lily laughs.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

When they get to Hogsmeade, they’re directed towards carriages, not the boats. They end up sharing one with a few Hufflepuffs, and as they approach Hogwarts castle Lily lets the familiarity of it sink into her chest like a warm drink on a winter day.

Remus laughs as he watches Sirius and James barrel into each other, ecstatic, knocking them both clear to the ground.

“All of us, reunited at last,” James exclaims, dragging Peter up the stairs by the shoulders.

“We need like, a group name,’ Sirius says, eyes sparkling.

“Like a band?” Peter asks.

“Exactly like a band, Peter. Let’s get to brainstorming, now.”

What follows is two weeks of ridiculous ideas, punctuated by James’ suggestion of a prank to christen the name, which is what leads to Remus having a note snatched from him during defence against the dark arts, which their professor- a dull man with little tolerance for childishness- reads out, eyebrows climbing higher as he reads ‘pandemoniumners,

 troublemaking but cool,

revisit squid idea,

marauders,

the cool squad,

catapults maybe’.

“Marauders, that’s cool,” says James as they spill out of defence and trudge towards history of magic, “who came up with that?”

Remus puts a hand up.

“It means like, to pillage, or a looter. Not the most flattering word, but it sounds good. And we are troublemakers.”

“Marauders it is, then,” Sirius says, bumping his shoulder against Remus’.

“Now, prank ideas, people! We can’t be marauders if we don’t do any marauding!”

Remus loses memory of the next day, with the February full moon on the horizon, and by the time he gets back their dorm room is a mess of diagrams of the dungeons.

“What is this?” he sighs, flopping down onto Peter’s bed, where the mess hasn’t quite reached yet.

“we’re going to booby trap the Slytherin corridor,” Sirius says, a feral sort of light in his eyes.

“Only problem is,” James interjects, half buried under paper, “we don’t actually know the dimensions of the Slytherin corridor. It’s hard to cover something with invisible slime when you don’t know how much space to cover.”

“Trying to map this out is useless,” Sirius says, “I say we just overestimate, then we’ll know that we can cover it all.

“This is more well thought out than I’d normally give you credit for,” Remus says, and Sirius throws a balled up piece of paper at him, “Where are you planning on getting the slime from, and how do you plan to make it invisible?”

They all pause, and slowly turn to look at Remus.

“See, this is why we can’t plan things without him,” Sirius huffs, and Peter laughs.

“I can get my dad to send me some. He gets a ton of leftover slime, from his potions.” Sirius and Peter cheer, and Remus, still too delicate from the full moon for cheering, wonders what sort of potions leave leftover slime. And what sort of father agrees to send slime to his eleven-year-old son.

“And disillusionment charms exist!” exclaims Sirius, and Remus scoffs.

“Yeah, I’d love to see you cast a NEWT level charm. How’s your windgardium leviosa coming along, by the way?” Sirius scowls.

“Besides, how are we planning on getting down to the Slytherin corridor without looking suspicious? They’ll notice us for sure. And I don’t think Lily Evans can be bribed into helping with a prank.”

Sirius flops down, maudlin, but James straightens, eyes lighting up.

“I have a solution to that, too.” He walks over to his case, and pulls out a silvery fabric, grinning. Sirius shoots upright.

“Is that-“

“An invisibility cloak,” Remus whispers in wonder as James disappears.

“Isn’t it wicked? I got it at Christmas, it’s a family heirloom,” James says as his head reappears.

“So,” Remus starts, picking up a piece of parchment with a vague sketch of the dungeons, “we have slime. We have invisibility. All we need is invisible slime, now. And then we’ll be proper marauders.”

He catches Sirius’ eyes, then, and there’s a joy in them that almost leaves Remus breathless. He’s not sure he’s ever felt happiness, not like this.

“What about a potion?” Peter asks nervously. “slime’s liquid, so there’s gotta be some sort of liquid you can mix in to make things invisible.”

James sighs. “Probably, but none of us are that good at potions, not even Remus. Evans might know, but she won’t tell me, not for a prank on her precious Slytherin. I’ll write to my father. He’s always up for a good prank, so long as it doesn’t actually hurt anyone.” James nods, determined, and heads off to the owlery, Peter close behind. Remus, still in pain, slowly rises from Peter’s bed, and trudges over to his own. Sirius watches him go, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.

“you’re-“ Sirius starts, and Remus turns his head towards him. Sirius stops, meeting Remus’ eyes.  There’s a sort of quiet, dangerous atmosphere in the room that leaves Remus on edge. He almost wishes he’d gone with the other boys to the owlery, painful joints be damned, just to avoid this ominous silence that’s taken over the room. Remus and Sirius haven’t been alone together since Christmas, and in the light of the day, Remus thinks that perhaps he’s said too much.

“You seem- tired, after you get back from visiting your mother,” Sirius says, and Remus can taste the desperate adrenaline that suddenly fizzles through his veins in the back of his mouth, bitter and acrid.

“it’s a long train ride. It’s tiring.” Remus says, and is unable to keep the shaking out of his voice. The scar across his face seems to burn, a bitter reminder of-

Sirius just nods.

Peter’s not really sure how he ended up here- well, he knows exactly how he ended up here, in the Slytherin corridor at two in the morning, spreading invisible slime across the floor, but he’s not really sure how he ended up a marauder. He’s never had many friends. Too small, too shy, no one ever got him. He was part of friend groups, sure, but on the outskirts, a hanger on.

Now, he’s part of the inner circle. Pranking people, stood in an invisibility cloak next to James Potter. Remus is like him, he reckons, but not the other two. Sirius and James are so confident, so self assured, so well liked by everyone in their year- Peter is drawn to them like a moth to flame. And now he’s with them. His position here hasn’t ever been questioned. He belongs here.

Now that he’s got a taste of that power, of being important, he’s hungry for it.

He knows the hat only put him in Gryffindor because he didn’t really belong anywhere else. But he knows that he belongs here, right next to James and Remus and Sirius. And he is going to prove it. Peter Pettigrew is going to prove the hat’s choice was right. He’s going to be brave, and he’s going to be loyal, for these friends he has now. He has to be- he can’t risk losing them.

The Slytherins are the last into breakfast- every single one of them, and Remus, the last of the marauders in, grins at the others as he sits down. Peter, mouth still full of toast, smiles giddily back at him.

It takes a couple hours for people to figure out what exactly has happened, and why. The Slytherins don’t join lessons till third period, care of magical creatures, some of them still slimy.

James takes one look at Snape, dripping and furious, and cackles as quietly as James is capable of, setting the other three off into hastily hushed laughter.

“A win for the marauders, boys,”, he says, quietly. But not quietly enough, Remus notices with dismay, as Lily Evans turns to James, eyes flashing with fury.

“You think this is funny, Potter?” she hisses towards him, and James looks up, lifting a cocky eyebrow. “Yeah, I reckon it is. Don’t agree Evans? Or are you too busy being in love with your Slytherin?” Remus cringes.

“in lo-“ Lily scoffs. “I’m not- in love with him, but even if I was, it would be better than being in love with some cocky, arrogant, wanker of a toerag like you!”

James sits up from where he was leaning on Peter, indignant, and reaches for his wand. Sirius stops his hand, alarmed.

“Chill, James. Why do you care who Evans is in love with.” Sirius sneers at her, and turns in towards Remus, dragging James with him. Most of the class has been listening in, and the other Gryffindor girls seem to draw rank around Lily, Mary awkwardly pushing Snape away from them with the tip of a pencil. Lily rolls her eyes at Mary, and links her arm with Snape’s, wincing when she remembers the slime. He doesn’t even look at her, scowling at James.

Later, James paces furiously in their dorm room, still riled up.

“Who does she think she is,” he complains, “Siding with the Slytherins, instead of us? Bloody traitor, that’s what she is.”

Remus rolls his eyes, and pointedly deals James into the game of exploding snap that Peter had brought back to Hogwarts after Christmas. James ignores him, and continues pacing.

Sirius thinks that he and James were meant to be. They just sort of click, in a way that Sirius has never clicked with anyone before. They’re always on the same wavelength, James and him and it-

Well. Sirius feels strangely guilty, thinking this, but it almost feels like how he clicks with Regulus. Except, with Regulus, it’s always been hard. Always another battle, another argument. With James it’s easy.

It’s easy with Peter, too, but that’s because Peter is an easy person. James is not. But neither is Sirius, so it ends up sort of cancelling out.

There is something endlessly bright about James- he brings out the best in Sirius, in everyone, really, but Sirius especially. He’s not really sure how he didn’t notice before, just how angry he used to be. When James is angry, it’s funny, because James is ridiculous and feels every emotion like he’s the only person on earth who’s ever felt an emotion.

Remus seems easy- all bookish and shy, until night falls and their sitting beneath the stars and Sirius is just a little scared.

Remus brings out good things in Sirius too- his academic competitiveness, for one- but there is a darkness, in Sirius, that James doesn’t have.  The thing about Remus- unassuming, nerdy Remus- is, that, from time to time, in the early hours and in stolen moments, Sirius will catch Remus’ eye, and he will see that darkness reflected back in haunting amber.

Remus goes home to visit his mother in March. He is as distracted as he always is, just before. And he’s angrier, too. Sirius wonders what he’s angry about. Who he’s angry at.

James’ birthday is coming up, in late March, so Sirius drags Peter into party planning. He loves James, and Peter. James and Peter are easy. Sirius has never had easy before. He revels in it.

They elect not to hold a surprise party for James, given how it went last time, but they manage to get bunting up, and Sirius manages to convince Mary to convince Dorcas to lend them her record player. None of them have any way to get presents, but they have exploding snap, and James’ parents have sent him a veritable cornucopia of snacks along with his present- a new jumper, soft and red, and a set of fine quills.

Sirius grins at James’ joy, and tries not to be jealous of how clear it is that his parents love him. He writes to Regulus, who’s alone in that awful house, and ends up promising to come home for Easter, even though every bone in his body is screaming at him not to.

Chapter Text

Remus feels like his life is just full moon- sleep- eat- full moon- repeat. It didn’t bother him so much before, when he didn’t know what life could be like. Now, though, he curses every day he misses, every event that the wolf wipes clear from his memory. He’s always known that the wolf hates him, but it’s never occurred to him that he can hate the wolf back.

The day before the April full moon, he’s brushing his teeth in front of the mirror, scowling at the scar cutting across his face. None of the others have asked about it- they sense, probably, that it’s a delicate subject. Remus hates it. Hates that it won’t go away, hates how it gets worse every full moon, hates the memory, vivid like it happened yesterday.

Remus hates the wolf. He trudges down to the whomping willow. He peels off his skin and snaps all his bones to make way for the monster. He screams and screams like that will scare the wolf off, like that will do anything at all.

What Remus hates the most, really, is how weak he is. He is small and shaking and screaming and he can do nothing to fight the wolf.

The full moon passes, as it always does. He is alone at Hogwarts for Easter. There’s something intimately familiar about the loneliness, and it settles against his skin like an old jumper.

Sirius, Serious, Sirius,

I’m so bored without you. I didn’t know what boredom was, until Hogwarts. Hopefully you get this letter, and your maniac of a mother hasn’t killed you yet, because I’d love a reply to it.

I’ve been looking through the library here for some prank ideas for next term, and I have a few ideas…

Sirius-

I heard you’re home for Easter. Good luck.

I’m going to have to stop writing to you. I’m sorry. Don’t tell Narcissa anything I’ve told you, alright? I know she seems harmless. She’s not.

Goodbye, for now.

A.T

Sirius makes himself scarce as much as possible, when he’s at grimmauld place. He walks through the door on the first day and bows his head to his mother’s screaming, bites his tongue so hard that, later, holed up in his room with Regulus, he spits blood. Regulus watches, grimace twisting his aristocratic features.

“Thanks.” He says, and Sirius looks up at him.

“For not arguing with her. I know you would have been Slytherin if you had the choice.”

Sirius grins, stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Yeah. Sure. I’m twelve, now, I know how to pick my battles.” The corner of Regulus’ mouth ticks up, and he nods decisively.

Sirius is lying, obviously, and he can feel Regulus’ betrayed eyes on him after Kreacher catches him sneaking food after dark.

“it’s not Kreacher’s fault,” says Regulus in the early hours of the morning, cross-legged on the floor, leaning against Sirius’ bed. Sirius shakes his head, slightly, still trying to breathe through the cruciatus aftershocks.

“Would it kill him to have some empathy,” he gasps out, and Regulus sighs unhappily.

“Mother has decided that this is the best way to punish you for your… deviance. She knows best, Sirius. Kreacher just has to follow her orders. He doesn’t have a choice in it. Besides, she wouldn’t have starved you forever. She needs you alive.”

Sirius huffs out a choked laugh. “Does she? She’s got her spare, after all.”

Regulus turns, eyes wild.

“don’t say that.”

“Reggie-“

“don’t say that, Sirius. You mustn’t. You can’t. I’m not a spare, alright? I couldn’t be a proper heir, and everyone knows it. I’m not strong like you are, Sirius. I’m not-

Just don’t say that, Sirius.”

“you’re not supposed to be in my room right now, are you?” Regulus turns away again. Opens Sirius’ transfiguration textbook and resumes reading chapter sixteen in his high, haughty voice. Sirius sighs, and tries to focus past the black spots encroaching his vision. He likes McGonagall, despite how many detentions she gives him. She’s a good teacher, and he likes transfiguration.

As much as James misses his friends, he misses home too. He tells his parents all about the spring term, and ignores his mother’s arched eyebrow at the mention of Sirius Black. He doesn’t care where his friends came from, they’re a good lot. He and Peter meet up in the second week, bemoaning the lack of Sirius and Remus, and Peter introduces him to a charming muggle game called uno, which he entreats Peter to bring back to Hogwarts. He writes about it to Remus, who replies, and Sirius, who does not.

When he mentions Remus at breakfast the next day, his mother’s eyes widen with recognition.

“I used to work with his father,” she says, “odd man, that Lyall Lupin. Well, he’s got a desk job, these days. He’s not so young and willing to work with aurors anymore, is he.”

“Remus is odd too,” replies James. “Maybe he’s got the desk job ‘cos his wife is sick.”

His mum frowns. “Is she?”

James nods, buttering his toast, “yeah, like really sick. Remus visits her all the time.”

His mum sighs. “Well, that is sad. I do hope they’re doing ok. I’d pass on my well wishes, but I don’t work with dark creature cases anymore, and he’s firmly into dealing with bowtruckle paperwork or suchlike. I won’t see him.”

“Why don’t you work with dark creature cases anymore?” James asks, “isn’t it awfully exciting?”

His mum laughs, and ruffles his hair. “No, not really. It’s mostly just sad. I prefer catching dark wizards. That’s much more satisfying.”

Remus doesn’t want to admit it, but he misses home.

He’s sitting alone in the dormitory, and he’s dressing into his pyjamas with the curtains to his bed open, for the first time. There’s a new scar, cutting into his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to miss home. He doesn’t want to miss the loneliness, and the cold, because his father doesn’t see much sense in turning the heating on in winter, since he’s at work all day. That small, cramped room under the ground. But- he doesn’t really know what to do, with all this. With the friends. With constant movement, sound, something always happening.

It's easier, at home.

Well, for him.

He hopes his father will be happy to see him in the summer. Remus supposes that that is what he’s missing. He loves his father.

When Petunia goes back to school in the summer term, it’s with an odd sense of- well. Of missing her sister.

Being in year seven is hard. Half her classmates came from the primary together, so she started with no friends and seemingly alone in that. She was so used to being on top of the school, in year six, and now she’s right down to the bottom again and she doesn’t know where anything is- secondary school is huge, compared to primary. She’s never seen herself as a quiet person, but she finds herself shrinking back against the troublemakers and jokesters- too unsure of herself, of her place. She isn’t any good at sports, too thin and weedy and out of breath at any provocation. So she doesn’t make any friends, really. There are people she sits with at lunch, who invite her to hang out. She gets good at learning information about people quickly, so that she always has good gossip to share. When Lily tags along with them at Christmas, she feels like she belongs, and Lily doesn’t, and that makes all of it worth it. Her new friends think her sister is weird, and she revels in it.

With Lily out of the picture- perfect, intelligent Lily- teachers like her. She’s good at school, and her parents coo over report cards with high praise- report cards that that place doesn’t send.

But over Easter- well. Lily’s trying, isn’t she?

Petunia doesn’t really know how to feel. Because it’s so obvious that Lily is trying to hide all the- all of that, for Petunia’s sake, but they both know the truth. Lily’s special, and Petunia is not. And her parents won’t ever quite forget it.

Petunia walks to school every morning, and in May it is finally sunny- or, as sunny as it gets, in Cokeworth- and she puts on a good attitude and she sits down and devours all the information Lily will never get. She’s good at science and maths, good with numbers and memorisation in a way that Lily has never been, and she collects secrets like currency, listening in to all the petty drama of eleven-year-olds, and she wields gossip and spite in a way that pure, kind Lily could never.

She buries that missing, that craving for sweet, simpler times when they were just sisters and neither was special, neither a freak, deep down in the damp depths of her oesophagus, and vows never to miss her sister again.

Chapter Text

When Sirius goes back for the summer term, it’s with short hair.

His hair grows quickly, something that his mother has long despaired over- he is high maintenance, inconvenient, why can’t you be more like your brother, Sirius. He’d let it grow, at school, curling around the bottom of his jaw, and he’d liked it.

He liked the way that it flew about him when he shook his head, and he liked the way that he could fiddle with it in class, twisting curling strands around his fingers. He liked the way that it was different from the other boys.

His mother makes sure that it’s cut short and neat before he goes back to school. He sits next to Remus in history of magic and watches Mary Macdonald in the seat in front of him and the way that her hair corkscrews around her shoulders, glinting in the spring sunlight that peers through the tall windows of the classroom. She tosses a piece of hair over her shoulder, squinting at her textbook, and Sirius watches the way her hair shifts and bounces. He thinks he might hate her.

Late at night, he sits with Remus, and stares up at Orion’s belt with and odd sense of wanting to cry. Sirius is not someone who cries, ever. He’s not fragile, like Regulus is.

“Mother made me cut my hair.” He says, eyes fixed on the sky. Remus doesn’t turn to him when he says, “I’m sorry,” barely a whisper.

Remus has been distant since Easter. He’s gotten used to being alone, Sirius thinks. So he sits with Remus at night. Reminds him that he’s stuck with Sirius, now, without ever saying it. Remus and Sirius don’t have these conversations aloud, not like James does.

Sirius thinks it’s the darkness. That unwillingness to be vulnerable, that James never seems to feel. Or maybe James just isn’t particularly vulnerable.

Sirius stares at his hair in the bathroom the next morning, knuckles white against the sink, and he lets that rage begin to fester.

James comes back from easter with a million half formed prank ideas, and forces the others into the library to research, which delights Remus, and infuriates Evans, who’s apparently trying to study for summer exams.

“What’s she so concerned about,” grumbles James, staring at the back of her head, her hair lit up in the sunlight like flames.

“It’s not like she’s stupid enough to actually fail. And they’re not exactly going to kick her out if she’s not top of the year.” Remus- also studying, like the strange person that he is- shifts uncomfortably.

“She would be,” Sirius says, glaring at nothing in particular, “If my lot had their way.”

James scoffs. “they’re not your lot. You’re not nearly enough of a tosser for them to be yours.”

Peter, head buried in a book on gillyweed, nods. “Your cousins are terrifying, I’ll feel much better about pranking Slytherins next year when Bellatrix is gone.”

James knows that there’s something- off. With Sirius, obviously, and with Remus, as well.

Sirius’ hair is shorter, and he seems to move with a barely restrained, frantic energy that James recognises from his first few weeks in Gryffindor. He tries to ignore it, draws Sirius into planning pranks that they don’t have time to carry out, and heckling their useless DADA professor- who, if the rumours are to be believed, is leaving at the end of the year, so it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s easy to joke about Sirius’ crazy family. It’s less easy to watch Narcissa Black from the other side of the great hall and see that same barely restrained, frantic energy in her movements.

But normality starts to come back to Sirius, after a bit. They conduct a small scale prank on their herbology class, getting them half an hour of free time as professor Sprout fixes the greenhouse ceiling, and Sirius celebrates loudly, dragging them into a dizzying dance in the Gryffindor common room. Mary giggles, and flicks her hair, which he ignores, and Evans just glares over the top of her herbology textbook, which he also ignores.

Life settles into normality- James is surprised, that this has become normal, to him. Hogwarts and Sirius and Peter and Remus and class and pranks. He knows how to get Sirius back to normal, but not Remus. There is something strange and distant in Remus’ eyes, that gets darker and more distant after he goes back to see his mother just a few days into term (it’s a strange schedule, that Remus seems to be adhering to). James doesn’t know what to do about that. But a few weeks pass, and by the time Remus goes to visit his mother in June, he seems better.

Lily stops writing to Petunia. It’s a lost cause, she knows, at this point. She sobs into Severus’ shoulder, and he just holds her in silence, then spits vitriol about Petunia while she dries her eyes.

She doesn’t really like to admit it, but she kind of likes how mean Severus is. She feels so weak so much of the time- sure, she’s smart, but she doesn’t understand wizard culture or quidditch, and she’s too serious all the time, she ‘just doesn’t know how to take a joke’. Severus is like armour, really. He’s mean, when she can’t be. The only person she’s ever been mean to is James Potter, and she kind of feels bad about that, even though he definitely deserved it. Severus makes her feel better about it.

It's over Easter that she realises that Petunia is never going to love magic. She’s never even going to like magic. And Lily- well, Lily is magic. It’s inseparable from her very soul, and if she ever had to live without it a piece of her would die, and she doesn’t know if she’d ever recover. So instead of trying, with Petunia, instead of constantly raining down blows on a brick wall that serves only to split her knuckles open, she just stops writing.

She knows her sister. Petunia will be glad that she no longer has to fend off owls every week. So Lily cries into Severus’ shoulder, and then gets up and moves on as if nothing has happened, because if she doesn’t move on she’ll never get anywhere. There’s a splitting pain in her chest whenever she picks up a pen to write to her sister, and then has to put it down again. But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. She dances around the dormitory with Dorcas and starts to understand Marlene’s quidditch rants and competes with Remus for the top of their year (though she’s not sure he realises they’re competing), and ignores the summer holiday, looming on the horizon. She misses her mum’s cooking and ballpoint pens and ignores the thought of her sister. She lets Mary braid her hair, and practices charms, and savours the magic as much as she can.

She does her best not to cry again, and lets Severus lay steadying hands on her arms whenever she’s about to.

In June, Remus gets a new scar across his face. He knows what’s happened as soon as madame Pomfrey sees him, by the way her eyes go wide and horrified, and she clasps her hands tightly together.

They never talk about the wolf, even though they both know the truth. Knowing the truth of something doesn’t mean you talk about it, Remus knows. He and his dad never talk about it. But it’s in the air, that information. Remus can smell it, sharp as the antiseptic Madame Pomfrey applies to his face with quick, clinical hands. There’s a second scar on his face now, cutting across the bridge of his nose, not as obvious as the first, but undeniably there, and he can imagine how it happened. The wolf, howling at the moon, crashing against the walls, a wild animal in a plaster and brick cage, clawing at the walls, at it’s own face, just to feel something. Remus can feel that in him, even lucid the next morning. He stares into nothing whilst Madame Pomfrey tends to him, and thinks about how easy it would be to break her arm.

It’s in June that the whispers start. He doesn’t really think about it at the time- he’s still in the haze of the full moon, still in that odd headspace he’s in at the hospital wing, where the wolf hangs in the air between them.

When he gets back to Gryffindor tower, Marlene McKinnon- feet on a coffee table, in a spirited debate with Dorcas Meadowes about the Holyhead Harpies- stares at him. Dorcas does, too, but more subtly. He doesn’t think, at that point, oh, maybe I should make up an excuse for the really obviously new scar on my face.

He doesn’t think that until he gets up to the dormitory, and Sirius drops James’ snow globe on his face at Remus’ appearance.

“What happened” he says, standing, with a gravely serious expression on his face that Remus has never seen before, except when Andromeda ran away. He crosses the room swiftly, hands firm on Remus’ shoulders. Remus is silent. So are Peter and James, watching on.

“Remus,” Sirius says, trying to catch his eye, and Remus ducks his head down, and steps back, out of Sirius’ grasp.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Is all he says, his whisper loud in the silence of the room, and spins on his heel, heading out and to the library. The others don’t follow him. They don’t ask again, just spend the rest of the day shooting him concerned glances. Except Sirius, who stares. McGonagall’s eyes soften in pity when she sees him, and Remus avoids her gaze, her sympathy crawling over him like spider legs. She tries to give him and exemption from homework, which Sirius definitely notices, and Remus flatly refuses. I’m always a werewolf, he wants to say, I’ve always been a werewolf, he wants to scream, don’t pity me just because you’ve been reminded of it. Don’t you dare.

Sirius and him had been stargazing a lot, since easter. That night they sit in silence, four centimetres between them, and Sirius asks “what happened?”

“I’m tired,” Remus says, which they both know is a lie, and he drags his blanket back to the bed, and curls up into a ball.

And that’s the last time Remus and Sirius stargaze together, in first year.

So it’s June when the whispers start. Snape has been calling him ‘loony lupin’ any time Evans isn’t in earshot, but no one else really did. Not until June. There’s a million rumours about how he got the scar, of which he hears bits and pieces of, before James glares them into silence. He got into a fight- hard to believe, in his opinion. He got attacked by the whomping willow- ironic, really. It’s just a huge papercut, from the books he’s always reading- he thinks Peter started that particular rumour.

On a sunny weekend three weeks later he’s sitting outside with all the Gryffindors in his year, sans Peter, who’s getting into a fight with a school owl that hates him in the owlery, and Lily, who’s hanging out with Snape, and Mary brings up the whomping willow game. Remus tenses, jostling James, who’s half lying across him.

“Have you heard,” Mary says, “there’s this game, some people are playing, where they get as close as possible to the whomping willow without getting hit.” The other Gryffindors lean closer, enthralled by the stupidity and the bravery of it.

“The current champion is Alice Fortescue,” Marlene interjects, “she’s wicked cool.”

James lights up, “we should try that- come on, Sirius, doesn’t that sound fun?” Sirius, unfortunately but predictably, is looking like that does, indeed, sound fun.

“It sounds stupid,” Remus says, voice clipped. “Stupid, and suicidal.” The light in Sirius’ eyes dims, slightly. Remus stands, suddenly too hot, and marches into the castle, burying his head in a textbook for the rest of the day.

So that’s how the whomping willow rumour gets confirmed. But the whispers don’t stop, not quite. He’s ‘loony lupin’, now. He’ll take it. It’s better than ‘werewolf’.

Chapter Text

Remus manages to work himself into a tizzy about summer exams, convinced that this will be the excuse that they need, to get the monster out of their school, so he throws himself into studying. James and Sirius start making a game about who can most effectively distract him from his books, which is irritating, but heartwarming. No one has ever wanted to hang out with him before.

In his most delusional moments, when he’s standing in the owlery, watching Peter fight with owls (you’d think he was a rat, with how they attack him), or sitting by the lake, watching James yell out to the giant squid, he imagines a world in where they know what he is, and they want to be his friend anyway.

And then he wakes up crying and in agony from the July full moon, and he knows he is a fool, for thinking so.

So he just keeps madly studying, and thinks of nothing else until suddenly he’s stepping on the Hogwarts express for the first time since September, and he realises with an odd sense of terror that the summer holidays have begun. James and Peter are jubilant. Sirius is quiet. Remus is not really sure what he is.

He gets off the train in London. He uses the last of the money his father had given him to buy the train fares back home. And then he’s walking down familiar streets, for the first time in a year, a cold wind cutting through the summer heat, and he’s standing at the gate of his front garden. It was once a kitchen garden, herbs and vegetables and things, all neatly maintained by his mother, but it’s overgrown now, nettles obscuring the sweet stone pavers leading to the door, vines crawling up to the roof- compromising the structural integrity of the house, probably. It still kind of looks like a witch’s house, just- not his mother’s house, anymore. He has to jimmy his keys awkwardly to open the door, and when he drops his keys down they send dust flying. His father isn’t home. He drags his case upstairs, and unpacks his uniform, folding it neatly into his dresser, putting his books next to all the others- his mother’s books, the ones he rescued after his father couldn’t bear to keep reminders of her around. He cracks open an old copy of ‘magic or hallucinations? A seer’s guide to understanding the world’, spine cracked, his mother’s spidery writing dotting the pages, and reads until the sun begins to set. He does the systematic routine of locking every window and bolting every door as the sun floods the house with red, the cold iron comforting and familiar under his fingers. He hears when his father gets home, casts alohomora, turns the secondary locks- the silver ones.

Remus switches the lights off, hides under his covers, not wanting to be told off for reading too late, but his father never checks on him. He hasn’t. not in a long time.

When Sirius gets back to Grimmuald place, it feels like the whole house is holding its breath. He thinks that Regulus might actually be holding his breath.

His mother is- well, cordial. It's odd. All year, they’ve been screaming at each other, and now it’s this dark, frosty silence.

It only makes him angrier.

They go up to Yorkshire for Bellatrix’s wedding, fresh out of school and beaming- less at her husband, he thinks, and more at the estate that belongs to her, now.

“Lestrange suits her more than Black,” Regulus says, “I always thought that the alliteration was a bit weird.” Sirius bursts out laughing, at that, which earns him a silent, nasty hex from his mother and Regulus’ pale guilt.

“Thank goodness we fixed Andromeda’s mess,” Narcissa comments by the refreshments table, “it was touch and go for a minute there.”

Sirius scowls. “She’s not dead.”

Narcissa scoffs- “As good as.”- then she stiffens.

“As good as, Sirius. You have to see it like that.” She grabs his wrist, long nails digging into his skin, “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

He glares at the floor.

“Yeah, I’m in enough trouble already. What’s more?”

It’s only when they get back to London that all hell breaks loose.

“Bellatrix is doing what she must for this family,” Walburga says, standing at the head of the table, statuesque and looming.

“As I have done, as Regulus will do, and as you will do.” She looks down at Sirius, above him and awful and he hates her. This writhing sort of hate, coiling low in his stomach, snakes snapping at his ribs.

“I’m not marrying some pureblood witch just to make alliances for you,” Sirius spits, stomach twisting at the thought of it. At the thought of Andromeda, face pale and knuckles white on the stair banister. He can see Regulus freeze, in the corner of his eye, but he finds it hard to care, in the moment. He’s been quiet and kept his head down for Regulus’ sake, and only for that. So what if his mother hates him. He hates her.

That hatred coils in his gut, burning like sepsis, and when his mother takes a step forward he stands firm.

“I’m not going to be the perfect Slytherin heir,” he says, trembling with rage. “I’m not going to be sneering and superior and dark, I’m not going to be some crazy incestuous fanatic,” the crucio is expected when it comes and he laughs through the searing pain, knees hitting the floor hard.

“Fuck you.” he chokes out, between his mother’s screaming tirade of blood purity and respect and the most noble and ancient house of Black. The crucios come thick and fast, cut through with hexes and he watches his blood pool on the hardwood floor and he hopes it sinks in, leaves his pain embedded in the foundations of the house and he laughs, a twisted, throaty thing.

“Enough.”

His father’s quiet voice cuts through his mother’s screaming with ease, cold and clipped. He stands. Walks over to Sirius, metal tip of his cane tapping against the floor. He uses it to tip Sirius’ head up to meet his eyes, cold silver digging into Sirius’ skin, eyes frosty and piercing.

“You will be,” he says, voice like slow drops of icy arsenic, “What I tell you to be.”

He swings his cane away, and Sirius’ head thunks against the floor. He listens to his father’s  step, tap, step, tap as he leaves the room. Regulus is crying, somewhere. The door clicks closed, and Sirius screams.

Peter,

Sirius and Remus aren’t replying to my letters, so you better. It’s like they decide to cease to exist during the holidays, I swear.

I’m in France with my family right now, which is cool, have you ever been? My mum’s like, a huge art fan, so she’s dragging me round to all the galleries and stuff. It’s kinda interesting, actually- I mean, tiring as all hell, but art’s cool, I guess.

My dad says he’ll FINALLY buy me a new broom for next year, since we’re allowed to take them to school. I’m going to be the star of the Gryffindor quidditch team, Peter. We’re going to leave those slimy Slytherins in the dust, with me on the team. I’d ask if you’re planning on trying out but… I know how you feel about flying. And Remus, for that matter. It’s fine, I’ll make Sirius join the team with me. Loads of the team were in seventh year last year, so he’ll totally get in. I wonder who else will try out- McKinnon, surely, but the other girls in our year aren’t going to, I bet.

In other news, I have some info about our DADA teacher next year- he’s actually a co-worker of my mum’s! we’ll be taught by an actual auror, how wicked is that. She says that he’s competent (a glowing review, from my mother) but he’s not likely to put up with ‘your foolishness, James,  no matter how entertaining you might think yourself’. No idea what she could possibly mean than that

Your very dearest most charming and coolest friend,

James Potter.

PS. If you also decide not to write back I’m going to lose my mind, Peter. Literally the only person my age I’ll be able to hang out with all summer if you don’t reply is Frank Longbottom. Yeah, prefect Frank Longbottom. He’s, like, fifteen and BORING.

The August full moon is a bad one.

Remus knows it’s going to be before it is. The wolf is on edge, and Remus can feel it’s nervous energy thrumming through his veins through from June to August. There’s an urge in him to run, to hunt, to kill, that he knows will not be satisfied. Here, even more so than at school.

There’s no window in the basement. Just stark walls and a heavy door bound in silver chains. He listens to the heavy click of the lock, just as the sun sets, and he feels a strange, longing despair rise in him. He can’t see the stars.

He manages to work himself into a flurry of panic and rage and chilling, bone deep despair. He can’t see the stars. Why can't he see the stars? He needs to see the stars. He can’t see the stars.

When dawn comes he’s still screaming, throat ripped raw, mouth filled with glass. He doesn’t know how long he spends lying in the basement, shivering and aching and smeared with his own blood- minutes, hours, it all blurs together. He can feel his mother’s hand, smoothing his hair off his face with gentle hands. She’s singing. Remus can’t make out the words, but it’s something soft and sweet and nostalgic.

“I’m sorry mum,” he says, voice hoarse and cracking.

“I’m not supposed to be a monster. I’m sorry that I am. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed to live.” She keeps singing, lullaby soft and warm like childhood and love. She smells like lavender.

“I would have died anyway,” she says, just before he falls asleep, voice high and distant. "I would have died anyway."

Remus becomes near nocturnal, after that, just to watch the stars. His usual insomnia has been replaced with a bone deep tire, and he struggles not to let his eyes close as he lets Sirius- the star- burn itself into his retina. His father doesn’t comment on how he sleeps all day.

Remus doesn’t think that his father notices, that he sleeps all day.

Euphemia Potter’s routine is sacred. She gets the same coffee and the same pastry every day, from the same café- the little one, inside the ministry building, where the quality of it’s wares depends on how much the house elves like you- and she leaves at the same time, every day.

She takes a week off at the start of the summer holiday to go to France with her husband and her son, and attempts to impart the importance of art to James, which she thinks might be semi-successful, and enjoys the coffee and pastry there, and then she goes back to work.

In the second week of the summer holidays, she makes a dramatic detour to her routine. James loves his new friends- which, she is happy for him, although she still has some reservations about the Black heir- but half of them don’t write to him over the holidays. Driven by nothing but curiosity, she pays a visit to the department of control of magical creatures. She gets a few odd looks when she asks after Lyall Lupin, but is nevertheless directed to a small office piled high with paperwork.

“This is a lot,” she says, picking her way through the room towards him. He scoffs, not looking up from the file he’s annotating with purple ink.

“we’re understaffed and underfunded,” he says, “what do you expect?” she nods, even though she definitely didn’t know what to expect. Auror is pretty cushy, to be honest, as far as ministry jobs go.

“I’m Euphemia Potter,” she says, and when he doesn’t reply, she continues, “I’m James’ mother.”

He still doesn’t respond.

“Our sons are friends. At Hogwarts.” Lyall finally looks up at this.

“Are they?” he says, and Euphemia smiles.

“Yes. He’s a good influence on James, actually. He’s a little more level-headed since September.”

“Hmm.” Is Lyall’s only reply, as he turns back to his file.

“I heard about your wife,” she blurts out, and winces when he freezes.

“I’m sorry.” She says, a tight, sympathetic smile affixed in place, and he looks up at her, eyes cold.

“you’re a few years too late for that.” He says, and slams the file closed, opening up another one to conceal his face, effectively ending the conversation.

Euphemia goes home, and refrains from mentioning the event to her son. She doesn’t really know why. Because it was strange, perhaps. Stranger than it should have been.

Chapter Text

Over the summer Lily starves.

Not literally. In the first week, maybe the first two weeks, it’s fine. She tucks her wand away and does her homework in the dim lamplight of her bedroom after the sun sets and she reads Agatha Christie and Jane Austen and she dreams of magic.

And she and Petunia are cordial. They go to Cornwall on holiday and Lily reads on the sand and watches Petunia from afar as she plays in the water. She watches Petunia from afar as she eats breakfast on the other side of the kitchen table.

It’s been a long time since they’ve been on any holiday at all. Her mother says that it will be fun. Family bonding. Lily’s not an idiot. She knows that this is a concession to Petunia, who they haven’t spent a fraction of the money they’ve spent on Lily on. She knows that her mother stares anxiously at her father every time Petunia brushes Lily off.

Lily stands up straight and smiles and pretends that magic does not exist. It is not enough. Lily makes herself scarce, hides away in the park with Severus, pretends she does not exist, when Petunia is there. It is not enough. Lily screams at the sky. Lily starves. It is not enough.

She cries into Severus’ shoulders and she feels him starve, too, fingers brittle and eyes cold after a summer spent with his father.

“Aren’t you hungry, ” He says one night, staring into the blue, blue sky with a burning fear in his eyes.

“I am.” she says. She doesn’t know it then- won’t know it, not for years yet- but it’s not the same hunger. Not really.

She steps onto the Hogwarts express. She breathes clean air for the first time in six weeks.

“Six weeks is too long!” Dorcas exclaims, and Lily fervently agrees.

“Way too long,” Marlene joins them, darting a jealous glance at James Potter’s shiny new broomstick.

“it’s much nicer to find compartments with your friends,” Lily grins, and Severus glowers. She punches his shoulder lightly. “You know what I mean.” He doesn’t.

“Oy, Pettigrew, over here,” Mary hollers down the train, and Lily glances over to the compartment they’re standing beside, giggling as she sees Remus Lupin, fast asleep before the train’s even taken off.

“déjà vu,” she comments, moving to the next empty compartment as Peter scurries past them, Potter giving her an odd look as he passes her. Severus laughs. God, she hasn’t heard Severus laugh since they left Hogwarts.

Sirius is shaking minutely, James realises as the train pulls away from Kings Cross. He gets Peter to get a card game out to pass the time, to distract Sirius, and stays quiet about it throughout, even when Sirius drops his cards for the fourth time.

Remus is still asleep. He looks smaller, more fragile, when he’s asleep. No heavy books and severe eyes to hide behind. There is this wall in Remus’ eyes sometimes. A distance.  

There’s this awful sort of helplessness to it. To know that his friends are in pain and to not know why. To not know how to help them. He wonders how Peter’s dealing with it. He watches Peter from his seat, glaring intensely at his cards, and wonders if Peter’s noticed.

Then he’s distracted by the bright fire of Lily Evan’s hair as she passes their compartment, steps firm and determined. She always seems awfully determined. A true Gryffindor. She always stands up for her friends, the same way James does. Even if that friend is Snivellus.

James turns up at breakfast the first day of second year, and says "Lily Evans is the most beautiful witch you’ve ever seen, isn’t she?"

The others just stare at him blankly.

“My cousin Andromeda’s quite beautiful,” Says Sirius thoughtfully. “And Pandora Greengrass is, too.” Remus and Peter swing around to stare at the fourth year, who’s quite peacefully eating breakfast at the Ravenclaw table.

“Wow, she is beautiful,” says Peter, and Remus scrunches up his face in the way he does when he’s reading a particularly tricky book.

James sighs loudly. “Not beautiful in the way your cousin is beautiful. She’s the love of my life, I think. I’m going to marry her.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “My cousin is already married.”

James splutters, “Not your cousin, you lunatic. Lily Evans. ”  

Marlene Mckinnon lifts her head from the quidditch magazine she’s reading beside him to arch an eyebrow in judgement. “Aren't you pureblood types ‘too good’ for the likes of her?” she questions drily.

James turns to her, scoffing. “maybe his lot,” he exclaims, gesturing to Sirius, who grins sardonically, “but we Potters are a better sort.” He puffs his chest out, “besides, Lily Evans is smart and beautiful and perfect. Only an idiot would think poorly about her because of that. And we compliment each other. I can recite my family tree going back two hundred years, and she can work elec-tricty.” He grins at her.

“ right ,” is marlene’s only response, seemingly unconvinced by james’ fervour. He sighs as she swings out of her seat, and lays his head on the table, eyes widening at Sirius.

“I’m in love, mate,” he says.  

Sirius pats his head. “I’m sure you’re not, really,” he says consolingly.

There’s a ringing in Remus’ ears. Sirius is watching him. Watching the way that he tenses whenever he moves. The tremor in his hands that hasn’t quite left. James teases him for his perpetual coldness when he keeps his jumper pulled over his hands, but Sirius says nothing. Remus realises, with a sinking in his chest, that he has already spotted the silver burns arcing over his hands.

Remus wants to stargaze, again, but he can’t. He lies down in bed in the evening when the other boys do and can’t bring himself to move again. Every morning he lies in bed and listens to the others getting ready and wonders if today is the day he doesn’t manage to get up. Every night he lies in bed, heart straining in his chest for the stars- Sirius sits by the window and watches Remus. Remus watches Sirius watch him, helpless to do anything else. Helpless to stop the stopwatch ticking unerringly towards his discovery. Remus watches Sirius and his clever silver eyes watching him, like watching a train crash in slow motion.

It’s not like Sirius is okay either. He’s injured his ribs, Remus notes, intimately familiar with the ways to conceal such an injury.

James won’t shut up about Quidditch. Sirius likes quidditch, at least, so his eyes dart away from Remus, and he allows himself to check out of the conversation, staring blankly at a page of his potions textbook he’d opened at random. There’s a chaser and a beater spot open on the griffindor quidditch team, and they’re gunning for the spots, apparently. They’re well acquainted with Remus’ quidditch ineptitude, so they don’t ask for his input, but are delighted to answer Peter’s series of increasingly inane questions. Marlene joins the conversation at some point, dragging Lily with her, and it quickly deteriorates into James trying to show off, whilst Marlene does her level best to make a fool of him. Remus lets his book fall on his face.

The week before the full moon, the tremors in Remus’ hands heighten. Sirius seems mostly restored, from whatever happened during his summer, fired up by James and quidditch and a prank that Remus is vaguely aware that they’re planning. Meanwhile, Remus gets worse. He imagines that his ribs have broken into shards of bone and embedded themselves in his lungs and heart.

One night, two days before the full moon when the wolf is close under his skin and blood shudders through his veins, hot and vengeful, he doesn’t bother getting into bed, just sits by the window. Sirius notices, but doesn’t join him until the sun has well since set, and James and Peter’s breathing has evened out into the soft snuffles of sleep.

Sirius drags his blanket over, and drapes it over Remus’ thin shoulders, and it’s only then that he notices the way that he’s shaking, violent things that wrack his body.

“Remus-” Sirius says, voice small and afraid, and then stops.

“Another month like the last will kill me.” Remus says with a quiet, terrified conviction. Sirius just stares, eyes wide.

“I don’t want to die.” His voice is high and faint, eyes hot with tears that he can’t stop from slipping down his face, one after the other after the other.

“I wanted more time,” he says, inhaling sharply through sobs, “I wanted more magic, I wanted- I wanted more, Sirius.” He can’t breathe, every exhale stuttering out of his shuddering chest with a dull pain in his sternum.

He doesn’t remember most of the next two days. The wolf claws at his skin from beneath it, his throat seizing trying to stop the screaming the wolf is so desperate for. But he does remember Professor Edevane. 

He’s their new defense teacher, and an Auror, whom both James and Peter are quite taken with (a sentiment that does not seem to be mutual). He is no-nonsense and has no shortage of anecdotes, mostly grim. Remus is landed with the job of tidying books away after class, a role that strictly rotates through each member of the class, in a way it doesn't for Mcgonagall or Slughorn. Whilst there are many, like James, who seem to be enamoured with Professor Edevane, no one wants to be alone in a room with him, either. 

Remus, acutely aware that the sharp eyes pinned on him belong to a man who makes a living off of locking away dark creatures, works quickly. He regrets waving off Peter’s offer of staying behind with him.

It’s when Remus is halfway across the room, his hands trembling with the proximity of the full moon, that Professor Edevane speaks.

“I knew your father.” he says, gravel voice loud in the silent room. Remus can feel those dangerous eyes burning a hole through his back, but he does not turn, or say anything.

“Back in his prime, when he was the best of us,” Edevane continues, voice faux casual, “Before the- before your mother passed away.” Remus’ tenses, knuckles white on the book he’s holding.

“Ok.” he says, still not turning, voice perhaps too aggressive for his position. “What, do you want me in jail?” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then “No. Shit, kid, you’re twelve .” His voice softens into a tone that Remus has never heard from him before. He doesn’t turn around to see what Edevane’s face is doing.

He doesn’t say anything, just flees, books still scattered. Another month like this will kill me, he thinks.

He thanks Madame Pomfrey before she turns to leave the whomping willow, and she pauses, face pale.

“Just call me Poppy, dear.” she says. “We’ve spent enough time together. You’re too young for this.” she shakes her head. “Too young.”

He watches her leave the shrieking shack and thinks about snapping her neck.

The full moon is bad. He doesn’t die, but it’s a close thing, he knows- closer than Poppy will admit to him. He has vague memories of being half asleep and feverish, and hearing her whisper to a tall presence beside her- professor Edavane, he puzzles out later- that his condition is touch and go.

He’s bedbound for a week afterwards. Poppy tells his friends he has a fever, and then tells them off for being too rowdy. Peter sulkily puts away the unholy uno-exploding snap-poker combination he’s made.

“It’s not, like- a hereditary thing, right?” asks James, and Remus frowns.

“What your mum has.”

Remus pauses, eyes dull. He thinks about his mother, for the first time since summer, and distantly realises that he spent half of his holiday hallucinating.

“It’s-” It would be a good lie. Not perfect. But good. James’ face is stricken. 

“It’s not.” he says, and smiles faintly when James and Peter both relax. Sirius watches Remus, and Remus watches him watch.

Remus is still in the hospital wing when Sirius and James try out for quidditch. James flies like he was born to be in the air, and whilst Sirius has fun, he knows by Alice Fortescue’s face he hasn’t made it.

“You’re certainly… enthusiastic.” she says.

“Aren’t beaters supposed to be?” he asks, grinning, and the next morning at breakfast she lets Marlene and James know that they’ve made the quidditch team- Marlene tilts her chin up in a defiant sort of pride and James pauses in his excessive celebration (Sirius thinks that Peter would be floating in the air, if it weren’t for Mcgonagall’s glare from the head table) to glance between Sirius and Marlene, worried.

“Wicked, mate,” says Sirius, holding his fist out for Marlene to fistbump. She does, no less proud, but something in her eyes softens. James relaxes, and starts to transfigure beans into chocolate. Mcgonnagal looks grudgingly impressed.

James’ good mood survives until potions. Sirius is trying to chop something that he thinks came out of a snake neatly (who even listens to Slughorn, anyway? Slytherins, probably.) when he notices James beside him leaning dangerously fair out of his chair.

“Oi, Evans.” he whispers harshly, and Sirius cringes.

“Evans!” he tries again- Lily Evans remains facing steadfastly forward, furrowed brows the only giveaway that she can hear him, but Snape turns to glower back.

“Piss off, Potter.”

“Oh, you piss off, Snivelous. Oi, Evans! Did you hear I made chaser? In the quidditch team? Mckinnon said, surely? Mint, right?”

He darts a glance towards Marlene, who rolls her eyes. He leans further towards Lily.

Sirius sees that it’s going to happen before it does, but isn’t quick enough to stop it, and is left to watch with dismay as James topples out of his chair and towards the stone of the dungeon floor, arms windmilling out and knocking into two different cauldrons, sending them both crashing down with him.

“So that’s how James blew up the potions classroom.” he relays cheerfully to Remus in the hospital wing as James groans in self pity in the bed next to him. Remus stares back at him with the kind of bone deep tire that only comes from being friends with James Potter.

“Your eyebrows have been singed off.” he remarks drily, and Sirius gasps, hands flying up to his face in horror. His eyebrows are fine, he realises, and glares at Remus, who’s collapsed into laughter. 

He means to take revenge, but it’s the first time he’s heard Remus laugh since first year. He has a sudden, vivid memory of Remus hyperventilating in the dark, moon bright in the sky. I wanted more, Sirius.  

He decides to let Remus laugh.

Chapter Text

The week in the hospital wing does Remus good. The pain that’s been ever-present since summer fades to a dull buzz, and a week later it’s gone entirely. He’d forgotten what not feeling pain felt like.

The others are planning a Halloween prank, and Remus joins them, bringing three books of transfiguration- slightly above their level, but James’ll manage- with his eye on pumpkins.

He doesn’t miss the way James lights up when he does, and it’s clearly not just because of the prank ideas. No one wants to be friends with a monster, that voice in his head whispers, and he shoves it firmly aside. When James finds out, Remus will stop bothering him. But not until then.

As the October full moon draws close, stargazing one night Sirius asks, “Are you going to be visiting your mother again?”

It is- not good. They’ve started Astronomy lessons, since they're in second year, and if Sirius has picked up on the pattern of Remus’ ‘visits’, then he’ll certainly connect them with the full moon soon enough.

“I am,” he says, and Sirius frowns, deeply, but says no more. 

The October full moon isn’t as bad as the last, the wolf mollified.

“I’m worried about these,” Poppy says, ghosting her hands over the healed burns on Remus’ upper arms and the sides of his hands. Remus thinks about telling her that the heavy door of the basement at home is bolted shit with silver chains. He doesn’t.

They have the Halloween prank all planned out- a chaotic thing, of giant origami spiders and moving pumpkins, but they need Sirius to execute it fully.

Sirius, however, disappears halfway through the day three days before Halloween. So, they learn later, does Narcissa. James spends three hours making sure he hasn’t got lost somewhere in the castle. Remus doesn’t bother, because he watched McGonagall skip Sirius' name in the register without a blink.

“Severus says that there are whispers at the Slytherin table that his cousin has a daughter, or something?” Lily comments the next day and James stiffens, eyes widening.

“Is that really a big deal?” Lily continues, “I mean she’s married and everything.” James stands and leaves the common room without comment, and Remus meets Peter’s confused eyes briefly. 

Sirius is standing at the gates of Hogsmead with Narcissa, and he thinks he might be trapped in a nightmare. Mcgonnagal had been quietly sympathetic when she had pulled him aside between defense and charms, when she had told him that his mother needed him home. A family emergency, she had said, and had not elaborated further.

Narcissa’s arms are crossed, knuckles white against her elbows. They don’t speak. The brief eye contact they had shared upon seeing one another had told him that she was as clueless as he. It’s not long before his uncle appears. They side along apparate without a word.

When Sirius has stopped being violently nauseous, he looks up to find himself at Black Castle. Sirius remembers a time, when he was small, small enough to be largely forgiven for all his sins, a boy enough to be given leeway the girls never were, when the black family seemed to be made of a thousand miscellaneous relatives. Now, though, he faces a party of just six- Regulus, their parents, Narcissa, Bellatrix, and his uncle. Regulus tucks himself under Sirius’ arm- their parents don’t react, so Sirius lets him. His parents, perhaps for the first time in his life, look small and insignificant, dwarfed by the grandiose foyer of Black manor. 

Blacks don’t historically live long. ‘It’s the madness’, Andromeda had whispered to him once, eyeing some relation- he can’t remember who, now- mockingly. It had seemed funny at the time. Sirius attended a lot of funerals when he was a child, for all those miscellaneous relatives, even Uncle Alphard, even though they all knew that he was alive, just living a ‘disgraceful life of sin’ in New York.

“Going to America kills you?” Regulus had said, when Sirius tried to explain, and Bellatrix had laughed at him meanly.

But the only one of those funerals that he really has clear memories of is his Aunt Druella’s, because halfway through the service Narcissa had started to scream.

The priest had been droning on about his aunt’s great sense of family duty, and her devotion to motherhood, when Narcissa, eleven and newly Slytherin and already quiet and cold and perfect, had, out of nowhere, collapsed to the ground, convulsing.

Sirius can still hear the echo of those screams when he thinks about them, guttural and wailing like she was being cursed with a thousand cruciatus. Like what he imagines Azkaban sounds like.

They hadn’t been able to get her to stop screaming, was the thing. Her sisters had tried to talk her down, to no avail, and silencing charms just bounced off her, the frenzied wind typical of Narcissa’s accidental magic whipping through her hair, painting her a lone figure in a storm. Eventually her father had dragged her out of the church kicking and screaming, clawing red trails of blood up his arms. Sirius had caught her eyes, for a split second, and they were frantic and inhuman. Animalistic, in a way Sirius saw in himself, on occasion, and in Bellatrix, but never in Narcissa. The priest continued talking. They could all still hear her screaming, from outside. 

There’s a hint of that wildness in her eyes now, when her father tells them that Andromeda has given birth. That she has polluted the bloodline. That she needs to be officially disowned, now. Sirius remembers how, when they could all still hear Narcissa thrashing and wailing outside, Bellatrix and Andromeda had clung to one another, eyes fixed on their mother’s coffin.

Bellatrix now is poised and calm. There’s this glee, in the tilt of her chin, and Sirius hates her for it. They enter the crypt, a short distance from the North gate as a gravely silent procession, to prepare the ritual. To sever Andromeda’s blood from theirs.

James would call this kind of magic barbaric. Sirius remembers how, once, Bellatrix had called Narcissa a banshee, a cruel joke, and Andromeda had broken her nose.

Sirius makes a horizontal slit through his left hand, and watches the blood drip down into the bowl distantly. Narcissa gives more blood than all of them, on all three days, and on the fourth, when the blood is enough and the magic thick, when she chants with them she uses her whole voice.

The banshee was the first and last time anyone had ever brought up the incident. Protocol is to pretend that nothing had ever happened, and on the rare occasion Narcissa does speak, it’s floaty and half whisper. Because even now, four years later, when she speaks properly, her voice is rough and gravelly in a way that is evidently unnatural. They tried to fix her vocal chords, but just like the silencing charms, their spells bounced right off.

Sirius can feel it when the magic works. When the ties, intricate and binding, between him and his family loosen, and one of those gossamer-fine-made-of-magic chains is cut, roughly, like and inexperienced butcher through sinews, and torn away. Andromeda will be able to feel it, too.

Regulus sleeps in his room the whole time, and their mother says nothing. She’s uncharacteristically gentle, for that week that they’re there. She doesn’t comment on his quickly growing hair, or the way that Regulus clings to his arm the entire time.

“You’ll not be coming home this Christmas,” she says to them just as they cross the gates into Hogwarts again, and Regulus stiffens abruptly. Narcissa nods, once, and turns to leave. Sirius hugs Regulus, quickly and tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before he does the same.

“You missed your birthday!” James says, indignant, as soon as he enters the dorm room and Remus rolls his eyes. 

“Good news though, my dad has finally said I can stay at Hogwarts for Christmas this year!” he grins at Remus, and then at Sirius, who laughs, shaking off the weight of the most ancient and noble house of Black, and gleefully destroys them all at exploding snap.

The November full moon hits at a frankly, quite awkward time.

Things seem to have finally begun to settle, with the marauders, but when Remus, faux casual, mentions that he’s off to visit his mother, James dims.

“But you’ll miss our first full moon of astronomy class.” he exclaims, and Remus grits his teeth, holding back from saying that he’ll miss every full moon in Astronomy. He tries not to think about how easy it will be to unravel his secret, now.

Sirius locks eyes with him as he leaves- Remus doesn’t know what to make of it. He feels those eyes on him still as he slips out of the dormitory door.

A few days before the Christmas holidays, James gets the news that his mother’s been cursed.

“It was always going to happen at some point, in her line of work,” says James, shrugging, but he’s frowning, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on the table, letter still clutched in white knuckles.

“Sorry mate,” he says to Sirius, who smiles lopsidedly.

“It’s alright, I’ve still got Remus.” he says, nudging his shoulder. So it’s Sirius and Remus, alone at Hogwarts for Christmas again.

It snows at Hogwarts, and Remus doesn’t know if that’s a magic thing or a Scotland thing. Time seems to pass dreamily, in the snow. Homework and snow and Sirius. Exploring the hidden crannies of Hogwarts and stargazing and lying awake late at night in the shadows, moonlight spilling between them, a seemingly impassible barrier.

They don’t talk. Until they do.

“How’s your mother?” Sirius asks, somewhat weakly, and Remus tenses.

“She’s-” Remus doesn’t know how to answer this. Does Sirius know? Oh, god is this a test? Does he know?

“She’s- as she always is.” he says, and leaves it at that.

“I don’t-“ Sirius stops, starts again- “are you- I.” he takes a deep breath. Remus doesn’t know what’s coming next- has Sirius figured it out? It’s so soon. He thought he might have more time. More magic. Remus closes his eyes.

“My mother broke my fingers.” Sirius whispers, and it’s so unexpected that Remus jolts, upsetting his tired joints as he does.

“Snapped them, clean in half. Because I wanted to see Andromeda before she left.” Sirius’ voice cracks on ‘Andromeda’, and Remus abruptly wants to cry.

“Fuck I- I shouldn’t have told you that. James doesn’t even know. I just- if there is something you’re not saying, Remus, I- I get it, okay?”

Remus gets up, and, with a deep breath, steps over that moonlight line, silver catching in his hair and across his scars, and then he steps back into shadow to lie beside Sirius. He can hear him breathe, shallow and shaking.

“There is something I haven’t told you. But- it’s not like that, okay? I can’t tell you the truth, I’m sorry.” 

Sirius’ eyes, wide and ghostly, seem to haunt Remus afterwards. The sun rises on Christmas morning, bright and pale, and Remus gets no presents. Sirius gets a glistening pair of cufflinks. They’re silver, Remus can feel them humming from Sirius’ bed.

“Those are… nice.” He says, and Sirius groans.

“Do you know how many cufflinks I own,” Remus laughs at his outrage, “How many cufflinks do you think I am capable of wearing at any one time!” he exclaims, shaking his shirtsleeves demonstratively at Remus, who just laughs harder.

“The girls at least get earrings- those are fun. I wish I got earrings!” He says as they’re walking through the common room. Dorcas, the only one of her friends to stay behind and therefore bored out of her mind, at this point, perks up.

“I can pierce ears.” she says, and Sirius freezes in his tracks, swivelling all the way around to face her.

“And I know a pain numbing spell now, it’ll be way better than what my cousin got when i did hers.” 

“Wicked.” Sirius breathes, stars in his eyes, and that’s how Dorcas Meadowes ends up in the adjoining bathroom to the second year boy’s dormitory with a needle and a wand held up to Sirius' ear.

“Do you know disinfectant spells?” she asks Remus, and when he nods she hands him the pair of earrings she’s elected to sacrifice to Sirius. 

He hisses slightly when the silver hits his hand, and drops them on the bathroom counter, muttering the disinfectant spell in an attempt to make it seem purposeful. He does it three times until he’s satisfied, which Sirius laughs at him for.

“Do you want an infection?” Remus glares, and Sirius holds his hands up in surrender. “This is a fourth year spell you know, you’re lucky I can do it.”

He hands the earrings back to Dorcas, gritting his teeth through the pain. 

Sirius shows them off to anyone who’ll listen, and a few who won’t. At lunch, Remus watches both Mcgonnagal and Narcissa raise an eyebrow at him. Sirius grins back at both of them, unrepentant. 

Chapter Text

They’re stargazing again, Remus slight and cold against Sirius’ shoulder. 

“The moon is nearly full,” he comments, and Remus replies, “Three days.” and then stiffens beside him so abruptly that Sirius flinches too.

It's- ok, it’s an odd reaction. And it- it’s not a conclusion that Sirius would have ever jumped to. Not in a million years. Even moderate families would throw a fit about a student at Hogwarts being- It’s a ludicrous idea.

Except that three days later, Remus disappears to visit his mother. He comes back delicate and exhausted, like he always does, and Sirius can’t shake the image of Remus flinching as Dorcas handed him the earrings. Silver earrings.

He watches Remus’ delicate hands flip pages of whatever book he’s reading, and he watches the lines of what can only be burns that adorn his hands. He watches Remus’ eyes flash a gold just a little left of human when something frustrates him, and he thinks werewolf.

And then he thinks that he can’t possibly be. Remus, delicate, bookish Remus? It’s ludicrous.

James doesn’t write to him this Christmas- Sirius worries, he knows that James loves his mother, that the situation must be worse than James was letting on. But he also, selfishly, wishes that James would write to him just so Sirius can stop slowly driving himself insane staring at Remus’ burn scars. Not that he would ever dare write down the word lycanthropy, but- 

It’s a flawed thought process. He writes to Regulus instead, inane things about the winding passageways of Hogwarts and snow and anything but Remus, anything but Andromeda. There’s a sharp guilt in his throat every time he puts pen to paper, and he tries to ignore it. Regulus is not like him. He will not suffer like Sirius does. Sirius has not abandoned him.

Unbidden, Regulus’ wild eyes from the year before rise to the forefront of his mind. I’m not strong like you, Sirius.

“How’s your mother,” he asks Remus, somewhat out of desire to prove his own awful suspicions wrong. Remus’ eyes go flat and dark, mouth downturning slightly.

“She’s as she always is.” he says, and an awkward silence envelops the both of them, tension ringing through the air, high and painful in Sirius’ ears. Then Remus laughs, slightly. Well, it’s not really a laugh, more of a disjointed exhale, and when he turns to face Sirius his eyes are a touch too bright.

“She used to sing to me, you know?” he says, wrists trembling. “She used to sing to me, like a mother sings to a child because I was her child, and she loved me. She loved me, Sirius.” he’s shaking now, voice plaintive, and doesn’t seem to notice the tear that snakes its way down his face to drop on the collar of his school shirt. Sirius shifts towards Remus to put an arm around his shoulders in a sort of desperate attempt to contain the agony leaking out of Remus. He turns his face into Sirius’ shoulder and sobs, and Sirius wonders, for the first time, if Remus’ mother is even alive.

I was her child and she loved me, Remus had said, shaking and awful and past tense.

This Christmas is the one that Lily lets Petunia go.

She stops pretending, stops starving, stops faltering and letting guilt shoot coldly through her veins when Petunia's face goes stony and sour. Be stony. She thinks, be sour and unhappy, I will not cease to exist for your comfort.

It’s freeing. It’s awful. She misses her sister. But she cannot fix what Petunia is determined to break.

She invites Marlene and Mary over and pours over quidditch books she wouldn’t care about otherwise, and lets Mary gush over her new crush, a Ravenclaw in the year above named Gilderoy Lockhart, and they read Dorcas’ letters to them to each other, and they do homework together, looking over each other’s essays on finicky spellwork and potions and magic. 

S,

I hope you’re doing well. She was born healthy and tiny. Her name is Nymphadora. Her hair is ginger right now, it will probably be blue by the time I send this letter- funny, how family traits reappear like that. Molly Prewett- Weasley, now, has recently given birth too. She, and Ted, of course, have been greatly supportive to me in this time. It is a strange sort of numbness and dullness the healer calls postpartum depression because I have not told her. I could not. It is not worth my life.

Take care, be well. Do not bring this letter home.

-Andie

January comes with the return of James and Peter, and Sirius doesn’t want to admit it, but he breathes a sigh of relief. James tells them that his mother is on the mend and Sirius cheers and James does too and there’s a sense of life and joy that returns to the dorm, that had somehow disappeared somewhere halfway through the Christmas holidays. James wakes up ridiculously early twice a week for quidditch, so on the first Monday back Sirius wakes up early too, insisting on accompanying James down to the quidditch pitch, slowing James down until he’s shooting him frustrated glares, and Marlene is well out of sight. 

Sirius spends a while opening and closing his mouth and then blurts out “I think Remus is a werewolf.”

James nearly trips down the stairs.

“The hell are you on about,” he says, shooting Sirius a baffled, scandalised look.

“I think- he said something, that made me think maybe his mother is dead.” James flinches violently. “And he’s- when Dorcas pierced my ears, the earrings burned him. I swear to god they burned him. They were silver, James."

James frowns. “What’s his- what's his mother got to do with it?”

“He disappears to ‘visit her’ on the full moon. It's always the full moon. Every single month, on the dot. Watch him. You’ll see. And- and, I did some reading, in the library-” James raises an incredulous brow- “And werewolf injuries are classified as dark magic. They’re almost impossible to heal through magical means. And apparently, sometimes, if there’s nothing for them to hunt, werewolves- they’ll hurt themselves.”

James stares at him, uncomprehending. 

“The scars, James.” James’ eyes widen. Remus’ scars are pretty hard to miss- and it’s not like he’s a muggleborn. It’s not like Hogwarts doesn’t have a medical wing. He could have- should have, seen a healer for them, gotten help- unless, of course, there’s no way to help.

“But aren’t werewolves- well. Aren’t they dangerous? They’re monsters.” James’ voice drops to a whisper. Fenrir Greyback has just recently broken out of prison- there’s been protests, about it, over Christmas, people saying that werewolves who breach the statute of wizard-creature relations should be sent to azkaban, not ordinary prison. Sirius wonders if Remus knows, about that. He only knows because Regulus has taken to sending him newspaper clippings, recently. But James definitely knows- he reads The Prophet. 

“Maybe,” Sirius says, unsure, “Maybe it’s just some of them. Who are monsters. I mean, Remus isn’t a monster." James nods firmly, at that.

“If he’s getting hurt on the full moon- i mean, it's horrible, but- that means he can’t hurt anyone else, right? Because Remus couldn’t hurt anyone. I mean- he’s Remus.”

Sirius and James make eye contact, for a moment. 

“Remus is our friend.” Sirius states firmly, and James says, “And Remus is not a monster.”

James is late to quidditch. Marlene glares at Sirius, who smiles shakily at her.

A week later they watch Remus make his excuses and glance at each other in silent confirmation. Sirius looks towards the window. The full moon hasn’t risen yet, but it will. 

“Should we tell Peter?” Sirius leans sideways to whisper to James when Remus is gone, dark hair falling out from behind his ear.

“Tell Peter what?” Peter asks from behind him, eyes narrowed. 

So they sit him down and tell him. He doesn’t take it quite as well as James. There’s a lot of pacing- but then, eventually, he says “We have to tell him we know.” Sirius nods grimly.

Remus always reads James’ Daily Prophet's when he’s done with them, which James knows, so he brings Remus the ones from over Christmas. 

GREYBACK is in one of the titles and Remus nearly sets the thing on fire. He puts the paper down and walks down to the common room and back, making a sharp turn halfway through the room, nauseous and shaky. Lily Evans turns to look at him as he goes, frowning slightly. 

Then Remus sits down and reads it. 

The scars across his face are aching and awful. He gets up again and walks all the way to the library again at a brisk steady pace left right left right in an attempt to ease the wild spinning in his head. He hides his hands in his sleeve, trembling violently. 

He’s out, he’s here- he could. He could find me he could. He grasps a cold stone windowsill in the library and stares out blankly towards the great lake. You’re in Hogwarts, he thinks. He can’t get you in Hogwarts. Why would he even- he’s a serial offender. He probably doesn’t remember you exist

It doesn’t calm him. The shadowy nightmare of his childhood is free and roaming about. He tries desperately not to let tears escape his eyes. He should have stayed in his dorm room.

He sinks to the floor, and thinks about the protests instead. He wishes Greyback had been in Azkaban. He wonders if the protesters have read the statute of wizard-creature relations in its entirety. Remus has. Multiple times. It is only second to Greyback in shadowy-nightmare-bogeyman status.

“Mr Lupin?” says a voice and Remus looks up, and it’s Professor Edevane. 

“I’m fi-” Remus says, and then, to his horror, bursts into tears.

Edevane walks him to his office and makes him tea. Remus, tears drying on his face, is not entirely sure that this interaction is real.

“He killed my mother.” He says, mostly because he can’t say it to anyone else. He watches Edevane’s face as he realises who Remus is talking about.

“She was- she was trying to protect me” Remus says, voice shaking.

“As any parent would.”

Remus shakes his head. He’s crying again. “She shouldn’t have- she was sick. She was sick.”

“I’m sorry.” Edevane says, and he lets Remus cry. There’s a sort of relief, in it, as disconcerting as Edevane’s gaze is.

The wolf is a wild, pacing thing, this month. It tests the limits of the wards and howls and throws its lean body against the walls when they stand firm, fracturing three bones. 

Remus watches Poppy the next morning as she heals them, drowsy and half out of it. He thinks about ripping her throat open. What her blood might taste like, what hunger it would sate, and he hates himself. He hates the wolf and he hates himself and he hates the hunger simmering underneath his skin and he hates the inescapable monstrousness of his existence. 

He drags himself up stairs and stairs and stairs and barely notices anyone he passes and collapses down into his own bed. Sirius is also on his bed. 

“Are you ok?” Sirius asks, and Remus thinks why are you on my bed and does not say it. After a moment of awkward eye contact, Sirius sighs and gets up to walk over to his own bed. Remus watches him go, confused.

“We-” James says, and Sirius shakes his head violently

“Tomorrow.” Sirius says with startling intensity, and Remus glances between them, and then at Peter, who looks like a deer in headlights.

The next morning he’s the last to get up and when he leaves the bathroom he’s met with the rest of the marauders all standing in a line, eyes fixed seriously on him.

“Are you… ok?” he asks, and there’s an awkward moment of whispering and shoving and then Peter says “Are you a werewolf?”

The world drops out from under Remus’ feet.