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Chapter Text

SIRIUS BLACK

Werewolf attacks!
According to our correspondent Dick Calley, the most recent full moon brought with it a wave of brutal werewolf attacks. They struck without warning, under cover of night, leaving chaos in their wake across several villages in southern Britain. The toll? A dozen bitten, scores dead — all pure-blood witches and wizards, relaxing in their lavish summer estates.

The front page of the Daily Prophet bore a photo: an elderly woman dressed in black, glassy-eyed and trembling, clutching a lone framed photograph. Tears streaked her wrinkled cheeks.
“I’ve lost my only son,” read the caption beneath.
Sirius Black studied her intently, narrowing his eyes. The woman’s face wasn’t familiar, and the name Chacklebolt raised suspicion. Chances were, her bloodline wasn’t quite as pure as she’d claimed.

Forgery of documents and family trees had become commonplace, though no one openly admitted the law was full of holes. Sirius took a long drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke slowly fill his lungs. It was warm, heavy, and settled on his tongue with the bitter taste of unease.

He turned the page. A photograph immediately caught his eye — the portrait of a young man. Or so it seemed.
Every public sighting of him came with a constant: the mask. Not a typical disguise — a wolf’s mask, with hollow, empty eyes and a snarling mouth, bared fangs exposed. Sirius brought the paper closer, as though he might see something others had missed.

Beneath the photo, a short note read:
The werewolf known as the Rebel is believed to be leading the pack responsible for the recent bloodshed. He’s been wanted for years in connection with raids on magical shops, vaults, and even several Ministry transports. No one has ever managed to catch him. He disappears without a trace.

And the warning:
Extremely dangerous. Do not approach without proper training. Any information regarding his whereabouts should be reported immediately to the Auror Office. The subject is unregistered.

Sirius stubbed out his cigarette, eyes still locked on the masked figure’s face. Only when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder did he snap out of it and instinctively pull away.

“Moody…”

Behind him stood Alastor Moody, wrapped in a battered cloak etched with the remnants of old spells and long-forgotten battles. One eye — the magical one — spun restlessly, the other fixed on Sirius with amused detachment.

“Careful, princess,” he muttered, dropping into a chair with a loud creak. “Someone might snatch you away.”

He held out a hand, wordlessly, and Sirius handed over the packet of cigarettes without protest. Moody lit one with a flick of his wand, then nodded at the paper.

“Anything interesting?”

“Werewolf attacks,” Sirius replied flatly. “Full moon last night. Business as usual.”

“The Rebel again?”

“Apparently. Do you think he’s really that dangerous?”

Moody grimaced slightly, half-closing his eyes.
“Dangerous? Who knows. But he’s a bloody ghost. Moves like he’s invisible. Where was it this time?”

“Near Dover. Will you send a patrol?”

Moody nodded. “Damn right I will,” he said, then gave Sirius a look with an odd glint in his eye.

“What?”

“How about you go have a nice little chat with the wolves?”

Sirius blinked, incredulous, as if Moody had just suggested flying without a broomstick.

“Me?” he asked, pointing at himself.

“No, me,” Moody snorted sarcastically.

“I’ve only just finished training. I’m not ready to face a pack of werewolves. Especially that one…”

Moody narrowed his eyes, reading Sirius’s face. He stubbed out his cigarette, then leaned in slightly.

“You’re not being sent to kill him,” he said quietly. “At least, not right away.”

His magical eye froze — fixed on the door.

“I thought that was the whole point of being an Auror…”

“For Aurors, yes. But the Order…”

Sirius paused, then leaned in, voice lowered.
“What’s the Order got to do with it?”

“That one,” said Moody, tapping the photograph, “could be an ally. He hates the system. Maybe more than we do. If we give him the right offer…”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Sirius hissed. “He hates people. He’d rip me apart before I got a word out.”

“You’re the one with the wand,” Moody reminded him, reaching for another cigarette and lighting it with practiced ease.

“And he’s the one with a reputation for tearing people to bits with his bare hands.”

“So what, you scared?” Moody asked, leaning back in his chair.

“No, I just…” Sirius frowned. “How the hell am I supposed to find him?”

“As it happens, I’ve got a contact in Dover who owes me a favour. Locals usually have a sense of where the wolves are hiding. They don’t stray far after the full moon.”

“And you think the Rebel will talk to me?” Sirius asked, sceptical.

“Everyone talks if they’ve got something to gain. We know they’ve been raiding shops more and more. They must be desperate.”

“So what, I bribe him with Molly’s cupcakes?” Sirius muttered.

“I’ve yet to meet anyone who could resist Molly’s cupcakes,” Moody replied with a crooked smile. He stood, the chair scraping loudly across the floor.
“Be ready by six. And congratulations. Your first solo mission. Don’t cock it up. And try not to die.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and left. The door clicked shut behind him.
Sirius was alone — staring at the unmoving gaze of the Rebel on the newspaper’s front page.
A mask that seemed to look straight back at him.

***

The Order of the Phoenix’s Headquarters sat deep in the heart of a dense, gloomy forest — a place where the sun rarely pierced through the tangled canopy above. It was a large, ancient house with dark walls of moss-covered stone, looking as if it had stood there forever. The windows were narrow, more like slits in a fortress than openings to peer through. The entire place was wrapped in powerful protective enchantments — so dense that even birds seemed to avoid it altogether. No one could find their way in uninvited. Not even by accident.

Sirius didn’t know who really led the Order. No one did — except a handful of older, most trusted members, whose faces rarely saw the light of day. He himself had come here thanks to James Potter — or rather, James’s parents, devoted to the cause for years. The moment Sirius and James left Hogwarts, the decision was clear. For them, this was never just about ideals — it was a righteous fight. A fight against a system built on hatred, blood purity, and fear.

But that fight demanded silence. Masks. Any sign of rebellion could bring consequences Sirius preferred not to imagine. Sometimes he wondered if he had the same courage as James — whether he could walk into the fire without hesitation, with that same unwavering faith that radiated from his friend. He doubted it. James was different. Unbreakable.

They’d been friends since their first day at Hogwarts. They met on the train — one of those magical moments that stays with you forever. From the start, they knew they were alike. They laughed at the same things, shared the same spark in their eyes, the same defiance of rules. James was closer to Sirius than his own brother — Regulus. And it wasn’t about blood.

Now Sirius stood by the stone fireplace in the Order’s HQ, a bright, warm fire flickering and casting dancing shadows on the walls. He was telling James and Lily about the meeting Moody had arranged for him — his voice growing more tense by the minute.

“And he wants me to talk to him! Negotiate!” Sirius almost shouted, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Negotiate! Tonight!”

James, slouched casually on the sofa with his legs pulled up, barely held back a smile. Lily covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep a straight face.

“So, you’ve got a date with a werewolf, then?” James teased, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

Sirius shot him a look that could’ve killed.

“You’ll be fine, Sirius,” Lily said gently, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not a full moon. It can’t be that bad.”

Sirius glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was the most beautiful girl he knew — not in an obvious way, not because of flashy spells or aristocratic lineage. Her beauty was in her naturalness. Thick, auburn hair falling softly over her shoulders, and eyes — those eyes — a shade of green that seemed otherworldly. But it wasn’t her looks that drew people to Lily. It was the warmth she radiated. The honesty. The truth. He’d always thought she and James made something extraordinary together. Even though their relationship, given the current state of things, was forbidden.

“You just want to get rid of me,” Sirius muttered bitterly, crossing his arms and sinking back into the chair opposite them. “So you can have the HQ to yourselves.”

James and Lily exchanged amused glances.

“As if you ever got in our way…” James said, draping an arm around Lily.

Sirius grimaced theatrically.

“Oh, don’t remind me…”

“That was your cue to learn to knock,” Lily teased, a little wickedly.

“Maybe just start leaving a signal —” Sirius sighed. “I don’t know… a sock on the door handle?”

“We’ll think about it,” James replied, reaching for a steaming mug of tea. “Right then. What about this werewolf?”

“He’s going to kill me. That’s all.” Sirius muttered, nervously twirling his wand in his hand. “Look for my body buried in the woods.”

“Got a plan?” Lily asked, leaning in with concern.

“Introduce myself before he tears me apart,” Sirius replied, shrugging.

“You could always tell Moody you’re refusing,” James offered.

“So he thinks I’m a coward?” Sirius snorted.

“Are you?”

“Of course not!” Sirius protested. “It’s just… I haven’t got the faintest idea what to say to him.”

“Try to understand him,” Lily said softly, her voice full of empathy. “It’s not easy for him either. Maybe even harder than for us. You need to reach him. Show him we’re not enemies.”

“Or just run away if he starts growling and baring his teeth,” James added, winking.

“Helpful advice,” Sirius muttered, a familiar knot tightening in his stomach. He glanced at his watch. The time was coming.

“Most of all, remember,” Lily said quietly, “he’s still human. Not a monster. Not a beast. A human. Treat him like one.”

Sirius nodded, trying to swallow the lump growing in his throat.

“We’ll be waiting for you with a whole bottle of firewhisky,” James said, standing and patting his friend on the shoulder.

“You’ll manage,” he added softly. “Who else if not you?”

“Thanks,” Sirius muttered, rising slowly from the chair. “Wish me luck that I come back alive.”

“Good luck,” Lily smiled, a shadow of worry in her eyes.

Sirius gave them a last look, then headed for the door, pulling on his cloak. He paused for a moment before stepping out, as if about to say something — but fell silent. He stepped into the dark yard, the air already cold, the forest whispering quietly like a warning.

He closed his eyes and Apparated straight to Alastor Moody’s house.

***

Sirius stood in the middle of an abandoned village, the cool autumn wind tugging at his robes as if trying to drive him away. He glanced nervously at his watch, then at the empty streets where the lamplight stretched the shadows longer and longer. Moody’s contact was meant to be punctual. He wasn’t.

With every passing minute, irritation crept in — fuelled by unease. He was just about to Apparate back, ready to deliver a few choice words about Moody’s “reliable friends”, when a faint hiss reached him from somewhere near the bushes. He froze. His hand instinctively went to his pocket, fingers curling around his wand. Another hiss — this time, closer.

Frowning, he moved slowly towards the source of the sound. The bushes rustled, and then a head emerged — wrinkled, bald, with a pair of sharp, watchful eyes. The man looked like he’d stepped straight out of a cautionary tale — the kind told at village fairs about suspicious strangers and cursed coins.

“Sirius Black?” the man whispered.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, momentarily thrown. He cleared his throat and tried to sound confident.

“Yes… And you’re… Alastor Moody’s contact?”

“Keep your voice down!” the man hissed, glancing anxiously around. Sirius frowned and looked over his shoulder — the streets were utterly deserted.

“Er…”

“You never know who’s listening,” the man muttered, stepping out from behind the bushes. He was short, almost absurdly so, and could have passed for a goblin, were it not for his very human face — lined with wrinkles and constant unease.

“I heard you might…” Sirius began, but the man silenced him again with a sharp hiss.

“Quiet!”

Sirius blinked, already growing a little irritated, but he lowered his voice nonetheless.

“I heard you might know where the Rebel is hiding.”

The man nodded, dropping his voice to a near-whisper.

“Oh yes — there’s only one forest nearby.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment.
“Here — follow the path and keep your wits about you. No decent folk go near it anymore — everyone’s scared of the wolves. But… you never know.”

“Right… Thanks,” Sirius replied, still unconvinced. He took the parchment and stepped back, ready to leave, when a pointed cough behind him made him pause.

He turned — the man was still staring at him, expectant.

“Yes?” Sirius asked cautiously.

“I took quite a risk coming to meet you,” the man said with obvious resentment, holding out a hand in silent request.

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“You do know I’m a registered Auror, right? You’re not risking much.”

The man’s face twisted into a look of wounded outrage.

“So?”

Sirius didn’t take his eyes off him, narrowing them.

“I heard you owed Moody a favour,” he said quietly.

The man waved a hand dismissively, as if that were hardly the point.

“Favour or not, it’s still—”

Sirius sighed heavily and reached into his pocket, pulling out a few Galleons. He handed them over grudgingly. The man snatched them up in a flash and vanished into the shadows almost instantly.

Sirius looked down at the crumpled parchment in his hand, then up at the darkening sky.
He promised himself he’d have a word with Moody about all this —
...assuming, of course, he survived the meeting with the Rebel.

***

The forest was silent.

Tree branches hung low over the path, draped in shadows like heavy curtains that muffled not only the light but sound itself. Every rustle was swallowed by a soft hush — not peaceful, but ominous. Sirius moved cautiously, almost on tiptoe, alert like never before. His wand was clenched so tightly in his right hand that his knuckles had turned white; in the other, he carried a bag of food — a simple offering, a gesture of goodwill, a reach across the divide.

Each step sounded too loud, too clumsy. His heart thudded faster with every passing metre. The whole thing was madness — and he knew it. He should’ve turned back long before crossing the forest’s edge. But now it was too late. Now he had no choice but to keep walking, unsure if the next moment wouldn’t cost him his life.

Then — a flash. A movement. A shadow darted across his path.

He had no time to react. Something hit him with force enough to slam him against a tree. Strong hands pinned him to the bark, and his wand arm was wrenched brutally behind his back. Sirius cried out in pain.

“Try lifting it, and I’ll rip your arm off,” a voice hissed in his ear — low, guttural, and laced with feral fury.

He froze. Eyes wide with shock, he tried to grasp how someone could’ve caught him so completely off guard. He gave a faint nod of surrender, but his attacker didn’t wait. A sharper twist forced the wand from his grasp — it hit the damp forest floor with a soft clink. Before he could catch his breath, he was yanked away and hurled against another tree. He hit the ground hard, his wand now well out of reach.

“Now talk,” the voice growled. “What are you doing here? And think carefully before you answer — I’ve dealt with better than you.”

Sirius looked up. Standing before him was a werewolf — young, no older than him, with wild amber eyes and tousled, tawny hair falling over his forehead. The cloak he wore was filthy, torn, streaked with mud and pine needles. His entire body seemed coiled with tension and rage.

“I…” Sirius rose slowly, catching his breath with difficulty. His heart pounded like a war drum. “I brought food.”

The werewolf froze.

“For you and your pack,” Sirius added quietly, lifting the bag slightly, as though it were a shield. A peace offering.

The response was swift — and furious.

“My pack doesn’t need anything from your kind!” the werewolf snapped, stepping back, ready to strike.

“Are you sure about that?” Sirius asked, his tone calm as he lowered the bag to the ground. “Winter’s coming. Not exactly the best time for camping out, is it?”

For a moment, silence. Sirius’s words hung in the air, heavy as an air before a storm. The werewolf took a slow step forward, taut with tension. Sirius stepped back, raising his hands in a show of submission.

“Alright, alright! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!” he said quickly, feeling panic begin to rise. “I came in peace, honestly!”

The werewolf gave a sharp, humourless laugh. Sirius swallowed hard.

“Right. Let’s try that again,” he muttered. “My name’s Sirius Black. And you are…?”

“Black?” the werewolf echoed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Err…”

“As in that Sirius Black? Heir to the ‘ancient, noble, and insufferably pompous’ House of Black?”

“You’ve heard of my family, then…” Sirius muttered awkwardly.

“I know every name on the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” the werewolf replied coldly. “You need to know your enemies.”

Sirius felt his breath slow. After a pause, he shrugged with a bitter half-smile.

“For what it’s worth… I’ve got nothing to do with them. Or with what they believe in.”

The werewolf didn’t answer right away. He studied Sirius closely, as though trying to detect even the slightest lie.

“And you? What’s your name?” Sirius asked, cautiously.

“Werewolf. Rebel. Take your pick.”

Sirius’s heart skipped a beat.

It was him.

He drew in a steadying breath, trying to keep his composure.

“Those aren’t names.”

“They’re the only ones the Ministry recognises,” the werewolf spat.

“I’m not the Ministry.”

The werewolf barked a dry, hollow laugh.

“No? Funny, because I can spot an Auror from a mile off. Gift of mine. Even if you weren’t strutting about in full uniform, genius.”

Sirius glanced down at his robes and groaned quietly.

“Oh, bollocks…”

“And now,” the werewolf growled, closing the distance between them in a flash, “I suggest you get out of here before I rip that aristocratic face of yours to shreds. Got it?!”

He grabbed Sirius by the collar and yanked him forward. Their faces were inches apart.

“Got it?!” he repeated through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Yes, got it!” Sirius blurted, hands raised, heart hammering.

The werewolf’s breath was hot, feral, furious. And then — he shoved Sirius back with such force that he stumbled, only just managing to steady himself against a tree.

Silence fell.

When Sirius looked up — there was no one there. The Rebel had vanished, melted into the forest’s shadows.

Sirius glanced around nervously, retrieved his wand, and stuffed it back into his pocket. He looked over to where the food bag had been.

It was gone.

Chapter Text

SIRIUS BLACK

The doors to Headquarters burst open with a bang, as if a storm had forced its way inside. They slammed against the wall with a crash, making Emmeline Vance, who had been lounging in one of the armchairs with a glass of wine in hand, flinch so sharply she nearly spilled the contents down her pale robes. She stared, startled, at the figure in the doorway — an angry, rain-soaked Sirius Black — who stormed through the room without so much as a glance in her direction, trailing a chill and a heavy tension in his wake.
His footsteps echoed along the wooden floor as he made his way down the corridor. The dining room was calm — James Potter sat at the table, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp, cradling his favourite cup of jasmine tea. His shoulders were relaxed, eyes half closed.

“Merlin help me, James,” Sirius burst out, forgoing any greeting as he threw himself into the chair opposite. “That was the stupidest idea I’ve ever agreed to.”

James slowly raised his eyebrows and set down his mug. He frowned slightly, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.

“Lovely to see you too. What was it? Wild boar, troll, or the werewolf — as planned?”

Sirius snorted, raking wet fingers through his hair.

“Werewolf. One. A golden-eyed fury with a voice like gravel and fists like bricks. Hates anything that so much as smells civilised. He pinned me to a bloody tree like a wanted poster.”

James brought a hand to his mouth, trying to hide a grin.

“Sirius…”

“No, I mean it. I barely got a word out before he was ready to tear me in half. Threatened me, knocked me over, nicked the food bag and vanished. That’s your grand diplomacy in a nutshell: me humiliated, sandwiches stolen.”

James leaned back in his chair, nodding slightly, as though weighing Sirius’s words.

“But you’re alive.”

“By some miracle and because I didn’t draw my wand. One more second and he would send me in pieces to the Ministry.”

“And yet he didn’t. He took the food. That means he didn’t reject the contact.”

Sirius shrugged. His hands fidgeted at the edge of the table.

“Maybe he saw it as a trophy. Or a prize. Definitely not as a peace offering.”

James reached for his wand. With a single fluid spell, a map unfurled over the table — luminous points flickered like stars across its surface, marking patrolled areas and known hideouts.

“Maybe he hates you. But he didn’t shut the door. That wasn’t a ‘no’. That was ‘not yet’.”

“No, that was ‘piss off, Black’ — only more colourful,” Sirius muttered, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.

Just then, the dining room door creaked open and Alastor Moody entered. His magical eye swivelled restlessly, sweeping across the room like a searchlight. Sirius grimaced at the sight of him, already mentally assembling the insults he intended to hurl.

“Heard the noise. You’re still breathing, I see. Should I take it you won’t be returning to the forest any time soon?”

Sirius shot him a venomous look.

“If you’d been there, you wouldn’t want to either.”

“But I wasn’t. You were. And you survived. Which means something’s begun.”

“He began crushing me. That’s what began. And then ended. Right around the time he took a bag and disappeared.”

“But he didn’t kill you, Black. That’s what counts.”

Sirius stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“He knows who I am. He knows my name. And he hates it — hates everything it stands for. Next time, he won’t hesitate.”

Moody perched on the edge of the table, fixing Sirius with a steady look.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said evenly.

Before Sirius could snap back, James slid a glass of amber liquor in front of him.

“Drink. It’ll help.”

Without a word, Sirius downed it in one go. Warmth spread through his chest, as though, just for a moment, it drove back the darkness coiling in his mind.

“Pour one for me too, Potter,” Moody said, leaning in across the table. “The rebel took the bait. Now you have to go back. Just you. Anyone else, and he’ll see it as a provocation.”

James passed the auror a glass, placing his other hand on Sirius’s shoulder.

“I know you’re not thrilled. But you’re the key, Sirius. He noticed you. And he didn’t turn you away. We really need him. He knows those woods inside out. He can speak to the creatures. He can guide us through places we’d never survive alone.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. The world seemed to hold its breath for a moment, waiting for Sirius’s reply.

He lowered his gaze. His fingers tightened around the table’s edge.

“If he kills me... it’ll be your fault.”

“We’ll give you a lovely funeral,” James said with a faint smile.

“Send me the guest list,” Moody added. And only Merlin knew whether it was a joke or a threat.

Sirius let out a long breath.

“What the hell am I meant to say to him that doesn’t end with my throat between his teeth?”

Moody raised an eyebrow and grinned, lopsided and sharp.

“For starters, try not dressing like an auror. Honestly, Black?”

***

Night had fallen earlier than usual — an ominous sign that winter was drawing near. Moody’s going to have my blood on his hands, Sirius muttered to himself, brows furrowed. It had been sheer idiocy to come anywhere near this forest again, not after the welcome he'd received last time.
He moved cautiously through the undergrowth, branches tugging at his cloak as though the forest itself was trying to hold him back. His wand was in his pocket — the first time in a long while he wasn’t gripping it. And not because he felt confident.
His stomach was tight, like he’d swallowed a stone. Every step felt forced, as though his muscles had decided they’d had enough. It felt ridiculous to be this afraid — only a few years ago, he’d been cracking jokes about werewolves in the Dark Arts class. Now, it struck him as spectacularly foolish.

He paused, listening. And that’s when he heard it — a soft, broken sound. Crying. A child.

He froze.

Instinct screamed at him to retreat. But there was something in the voice — raw fear, utter helplessness — that pulled him forward instead. He crept through the brambles, holding his breath, until he reached a small clearing.

And there they were.

A boy, no older than six or seven, sat on the ground, trembling and sobbing, a nasty wound glaring on his shin. Kneeling beside him was the werewolf they called the Rebel. But he didn’t look the same as he had during their last encounter. He was holding the boy gently, his voice low, warm, almost soothing.

“Easy now,” he murmured, pressing something to the injury. “It’ll heal.”

“It hurts…” the boy whimpered.

“I know. But you’re being very brave, Phil.”

“Where’s Mum?”

The Rebel froze. He looked at the boy with a pain so human that something shifted inside Sirius. For a brief moment, the werewolf no longer looked like a monster. But then his expression changed — his brow furrowed, and he snapped his head towards the thicket where Sirius crouched.

“Show yourself!” he growled.

Sirius flinched, fighting the urge to bolt. Instead, he stepped slowly into the open, hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace.

“Hi,” he said, managing a strained smile.

The Rebel shot to his feet, eyes like blades.

“You again?!”

“Yeah. Me again,” Sirius said, trying for a calm tone, then nodded towards the sobbing child. “What happened?”

“None of your bloody business,” the Rebel snarled through gritted teeth — but almost immediately dropped back to the boy’s side as the child gave another cry of pain.

Sirius took a careful step forward.

“I can help,” he said quietly.

The werewolf sprang up like a wild thing, ready to attack.

“Don’t come near him!”

“Please,” Sirius said, voice steady. “I know healing spells. I won’t hurt him.”

The Rebel stared at him in silence, eyes narrowing, like he was trying to see straight through him. At last, he gave a reluctant nod. Sirius stepped towards the boy — but before he could take two paces, the werewolf grabbed his cloak and yanked him close.

“If you harm him in any way, I’ll send your limbs to the Ministry in a box. Understand?”

Sirius’s eyes widened. His heart pounded so violently it might burst through his ribs. The werewolf wasn’t bluffing.

“Understood,” he whispered. “I just want to help.”

He knelt beside the boy and slowly reached for his wand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Rebel tense like a drawn bow. Sirius stopped the motion. When the werewolf didn’t react, Sirius whispered the spell — "Episky", then another, gentler charm. The wound began to close. The boy’s sobs faded as he stared at Sirius with wide, tearful eyes.

The Rebel leaned over to him.

“Back to camp, Phil.”

The boy nodded and dashed off into the trees. Once he’d disappeared, Sirius stood and pocketed his wand at once. The Rebel was still watching him warily, his body tight, poised for action.

“He… is he one of your pack?” Sirius asked, carefully.

“He was turned last month,” the Rebel said quietly. “His mother threw him out.”

Sirius’s brow creased.

“That’s horrible.”

“What do you want, Black?” The werewolf’s tone hardened again, snapping back into something defensive.

“I…” Sirius hesitated, cleared his throat. “I came to talk.”

The wolf studied him in silence, as if weighing whether this was a trap.

“I mean... I’m not who you think I am. I don’t work for the Ministry. Well, I do, but that’s not why I’m here. This isn’t their idea, it’s—”

“Get to the point, Black.”

“It’s just… there are people like you. People who don’t agree with what Grindelwald’s doing. Or the Ministry. And people like me. And... we need your help.”

The werewolf tilted his head.

“An Auror needs help from a werewolf?”

“I know how it sounds. But… you’re our best hope. Please… just talk to me.”

There was a long, heavy pause. At last, Rebel looked down, as though turning Sirius’s words over in his mind. The anger in his eyes was still there — not blind rage, but something sharp and cautious.

“All right,” he said at last. “But I don’t want you near my pack again.”

Sirius nodded, grateful.

“Tomorrow night. The Salbatic Bar. Knockturn Alley.”

“K-Knockturn?” Sirius echoed, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice.

The werewolf raised an eyebrow.

“What, not posh enough for the noble heir?”

“No. It’s fine. Really. Thank you.”

The Rebel gave him one last long, piercing look, then turned and vanished into the trees, silent as shadow.

Sirius exhaled, only then realising he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

***

Sirius walked down Knockturn Alley, feeling entirely out of place. This time, he'd had the sense to wear his civilian robes — but it didn’t make much of a difference. It was painfully obvious how much he stood out among the passers-by in tattered cloaks and worn-out trousers. His wand was buried deep in his pocket — uncomfortable, but he knew drawing it in a place like this was asking for trouble.
His hood was pulled high over his head, and he kept his gaze fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet, praying no one would recognise him.

Eventually, he found the bar the Rebel had mentioned, and with his heart pounding, he pushed open the heavy door.
Inside, the air was thick and stale with cigarette smoke. Sirius was fairly certain this place had never once seen a sanitation spell — it was filthy, every corner webbed with cobwebs, and he didn’t want to think too hard about the dark stains on the walls that looked suspiciously like dried blood. He swallowed the wave of nausea and scanned the place.

There — by the window. The werewolf was seated, staring out at the world beyond the grimy glass. Sirius approached cautiously. The Rebel glanced up slowly.

“You came,” he said, his voice as flat as ash. The distrust was still there, palpable. His gaze was sharp, cutting — as if trying to read Sirius like a map. He held a cigarette between two fingers, smoke curling lazily upwards. On the rickety table in front of him sat a glass of something ominously green — Sirius didn’t dare guess what it contained.

“I said I would,” he replied calmly, sitting across from him. The wooden bench groaned ominously under his weight.

The werewolf took a slow drag, never taking his eyes off him.

“Bit of a step down from the posh salons you’re used to, isn’t it?” he muttered with thin sarcasm, flicking ash directly onto the dirt floor. Sirius suspected ashtrays were one of many luxuries unavailable in the world the Rebel lived in.

“It’s not so bad,” Sirius lied, instinctively flinching as a wart-covered hag with arms like tree limbs shuffled past. “This place… has character.”

The Rebel gave a short, humourless snort. Sirius cast a glance around. The dingy dive was alive with activity, though every soul in it seemed somehow discarded — outcasts, pariahs, forgotten ones. Some looked almost human, but there was something off in the way they moved... and in the way they looked at him.

His eyes landed on the barman — a hulking figure with arms like tree trunks and a face Sirius would never want to see down a dark alley.

“He’s… a giant?” he whispered, leaning in.

The Rebel frowned and glanced towards the bar.

“Half-giant,” he muttered. “You ever actually seen a full one?”

“Only in… books,” Sirius admitted sheepishly.

The werewolf studied him for a long moment, gaze unwavering, as though evaluating every line of his face. Sirius held the stare, despite his thudding heartbeat — and it seemed to have some effect. At last, the Rebel relaxed slightly, leaned back, and lit another cigarette.

“All right,” he said gruffly. “What do you actually want? I’m not here for a chat over tea.”

“Look…” Sirius began, but faltered as he noticed two patrons nearby listening far too closely. Their skin was paler than it ought to be, and they sat unnaturally still. He leaned in.

“It’s true. I’m an Auror. But I’m not here on Ministry behalf. I also work with another group — the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Never heard of it,” the werewolf said flatly, showing no hint of interest.

“Good. That means we’re still doing a decent job staying hidden. We’re trying to change things. To fight the system — everything the Ministry’s broken.”

“You’re fighting the system… from within it?” the werewolf asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sometimes the easiest way to bring something down is from the inside,” Sirius said without hesitation.

There was a pause. The werewolf stubbed out his cigarette against the edge of the table, leaving a blackened scar in the wood. As he leaned forward, Sirius noticed the scars on his face — deep, deliberate, the kind no one ever bothered to ask about.

“You’re telling me you lot are fighting the Ministry? You and your little secret club?”

“Yes.”

The werewolf gave a thin smile — one entirely devoid of warmth.

“Do you know what I’m worth right now?”

Sirius blinked, caught off guard.

“What?”

“Ten thousand Galleons,” the Rebel said calmly. “That’s the price on my head. That’s what the Ministry thinks I’m worth.”

Sirius exhaled, slow and weary.

“I know.”

“And yet you expect me to trust you? You show up here talking about some Order, some hope —” the werewolf spat onto the floor. “You’ve got nerve.”

Sirius was silent for a moment. In his mind, he still saw the image of the werewolf by the lake, cradling that injured boy. No violence. No rage. That memory didn’t match the monster the Ministry described.

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” he said quietly. “I’m just asking you to listen. Come to one meeting. No commitment. If you think it’s nonsense, you walk away. But if you don’t…”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

“This is the address. Headquarters of the Order. Protected by a Fidelius Charm. I got it from the Secret-Keeper himself. Only you can read it. Only you’ll be able to find it.”

The werewolf accepted the parchment, but didn’t open it. Sirius continued, measuring his words.

“I’m not trying to buy your loyalty. But we can help. Food. Warm clothes. Even if you don’t join us. Just… hear us out.”

Another silence. The Rebel stared at Sirius for so long he started to fear the entire plan was about to fall apart. But then the werewolf nodded.

“All right. I’ll come. At dawn. But if it’s a trap… the first people I see better be fast.”

Sirius nodded in relief and stood up, bumping his knee against the table, which gave a low creak — almost like a warning. The Rebel kept watching him.

“We’ll be ready. And… thank you, Rebel.”

“Lupin,” the werewolf said.

“What?”

“Remus Lupin. That’s my name.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow slightly — then offered a brief, genuine smile.

“Pleasure to meet you, Remus,” he said softly, and turned towards the door, feeling — for the first time in a long while — that maybe something was truly beginning to go right.

REMUS LUPIN

Remus had to be an idiot.
A complete, instinctless, bloody fool to trust Black. And yet here he was — walking. Walking through the forest at the break of day, fully aware that every step might bring him closer to death. Not metaphorical. Actual.

But he knew this wasn’t about him. It never had been. That was, in fact, the most important rule he lived by. Rule number one: The pack matters more than the individual.

He saw it daily — in their hungry eyes. In the drawn-out, wheezing breaths. In the brittle, frostbitten bones of the young, who’d yet to learn how to survive. If he didn’t take the risk, they wouldn’t survive the winter. And if he did, and died… at least it would be a choice.

Greyback had been furious when he found out Remus was scheming again. Called him naive. Snapped his finger — out of principle. But that meant nothing. Remus had stopped feeling that kind of pain years ago.
He hadn’t told Greyback everything. Hadn’t admitted that the meeting wasn’t just dangerous — it was suicidal. With an Auror. A bloody Auror.

In recent months, he’d become something of a legend. “The Rebel,” the wizards whispered. Greyback had been livid — said Remus was endangering the pack with his carelessness. But the rebellion wasn’t some grand ideology. He was just trying to live. The system — built on lies about blood purity and social order — didn’t have room for people like him. A good werewolf was a dead werewolf. And Remus wanted to live. That was all.

Rule number two: Trust no one.

Greyback had drilled that into him early. Taught him what loyalty meant — and what betrayal cost. Remus imagined he’d once had real parents — he must have. Sometimes, if he focused hard enough, he could summon the hazy memory of a woman with black curls, holding him tight to her chest and crying. Remus imagined that she must have been his mother. But he could never tell whether it was a real memory or just his imagination.
Greyback never spoke of his parents. Always said the pack was his family. Remus had had to accept that — and be grateful he had anything at all.

Greyback had taught him everything — how to move, how to hunt, how to stay hidden, how to use magic. Of course, no one in the current system would call him a wizard — such practices were banned among wolves. But Remus could wield magic, even if he used it sparingly. He already risked enough by simply existing.

He reached the cabin. Hidden deep in the woods, it looked almost organic — grown into the brush, the moss, the very air. The air around it thrummed with magic. Sharp. Unwelcoming. Protection spells. If this was a trap, it was a masterfully set one. Even Remus had to admit that.

He ran a hand along the handle. The door creaked softly. Before his brain could register the shadow inside, his body had already reacted.

A snarl tore from his throat — raw, animal, unrestrained. He launched himself at the figure in the gloom, his weight slamming into them like a wave. He pinned them hard against the wall. The arm that could’ve held a wand was already restrained. But it was empty.
A good sign.

“Who are you?!” Remus growled, his breath hot against the man’s face.

The stranger stared at him in pure terror — and as always, that panic in another’s eyes gave Remus a twisted satisfaction.
Let them know what fear feels like.
He’d lived with it his entire life.
Let the wizards feel it too.

The boy was young. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and messy black hair fell across his brow.

“Oh, come on, James,” came a familiar, lazy voice. Remus glanced sideways. Black stood leaning against the wall, as if this were all some elaborate joke. A smirk ghosted across his face. No wand. No weapon. Just that infuriating ease.

“Just a harmless werewolf from the woods. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nice to meet you, Remus,” the boy croaked.

Remus clenched his jaw. His body still buzzed with adrenaline. He shoved him harder into the wall.

“How do you know my name?!”

The boy — James — looked helplessly at Black.

“Oops,” Black muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

Remus let the boy go with a sharp shove. He slumped to the floor, gasping for air. His eyes were wide, filled with raw, human fear.

“James Potter,” he rasped, trying to recover his dignity.

Potter. Pureblood. Grandfather was considered a blood traitor and convicted. Old family. Remus knew all their names — carved into his memory like curses.
Rule number three: Know your enemies.

“Do you have what we agreed on?” he snapped at Black, ignoring Potter entirely.

“Yes,” Black answered quickly. He wasn’t smiling now. “I brought food. Everything. We can… sit and talk?”

“If there’s anything worth talking about,” Remus said coldly, pulling out a cigarette. The match hissed as he lit it. The smoke was warm. Calming. A shield and a weapon in one.

“You’d best see for yourself,” said James, frowning slightly. “Erm… could you…?”

He gestured to the cigarette.

Remus just stared at him. Took a drag. Held his gaze.

“Right,” James sighed. “Guess we’ll be dying of lung cancer instead of at the hands of the Ministry. There are worse alternatives.”

“How many of you are here?” Remus couldn’t let them control the conversation.
Rule number four: Play hard. Dominate.
It’s the only way to stay safe.

“Right now? Hmm… three,” said Black. “Me, James — whom you’ve just traumatised — and then…”

He didn’t finish.

Because a third figure appeared in the doorway.

She was young, with dark auburn hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She smiled — and there was something about her that didn’t belong in this world. A simple shirt, trousers. Like she’d stepped out of another era.

But it wasn’t the style that caught his eye. Nor the hair.

It was the burned, brutal M seared into the back of her hand.

Remus froze. Something twisted painfully inside him.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice smooth as velvet. “You must be Remus.”

“And you’re a Muggle-born,” he said sharply, then turned to Black and James. “You’re keeping a prisoner here?!”

Both flinched. Their faces went pale.

“What? No!” Black raised his hands defensively. “She’s not a prisoner. She’s… she’s one of us.”

“Lily Evans,” said the girl, then nodded towards the cigarette packet. “Mind if I…?”

Remus hesitated, then offered her the pack. If he could trust anyone, it was her — a Muggle-born. Just as broken by the system as he was. Still, her presence worried him.
Muggle-borns didn’t just live among purebloods — in fact, they didn’t live free at all. They were kept in camps, and Merlin knew what happened to them there. Remus had only met one in his entire life.

Lily took the cigarette, and lit it… with a snap of her fingers.

“You do magic?” Remus whispered, stunned. “ In front of them? ” He nodded towards the two wizards.

“As I said,” Black spoke again, his voice only slightly steadier, “We’re not the Ministry, Remus…”

“We’re the resistance,” James added, and this time, there was real conviction in his voice. “And we need you.”

“You don’t have to decide anything now, Remus,” Lily said gently. “Just… listen.”

Remus looked at them — one by one.

Wizards. A Muggle-born. Purebloods with weapons hidden in their words.
Enemies.
Allies?
He hadn’t even realised he’d nodded.

***

They handed him a hot drink and placed a plate of sandwiches in front of him. The sight alone made Remus’s stomach twist. But he couldn’t afford to let his guard down—not until he was back with the pack. Only there did he feel even vaguely safe.

They sat at a polite distance, making no move for their wands—though Remus couldn’t be sure they didn’t have them hidden. Black and Potter wore serious expressions tinged with a flicker of unease, but the woman—Lily—still beamed warmly at him.

“Help yourself,” she said, nodding towards the plate. “Promise they’re not poisoned.”

To prove it, she took one for herself and bit into it, her vivid green eyes never leaving Remus.

“I’m not hungry,” he replied coldly, though it was an obvious lie. He was always hungry. But he never ate in front of enemies—and he still wasn’t convinced they weren’t exactly that. Enemies. He felt like a fool for letting himself get pulled into this game. Now here he was, sitting at a table with them. If they wanted to, they could overpower him in seconds. He wouldn’t even have time to react.

Remus shifted uncomfortably, trying to shake off the thought.

Black cleared his throat.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, fidgeting with the cuff of his robe. Remus kept a close eye on his movements, watching Potter and Lily from the corner of his eye. “It… means a lot.”

“Get to the point, Black,” Remus muttered curtly.

Sirius hesitated, then nodded.

“Of course. As I mentioned, we’re part of a group that works against the Ministry. Right now, we focus on sabotage—blocking new laws, disrupting their operations, helping escapees. People like…” He gestured to Lily, who gave a small nod.

“People like me,” she finished, smiling politely.

Remus frowned.

“You’re an escapee?”

Lily nodded.

“A few years back, the Order of the Phoenix caused a disruption at one of the camps. A group of Muggle-borns managed to get out. I was one of them.”

“We gave them all a place to live,” Potter added seriously. “They have to stay hidden, of course, but they’re alive. Safe. Fed. Some of them have joined our cause—Lily included.”

“The truth is, there aren’t many of us,” Sirius said grimly. “It’s hard to find people we can trust. We have to be careful. James and I are only here thanks to his parents.”

“My parents had been with the Order ever since my grandfather was murdered,” James said.

Remus nodded.

“I’ve heard of him. Henry Potter. Branded a blood traitor.”

“We’re all risking that,” Sirius said. “Being charged as traitors. For helping people. For standing against the Ministry. And now… you know where we are. What we’re doing. You’ve got us in the palm of your hand.”

“And how do I know this isn’t all just lies?” Remus asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

“Isn’t Lily’s presence proof enough?” Potter shot back. “She’s Muggle-born, as you can see. If we were lying, she’d be dead. You know that.”

“I was alone in the forest,” Black added calmly. “Do you really think the Ministry would send just one Auror? They’d come for you with a bloody battalion. You and your whole pack.”

Remus had to admit—he’d thought the same. He’d never killed anyone, at least not in human form, but he had a reputation - Ministry saw him as a beast. And Black had shown up in full Auror robes—hadn’t even tried to disguise himself. Reckless, maybe, but it had earned Remus a sliver of trust.

“How many of you are there?” he asked at last.

“Like I said, not many,” Sirius muttered. “A dozen or so. At best.”

“A dozen?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “Hardly a formidable underground army.”

James gave a small shrug. “We’re few, yes. But we’ve got the will to fight. For something better. And we believe you do too—”

“You’re just going to trust me, just like that?” Remus cut in, sceptical.

Lily leaned closer, locking eyes with him.

“We know you hate the Ministry. Just like we do. Maybe more. We want to help you, Remus—and we’re asking for your help. We’ve got to stick together. Us rebels.”

Remus stared at her. Her face was tense but sincere. Something in his gut shifted. He glanced over at Potter and Black.

“I want to speak with her. Alone,” he said coldly.

Potter and Black exchanged a look, then turned to Lily, who smiled and nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, they got up and left the room. Lily remained seated, still smiling gently. Remus couldn’t sense fear in her.

He leaned in and lowered his voice.

“Do you need help?” he asked, the weight of the question pressing out of him at last.

Lily blinked, puzzled.

“As I said,” she began slowly, “we all need your help.”

“No,” Remus shook his head and glanced towards the door, listening. “You. Do you need help?”

“Oh—” Understanding dawned across her face. “No, Remus. I’m here of my own free will. This is a safe place. No one’s keeping me here. I could leave any time I like.”

“And you chose to live among pure-bloods?” he asked, suspicion sharp in his tone. “They’re our enemies. You know that.”

“I used to think that too,” Lily said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Remus flinched but didn’t pull away. He watched her closely. “For a long time, I hated every wizard I saw. But now I know—they’re not the enemy. The Ministry is.”

“You think you can trust them?” he asked.

A smile returned to her face.

“James and Sirius sometimes can be idiots. And they don’t always get stuff. But they’re good. Really good. They know what matters. I didn’t trust them at first either, but now… Sirius is like a brother to me. And James…”

Her eyes shone slightly.

“I love him.”

“You love him?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“I do,” Lily replied. “And he loves me. We’re together. We’re happy. Truly.”

Remus swallowed. A pure-blood with a Muggle-born. A forbidden pairing.

“And the others in the Order—” Lily’s voice lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh, wait till you meet them. Moody’s a bit gruff, but Molly and Arthur… the loveliest couple you could imagine. All those red-haired children—adorable. Molly’s brothers, Fabian and Gideon, have me in stitches. Then there’s Emmeline—bit standoffish, but a heart of gold. They’re all… Remus, they’re my family.”

Remus was quiet for a moment. She didn’t seem to be lying. When she spoke of the Order, her expression had the same softness he saw in his own reflection sometimes—when he looked at the pack. Family.

“So you’ve already decided I’ll meet them?” he asked finally.

“I’m good at reading people,” Lily said with a sly grin. “And I already know the choice you’ve made.”

Remus gave a slight nod.

“I’ll help you. I’ll try, at least. Just make sure I don’t end up regretting it.”

“Brilliant,” Lily clapped her hands. “So that’s settled. I take it the sandwiches weren’t to your taste. Fancy something else?”

“No, I… I need to get back. To the pack.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding. “I’ll tell Sirius to bring you the supplies. And actually, I’ve got something for you too.”

Remus frowned. “What?”

Lily stood and walked over to one of the cupboards. She reached up and pulled down a brown paper parcel, which she stroked gently before handing it to him.

“What is it?” he asked warily.

“Oh, nothing much,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Sirius mentioned there are children in your camp. So I thought… well, some chocolate frogs, a few jelly beans—just some sweets. I asked James to pick out the kind he liked as a boy. Thought it might cheer them up, you know?”

Remus was speechless. He ran his fingers gently over the wrapping paper. The deal with Sirius had included food and clothing—that was fair. That was a transaction. He’d listen; they’d give him supplies. But this… this wasn’t part of the bargain. They’d done this out of their own accord.

“Thank you,” Remus murmured, avoiding her gaze. It was the first time he’d ever been given something without expectation. He didn’t yet know how to feel about it.

“It’s nothing,” Lily said lightly. “Come on—let’s go find the others. You’ll get the rest of your supplies, and we can talk about when to meet again. You should meet Moody next time. He’s… sort of our leader. He’ll explain the plans and such.”

Remus nodded, still at a loss for words.

He didn’t yet know whether they were truly allies.

But slowly, he was beginning to believe… they might not be enemies.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Chapter Text

REMUS LUPIN

Remus was trudging back to camp, arms loaded with parcels, his head buzzing with questions he had no answers to. The damp earth squelched beneath his feet, and the cold air nipped at his face — October was a cruel reminder that winter was just around the corner. Between the trees, he could already make out the sounds of the camp stirring to life: rustling tents, snapping twigs.

But Remus couldn’t focus on those noises. His thoughts kept circling back to Lily. Why was she there? How could she speak to Potter and Black so… casually, so warmly? They were pure-bloods, privileged. People like him were dirt to them, something best discarded. And yet, Lily wasn’t just unafraid — she said she loved them.

That word… love had always been difficult for Remus. It was abstract, foreign. He knew other words: fear, hunger, pain, loss. He understood loyalty, especially within the pack — instinctual, primal. But love? Was it what he felt when he fell ill, and the older wolves shared their soup with him? Or when he held a dying companion, trying to give even a shred of warmth? Maybe. Or maybe not. It was hard to say. There was no room for sentiment here.
When someone in the pack died — whether of hunger, exposure, or at the hands of Aurors — there was sadness. Sometimes even anger. But mourning was a luxury no one could afford. Greyback made sure everyone remembered: survival was all that mattered. Those who were gone could not be saved. But the living… they had to be kept alive.

He reached the edge of the camp. The familiar scent of smoke hit him. The fire in the centre of the clearing smouldered brightly despite the morning chill, and around it sat the elders — their gaunt faces flickering in the firelight. A few stared into the distance with empty eyes, as if they had long since departed this world, even though their bodies remained among the living.

Remus dropped one of the parcels beside Timothy’s tent. The smaller one — Lily’s — he clutched tightly under his arm.

“Quite the haul,” a voice said behind him.

Remus flinched, but immediately recognised the tone. Timothy had appeared out of nowhere, carrying a bundle of damp wood and a lopsided smile that, for him, was a kind of caring.

“Where from this time?” he asked, glancing at the parcels.

Remus hesitated.

“I have my sources,” he replied evasively. His voice came out rougher, sharper, than intended. He adjusted the parcel with his right hand. Sweets. Real chocolate frogs. Proper… Bloody Lily.

Timothy set down the wood and nodded.

“At this rate… maybe half of us’ll make it through winter,” he said, trying to sound optimistic.

“That’s the plan,” muttered Remus, unconvinced. “Seen the kids?”

“By the lake,” Timothy said, arms crossed. “Told them it wasn’t a good idea, but Larry insisted they’ve still got a little time to be kids. Said the snow’s coming soon, so let them enjoy it.”

Remus said nothing, just nodded, and moved deeper into the camp. Every tent, every person he passed reminded him which side of the barricade he truly stood on. Scars, hunger, stench… and the eyes — the same eyes, flickering with fear entwined with quiet determination.

In his mind, the image of Black and Potter flashed — their clean, expensive robes, healthy, well-fed bodies, that unnatural sparkle in their gaze. No matter how hard they tried, they’d never be in the same place as him. They still had the privilege of not knowing what it meant to fight for every single day. He gritted his teeth. It wasn’t envy. It was rage. Deep, burning rage. Their world and his were galaxies apart. They could smile, sympathise, hand out parcels of sweets — but it would never erase the fact that they lived in an entirely different universe.

Finally, he reached the lake. Children ran across the frozen grass, waving sticks like wands, making sounds to mimic spells. They laughed — shrill, carefree. Some were barefoot; socks had long since ripped, shoes were a luxury. Yet their laughter rang pure and clear, as if for a moment they’d forgotten the cold, the hunger, the fear.

Remus sank onto a stone, watching. The chill pierced his bones, but he stayed put. He looked at the children, and for the first time in a long while, he felt… something strange. As if his own heart remembered how to beat without fear.

“Remus!” a high, girlish voice called.

Before he could react, something light but surprisingly strong struck his chest. Nine-year-old Rosaline, with hair as pale as milk and a perpetually muddy face, hugged him tightly around the neck. She smelled of smoke and wet grass.

“Where were you this morning?” she asked, letting go slightly but still holding his sleeve. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Soon the rest of the children came running, as if waiting for a cue. Rudolf, tall for his eleven years with perpetually tousled red hair, was the first to grab Remus by the coat.

“Will you play with us?” he asked hopefully.

Behind him ran Phil, small and stick-thin, and eight-year-old Maggie, with fine-blooded, pure-blood features now marked as nothing but a wolf-tainted outcast. From a distance, perched on a rock by the water, Caitlyn watched — fourteen, arms crossed, feigning indifference. Beside her, silent as a shadow, sat John. Fifteen, with eyes grave like an old man. Officially “adults” — by pack standards. But Remus saw them differently. Adults? Only because they had stopped laughing.

“With great pleasure,” Remus said, hoarse but smiling — “but later. I’ve got something for you first.”

He produced the parcel and opened it on his lap. The children immediately fell silent, eyes wide as though he’d unveiled a legendary artefact. Paper rustled as he untied the string. Inside, chocolate gleamed. Real chocolate, not expired, not spoiled, not stolen from a long-abandoned shop. Sweets that still smelled of childhood, not merely survival.

“For us?” Phil asked timidly, his voice thin as a spider’s thread.

“Yes,” Remus said simply, almost ceremoniously. “All for you. Just share it evenly. And remember to give some to Caitlyn and John, alright?”

The children didn’t answer with words — they pounced on the parcel with squeals of delight, as if it were the first day of spring after a long, harsh winter. Their laughter echoed across the lake, mingling with the rustle of the trees. Caitlyn glanced briefly, a faint shadow of a smile crossing her face. John gave Remus a subtle nod, almost imperceptible — the gesture of an adult who allowed himself nothing more.

Remus rested his hands on his knees, careful. The warmth in his chest grew slowly, cautiously, as if unsure it was allowed to stay. He had seen their frozen, hungry, terrified faces so many times. And now — for a moment — they were simply children.

“Where exactly did you get this?” came a voice behind him.

Remus turned. Larry. A man halfway between youth and bitterness, dark-eyed, with a permanent crease between his brows. In his hands, he held a stick, probably earlier used to pretend-swordfight with the kids. His lips were pressed in a suspicious line.

“As always,” Remus replied, shrugging.

Larry looked unconvinced. He sat on a stone nearby, scanning the children like a shepherd counting sheep before a storm.

“Greyback’s looking for you,” he said. “He didn’t look happy, if you ask me.”

“Lately, he’s rarely happy,” muttered Remus, running a hand through his hair.

“Because lately, you’ve been going too far,” Larry said, louder, twirling the stick. “Going into villages. In broad daylight.”

Remus looked at the lake. The cold waves shifted gently, reflecting ragged clouds. Winter hung in the air like a knife’s edge.

“You’re drawing the Ministry’s attention,” Larry continued. “More than before. Soon, a whole bloody army of Aurors will be here. Then what? What will you do? Growl at them?”

Remus snorted quietly, tilting his head back, closing his eyes for a moment.

“It works.”

“It works,” Larry repeated sarcastically. “Because they think you’ll attack. But you never do. Why?”

Remus shrugged.

“Because I never had to. It’s enough that they fear me. I don’t need to prove I can kill. They all assume I already have.”

Larry grimaced.

“But you have. Well, your wolf has, at least.”

Remus said nothing. Silence settled between them, broken only by the children’s laughter and the wind whistling through the trees.

“You know I respect you,” Larry said finally, in a lower tone. “But that’s not enough to keep us safe. And the kids… they trust you more than Greyback. And that… that could be a problem.”

“Or an opportunity,” Remus replied, opening his eyes. “Maybe that’s exactly why we’re still alive.”

Larry looked at him for a long moment. Then sighed.

“I’d like to believe you know what you’re doing.”

“So would I,” said Remus.

Remus sat for a while longer by the edge of the lake, watching the children devour the jelly sweets with a greed that was impossible not to understand. Their hands were dirty, nails broken, yet in that single moment each of them had eyes full of light—as if these treats were more than just food. As if they were proof that in a world built on death and fear, something like goodness still existed.

He tore himself away from the image with difficulty. Slowly, he rose, brushed off his coat, and made his way toward the camp. With each passing minute, his steps grew heavier. He could feel the tension in the air—thick and motionless, like the calm before a storm. He knew Greyback was already waiting for him. He also knew that Greyback would be furious. But Remus hadn’t been afraid of him for a long time.

Fear of Greyback was reserved for the newcomers, for those who didn’t yet know that the monster had a heart—a heart hard as stone, frozen for years, but still a heart. Remus knew him better than anyone. He knew his rage, but he also knew his weaknesses. He remembered nights when Greyback had held him close as a child, when his bones cracked during transformation and only the presence of the pack leader kept him from losing his mind. But those were different times.

Today, he was no longer a pup.

He passed the fire where a few older wolves shared watery soup and pieces of stale bread. Their eyes followed him with a mixture of respect and unease. Remus had survived in the pack longer than anyone—except Greyback. Some treated him almost like a leader, and others said that after Greyback’s death, Remus would take his place.

Greyback’s tent was larger than the others, its torn entrance covered with thick, damp canvas. Inside, half-light reigned. The air was heavy, soaked with the smell of wet fur, old tobacco, and sweat. At one end stood a massive chair—almost a throne—made of leather, wood, and bones, not all of which likely belonged to animals.

Greyback sat in it, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. His face was half-shadowed, but his eyes glowed with a menacing light beneath bushy brows. When Remus entered, the silence in the tent thickened.

“Wanted to see me?” Remus asked, keeping his tone calm and never dropping his gaze.

Greyback didn’t answer immediately. He rose slowly, as if savoring each movement, as if reminding Remus who was in charge here. The chair creaked ominously, and his massive figure began to shift toward the younger wolf.

“Where have you been?” he asked, icy, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder.

“I said I was going on a mission,” Remus replied calmly, though his heart beat faster. “I brought supplies. Plenty of supplies.”

Greyback stopped just half a step from Remus. Taller, broader in the shoulders, his body seemed carved from stone. He stood so close that Remus could feel his breath—heavy, wolfish. Yet he did not step back an inch.

“I thought I forbade you from sticking your nose out,” Greyback hissed. His voice carried the terror honed by years of ruling the pack through fear.

“With all due respect,” Remus lifted his brow slightly, “I am no longer a child.”

A tense silence fell.

“Remember those winters?” Remus continued, his voice lower, rougher. “When our pack was dying? A few years ago, there were four of us. Four! And last year? Half of us perished in agony.”

His voice faltered for a moment, then he regained control.

“Now, because of me, they have food. Warm clothing. Maybe for the first time, we’ll all survive.”

Greyback narrowed his eyes.

“Clothing?” he asked slowly. “Where did you even get all this?”

“I have my ways,” Remus said evasively. “And they work. If that’s all, can we consider this… interrogation over?”

Greyback leaned his face closer to Remus’.

“I don’t want you leaving the camp. Is that clear?”

Remus stayed silent. He felt the anger rise—quiet, methodical, but merciless. Like hunger.

“What?”

“You’re drawing the Ministry’s attention, that’s what!” Greyback growled, his voice slicing through the silence like a knife. “What good is your food when Aurors storm in with their wands and body-splitting spells?! What will you do then, huh?!”

“They don’t know who I am, or where I’m from,” Remus stepped forward. “I have a mask. They think I lead some pack! No one knows it’s your pack. No one knows my name.”

It was true… almost. Potter and Black knew his name. Maybe they told someone else. Maybe Remus misjudged the Order’s intentions. Maybe it was all a trap.

But that was not information Greyback should know. He would likely have torn his head off.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Greyback rasped, voice trembling. “Before they catch you. And when they do… they’ll take us all!”

“You don’t trust me?” Remus asked softly, composed, though his eyes flared with a cold fire.

For a moment, it seemed Greyback might strike. His fist trembled, eyelids twitched. But something stopped. Something cracked.

Instead of a blow, there came a deep, heavy exhale.

Greyback leaned back, resting on the nearest table like it was his last bastion. For the first time in ages, he looked… old.

“I can’t lose you, Remus,” he said. Though rough, the words carried truth. “Not now.”

Remus looked down for a moment, then back up.

“You know I can handle myself. You taught me that.”

Greyback did not answer. He only nodded, very slightly.

That was enough.

Remus left the tent, leaving behind the thick air and the weight that had long stopped pressing down on him.

By the fire, he accepted a bowl of watery soup and walked to his favorite tree. The wind danced among the branches, and thick clouds veiled the sky. In the distance, someone hummed an old tune. Remus listened only halfheartedly.

He thought about the offer from the people calling themselves the Order of the Phoenix. Apparently, at the next meeting, he was to meet their leader—the name “Moody” meant plenty to him, unfortunately none of it good. He was head of the Aurors at the Ministry, and Remus sincerely doubted his motives. But he decided to ignore the gnawing pain in his stomach and focus on his main mission—securing resources to survive the winter. Perhaps the Order had something to offer, but if not, at least they had pledged to help Remus’ pack—and that was enough. After all, he wouldn’t give them the camp’s location or the leader’s name—he wasn’t that foolish. If it turned out to be a lie and he was arrested and sentenced to death, only he would die.

***

She was close enough. If it were up to him, Remus would have ended this scene long ago.
Instead, he kept glancing at John—still rigid, shoulders tense, as if the very weight of the decision anchored him in place.
The doe bent over a clump of grass. Her ears twitched lightly with each breath, her eyes dim, alert yet calm in that moment. Either she didn’t sense their presence, or she regarded them as part of the forest—no different from moss or lichen-covered stones.

“Are you ready?” Remus whispered, a hint of impatience in his voice.

John looked at him—dark blue eyes clouded with hesitation.

“Do we have to do this?” he asked, barely audible.

Remus rolled his eyes. This boy was far too soft, especially by Greyback pack standards. Luckily for him, Greyback didn’t know yet. The thought of what the alpha might do to “toughen up” John sent a cold, unpleasant shiver down Remus’s spine.

“If you do it quickly, she won’t feel pain,” he replied, eyes still on the doe. Time was slipping away. It was late, and someone from the pack could come looking for them at any moment.

“All right…” John sighed, stepping forward cautiously, but the dry snap of a twig underfoot betrayed his presence.

The doe flinched and bolted.

“Damn it,” muttered Remus, sprinting after her.

He knew the woods like the back of his hand. He had grown up among the trunks of ancient oaks, amidst the damp scent of pine and leaf litter. He could move through them like one of their creatures. Perhaps he was—at least, the Ministry certainly thought so.

In the distance, the doe’s silhouette flickered. Remus extended his hand. He preferred to avoid magic in situations like this, but time pressed, and he was weary.
The animal stopped abruptly, as if hypnotized, and sank to the ground.

“How did you do that?” John’s breathless voice reached him as he finally caught up.

Remus ignored the question and approached the doe cautiously, careful not to deepen her fear. He knelt beside her, extending a hand to stroke her neck. She trembled, yet his touch visibly calmed her.

“Remus?” John spoke, a mixture of awe and unease in his tone.

Remus looked at him.

“She’s still alive,” he said quietly. “Finish it.”

“But…”

“John,” this time his voice was firm. “You eat them. You need to learn to take them yourself.”

He hated it. Hated forcing the young ones to do such things. But Greyback had been clear—John and Caitlyn were already “grown enough.”

The boy crouched by the animal, hesitating.

“What do I do?” he whispered.

“Grab her head… like this,” Remus guided his hands. The doe regarded them with half-closed eyes. “Now snap her neck.”

John froze, but finally obeyed. A faint crack echoed among the rustling leaves. The doe lay still.
Remus noticed John’s hands trembling.

“You okay?”

John nodded but avoided his gaze, swallowing hard.

“Breathe,” Remus said more gently. “We need to take her back to camp.”

He hoisted the animal onto his back.

“John?” he spoke after a moment.

“How did you do that?” the boy repeated.

“Do what?” Remus frowned.

“This.” John made an awkward gesture. “You did that, and then… that was magic, right?”

Remus hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Will you teach me?” John’s voice was suddenly bright with excitement.

Remus studied him carefully. He wasn’t sure the boy had any magical ability. There were no signs—he might be a squib, or even a muggle.

“Wolves don’t use magic,” he said tersely.

“You did,” John frowned. “And I saw someone in camp start a fire with a flick of their hand. We’re wizards, no matter what the Ministry says.”

“Not all of us,” Remus replied calmly. “And magic isn’t the most important thing. You can survive without it.”

John didn’t seem convinced, but Remus didn't feel like having this conversation right now. Perhaps one day he would test if the boy could cast—but for now, it was too risky.

Then out of the corner of his eye, a glimmer caught him. He stopped abruptly, and John collided with him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Shh…” Remus squinted, scanning the darkening forest.

Another glimmer—clearer this time.

“What was that?” John stepped closer.

Remus set the doe down and pushed through the underbrush toward the source of the light.

From the shadows emerged a silvery dog, its sheen soft and almost ethereal.
Remus frowned. The dog was calling him. He could feel it.

He turned to John.

“Take her to camp. I’ll be back soon.”

“What is it?” the boy asked.

“Go back to camp,” he repeated, sharper.

John bit his lip but obeyed, hoisting the doe and heading toward the path.
Remus watched until the figure disappeared into the trees’ shadows. Only then did he follow the silvery guide, already sensing what—or whom—it would lead him to.

His intuition did not fail.

In the shadow of weeping willows, by the murmuring stream, sat Sirius Black. At first glance, he appeared carefree—elbows on knees, gaze fixed on the water—but when he lifted his head, his smile sliced through the serenity like a blade. It was that infuriating, slightly mocking smile that always grated on Remus.

Something inside him shivered, and anger surged, thick and hot, as if thrown into a fire.

“Oh, hey!” Sirius raised his brows, as if genuinely glad to see him.

“What are you doing here?!” Remus growled, straightening and clenching his fists. He felt his nails dig into his skin but didn’t loosen his grip.

Sirius’s smile dimmed slightly. He rose from the stone, brushing off his cloak—a slow, somewhat uncertain movement.

“Erm… well, you know…” he mumbled, glancing aside. “We never actually set how we’d communicate.”

“So you decided to send your Patronus after me?” Remus said, irritation prickling.

Sirius scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah… so you know what it is…”

“Of course I know! Living in the forest doesn’t mean I’m stupid!”

“I didn’t say you were…”

“What are you doing here?” Remus interrupted, leaving a few steps’ distance between them. Every inch of that space felt like a shield.

“I…”

“I told you to stay away from my pack.”

“Yes! Yes, and I will!” Sirius raised both hands defensively. Empty hands. That he didn’t hold a wand slightly eased Remus, but the tension in his shoulders still kept him stiff.

“We wanted you to come to the meeting tomorrow,” Sirius finally blurted, as if forcing the words out.

Remus raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, scanning his face for the slightest twitch of deceit.

“I mean—” Sirius flushed slightly, “if you can, and um… please… and…”

“Why would I?”

Sirius hesitated.

“Because you said… I thought you wanted to help us?”

“I want to help my pack,” Remus hissed, each word sharp.

“Yes, of course!” Sirius spoke quickly, nearly tripping over his own words. “And you’ll get everything you need. So… what?”

For a moment, only the stream and the snap of unseen branches could be heard. Remus studied him—Black looked scared and confused, not scheming.

“I’ll be there tomorrow evening,” he said coldly. “Now leave.”

Sirius nodded, and with the snap of departure, he was gone.

Remus stood motionless for a moment, making sure the sound hadn’t attracted attention, then exhaled, tilted his head back, and looked at the sky—dark, heavy with damp clouds. The stream now sounded louder, as if trying to drown out his thoughts.

A twig snapping pulled him from his reverie.

“John?”

By an old beech stood the boy—pale, eyes wide. In the dim light, he looked like a shadow suddenly taking shape.

“Was that a wizard?” he asked, voice trembling.

Something clenched in Remus’s stomach. He stepped slowly toward him.

“I told you to go back to camp.”

“That was a wizard, right? How did he get here? Why did you talk to him?”

“You won’t understand, John.”

“I’m not a child,” the boy snapped, frowning. “Wizards are our enemies. That’s what everyone says!”

“They are,” Remus said sharply. Perhaps too sharply, for a flicker of fear crossed John’s eyes.

“Then why did you talk to him?” he whispered.

Remus sighed.

“He shouldn’t have been here. I told him to leave.”

“We have to tell the others!”

“No,” Remus grabbed his shoulders, harder than intended. “No need to worry the pack. He’s gone.”

“But… he could come back. With Aurors and…”

“He won’t. Trust me.”

John studied him, weighing the words, then nodded.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“But…”

“Please,” Remus’s voice carried both a plea and a warning. “It was just an incident.”

The boy hesitated, then nodded again.

“All right. Come on,” Remus said, finally letting him go. He turned toward the path, and John followed. The forest around them was quiet, but its silence now felt heavier.

***

Ominous clouds hung low over the Order’s Headquarters when Remus returned. He still wasn’t entirely sure he could trust the Order’s operations, but he felt bound by duty. They had held up their end of the bargain—providing him with food and clothing, promising more whenever he needed it. And then there was Lily—he needed to be certain the girl wasn’t being exploited by wizards.

He leaned casually against the trunk of a tree, a cigarette smouldering between his lips. A branch snapped, and he spun sharply, twisting the hand of the unexpected figure behind him. Black yelped.

“Ow! Okay! I get it! —no sneaking up!,” he hissed through the pain, and Remus released his grip.

Sirius rubbed his hand and looked at him, wary.

“You coming in?” he asked, nodding toward the headquarters’ door. “Moody’s probably waiting for us.”

Alastor Moody. Remus felt a painful twist in his stomach.

“Coming,” he muttered, flicking the cigarette stub to the ground and crushing it underfoot. “You go first.”

“Oh, uh… sure,” Sirius said, sidestepping him.

Remus followed cautiously, ready to dodge—or strike. Always ready.

As they crossed the threshold, the warmth of the fire hit him in the face. For a fleeting moment, it was almost comforting. Then he remembered where he was. Among pure-bloods. Among enemies.

“Moody!” Sirius called into the empty room, then hesitated and glanced at Remus. “Uh… have a seat? Want something to drink?”

“I’ll stand,” Remus replied coldly, crossing his arms against the wall. “And no.”

“Right,” muttered Black under his breath.

During his last visit, Remus hadn’t been able to take in the room properly. Now he could. The space was simply furnished, yet it stirred a long-buried memory of something that might have been called ‘home.’ Whatever that meant—he had spent most of his life living in a tent. The chairs here looked comfortable, and the room smelled of wood, warmth, and food.

He was so absorbed in the rare, pleasant sensation that he didn’t notice Lily appear in the doorway.

“Remus!” she called cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with joy and sincerity. “Good to see you again. Is everything alright with the pack?”

Remus frowned. He hadn’t expected concern for the pack. He shrugged.

“As usual,” he replied shortly, perhaps a touch brusquely—but Lily didn’t mind.

She stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Moody’s still discussing some matters with the Weasleys and Prewetts, but he’ll see you soon. Nervous?”

“No,” he lied aggressively, frowning.

Lily laughed softly. Sirius still lingered nervously in the corner.

“It’s fine,” Lily said, waving a hand. “I know Moody has that fearsome Auror reputation, but trust me—he’s one of us.”

Remus doubted that Alastor Moody could have anything to do with this sweet, innocent girl, but he decided to keep that thought to himself.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. And then Remus saw him. He’d seen his picture in the Daily Prophet, occasionally stolen from the Knockturn Alley stalls, but a photograph did not capture the reality: a face marred with scars, one eye replaced with glass. Moody did not look like Black or Potter—there was no flicker of fear at seeing Remus, which only made him uneasy. Instinctively, he edged toward the door, ready to flee.

“Lupin, is it?”

Remus shot Sirius a sharp glance. Black avoided eye contact, his cheeks tinged pink.

“Alastor Moody,” Remus said in an icy tone. Even Lily’s smile had vanished.

Moody’s lips twisted into something resembling a smile. Remus felt a hot surge of anger—how had he ever considered working with someone like this?

“You’ve heard of me, then,” said Moody.

“Hard not to,” Remus replied. “You’ve got plenty of wolves on your conscience. If you even have a conscience.”

Sirius’s eyes went wide, staring at Remus, his face draining to pale parchment.

But Moody continued to smile, staring directly at him. Remus met the gaze, heart hammering like a drum. He could follow Greyback’s advice and stay hidden — but now he stood before the head of the Aurors himself.

“You’re tough. I like that,” said Moody. “Fancy a drink?”

Remus frowned.

“A drink,” Moody repeated, rolling his eye with irritation. “Or something else. I don’t know what you lot drink in the woods. Birch sap?”

Remus wasn’t sure if the wizard was joking or serious.

“You’ve lost your mind…” he said finally.

“Me?” Moody looked genuinely surprised. “Interesting, coming from a werewolf meeting with Aurors.”

Sirius shot a terrified look at Moody.

“Don’t provoke him,” he whispered, voice trembling.

Lily stepped closer to Remus, whose instincts were screaming “Run.” He glanced at her—she was calm. Too calm. Everything felt absurd.

“You know what I think, Lupin?” Moody asked, sliding into a chair. This wasn’t a fighting posture. At least, not yet. Remus breathed heavily.

“I think you need us, just as we need you,” Moody continued. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

“I…” Remus frowned, glancing at Sirius and Lily. “You’re fighting the Ministry, right?”

“That’s right,” Moody nodded.

“But you are the Ministry!” Remus erupted. “You are everything that’s wrong with the Ministry!”

“Decree 142/68,” Moody said simply.

“What?”

He studied Remus without a word. Remus raised his brow, silent.

“Haven’t you heard?”

“No,” said Remus, irritation growing.

Moody sighed.

“Good. I blocked it. Burning down forests suspected of harbouring magical beings. You lot would have gone up in smoke—especially since you haven’t exactly been discreet lately, have you?”

Remus was speechless. Bloody bastards.

“I sent Black, not an army. I knew exactly where you were hiding. How else would he?”

“You think I’m just going to trust you?” Remus asked skeptically, crossing his arms. “Six months ago, during the full moon, you ordered a whole pack wiped out in the north.”

“The pack that attacked wizarding families,” Moody said. Remus clenched his fists. “We can fight, but we must remain hidden. Black, Potter, and Evans probably explained that to you, yes?”

Anger surged through Remus. He hated him. He hated wizards. He hated this bloody world. Most of all, he hated himself for letting it pull him in.

“Well, your pack will be safe,” Moody shrugged. “That much I can guarantee. You’ll get as many supplies as you need. In return, we expect loyalty and readiness to fight. Not for the Ministry. For us. The Order.”

“In the pack you slaughtered, my friend died!” Remus spat through gritted teeth.

“My condolences, then,” Moody said calmly. Remus wanted to tear his face off. But this wasn’t Black or Potter—those two were young, untested wizards. Moody was different. Someone who could defeat Remus in an instant. And someone who didn’t fear him.

“How am I supposed to help you?”

Moody glanced at the empty chair.

“Sit.”

“I’ll stand,” Remus replied coldly.

“Lupin…”

“I’ll stand,” he repeated.

Moody sighed and leaned forward. Remus stepped back so far he was almost in the doorway. But he didn’t avert his gaze.

“Alright,” Moody muttered. “I have to say, you command respect among us. No one would admit it aloud, of course. But you move like a shadow. You’re elusive. Tell me… do you use magic?”

Remus flinched. He would never admit it to an Auror. Not now. Not ever. He stayed silent.

“I’ll take that as confirmation,” Moody said. “Don’t worry. It’s a huge asset. Despite everything you do, the Ministry refuses to acknowledge that you can ignore the ban on magic. Funny, isn’t it?”

Remus remained silent. This man didn’t need to know he only used magic as a last resort.

“Of course, I suspected,” Moody continued. “Now that I know your name, it all makes even more sense.”

“What does that mean?” Remus frowned.

“You’ll be useful,” Moody said, standing and moving toward him. Remus tensed, and Moody halted mid-step.

“Survival instinct,” he muttered. “Excellent. That’s what we’ve been missing. Others can learn from you…”

He cast a meaningful glance at Sirius, who frowned, looking slightly affronted.

Moody nodded to them, politely bypassed Remus at a safe distance, and left the headquarters.

Lily exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath for ages. She looked at Remus, smiling.

“Not so bad, right?”

Remus shrugged. He was still alive. That counted as a success.

“I’ve got something for you,” Lily said, reaching into her pocket. A gleaming coin sparkled in her hand.

“What’s that?” Remus asked, frowning.

“I cast a Proteus charm on it,” Lily explained. “When the Order needs you, it will show where and when. That way, Sirius won’t have to bother you—or your pack.”

Remus took the coin and glanced at Sirius, who watched from a safe distance, a faint smile on his lips.

“Told them you don;t like it,” Sirius shrugged.

Remus nodded, pocketing the coin.

“I’d better go.”

“Don’t you want to stay?” Lily grabbed his arm. “For tea. Meet everyone?”

“No, I…”

“Don’t argue, Remus,” she said, warm and gentle. He could like her. He probably already did.

“I don’t feel comfortable around so many wizards,” he admitted quietly.

Understanding softened her features. She nodded. Remus left the headquarters, hand in his pocket. The coin was there. He felt an uneasy shiver. He hadn’t betrayed the pack… so why did he feel like a traitor?

Chapter Text

SIRIUS BLACK

Sirius sat at the heavy oak desk, buried under parchment, ink bottles and quills. A muted light filtered through the half-open window, painting the Auror Office in dull grey, while the dust in the air seemed to dance in its beam. Sirius dragged a hand down his face, then slammed his fist onto the pile of reports. He cursed under his breath – he hated this job more than anything else.
Reports. Bloody endless reports.

He was grateful every single day that James had joined the Auror Office alongside him. Without him, Sirius would have given up long ago. The Potters’ fortune was generous enough that James could have walked away, devoted himself entirely to the Order. For Sirius, things were different. The Black family’s wealth was bound to shackles – influence in the Ministry and an obsession with blood purity. Sirius had despised his family from the start. He despised the Ministry too. And so he was forever treading a fine line – one accusation of blood treason, and his mother would have had him in the grave without hesitation.

Becoming an Auror was his only act of defiance. His parents had sneered at the choice, dismissing it as “a post fit only for second-rate nobility”. They couldn’t forbid it, though. In the public eye, after all, he was fighting for “the noble cause”.

Sirius gave a dry snort as he read another line of the report. “Noble cause” – a lie that made him sick every time he heard it. Sending Muggle-borns to camps, crushing half-blood protests – there was nothing noble about it. It was tyranny, dressed up as law.

The office door suddenly burst open.

“Knock, knock!” came the unmistakable voice.

James Potter stood in the doorway. His Auror robes hung half-buttoned and crooked, as if he’d thrown them on while running. His hair was even messier than usual, and a grin stretched across his face.

“Merlin’s beard, Sirius – you look like you’ve just wrestled a pack of trolls.”

Sirius arched a brow and flicked his quill, spattering drops of ink across the parchment.

“I have. Only mine are made of paper.”

James laughed, throwing his head back.

“Come on, you’d still take that over hexing people who can’t even defend themselves.”

Sirius almost replied, but stopped himself. James was right – reports were the one part of this job that didn’t demand a moral compromise.

James strolled in, perched on the edge of the desk and leaned closer, eyes gleaming.

“Tell you what – how about we sneak out tonight? Just you and me. No reports, no Order, no Moody. A bit of normal life.”

Sirius glanced around instinctively, as though someone might be listening.

“Keep your voice down, for Merlin’s sake,” he muttered.

“Oh, Sirius,” James grinned wider, “you’ve been spending far too much time with Moody. You’re nearly as paranoid as he is.”

Sirius gave him a look meant to be annoyed, which only made James chuckle harder.

“Funny thing,” Sirius said slowly, “you’re not the first today to invite me for a drink.”

James raised his brows theatrically.

“What? You’ve got… other friends?”

“Never would I betray you, James,” Sirius replied with mock solemnity. “It was Peter Pettigrew.”

“Who?”

Sirius gaped at him.

“Oh, come off it, James. Peter Pettigrew. Slept in our dormitory for seven years.”

James frowned in thought, then snapped his fingers.

“Ah – little Pete! Right. Why not, he can come along. We’ll reminisce about the old days.”

“The old days?” Sirius barked a laugh. “You barely gave him the time of day – he followed you about like a lost puppy.”

James folded his arms, brow furrowed.

“Did he? Can’t recall. But hey – I noticed you, didn’t I? That counts, right?”

“Every day I thank the heavens,” Sirius said with feigned gravity.

“Very funny,” James grumbled, though his mouth twitched. “So – are we having that drink?”

Sirius let out a heavy sigh.

“Sadly, I’ll have to pass. Dinner at the Blacks’. Mother claims she’s something important to announce.”

James’s eyes widened.

“You don’t mean… a party to celebrate your official disowning?”

“If only,” Sirius muttered. “But I’ve got a bad feeling. Listen, fancy coming with me?”

James looked at him with exaggerated horror.

“Dinner with your mother? Sirius, I’d rather share a pint with little Pete.”

“Stop calling him that,” Sirius snapped. “He’s a grown man. Assistant to the Minister for Magical Creatures, actually.”

“And my new best mate, seeing as you’re off to dine with a bunch of blood-purist fanatics,” James said in mock offence.

Sirius gave him a pleading look.

“Please, James. Will you come with me?”

James sighed dramatically, then shrugged.

“Alright, fine. But only for the free food.”

“Thanks. I'll owe you.”

“I know. I’ll add this to the list of favours you still owe me. Honestly, it’s getting long. Your grandkids’ll have their work cut out.”

“As the proud heir of the House of Black,” Sirius pressed a hand to his chest, “I bequeath to you my entire future bloodline.”

James burst out laughing, his laughter echoing through the empty office and, for a moment, driving away the gloom that clung to the Ministry’s walls.

***

Night fell faster than Sirius would have liked. Grimmauld Place loomed in half-darkness, its grim façade watching the arrivals like the face of some bitter old witch. Heavy curtains smothered the tall windows, and the whole house seemed shut off from the world, feeding on its own secrets.

Sirius stopped on the steps, staring at the door. A cold knot twisted in his stomach, and only James’s presence kept him from turning on his heel and fleeing. His friend placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Ready?” James asked. For all his casual air, he too looked a little tense.

“No,” Sirius replied honestly. “But let’s get it over with.”

He rapped twice on the door. It opened almost at once to reveal a slight young girl – a Muggle servant, who immediately dropped her gaze at the sight of them. A shiver ran down Sirius’s spine, and he knew James felt the same unease. The world was not meant to look like this.

“Master Black,” the girl murmured, her voice heavy with submission. The sound of it made Sirius want to cut his ears off.

She stepped aside to let them in, back rigid, eyes still lowered. Sirius passed her without a word. His mother had drilled into him from childhood the rule for dealing with Muggle servants: treat them as though they were invisible – provided, of course, they did their work properly. He had always loathed it. But here, he could do nothing.

The hallway was lined with portraits of proud ancestors, staring down with a mixture of disdain and malice. At the top of the stairs materialised Walburga Black. Her hair was set perfectly in place, and her tall frame wrapped in an elegant black gown adorned with pearls – a gown likely worth more than the combined yearly wages of the entire household staff. Walburga Black had been considered a beauty, but Sirius felt only nausea at the sight of her. Her eyes gleamed with calculating coldness, and her lips twisted into a smile that looked more like a sneer.

“Sirius,” she drawled, almost sing-song, “how delightful that you’ve finally deigned to visit us.”

“Did I have a choice?” Sirius muttered under his breath. If she heard, she ignored it.

“I see you’ve brought a guest,” Walburga’s gaze slid to James, who gave a small bow with exaggerated courtesy.

“Good evening, Mrs Black.”

She gave him a once-over, then turned abruptly. Her robes hissed against the stairs as she swept into the dining room.

“Well, this promises to be a charming evening,” James whispered.

Sirius sighed and followed her.

The dining room was vast, its ceiling high, its long table gleaming with silver and crystal. At the head sat Orion Black. To the world he was one of Britain’s most respected men. To Sirius, he was a monster, devoid of warmth or humanity. His face was stone, his eyes sharp and cold. Sirius had never expected welcome here – the Black family only looked whole in photographs. In truth, they despised each other as fiercely as he despised them.

To Orion’s right sat Walburga, straight-backed. To his left lay the waiting seat – Sirius’s, the heir’s.

What unsettled Sirius was the presence of Mathilda and Phil Parkinson, and their daughter, Olivia. The three sat stiff and proud, shooting disdainful looks at James. Though of pure blood, James was still unwelcome here – Henry Potter had seen to that. James bore it with pride, as if it were a badge of honour. He sat opposite the Parkinsons, beamed at them, and dipped his head in mocking politeness. Sirius brushed past them without a word and dropped into the chair beside his father, wishing the evening would end before it had even begun.

“You’re late,” Orion said coldly.

“Sorry,” Sirius muttered, eyes fixed on the table. “But as far as I can see, Regulus isn’t here either. Are we waiting for him?”

“Your brother won’t be joining us,” Walburga cut in smoothly. “He has important work at the Ministry – and besides, his presence is unnecessary. It is you we wished to speak with.”

Sirius’s stomach clenched. The Parkinsons’ presence, and the fact that only he had been summoned, boded ill.

Dinner proceeded under a haze of political talk, with Phil Parkinson and Orion holding forth while servants circulated with elaborate dishes and expensive wine. Sirius cast glances at James, who looked visibly bored, draining his wine at a reckless pace – as if drink was the only thing keeping him sane. Sirius understood perfectly.

At last, Walburga broke the silence. “Sirius.”

He looked up reluctantly, meeting eyes that mirrored his own steel-grey – and every time, he wished he could claw them out.

“You are the heir of this house, and you came of age some time ago,” she said, her voice carrying easily against the stone walls. “It is high time you assumed responsibility for your family. For some time your father and Mr Parkinson have been in talks, and it has been agreed that our families shall be joined by your marriage to Olivia.”

Sirius froze. Out of the corner of his eye he saw James’s hand halt halfway to his lips, goblet suspended, eyes fixed on Walburga in shock.

“Ex–excuse me?” Sirius croaked, his throat dry.

Walburga raised a brow. Realising how improper his reaction must look, Sirius sat up straighter, cleared his throat, and forced steadiness into his voice.

“You mean I’m to marry?”

“That is your duty to this family,” Orion replied in his flat, icy tone. “You are heir to an ancient pure-blood line. It is your responsibility to keep that line pure. Olivia will ensure it.”

Sirius turned towards the girl, desperate for some flicker of resistance in her eyes. Instead, he found cold satisfaction. Her perfect brow arched high, her crimson lips curved into a refined, merciless smile. She looked so much like his mother that bile rose in his throat. His blood boiled. Every fibre of him wanted to rise, to walk out and never look back. But their eyes pierced him like knives.

He didn’t want this – of course he didn’t. This was his life, and they were carving it into their sordid little bargain. James cleared his throat as if to speak, but Sirius silenced him with a glance. The pause dragged. His throat tightened. He knew – whatever he said, he lost.

“Very well,” he whispered at last, staring down at his plate. He could feel their eyes on him. He could feel James’s eyes on him. He felt like a coward. “If that is my duty.”

Walburga’s smile spread in triumph. She and Mathilda at once launched into talk of wedding plans, while Orion and Phil drifted back to politics. Olivia preened with pride. And Sirius loathed every last one of them with all his being.

He stayed silent for the rest of the meal, chewing mechanically, every mouthful burning in his throat. It felt as though he had signed his own death warrant.

When they finally stepped out into the cold night air, Sirius closed his eyes and drew a long breath. James stood beside him in silence.

“What?” Sirius muttered at last.

“Shall I start ordering my dress robes?” James asked, raising his brows.

Sirius let out a groan.

“For Merlin’s sake, that was…”

“I know,” James said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll deal with it.”

Sirius shot him a look of gratitude, though he knew it was hopeless. The Blacks and the Parkinsons would not let this go. He would hate himself for the rest of his life, trapped in a marriage that the Ministry would hail as perfect.

***

The news spread across the country like wildfire – as though the whole of Britain had been waiting for the announcement. The Black heir was to be married. His mother wasted no time: she arranged a photo session for the Daily Prophet, made sure the pictures were suitably grand, and ensured that their great-grandmother’s ring sparkled on Olivia Parkinson’s hand. In the photograph Sirius wore a stiff, puppet-like smile, while Olivia displayed the ring with the pride of a queen already crowned.

Days later, as Sirius stepped into Headquarters, he could still feel the weight of those flashes.

“Congratulations, groom-to-be!” Fabian’s voice rang out from the table, where he sat nursing a mug of coffee and grinning broadly. “Just say when the wedding is and I’ll mark it in my calendar right now.”

Sirius shot him a dark look and muttered:

“Get stuffed.”

Fabian and Gideon burst into laughter, the sound filling the room. Sirius snatched the Prophet from Fabian, glanced at the front page, and grimaced at the sight of his own photograph. A flare of anger stabbed through him. He crushed the paper in his hand and hurled it into the fireplace, where it flared up at once.

“Everything alright?” Lily asked quietly, lifting serious eyes to him.

Sirius dropped heavily into the chair beside her. Her voice was the only place he found honesty these days. At the Ministry he was forced to smile, accepting congratulations from people he despised. In the Order, all he met with were digs and crude jokes. Only Lily seemed to grasp how suffocating it all was.

“Nothing’s alright,” he said bleakly. “I hate my family.”

Lily nodded gently, as if she understood perfectly. She leaned closer, red hair falling over her shoulder.

“Maybe she won’t be so bad,” she ventured carefully. “This Olivia.”

Sirius gave a bitter snort.

“She’s a copy of my mother. Thirty years younger, that’s all. Does that sound like a promising future to you?”

Lily pulled a face, shaking her head.

“I can’t fathom it… how your parents can force you into marrying someone you barely know.”

“That’s the way of it with us,” he said with a shrug. “It’s tradition among the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They’ll do anything to keep the blood ‘pure’. Even if it means marrying their own cousins. Like my parents.”

“Oh,” Lily raised her brows. “So, do you have any extra fingers hidden somewhere?”

Sirius gave her a look of mock gravity.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

A wide smile touched her lips, though her eyes remained serious.

“It’ll work out somehow,” she said softly. “You’ll see.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, though there wasn’t a shred of conviction in his voice.

At that moment the silence was cut through by the heavy, metallic thud of approaching steps. There was no mistaking who it was.

“Oh, marvellous,” Sirius murmured as Alastor Moody entered the room. “Just what we were missing.”

Moody’s gaze swept the room – first with his ordinary eye, then with the magical one, which darted restlessly before settling on Sirius and Lily.

“What are you two whispering about?” he barked. “Whether black or silver robes will suit you better at the wedding?”

Sirius shot him a glare that could have felled a troll, but kept his tongue. He’d had his fill of mockery – and if he rose to it, the Prewett brothers would have fresh material for a week.

Moody dropped heavily into a chair and flicked his wand at an empty glass. It filled at once with amber liquid.

“We’ve got a job,” he announced flatly, before Fabian and Gideon could start sniggering again.

Both brothers straightened at once, eyes lighting with interest. Sirius too looked up, grateful for anything that might drag his mind away from his own mess.

“The Ministry’s got a list of new Muggle-borns,” Moody began, taking a sip of whisky. “Some of them can still be reclassified as half-bloods.”

“Not all of them?” Lily asked grimly.

“Evans, we can’t save the whole bleeding world in one go,” Moody replied curtly. “But a few we can. I’ve lined up half-blood families to take them in. The list is already in the hands of the Muggle-born Registration Commission. If we stir up a bit of chaos, we can intercept it.”

Sirius frowned. On the surface, it sounded straightforward – Muggle parents usually gave their magic children up quietly, knowing the alternative. The real problem was logistics, secrecy… and making sure the children were young enough to believe a new identity.

“What sort of chaos are you thinking of?” he asked slowly.

Moody’s glass eye swivelled and fixed on him.

“That’s where your new friend comes in.”

Sirius raised his brows, then glanced at Lily. They both knew at once whom he meant.

“Remus…” Lily whispered.

“Exactly,” Moody confirmed. “As the Rebel. He’ll be the distraction. Dangerous for him, but he will draw every eye. You’ll back him up, Evans. The mask is the most important thing – we can’t let anyone learn who he really is.”

Lily rose slowly, nodding. “I’ll contact him.”

When she left the room, silence fell again. Sirius slumped back in his chair with a sigh. One thought gnawed at him, impossible to shake: How will Remus take this?

It was clear he didn’t trust them – not really, perhaps with the exception of Lily, who shared with him that sense of being an outsider. But just as clear was his hatred for the Ministry and everything tied to it. Maybe, Sirius hoped, he’d see this as a chance for mischief, a game worth playing at their expense. It was all they could hope for.

***

The room at Headquarters was dim, lit only by the flickering fire in the hearth. Shadows danced along the walls, shifting over the faded, timeworn wallpaper like silent witnesses to the conversation. Remus stood against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His stance was calm, but there was tension lurking in his amber eyes.

“I’ll do it,” he said finally, his voice firm, without hesitation.

Sirius, lounging casually in his chair, narrowed his eyes. He still couldn’t quite read that expression. There was caution there, as always, but perhaps – or at least he wanted to believe it – slightly less hostility than usual.

James looked up from the parchment where he’d been sketching the plan, his expression serious, brows furrowed in thought.

“You understand this isn’t a regular outing, right?” he asked quietly, setting down his quill. “It’s one thing doing your solo stunts – breaking into shops, Ministry offices… but this…”

He trailed off, searching for words. Remus tilted his head in his direction, raising an eyebrow.

“This is right in the enemy’s heart,” James finished, fixing him with a steady gaze.

Remus paused, as if weighing his reply. Then he shrugged, speaking calmly, almost without emotion:

“So, what is it then? You want my help, or are you trying to put me off?”

“Of course we want your help,” Lily spoke quickly, lifting her gaze from the notes spread across the table. Her voice was soft but firm. “You just need to know it’s risky.”

A twitch at the corner of Remus’s mouth suggested something like a wry smile.

“Risky? That’s my whole life,” he said, pushing off the wall, emphasising his words. “I’ll take the mask, make the diversion, and you lot grab the list. Is it really that difficult?”

“So, it’s settled,” Sirius interjected, suddenly animated, sitting up straighter. “Fabian and Gideon will handle the list – they love missions like this. James and I will be there as aurors. You, Remus, will draw attention, and Lily will cover you from the shadows. That way, we at least have a slim chance nobody gets hurt.”

He paused, sending him a wide, cheeky grin. “What do you reckon, Moony?”

Remus froze. The flash in his eyes was so sharp Sirius felt his stomach drop. He knew that look – predator-like amber eyes, now mixed with disbelief.

“What did you just call me?” he asked slowly, dragging out the words.

“Uh…” Sirius cleared his throat; all his casual bravado had vanished. “Well… you know. You don’t like people using your name, and ‘the Rebel’ is your public tag, so… I thought…”

“Never again,” Remus cut him off sharply, keeping him in his gaze.

“Right, got it,” Sirius blurted, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy caught doing something foolish.

“Admit it,” James chimed in, trying to lighten the tension, “‘Moony’ does sound rather cute.” He grinned. “You know, moon, werewolf… it fits perfectly.”

Remus’s sharp glance now shifted to James. The silence that followed made Potter immediately straighten up, suddenly serious.

“Or maybe not,” he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck.

Lily rolled her eyes and stood from the table before the atmosphere could thicken further.

“All right,” she said, calm and decisive. “We meet here tomorrow at two, Remus. You and me. The rest will already be at the Ministry. I know where the Commission is and how to get in.”

Remus studied her for a long moment, then nodded. His face betrayed nothing, but there was something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“All right,” he said quietly

***

The Ministry of Magic throbbed like a living organism. The marble floors echoed with the tap of hundreds of footsteps, conversations ricocheted along the corridors, and the air was thick with the scent of ink, parchment, and magic. Sirius walked shoulder to shoulder with James, both clad in Auror robes. The fabric hung stiffly on them, like costumes in a play they never wanted to perform. They knew Fabian and Gideon were lurking somewhere nearby – most likely where the commotion would be greatest. The Prewetts loved a spectacle.

But Sirius found it hard to feel any excitement. There was a knot of anxiety in his stomach he couldn’t shake – this was the first mission Remus was taking part in, and he had no idea what to expect.

“Lily’s given the word – they’re already on their way,” James murmured, moving his lips so slightly his words almost disappeared in the din.

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“We’ll manage,” James added, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though there was uncertainty there too.

He was about to say more when a voice cut through the noise.

Emerging from the shadows.

Remus.

The wolf mask, crude and terrifying, hid his face. He stood rigid, almost theatrically. He didn’t need words – his presence alone sent panic rippling through the Ministry. Officials scattered like startled birds, parchments flew from their hands, and the echoes of footsteps and shouts bounced off the marble walls.

“It’s him!” shouted Kliment, a young Auror who had leapt forward from the crowd. “The Rebel!”

Sirius and James exchanged a quick glance before lunging forward, wands raised, pretending to give chase. A game. Just a game.

Remus growled – wild, animalistic – and with a furious swipe he overturned a desk. Spells whizzed through the air, ricocheting off walls and doors. He moved with astonishing agility. Sirius realised the werewolf had clearly been in situations like this before – attacked from all sides, yet still fighting.

For a moment, Sirius lost sight of him, but noticed something else – Lily, in the shadows of the corridor. Dressed in a simple, dark wizard’s robe, she looked like another Ministry worker. Her hands rose slightly, lending protective spells to Remus. Her sleeves were long enough to hide the mark that revealed her true identity. Their eyes met, and in hers was a silent warning.

Because danger lurked just behind him.

Sirius spun around and saw a young Auror, face tight with fear and determination, wand raised directly at Remus.

“Stupefy!”

The spell tore through the air. Remus dodged, but the red streak caught his shoulder. Panic rose in Sirius’s throat.

He didn’t think. There was no time. His wand moved on instinct; a red beam shot through the air, striking the Auror in the side. The wand flew from the boy’s hand, and he collapsed against the wall. It all happened in a heartbeat. Sirius glanced around, panicked, making sure no one had noticed.

His eyes met Remus’s, which shone through the mask’s slits – disbelief, fury, and… something Sirius recognised only after a moment. Gratitude.

Before he could dwell on it, a flash of red hair caught his eye – one of the Prewetts. James roared, drawing the crowd’s attention:

“We’ve got him! Over there, move!”

Then another explosion ripped through the air. The sound of shattering stone, dust, and marble fragments raining down. The wall of a side corridor shuddered, smoke billowing thickly. Sirius knew immediately – Lily.

Screams intensified; Aurors shielded their faces, fleeing the dust, while in the chaos Remus did what he had to. He spun and vanished into the smoke, moving like a shadow, like a wolf.

Sirius only watched for a moment before donning the mask of the angry Auror.

“Bloody hell, he’s gone!” he bellowed, charging into the crowd with James.

He stole a glance behind – Lily had already disappeared. Relief washed over him.

“What the hell was he doing here?!” Dickens growled, purple with rage. “Werewolves have decided to raid the Ministry now?!”

“He must have been looking for something,” James said darkly, frowning. “But who let him in in the first place?!”

Their conversation was cut short by the heavy thump of Moody’s cane on the floor. The man hobbled towards them, face blazing with fury so intense that, if Sirius didn’t know better, he might have believed Moody was capable of reducing them to ashes with a glare alone.

“You had him!” Moody roared, his magical eye spinning as if trying to pierce everyone. “Do we need to hand the bugger to you on a plate before you actually catch him?! Useless lot! Move! Secure the perimeter!”

The Aurors scattered immediately. Sirius could only pray that Remus and Lily had already reached the Prewetts and slipped away to Headquarters.

As Moody passed, he gave Sirius a barely perceptible nod. Sirius understood the gesture perfectly.

***

The Order’s house was warm with the glow of lamps and the murmur of conversation as Sirius and James crossed the threshold. The air smelled of tea and the smoke curling from the crackling fireplace. They hadn’t even brushed the leaves from their coats when Fabian appeared at the door, grinning as if the entire mission had been nothing but fun.

“What a brilliant bit of business that was!” he called, clapping James on the shoulder. “Your wolfy mate was spot on! Honestly, with Gideon and me, we had so much breathing room we nearly managed a cuppa.”

James chuckled, but Lily, leaning out from the lounge, shook her head.

“Don’t exaggerate, Fabian,” she said lightly, though a spark of amusement danced in her eyes. “It had to be lightning-fast. They leapt at him like a pack of predators, and he still handled it perfectly.” Her gaze flicked toward Remus.

He stood in the shadows by the window, cigarette in hand. Smoke wrapped around his figure, his face half-hidden in darkness. He looked as though he were here in body only, his mind somewhere entirely else.

Sirius felt that familiar tightness in his stomach and approached cautiously. He had already learned that every step around Remus had to be careful, like approaching a wild animal.

On the side table lay a copy of the Daily Prophet. On the cover smiled a photo of Sirius and Olivia, framed in an over-the-top floral heart. Sirius grimaced, knowing exactly who was responsible for the “joke.” The Prewetts never missed a chance to needle him.

“Nice fiancée,” Remus said, his tone so dry that a chill ran down Sirius’s spine.

“That’s not…,” Sirius began, stumbling over his words. “I mean, she is, but it’s not like that… I don’t want this marriage. They’re forcing me, and I… I hate them and—”

Remus lifted his eyes to him, amber glinting in the dim light.

“Black,” he interrupted calmly.

“What?” Sirius felt like a schoolboy caught red-handed.

“Why are you explaining yourself to me?”

The words hung in the air, heavy as lead. Sirius flushed, cleared his throat nervously, and found no answer.

Remus drew on his cigarette. After a pause, he spoke again, almost a whisper this time:

“Thank you.”

Sirius frowned. “For what?”

“You saved me,” Remus said, meeting his gaze. “Thanks.”

“Oh… that’s…” Sirius waved his hand, as if to dismiss his own embarrassment. “No worries. We’re on the same team, after all, right?”

For a brief moment they simply stared at one another in silence. Then Remus stubbed out his cigarette, walked past Sirius, and almost reached the door when he paused mid-step. He glanced over his shoulder.

“Moony’s actually quite all right.”

Sirius furrowed his brow, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “What?”

“Your Patronus is a dog, isn’t it?” Remus asked, and Sirius wasn’t sure where this was heading.

“Yes… ?” he answered cautiously.

Remus nodded, as though confirming something to himself.

“Then Padfoot.”

The word hung between them like a spell. Sirius froze, stunned, and caught a glimpse of James and Lily exchanging amused looks.

“I… what?” he mumbled, trying to process it.

“Sounds brilliant!” James laughed. “Perfect for you.”

“It suits you,” Lily added softly.

A shadow of amusement flickered across Remus’s face.

“See you,” he said, and left, leaving Sirius dumbfounded.

The lounge fell silent, broken only by James’s chuckle.

“What?” Sirius barked, turning to his friends.

“Padfoot,” James repeated, savouring the word as if he relished its sound. “Almost poetic, don’t you think?”

“Never call me that again,” Sirius warned, narrowing his eyes.

But it had the opposite effect – James and Lily burst out laughing.

“Sorry, mate, but you’re not half as intimidating as Moony,” James said, shrugging. “Padfoot.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but inside he couldn’t shake the quiet, strange warmth that the word had left behind.