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Chapter Text

From the moment light filtered through his eyes, Remus knew something was horribly wrong. First, the light itself. The Shack was eternally dark, and despite every memory within those wretched halls invoking a primal fear and disgust, it undeniably deserved the mark of respect he gave it. It made shudders dance across his skin, and his head spin with the knowledge of what was to come, the inevitability of it all, and the dread that seeped into his bones at the thought, but it was almost human, walls brittle yet protective, like the moment he stepped inside at eleven years old, he and that crumbling building shared a soul. But as his eyes cracked open, damp and stinging - bad sign number two - he didn't recognise the fog of gloom that greeted him every evening before and every morning after.

All he saw was sunlight.

For a moment, before his brain caught up with his nerves and his nerves caught up with his heart, he felt like a child. It was silly. Stupid, even. But wasn't that freeing? Wasn't it beautiful? He tried his best to swallow down the sting in his throat, as his fingers twitched atop crumbled leaves and twigs, as he shook away the memory of a little boy with skin grazed and filthy from a forest floor he would never see again. But the softness of bloody knees lent itself all too quickly to the sharpness of rotten fangs, and the stupidity became guilt became pain before he could even process the leaves beneath him.

The leaves…

Faintly, he wondered if James had snuck in that night. He wished he wouldn't be so reckless, but with James there was no saying no, no complaining, only relenting and letting that trademark grin wash over him. The boy often trekked through the Hogwarts grounds in his expensive shoes, dew plastering grass and leaves to the leather, which he shook off like it was nothing. Remus couldn't count the amount of times their dorm floor had stunk of wet grass - not to mention the suffocating stench of hormonal boys' sweat, but maybe that was just their dorm in general - after one of Gryffindor's Quidditch games.

He wondered if James was here now.

He wasn't, but it still struck him to wonder, just in case.

Remus' mind trailed back to the light, and he wrenched his eyes open, letting his head roll and face the source of it, wincing at the series of cracks that followed.

And again, all he saw was sunlight.

It blared down from above a dark, twisted canopy. The word beautiful came to mind, but it was drowned out by pure unbridled fear, and the image of rotten fangs he couldn't distinguish from his own. Remus shot up, ignoring his muscles screaming in objection, heart racing, head flooded with every possibility, each more disturbing than the last.

You got out. They promised- You're a monster. You deserve to be muzzled, put in a cage, put down, fucking anything. You're dangerous. You should kill yourself. You killed someone. Sirius, Peter, James - splayed hair, blood-stained skin, shattered glasses - Lily - wounds still flecked with dirt from the claws that caused them. You'll be expelled. You'll be sent to Azkaban. You're a disgusting, evil creature. Your Dad was right. You're soulless. A fucking infection.

The light faded to dark, and all he could remember before his head collided with the forest floor was an endless, agonising scream ripping his throat apart.

-

Sirius was curled up in the corner of his bed, for once regretting choosing the four-poster in the centre of the room. From this angle, he had a perfect view of James and Peter, both projecting their utter hatred onto him, unashamed, unforgiving. James - the first true friend he ever made, all that was good and gold and right with the world - paced the room, face contorted in such an uncharacteristically not-James face it almost felt silly. But he couldn't bring himself to laugh. Not now, not ever. He just wanted to hide, forever if he must, hide and crawl into the smallest crevices of the world until he was swept back into nothing.

James looked like he thought the same. Wanted him dead. Sirius didn't blame him.

In his peripheral, he saw Peter, and didn't that just make his heart ache. With one glance, he could see it all, the anguish, the conflict, a tear threatening to spill and lips quivering with anger. Sirius didn't think he had ever seen Peter angry. The urge to hide came back stronger, and he drew his knees to his chest and willed his sweat-dampened hair to cover his eyes, only so nobody could see him cry. It was too much. Much too much. He needed to leave.

One tear fell, and in seconds he could barely breathe, sobbing into his dirty hands - bloody, red hands - before he could stop himself.

"Don't-" James' voice, a voice that he once believed could only hold light and love, yelled out, something akin to a growl at the back of his throat. He flinched. It almost sounded like Remus, not soft, witty, shy Remus but the wolf. Moony. With that a jagged spiked memory speared his heart and sent him sobbing once more against his sleeve.

"I'm-" He tried to choke out, "James. Mate." There was no ignoring the hoarseness of his words, the red flushing his porcelain skin, the sweat beading at his forehead, the tears cascading down his face. He saw the shift in James' eyes, a flash of sympathy before his face melted and he sighed, resting a hand at the bridge of his nose before dragging it down his face with an exhausted sigh.

"There's not going to be a way to come back from this," James paused, eyes lingering on Sirius' trainwreck of a body, "I love you, mate, but you've gone too far this time. Too fucking far." At that, he saw something glint in the reflection of his glasses, but he turned his head away. Sirius could almost feel James' thoughts race, tension rising with the speed of his heartbeat.

"He hates me, doesn't he?" He asked, voice small and meek, so fragile the slightest noise could shatter him.

"I don't know, Pads…" James breathed, like staying calm would do any good, now, when all was done, when Remus and Snape were in the fucking hospital wing.

"He…he should."

Sirius whipped his head to see Pete, his Pete, their Pete, grimacing, curled in on himself just like him, but with the steady flow of anger coursing through him instead of remorse.

"Remus is going to forgive you," The boy corrected, the hint of nervousness in his voice giving him a twinge of hope, that maybe Pete was still on his side. He couldn't lose this. He wouldn't know how to breathe, "But he...well you nearly killed someone. He could've been expelled- he could still be expelled! Moons…doesn't deserve that."

"Not even Sniv- Snape deserves that," James released a deep breath, like the very sentence betrayed every fibre of his being, and took physical effort to get out. That's when Sirius did laugh, bitter and confused, somehow thrust into the fresh, raw body of an eleven year old too scared to think straight.

"It's still Snivellus we're talking about, right guys?"

"It doesn't make a fucking difference whether it's Snape, or anyone else in the bloody castle! It could've been Mulciber and I would still hate you-" James trailed off, eyes widening as he processed his words seconds after they came tumbling out of his mouth. He stood there, mouth agape as he forced himself to meet Sirius' eyes. Big, shining grey eyes that he swore he could never see unhappy.

"You hate me?"

"Merlin, no, Pads. Fuck, it's complicated."

"You hate me…" he breathed out, heart rate quickening, hands flying to his wrists in a movement that reminded him too much of Remus, the Remus that would never look you in the eye again, the Remus you hurt, the Remus currently bleeding in a hospital bed with no memory of anything but a sickly feeling of dread, Remus, Remus, Remus.

Without a second more to contemplate, he tore from the bed and bolted downstairs, ignoring the shouts of James behind him. He was too quick to feel the aching of his muscles as he drowned out all trivial background noise save for the pounding of his heart. Stairs turned from wood to stone as he shot through the castle, anywhere silent, anywhere where he could force out the guilt. By the time he wavered in his endless movement, hand instinctively clutching his side, and all senses flooded in at once. He stood there, head spinning as he tried to scrape up the last few dregs of logic left inside him, or at least gather his bearings. But every wall in this damn castle looked the same, all brick and endless invisible eyes closing in on him, the disgust and hatred palpable despite the fact he was, and always would be, alone.

Sirius didn't notice the smooth cold of the stone floor until his face was pressed into it, legs twisted protectively. He leaned into the sensation of cool tile against hot skin. Time seemed to slow, adrenaline wearing off until he felt hollow and worn, a shell of who he was, cracking ever further, pieces flaking, crumbling, succumbing to their fate as little more than worm food as he ground his body deep into the floor.

He was so fucking stupid.

It had felt so good, for a moment, before the twinge of doubt peppering his thoughts became thick, dense regret. A sort of giddy high overcame him. Sense and reason, two traits he was not known for anyway, lost all meaning and an addictive voraciousness for revenge took its place. 

Snape, an utter dickhead in so many words, was not the sort of boy one felt sorry for, no matter how close one gets to ruining said utter dickhead's life. But James was right, wasn't he? Ruined. It was a bit of an understatement.

Sirius was one second from making his best friend into a murderer.

It hadn't sunk in yet, but as his nails reached for his wrists once more, it was hard to deny the weight that sentence held. The truth. Remus didn't deserve that. Snape may have, and he still yearned to make that bastard sorry. But Remus didn't. And yet he threw it all in his face.

Fuck.

His eyes blinked open, and like a twist of the dagger embedded in his heart, the white doors of the hospital wing came into view. 

It took all he had in him to remember he couldn't just waltz in there. Remus wouldn't welcome that, an easy smile quirking up his lips, not like he normally did. If he wasn't horrifically injured and blacked out, Sirius knew he wouldn't be able to have a moment's peace without the self-destructive urge to let slip overcoming him. And then what? It would be over? Remus would never speak to him again, shaking and paranoid like a first year, his only sanctuary devastated in less than a minute of waking up?

The knife in his heart eased enough for him to wrench himself up, dragging numb limbs to the door and see the damage for himself.

Try as he might, he couldn't think of a possibility where Remus forgave him. That pale, freckled face, washed clean of blood yet still not washed clean of the sin Sirius forced onto him. Scars that he once fantasised about calling pretty as he traced them, sinking into deathly features.

Caught in childish hope, Sirius' fingers twitched towards Remus' face, the feeling of scars beneath his skin fading far too fast.

As tears fell from his face, all he could do was stand, stone-faced and exhausted, and wait to face the music.

Chapter Text

When Remus woke, he was gifted with the kindness of a body that, for the first time in eleven years, didn't ache, or sting, or burn, or hurt like hell like it always did. Even those years-old pains were spared from the wrath of the post-full assault, which in fact he could barely feel at all, save for the slight strain of his calf muscles, and the bruise he could feel blooming across his left side as he stirred. It sort of startled him, and whatever part of him still clinging to sleep flashed awake. He rubbed his eye, and winced at the sight of dirt - or blood, more realistically, but he tried to keep that thought quiet - set under his fingernails, staining them black. That would take a few hours to clean up.

With some effort, he hauled himself up and took in his surroundings. Of course the hospital wing never truly changed, it was still the same dreary white room, with the same frayed curtains and disgusting smell, but he could tell something was off. The window behind him was open, and bitter October air swept through the sheets covering him like a knife, quick and sharp and merciless, and he leaned back, finding purchase on the handle with ease and closing it. He had practically lived in this bed for four years, and had long since grown out of that fear of authority catching him in something so minor. Well, for Pomfrey. He couldn't pretend that was true for anyone else.

Dropping inkwells still made him panic.

Beside him on the nightstand was a welcome sight. No flowers - thank Merlin, they did not pair well with his heightened senses - but an extra-thick Honeydukes bar of chocolate, a box of truffles and a note. Though it still disturbed him how much money James was willing to throw away for useless things, the sweets had become tradition, one that still made him smile, giddy and excited, even at fifteen years old. He took the note, thumbing the parts where the ink had smudged. It wasn't Sirius' handwriting, that thin, precise cursive that he always managed to smudge, or James' barely legible script, but Peter's, soft and all squashed together in two perfect little lines.

"Get better soon.

We love you."

Later he would realise just how much that note was true to Pete, preemptively softening the blow, sugarcoating everything, a blanket of warmth and deep smiles. Pete was too good to him. To all of them. Always there. He didn't deserve him, but he was his best friend, his first friend. For now it only made his brow furrow. To his knowledge, he was just as well as he always was post-full. Well, not quite. He didn't feel like utter shit today, so that was a plus.

Kind of suspicious, to be honest.

As he placed the note back on his nightstand, the door to Madam Pomfrey's office creaked open, and she came shuffling out, a hand on her chest in something akin to relief, but he couldn't quite place it. Her face broke out in a worried smile, and he matched it.

"Is something wrong?" Remus asked, taking note of her dirt-flecked apron and messy hair, her deep eye bags and smile, threatening to fall into a frown.

"No, no, of course not," She spoke quickly, pursing her lips in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "Remus…" She took a few tentative steps forward, unsure, before approaching the bed and sitting on the edge. She used to do this when he first came to Hogwarts, young and terrified. It made him feel better, though why he wasn't sure. Perhaps she could see the loneliness in his eyes. Sirius once said his eyes were more sad than green. Sirius fancied himself more of a poet than he really was.

"Something happened last night," That in of itself was enough to have him spiralling. Four fucking words and he was hyperventilating, whispering words he knew didn't carry any meaning, because he knew if he stayed silent for more than one second, he would start screaming. Remus was fifteen years old, and the fear his father ingrained in him at four was rearing its ugly head yet again, the fear he had killed someone. Flashes of memory interrupted him, a glimpse of sunlight, leaves and screaming. It didn't make any sense.

A firm hand rested on his shoulder, and he glanced up, panicked, at Pomfrey, eyes wide with concern.

"Oh, sweetheart," She crouched down now, wrapping her arms around his neck as his breathing gradually evened out, "I'm so sorry. It wasn't your fault. And we're going to get this all sorted, I promise."

"What- what happened?"

"From what I understand…your friends want to be the ones to tell you."

"I don't understand, is everyone okay? Did- did I hurt someone?" Despite Pomfrey's grounding presence, he felt his voice and his heart rate speeding up, too confused to think straight, too scared to be anything but confused.

"They'll be in soon, Remus," Her voice was only distantly warm, the hint of natural honey to her words just not quite reaching him.

With that, the door swung open and Remus whipped his head around to see James and Peter staring back, quickly bounding over and kneeling by his side.

"Moons!" James said through grinning teeth. Peter smiled, soft but worried, and the image of Pete's round, youthful face so creased and stained with the ink of sadness made his face fall into a deep frown. He allowed James, who probably hadn't gone a day since they met without resting his hands and feet on, poking or lounging on them, to grip his hand with a desperation that made his heart clench. That same worry obscuring Peter quickly seeped into James.

"Madam Pomfrey said something happened," He hesitated, and the fingers intertwined with his tightened, latching on. The world stood still, and suddenly he felt twelve years old again, awaiting violence or rejection or worse with baited breath, hands twitching for answers no matter what they were.

"Madam Pomfrey said something happened," Remus repeated, licking his lips nervously, only for his mouth to become dry, instantly lost for words, "and I need to know."

James nodded, resigned, like he hadn't quite thought that far yet. Pete hadn't stopped looking at him, but he knew him well enough to know it wasn't in hate. He had a certain way of speaking when he knew Remus couldn't bear to turn his brain on. He gazed up, choosing his focus at Peter's right ear, where he could still see the soft brown of his eyes in his peripheral, and looked back, hoping he would stop fucking around and say something.

It was silent. Funny. There hadn't been a moment in his life at Hogwarts where it had been silent. Early days confined in the library alone were smattered with the cheers and footsteps of fun outside. After every moon, the quiet only lasted for as long as he could hold his breath, until the pain became too much to bear and his body choked and screamed and groaned for assistance. Empty evenings were interrupted by the last night owl's tired remarks, silent classrooms still echoed with the scratching of quills and the tapping of feet, Quidditch matches that he eagerly skipped, journeys down secret passageways, everything was only realised when the muffled cacophony of Hogwarts life was able to weave through it.

But for the first time in four years, a void had taken its place, and an ache settled naturally in the depth of the silence.

Finally, someone spoke.

"Snape saw you transform last night," There was a sort of rehearsed quality to James' voice, tired and drained of all energy. He put up the front for Remus, though, as best he could, and masked the numbness in his voice with his body: he loosened his grip as if he had only just noticed his hand still lingered and ran his thumb, slowly, carefully across Remus' hand, "He found the entrance and- and-"

Without even registering the words, the moment James' voice cracked, tears welled up in his eyes and glided down the curve of his cheekbone. He paid it little mind.

James carried on, swallowing the lump that must've impeded him from speaking. When he tore his gaze from Peter, he caught a glint of something roll down his face.

"He found the entrance and saw you transform. You…" James hesitated, but Remus was too fast for him.

"I hurt him."

"No! No, of course not," Peter reassured.

"No, you're not listening," His voice cracked, and he swallowed the choking stabbing seat of pain. All that his parents had instilled in him, and, for what? For him to...His heart had plummeted the moment Madam Pomfrey had spoken to him, and he was certain it had never stopped falling. "I hurt him, didn't I? Why else would you be here? He's dead, or worse-"

Remus stopped when he realised he didn't recognise his own voice. Liquid smoke poured from his mouth, twisting and curling into something gargled, panic-fuelled and defensive.

"Who did I hurt?"

"Remus, please let us explain. Everything's getting sorted out, he's going to be fine-" Peter stepped in. It didn't help. Nothing would.

"Was it Sirius?" The silence returned. As much as he adored the rare peace and quiet he got to enjoy, he was starting to understand he hated silence. This time, he took the moment to think, consider his options, each one more drastic than the last. Of course Dumbledore would try to keep him at Hogwarts, and McGonagall would fight his case, inevitably, but if it was Sirius dead, or even hurt…His family, no matter how heartless and despicable they were, would not let one of their own blood be hurt by a hand other than their own. Execution, maybe, on the spot. An easy way out, and even easier to cover up with the connections the Blacks had. But if it were Snape hurt, he couldn't trust the boy with such sensitive information. The entire castle would know within the day.

His heart started pounding.

"Sirius…was the one to tell him," Peter let the words fall out of his mouth and form a dagger at Remus' throat. He was sure he felt his heart stop, thoughts that once shook his body in a hurricane of unspoken words rendering him mute as he let the silence settle, bitter on his tongue. Seemed Pete didn't have the heart to sugarcoat it this time. That's fine. He wanted answers, didn't he?

"Oh," he said dumbly.

"He didn't think it through-" Pete tried.

"That's one way to say it," James breathed, a bitter huff of a laugh escaping him.

"Why?" Remus whispered, unsure as to whether the words even left him, or if they would forever stay thick and painful in his throat, "And... don't. Just don't pretend this time. Please. Why?" 

"He wanted to get back at Snape for-"

"-being such a dickhead?" James guessed.

"That. And…what he said about you," Pete leaned in closer, in line with James who was practically lying on the bed, and tugged on the seam of the sheets as he ran his words over in his head, "He must've given him a hint about how to get in but…I don't know why. You're his best mate."

At that, Remus felt the familiar clench in his heart, so strangely excited at the prospect of that being true, that he almost forgot what they were saying. He loved Sirius, they all did, but sometimes he lingered on those words, those glances, those touches, savouring them the way best mates were not supposed to.

The moment he remembered, it all crashed down on him twice as hard.

By the time he felt the first prick of tears forming, he was already sobbing, burying his head into the arms James instantly offered, face flushed with exertion and embarrassment yet so, so cold. He felt like someone had sucked all the warmth and life from him, leaving him vulnerable to the visceral, rocky ocean of grief.

Sirius wasn't dead, of course.

That didn't stop him from grieving.

Chapter Text

In two hours, Remus was decided well enough to return to his dorms, though Pomfrey recommended he rest for today before he fully went back to normal. Normal. The word itself felt like acid on his tongue. Any semblance of normalcy wouldn't be possible for him, even more so than before, despite the fact Snape seemingly hadn't said anything yet. That didn't calm him whatsoever. It was all a matter of time, and Snape loved watching him squirm.

Remus turned the handle, his body too weighed down by exhaustion and anxiety to think of anything other than collapsing on his bed, closing the curtains and wasting away into the sheets. Inside - which he should've expected, if his head didn't feel like it had been thrust into the Black Lake - was Sirius Black. The boy was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out into nothing with his head bowed and his arms wrapped around himself. For a moment, he wasn't sure Sirius even noticed him, and he was sure if he were to stand still, he could watch him all day without him paying any mind. But the jolt of betrayal hit him faster, and he dropped his satchel loud enough to make Sirius flinch. His mouth opened before he could stop it, assurance and comfort on the tip of his tongue. Fresh wound agonisingly deep, he let the words die on his tongue for the first time in his life. He stayed quiet. A part of him prayed that Sirius was remorseful, guilty. But he knew it wasn't that simple. It never was with Remus.

Outside, his face was blank, and he kicked his bag out of the way, throwing the curtains closed before Sirius could even stand. Daylight outlined his silhouette in the curtain.

"Moony, please-" His voice was high and strained as he spoke, and the dark of his shadow visibly moved towards him. Panicked, he wrenched it closed. He just wanted one fucking moment of peace. Without having to tear his hair out in mourning, in fear. Sirius couldn't give him that? His best mate?

No. Not anymore.

"Don't call me that, please," Remus felt a sob bubble in his throat. His head felt hot with disgust. What he had almost done, it made him want to hide from the world. Locked up. He didn't want to be around anyone, not when this was the outcome, and all he could think about was how right his parents were to insist he make no friends at Hogwarts, to argue with Dumbledore that he even attend. Dangerous, he thought to himself.

Outside his bed, Sirius was still speaking. He was loud, argumentative, as if it was just a joke he had been offended by, not a plot to land him in Azkaban, not something that had shattered him, not just his trust but him. Even hearing his voice…Merlin, it made him feel sick. The thought that this boy, standing just a metre away, had destroyed his life. And yet there he was. Sirius Black. Standing there. As tears welled up in his eyes, Remus itched to open the curtain. His body was bisected with it. To cry. To write to Mum and beg her to let him home. To never speak to another person again, let alone a Black. To scratch and bite at his skin until blood proved his penance, until the guilt faded and he was left numb, alone, like the night he was bitten. But he couldn't help the urge to forget it all. To smile, to ask them not to bother worrying about him. To catch a glimpse of that pale face, wracked with sobs, and make it better. To make it normal again.

He doubted Sirius cared half as much when he threw his life away.

"Remus…" Sirius started slowly, and that alone was enough for him to lose his grip on the curtain and slump, limp against the bed frame. Truthfully, Sirius rarely said his name at all. It was always 'Moony' or 'Moons' or perhaps, if he was drunk - last Summer at the Potters' with two bottles of Firewhiskey and a fair bit of stupidity came to mind - he would slur his words, rest his head upon Remus' shoulder and call him 'Remy,' like a lovesick teenage girl. Which, by the way, Remus was certain Sirius wasn't.

"Remus, I swear I didn't want any of this shit to happen. It was just a laugh," Sirius pleaded, shadow falling to the floor in a display that perfectly resembled his animagus form, seconds away from scratching at the closed door that he slammed the moment he opened his mouth, "I promise, alright? Come on."

"Sirius, leave me alone," He couldn't think of anything else to say, but the more he heard Sirius' voice the more the love in his heart warped into hate, and he felt the hot sting of a sentence he would soon regret rising up in his throat. His words were sour, falling limply out of his mouth like an aftertaste he couldn't stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was just so fucking tired...Tears slipped down his cheeks, throat raw, eyes heavy with the weight of it all. And only now was Sirius giving an ounce of forgiveness? When he had made him...when he had...

"Moony…"

"You know what, Pads?" Remus paused, practically shaking with the turmoil surging inside of him. It wasn't fucking fair that a boy could ruin his life, to the point where his execution was a realistic outcome, and still have the audacity to beg at his feet. He wanted out. He wanted it done no matter the cost or the damage, he needed it over, "Sometimes I think people are right about you. You will never understand, and you will never care. Why should you? It's your life. You couldn't give a shit about mine." The tears in his voice mingled with the acid spilling out, and Sirius' shadow slowly moved back, before disappearing altogether. All he could hear, save for the click of leather shoes on wood, was the sound of sobs hidden behind skin and a distraught voice whispering something intelligible, before all was silent.

Remus had never been mean. As a child, young and innocent, he was told he was rude, and blunt, and distant. But never mean. He kept to himself, isolating himself before his parents even felt a reason to, with his records held carefully in clumsy hands and his jumpers, which he wore until they were hanging onto his frame by sheer will, drowning him in soft, hand-knit comfort. Children annoyed him, as one. They were rough, and loud, and they must not have liked the sound of his voice because whenever he talked people never stuck around. It hurt. It made him sad, as a child, and his parents worried. Rude, he was used to. Blunt, he acknowledged as a flaw. His mother reminded him daily. And distant…Well there was good reason to be.

He waited for his head to cease its pounding, Sirius' pleading haunting him until he finally collapsed onto the mattress.

-

A knock startled him awake. Remus tore open the curtains, rubbing sleep from his eyes and glancing to the window opposite him. Grey Autumn daylight spilled onto the floor. Shaking away the twinge of panic, he mentally counted out the hours he had wasted as he stumbled to the door.

"Yes?" He answered. Behind the door a Sixth Year Prefect stood, straight backed and neutral. As soon as Remus opened the door, however, their expression turned odd. Remus squinted his eyes, confused, scanning their face. Did they hear about the Prank? Already? Panic jolted in his heart and he clutched the doorframe.

"I was sent to inform yo- Are you alright?"

No.

"No- Yes, I'm fine, thanks," Merlin, he really needed to get better at talking to people, he'd been here for five years. He winced internally and tried to continue as normal while his grip tightened on the wood, "You…you said you needed to inform me of something?"

He doubted Snape could spread that rumour in, what, twelve hours, but he did not want to be proven wrong. He shut his mouth, and prayed to whatever would take his desperate, selfish bargaining that the Ministry would take pity on him. If not, he wasn't sure there was a single happy memory left untainted by the ruinous ink splotches of one Sirius Black. He'd be eaten alive.

Which you deserve.

"Yes. Dumbledore wishes to see you in his office at 5 o'clock."

Fuck.

This was it. This was the nightmare scenario. Fuck.

He mumbled his thanks, and craned his neck to check the clock on Peter's bedside table. 4:56PM. Four minutes. Four minutes to stagger down countless flights of stairs and contemplate throwing himself down one. And four minutes to talk himself out of it.

Tiredness melted easily from his bones when overpowered by seemingly endless anxiety, and soon he found himself outside the Headmaster's office with a moment to spare. It felt cold. Empty. The echoes of his worn school shoes against stone rang in his ears like a church bell, calling him to worship a god he didn't believe in, submitting him to a future he had been running from all his life. The cold stone seemed to warp and shift, nailing him to the spot as ice permeated his skin. Fingers tapping absently against blunt, bloody nails, he walked himself through the steps to come, but it was all too confusing. There was no worst case scenario to calm his nerves, ingrained in him since he was a child. The worst had come, but it had not gone. Until then, his nerves could remain shot and he would inevitably remain cold. The strangeness also struck him through the fact he hadn't been here, at least alone, since he was eleven, and he could almost feel his skin shrinking, bones snapping to ill-fitting shape, heart pounding like it did then. Maybe it never stopped pounding. Maybe his parents were right.

He was a liability.

What else would he ever be?

He hung his head low, face suddenly blushing red against his sickly pale skin as he realised he didn't know the password. Remus fidgeted for a moment, tapping his fingers together repeatedly to, unsuccessfully, lessen the anxiety. Hazel eyes met the floor, and small, green ones stared back. And pointy ears. And a tail.

"Chocolate Lime," McGonagall called out, and as the stairs raised him up, he braced himself for the influx of noise. Her eyes flickered towards him, shining with emotion, and she nodded, a small comfort that he could barely register through the torrential panic rushing through him. He caught the spark, a determination that brought him back to Earth for just enough, and nodded back, a smile pulling at his lips just for show.

Outside the torment within him, his feet hit solid ground, and moved without his permission, following McGonagall's lead like the child he knew he was, blind and helpless.

Behind the door, the Headmaster's office stood. Despite its semi-organised cluttered antiquity, surely full of mysteries and secrets even Dumbledore himself wasn't aware of, the room didn't quite succeed in charming him like it did when he was a child. Instead, the air was thick with tension, and the chill in his bones rooted him to the spot as he glanced to McGonagall. Having torn her focus from Remus, he caught a lapse in her crafted visage, no longer a picture of stern, yet warm guidance, but entirely dark with dread.

"Master Lupin," Dumbledore called, face much too calm for Remus not to want to punch it. He wasn't a violent person per set, but something about the impending trainwreck that would be this conversation made the wolf claw at his thoughts in hot, angry bursts. It made his skin crawl, shame and desire mingling together like oil and water, settling only to sit in his guilt-ridden mind and send him shaking with fear. It was inside of him. That heat, that danger. He had known that. Accepted it. Almost. Yet in the eleven years since the bite, he had never felt so disgusted by it. Because now that Snape knew, the animal inside him wanted revenge.

And he knew by now that when it came to the wolf's hunger, he would be the one left bleeding.

In some strange way, he felt sorry for Snape. He was a cruel, twisted person, delighting in the pain of those he tormented behind the sidelines, quiet enough not to garner suspicion, always loud enough to be heard. Jealous, he yearned for Lily, who adored him for the sad, lonely child she swore was still inside him. And Remus had spent many a moment with his hand muffling snickers at the boy's expense.

What concerned him, or rather, what Sirius refused to understand, was that nobody deserved what he was so willing to thrust him into. Pranks came and went, fond memories only lingering for a second, but death was forever. It was childish. Somehow Sirius still didn't get it. And it was mean, but he thought for a flicker of a moment, that perhaps the Blacks' delight in corporal punishment, and insistence in the notion that their reputation was eternal, and worth more than the body that it was tied to, impacted Sirius more than he lead them to believe.

Maybe to Sirius, Snape was not that sad, lonely child, but a mere annoyance. One that he wanted to be rid of. He was certain James had thought the same, in his playful, confused way. Both had been brought up to think that problems could be eliminated with the snap of a finger, and in many ways, it was true. For them.

Growing up rich, growing up spoiled, growing up sheltered.

Perhaps Sirius just…lacked the foresight. Perhaps it was just a simple mistake, and the right thing to do was forgive him. What else could he do? Remus thought back to earlier, the boy he knew and loved, with tears staining his pale, gaunt cheeks. Despite his current bitterness, in the four years he had known him, he had never wanted to see him cry. At first he put it down to discomfort. His friends were loud, and extreme. On the average day, he ranged from describing them as "completely obnoxious" to "unabashedly them." But they were always emotional to a fault. James, at first, with deep, bright expressions and noise spilling out at every possible chance, like he'd never been told to shut up. Peter, like him in his bluntness and his not-fitting-in-ness, yet entirely different in the kindness that pumped through him effortlessly, radiating warmth from his skin and comfort from his soul. Sirius, however, was tricky. As a boy, he was the kind of child Remus would have been told to avoid, both because of his reputation and his personality. As a friend, he had never met someone so true, at least to them.

Though as time passed, the anxiety eased and discomfort in what would be a permanent caveat in their relationship melted from his bones, and he realised the pang in his heart at Sirius' pain went far deeper than simply not knowing how to react "normally" to it, as was the case with the others. As time passed, it struck him that Sirius was never born to cry. The dark in his features, fear and torment seeping out in the hollow face he carved light into everyday, didn't fit the way he pretended it did. The spark of star-like brightness that burst from his cackling, genuine grin, the tousled hair, dampened from warm Summer nights at the Potters', the depth of it all, like he was embracing the "unabashedly them" caveat to the Marauders that they had worn with pride - less so Remus - for years. That fit. That was Sirius. Not the thoughtlessness, not the pain, not his reputation.

Maybe that was why grieving hurt so much.

The boy he grieved was still there, a spark in an ocean of mistakes.

Chapter Text

Upon entering, Remus felt his eyes scan the room in a worried frenzy without his permission. It seemed that James, Peter, Sirius and Snape had been pulled into his office to discuss the consequences of his little escapade. Remus knew what to expect the moment his feet hit the floor. Snape, oh, poor, innocent Snape, would immediately burst in with a tale of ugly brutes and attempted murder, spit flying from his mouth as he screamed his anger for all to hear. And Remus would think, no, know, that for a boy that usually kept his comments quiet and hidden, Remus was partially impressed that he finally had the courage to say the filthy things that had flown under the radar for so long. Namely, just what he thought of the so-called monster that attacked him.

Because he was a monster.

Because Snape hated him.

Because it was inevitable.

The majority of Remus, however, found himself shaking the moment he fell eyes on the group.

James and Peter, expectedly, distanced themselves from Sirius, their face painted a marble of emotion. Remus couldn't work it out, mind entirely distracted with the fact they were split up. For four years now, they had sat in one particular order. James. Sirius. Peter. Him. But Peter was almost curled into James' lap, betraying the order he had fallen into, and it all felt wrong, wrong, wrong. His heart clenched oddly, and he tugged at it with his threadbare sleeve. He couldn't bring himself to look at Sirius, or ponder as he often did what on earth could be on his mind, only comprehending the hard, cruel reality in front of him. Sirius wasn't beside them. He might as well be dead.

Dumbledore nodded to him, directing him to the seat beside James, who tapped the chair twice, a question. He shook his head, and the hand James had raised in the air rested on his own knee.

Snape was positioned opposite him, as far away as he could get while still technically being in the room. A scowl, deep and furious, was carved into his features. That he knew. That he was used to. Snape wasn't just angry. He wanted to see him suffer.

"I'm certain you're already aware of the previous night's events, correct?" Dumbledore, still infuriatingly calm, asked.

"Well we weren't fucking frolicking, Professor," James, a trademark people pleaser, spat. It made a laugh rise in his throat, before the lapse in memory dropped and he came to, plunged into the icy waters of horror that was their situation.

"What Professor Dumbledore means, is that you know why you're here. To avoid pointless repetition-"

"Professor, I personally don't think we should avoid "pointless" repetition. I would like to recount exactly what happened," Snape interrupted, voice half-seething half-smirking with what he could only guess was the knowledge of a swarm of lies behind his tongue.

"Very well then, Master Snape. We should," Dumbledore passed a glance to McGonagall, who was trying very hard not to scowl, "of course, clarify any misunderstandings in our story."

"Of course," Snape said sweetly, "Last night, Black gave me information regarding how to enter the Whomping Willow. I have suspected that Remus," as he spoke, he glanced to Remus, like one would stare down a wild animal before shooting it, "has been lying about his monthly disappearances for months, and, for the good of the school, wanted to uncover it."

At that, McGonagall interrupted him.

"Well Master Snape, that is all very compelling, but what you have failed to take into account, or, even consider, is that all the vital staff already know Remus' condition. And we have taken the necessary precautions to ensure he and the school remain safe during transformations. There is no need to uncover anything."

"Condition?" Snape laughed, eyes wide and hysterical, "He is a monster, he doesn't have psoriasis for Merlin's sake. That beast doesn't deserve to call himself a human, let alone deserve the protection you fools-" 

"You would call a Professor a fool?" Dumbledore suddenly became quite serious, glaring down at the boy through half-moon spectacles that seemed to see right through whatever they caught, "I advise you think your next choices through very carefully."

Snape blanched, pale, greasy skin going even paler.

"Go on," McGonagall said, exasperated.

He swallowed, glancing downwards to gather his thoughts. Given all of Snape's talk in school, he was sort of surprised to see him so lost. It made him smile, like all those memories of careless hallway comments were made worth it when Snape too was at a loss for words. More than that, however, he felt himself growing nervous as he reached the part no one had the heart to detail for him. Anticipation flooded him, and mingling with the tension in his body came the fear that this time, Snape wouldn't be confused or shocked, that he would say something not even Dumbledore could protect him from. He breathed out slowly, all efforts to calm himself futile.

"Right. Well, I was, of course, only trying to protect my fellow students. For some, having a beast in their midst without their knowledge must be terrifying. So when Sirius gave me a hint, who was I not to follow up on my research?"

Remus tried very hard not to watch as McGonagall subtly handed Sirius a tissue, only then noticing the boy had begun to sob into his hands.

It didn't work.

"It's not research, really is it? You hate Sirius, why would you believe a word he said? You wanted to get Remus into trouble," Peter spoke up. He scrunched his nose up and squinted as he thought, "Because you're a dickhead."

McGonagall snorted, promptly hiding it under the guise of a cough as all eyes turned to her.

"I will refrain from removing points in this particular instance, Master Pettigrew," Dumbledore chided, "We understand that tensions may be…high. You may proceed."

"Of course, as I-" 

"Will you stop fucking saying of course!" James yelled, one hand in his hair as he calmed himself. The other gripped the side of his chair so violently the wood broke in the shape of crescent nails.

"May I proceed?" Snape crossed his arms, seething, even temper waning, "Good. As I was saying, upon entering the Whomping Willow- which, in my personal experience, was not the epitome of 'necessary precaution.' In fact, it was unnervingly easy to enter the tunnel."

"Could it be, in your words, unnervingly easy, because Master Black told you the location of the entrance to begin with?" Dumbledore wagered, casually staring daggers into the boy's jet black eyes.

Snape stammered unconvincingly.

"Well, upon entering, I was immediately met with the sound of screaming. Obviously the beast had attacked the other three, so I approached it…to assist."

Remus' eyes widened, heart racing. There it was. He knew, logically, that Snape was a stone-faced liar, and that he would say anything to taint his reputation - the little of one that he had. His life, would be a more accurate statement. Anything to destroy his life. But viscerally, defying all rationality left inside his brain, he felt his heart tear beyond repair, worse than the betrayal, worse than the loneliness, worse than watching Sirius' eyes weep, at the thought of hurting his friends. All noise was drowned out in a single flash of panic, and he brought his knees to his chest and heaved, nails gripping at the pale, scarred skin that mutilated his body. His heart felt like it was about to explode, an impending doom crashing over him like he was watching his own body die from above. Distantly, voices surrounded him, which only made it worse, an encircling, all-consuming crowd, stabbing his greatest fears into his skin with sadistic glee.

Outside, James rushed to his side, hands up as not to scare him. Pete tapped the chair - not too high-pitched, that would only make things worse - and inhaled, quiet as he could while still ensuring Remus would notice him.

"I hurt you?" Voice strained and afraid, Remus breathed out through tears.

"No, no, no," Peter assured him.

"You promised I didn't, you promised," He suddenly felt very childish, curled in on himself while his father berated him for the curse he'd brought on his family, pleading with himself at night that if the wolf got hungry, he would be eaten, not his parents. Words became incoherent mumbling, and his lip quivered as he willed himself not to cry.

"You didn't hurt anyone, Moony," James glanced to Sirius, who had removed his hand from his mouth to speak, but his words failed to come out, leaving him helpless.

"Don't bother lying to him," Snape added as he adjusted his position, leaning back with disgust.

"Oh bugger off, Snape, for once!" Peter shot back between soft, sweet murmurings. Remus was starting to calm, breath evening out to match his friends' and slowly melting from his rigid position. His muscles relaxed, and though his heart still raced, he let himself fall into James' waiting arms. The spectacled boy eased his nails from his skin and placed the frail hands over his own heart. Feeling the steady thump of James' chest, he met with the face of McGonagall again, and immediately squeezed his eyes shut, white hot embarrassment overcoming him.

"I'm sorry," He mumbled.

"No need to apologise, Remus," McGonagall said with a wave of her hand, "Though if it's any reassurance, Master Snape's version of events isn't entirely true. What he heard was not the screams of your friends, but yourself."

"Oh," He said dumbly. That made sense. His cheeks burned pink at his outburst, suddenly feeling the eyes boring into him, and he ground his face further into James' body.

Snape looked around, taken aback slightly. He crossed his arms over himself defensively, and Remus could almost, past the sound of his own heart still pounding in his ears despite being briefly soothed, hear him mutter something that made the wolf flash inside him, protective, angry. The long-haired boy sneered, a barely perceivable crack in his mask before he continued.

"In short, I came across the beast towering over me. It…was intimidating, I'll admit, and I was easily overpowered by the creature. It leaped towards me and-"

"James intervened," Remus finished, not wanting to hear another word come out of the boy's mouth.

"Yes," Snape agreed with a quick shot of a glare to Remus, face contorted oddly like he hadn't thought that far ahead about admitting it. James' muscles tensed and Remus felt the sharpness of his movement cut through the air as he reached for his tawny hair, quickly becoming gentle as he ran his hands through it. Remus relaxed, if only for a second when he realised who James usually ran his fingers through the hair of.

"Well I believe that's all in order," Snape rolled his eyes discreetly behind damp hair, "I was ensured you suffered no injuries?" Dumbledore smiled politely.

"Other than emotional trauma, no," Snape said through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore pointedly ignored that with a relaxed wave of his hand, causing the boy's mouth to shut in a permanent sour frown.

"Wonderful," The Headmaster cast a look to McGonagall, who had not since broken her gaze from their broken little group, "That only leaves the matter of consequences." Remus felt himself pale as Snape had earlier, swallowing a lump that wouldn't quite leave. He instinctively looked up to James, who squeezed his hand in response.

"We didn't do anything wrong!" James, who admittedly had been lying every time that sentence left his mouth but this one, protested.

"That is true. Without your intervention, well Master Snape, or any of your friends could have been brutally injured, or worse. Certainly not any of your fault, but very much preventable." Dumbledore began.

"Albus, really, in front of-" McGonagall interrupted through the corner of her lips, leaning over to whisper with a sort of urgency he had never seen before, "The boy feels guilty enough." That, no matter how quiet the professor was attempting to be, hit his ears like a bag of sand at the side of his head, sending him straightening against James. It was silent save for the weak murmurings from the professors, including Sirius, whose sobs had broken with a sharp breath.

"Yes," He conceded, eyeing Sirius as to say 'I'm not done.' It didn't quite make Remus feel as sorry for him as he thought it would, only barely worsening the numb, bleak despondency settled deep in his mutilated heart, "You may return to your dorms."

Chapter Text

The past few days felt blurry and indistinguishable in the back of Remus' memory, classes passing by in a whirlwind of noise and distant action, never quite reaching him the same way it normally did. By the final lesson - potions, which Remus was admittedly awful at - he had garnered one page of notes, the ink stopping abruptly midway through a sentence that he could vaguely understand was about muggle refrigerator design. Considering Remus didn't take Muggle Studies, he hadn't a clue what he was on about.

As he entered the classroom, his entire body rejected the influx of sensations bombarding every sense, and sent him gagging, hands tugging his cloak over his exposed skin to avoid the moist air clinging to him, nose blocked and ears covered. It had been like this everyday for five years, though he supposed he had gotten better at lessening it. Despite his practice, the onslaught of heat and electric discussion coursed through him, and he felt his head ringing, too much to handle. With one hand, he desperately searched for the tell-tale polished smoothness in his pocket, the other busy flat against one ear to block the senseless chatter. He noted the distinct lack of Sirius' voice, before pushing that thought away with a violent, guilt-fuelled shove. No. Sirius was the one that should be guilty.

Two nights ago, he, James and Peter had clambered up to the tower roof while twilight fell into inky blackness. Clouds shrouded the moon and stars, and Remus had laughed, bitter, when he noticed. James' shoulder pressing into his cheek, Peter's hand intertwined with his. He had thought if he waited for the night to envelop him, providing comfort in what was harsh and cold, he would feel the warmth of Sirius beside him soon enough, slipping in between James and Remus with a slap to Peter's back. That maybe it would all go away. But the silence stayed and the night did not welcome him with the kindness he expected.

Faintly, he remembered words, though they were hazy and confused, muffled beneath the agony that had taken priority in his mind.

"I miss him," Remus - a voice he could remember, awkward and thick with choked-down sobs - had said.

There was quiet, the kind where it felt less like acid and more like fresh Winter mornings at home, waking up too early and watching the world come to life. James breathed, in, out, in, out, and he nestled deeper into him.

"What he did to you," James had paused, leaning his head atop Remus'.

"I know," He breathed out.

"Moony, he doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve any of this. The memories we made, the-" James took another moment, mist forming at his lips in the cold, "He doesn't deserve your guilt, your forgiveness, any of it. He'd seen you torn up in Second Year when we told you, and he- he told us about Animagi. He knew this was your worst fear," His voice strained with emotion, but the ability to keep his composure was waning steadily, "And he fucked with your life."

He had mumbled an affirmative, before whispering yes, but he still missed him.

When the last of the light in the castle had flickered out, he pulled himself from James' grasp, ignoring the dampness on his cheek, and made his way to his bed, limbs weary and heavy, as if he hadn't spent most of his free time sleeping. As his foot hit the ground, stumbling a little with tiredness, he had thought he saw something poking out from underneath Sirius' bed, dark and long. Almost familiar. The mere sight of anything to do with him made his heart ache, and he soon curled under the duvet, his mind never leaving the thought of Sirius Black.

That was two nights ago, and every conversation with James had followed the same pattern. As he tuned out the brutal pain of betrayal still throbbing in his heart, he knew for certain James was just as hurt. Sirius was not just a friend, a Marauder, but his brother. And he was sure James would never admit it, not in the angry state he found himself in, but he wanted him back. Desperately. Remus wouldn't know, but from the way Sirius spoke of his family, even when they were cruel and cold and maniacal, losing someone so dear was never a choice he would make.

But Sirius was James' brother by choice. It was all the good and warmth Sirius never experienced as a child, the healing, the comradery. Deep down, James didn't want to lose him. The Black brothers may have loved each other, once, but James had the kind of dedication to Sirius' happiness that made his cheeks hurt, that made all love in comparison feel incomplete. They cared in a way that was more than two souls beside each other, it felt true and good and whole.

He had always known it.

James made Sirius feel whole.

Now, he couldn't imagine the pain, one half ripped from your own body to choke and sob and scream in silence.

Remus grabbed the little device, slotting it into his ears discreetly. Of course Slughorn knew of his "struggles" as the Professor called it, but he never really understood it. Half the teachers didn't, yet were - thank you, Dumbledore, for once - under obligation to stay quiet and be nice.

Dumbledore.

The name felt bitter on his tongue. Empty promises he had tossed towards him as a child, ones that he soaked up gratefully with all the fervor and desperation of a starved animal, only felt all the more empty with all but a shadow by his side to share the sentiment.

Unexpectedly, like he had been holding it in all his life, he breathed out a sigh of relief, body shaking off a weight that seemed ingrained into his very bones. Of course he wasn't pleased, anything but. Merlin, he was angry. Spiked, coarse, unfettered rage sat politely under the surface of his skin, not quite waiting, just observing. He really got it now. His life. And Sirius, his friend, had treated it like something to be disposed of whenever it suited him. Something that beared no true consequence.

It stung, as it surely would for the rest of his life, but it had faded now into the dull ache of a bruise blooming under every patch of skin.

James acted as if they should just move on. Unforgivable. That was what he had called it. In most definitions of the word, that was unshakeable fact. What Sirius had done was unforgivable. Remus disagreed, despite James' insistence. He didn't care for accurate, factual, logical definitions. By now, all rationality left in his mind had been beaten into childlike, pleading loneliness. By now, all he cared about was that shadow, or absence of it, growing back through these cracked, dirty classroom floors and slotting back into his life. Betrayal and anger knew no reasonable response to the simple truth.

I miss him.

But he still sighed, another class beginning, another hour-long distraction incoming to wipe his mind of the guilt.

As the rest of the class filed in, he approached his usual seat, a damp, rotten corner of the classroom, only beneficial to him in that it was the furthest desk away from the sensory hell that was the potions cupboard. He collected his cauldron, a battered old thing passed down carelessly from his father, still contaminated with the deep stain of decades-old ingredients, and returned to his seat.

A thick, cheerful voice interrupted him, and he looked up, catching James just ahead of him doing the same.

"Students! As I'm sure you've noticed, you have entered the year of your OWLS!" Slughorn's voice called over the murmurs, and soon the room fell into a bored silence, "Though this is only your second month, we are fast approaching exams, and for that, I need to make sure you're taking this seriously. An O in potions is no easy feat, after all!" He chuckled lightly to himself. Panning the room, Remus watched Lily, an avid potions student who would certainly be taking his advice with utmost importance, nod to herself, quill scratching quietly on spare parchment. She had become a tad less strict when it came to schoolwork in the five years since he met her, surely at her dormmates and friends' constant goading, but she was still, as James put it, a bit of a suck-up. Though he wasn't any different, revision timetable already organised since April.

"From now on, you will be seated according to your needs as a future potioneer to avoid any potential conflict or distraction. These next few months are the most important months of your life, and you cannot afford petty disagreements getting in the way of your OWLS."

Remus straightened up slightly, shifting to get a better view of the professor slowly meandering across the classroom and calling names as he did so.

"Lily Evans," Slughorn smiled at the ginger girl, who had pressed herself up to Snape in an attempt to earn her seat beside him. His walrus moustache curled into wrinkled cheeks, presumably delighted at the sound of his 'lovely Lily's' name in his mouth. Slughorn had always struck Remus as, quite frankly, a bit of a creep, especially with his gravitation towards famous or talented children, especially given how intense that gravitation was with Lily. Disappointed, she moved towards the seat at the front of the class, eyes lingering on Snape.

"Evan Rosier." Rosier hesitantly sat beside her, and even Remus, who admittedly was not the best at reading people, could see the disgust at being sat by a muggle-born.

"Mary Macdonald." Mary - a girl he recognised from her frequent feature in many chats with Lily - gave a soft smile to Lily across Rosier and squeezed her hand.

The list continued on, his chances of not being sat with Sirius slimming by the second. James with Emma Vanity. Pete with Edgar Bones. As the class depleted to about four without a desk, Slughorn instructed Sirius - thank Merlin - to sit beside Sybill Trelawney, leaving him with-

"Ah, that leaves my star, Severus. I'd actually quite like to use your next potion as an example, would you mind sitting at the front? I'm certain it will be just as good as your previous ones!"

Snape seethed, gripping his cauldron hard enough to make it creak.

"Certainly, Professor," He said through gritted teeth, moving swiftly towards the empty front desk. Remus followed, catching a glimpse of James' 'I'm sorry' look as he trailed after him. Snape - as carefully as he could with his most prized possession - slammed his cauldron onto the desk. It was just as decrepit as his, which for a moment surprised him. He had never seen Snape work so close, but he had assumed that one of Slughorn's most gifted students would have a cauldron to match their talent. At least it was a lot more well kept, the years of use only giving it a hardy protective layer, rather than the open door for contamination that was the surface of Remus'.

In front of him stood the Professor's desk, an array of ingredients laid out, presumably for his demonstration. Silver among them. He glared at it, piercing, and wondered what Snape would do if he summoned the courage to reveal his secret.

The phantom sensation burned into his skin, as did Snape's eyes beside him, staring. Inevitably, thinking the exact same thing he was. Disgust tore away flesh like silver coins and he felt suddenly vulnerable, naked and open and aware that anything could happen with Snape as his partner. He watched the silver as if it was smoking in his palm, and averted his eyes to ease the hate coursing through him.

"Textbooks please, to page 29," Slughorn called. His senses - though his hearing was still pleasantly muffled from the plugs - were not impressed by the new change, catching the suffocating smell of grim, rotten ingredients with full force. He squirmed, fidgeting with his sleeves to distract himself.

"Can anyone tell me what Mopsus potion does?" Slughorn lingered on the sea of lowered hands before deciding, "Ah, yes. Lily."

"Mopsus potion is a potion that gives the drinker seer-like abilities, as well as telekinesis," Her words shot out in a clear rehearsed string, and she gleamed at the smile Slughorn gave her in response.

"Well done, Lily. Certainly a powerful brew, as those in Divination classes may already know. To say that telekinesis, however, is a dangerous ability to have around such temperamental equipment, is rather the understatement. Ah - Severus, would you mind helping me show the class? A responsible example should do us well."

Snape nodded and retrieved his copy of Advanced Potion Making, lingering on the spot beside Remus' ear to mutter something near incoherent.

"I wonder how the beast would scream if I spilled a little silver."

Chapter Text

Slughorn dismissed them. He had heard it, distantly, as though his whole head was filled with water - no, his lungs, because he sure felt like he was drowning, thrust into an ocean or a lake of some sorts, or maybe just a puddle, because truthfully, he couldn't deny he was making a huge fuss over nothing. But he had heard it, through the rushing water of rushing thoughts flooding his mind and keeping him nailed to his seat. Soon the majority of the class filed out and headed towards their dorms.

What his brain succeeded to notice was the distinct absence of one Severus Snape, and so his body finally gave him permission to breathe again, deep and heavy like it was the first breath of clean air he had taken in years. Despite the empty seat beside him, the sensation persisted, and he failed to notice a nearly empty room until the only other student left inside was at his shoulder, crouching down to get his attention with a familiar smile.

Lily's expression was quizzical, behind her smile, like she was working her way through the invisible problem that made up his tired, scarred face.

"Remus?" At the sound of his own name, he was certain his brain stopped working for a second. He wasn't even sure he had heard it since…since the Prank. That or it was another thing his brain had drowned out. He wouldn't be surprised. It felt too personal, a string of letters he had arranged himself to sit heavy and wholly in his heart, embedded in all the viscera and pain that made him him, the very image of who he wanted no, needed to be. Carved out of the purest essence of his 'soullessness' as his father called it and turned inside out and open palmed into something uniquely beautiful. Sirius had once said it felt like gold on his tongue, all smooth and pretty.

When Lily said his name, it burned the sorrow from his skin in a quiet blaze and he truly understood what gold meant.

In a hazy, thoughtless state, he moved his face to meet Lily's gaze, leaned his head onto her chest and let her guide him upright.

"Sorry."

Lily tilted her head.

"What for?"

Remus gestured vaguely to- well, to all of him, and she smiled sadly.

"I wanted to help you. You wouldn't want to be left here alone, right?" She guessed, crouching down to retrieve his satchel, the worn, broken thing that it was. He thought about it. No, he wouldn't. But he would've noticed eventually, he wasn't that fucked up as to fester in his thoughts for hours.

No, he wouldn't.

"Uh- thanks, anyway. I should probably get to my lesson…" Remus trailed off, still clinging onto Lily's sleeve with no intention of letting go. She caught it, and intertwined their hands, beginning to walk with him instinctually following behind.

"It's three? Lessons are done, and I'd like to talk to you," She kept walking without even sparing him a glance, and panic hit him, a feeling that he was quickly growing tired of, "You're not in trouble or anything by the way. God, I never thought I'd say that, I feel like a teacher."

"You'd make a good McGonagall," he joked.

"Really? I hope not, I would not have the patience with the First Years," Lily spoke with a laugh in her voice, bright like the dawn. It wasn't too much. With James, the brightest man he had ever known, his love became something akin to burning, vibrant in a way that sort of made him confused. How could one person hold so much love inside of him? Often, when the scared child inside of him awakens and keeps him up at night, he fears that one day James' love would be drained and it would have been him that ran him dry. And he would have no more love to give.

He had never thought that with Lily. Lily was constant, ever-loving, ever-kind. He reveled in her presence like he reveled in hand-knit cardigans and cold days met with warm company. She may not have been the sun, but her presence touched his skin in a way that only the sun had before, enveloping and quiet in a way that could only make a person smile. As they talked, he found a laugh creeping into his voice too, though he couldn't understand what was funny. It was like they were different people with each other. Truer people, perhaps.

"I thought you loved the First Years! You said they were sweet," He said as she dragged him up a flight of moving stairs.

"Remus, something can be sweet and a pain in the arse to deal with at the same time-"

He fake-gasped and let go of her hand to skip the next step and walk beside her instead. She was smiling when he caught a glimpse of her face, yet something was itching beneath her skin.

"-For example, you've met Sirius."

His smile faded instantly. The warmth felt out of place on his skin now, when his blood had since run entirely cold. The silence leeched the gold from his skin, leaving him empty and desperate for something he couldn't quite place. It reminded him all too much of one cold November night in Second Year. He could almost feel the same phantom fangs he did then, when they told him.

"What's wrong?" Suddenly he was glad she said something. He knew he wouldn't have the strength to do it. The quiet hung in the air for a moment longer, while he deliberated on the words that were plainly carved into his skin the moment Sirius spoke to Snape.

"We fell out," It hurt more than he had anticipated. That was all he could say about it. Thinking about Sirius hurt.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Lily paused, running her thumb over his palm. The rough skin seemed to melt under her touch, softening instantly. The roughness in his heart, however, persisted.

"What for?" He said, painting his voice with the inky tar of sarcasm. He and Lily spoke it like a second language, but this was a dialect she didn't care for.

"Let's keep going. Mary's asleep and Marlene's naturally visiting the Slytherin common room, again. We can talk in my dorms," He felt a pang when Lily's hand fell. She couldn't understand. She never would. That hurt the most. Maybe one day, he would move on, make new friends, have new loves, think new thoughts. Feel things he had barred himself from feeling after years of locking his heart up with 'care.' But they would leave. Because why wouldn't they? A lonely, bitter man with no energy left in his withered bones to mend his wounds. He prayed that it wouldn't be Lily to leave, to decide the wounds run too deep to feel sorry for anymore.

The funny thing about the dawn is you'll always need it most in the dark.

A question shook him away from his thoughts.

"I'm a boy though?" Saying it still, five years since he- you know, said it - made his heart flutter with childish delight, and his stomach grow heavy with the hot shame curling inside it, "You're, y'know, in the girls' dorms…"

Lily grinned and rolled her eyes playfully while she aimed a light slap at his arm.

"Yes, I know that, Remus! Are you seriously doubting my charms abilities?" He shook his head quickly, smiling awkwardly through closed lips. Lily didn't bother to remove her hand, resting it casually on his arm as she fished for her wand. He stopped just before the Fat Lady and recited the password. They made their way to the Girls' Dorms, Remus slamming to an abrupt halt at the invisible barrier. Lily squinted in focus and muttered something. With a flick of her wand, he was able to push through the wall and stumble up the stairs.

Upon entering, the first thing he noticed was how different Lily's dorm was. The whole place, quite frankly, smelt just as much as his did, what with three hormonal teenagers dwelling there, except it was all drowned in the intoxicating smells of various perfumes. A mirror was adorned with both magical and muggle photographs, all featuring a combination of Lily, Mary and Marlene. Blankets were tossed around the room, primarily gathered on - or rather, draped over and falling off of - one four poster bed in particular. Lily gestured to it, and a mound curled up in the middle of it.

"Mary. She cannot survive without one nap a day, but we always cast silencing spells so don't worry about her hearing us." Remus suddenly found himself having a lot in common with Mary.

Lily sat herself down cross-legged on her own neatly made bed, an obvious contrast to the other two, both a mess. She tucked herself against the bed frame to make room for him, all spindly legs and clumsiness. 

For a moment, all he could hear was Lily's breathing, and the soft rustling sound as she shifted uncomfortably. The bed didn't look uncomfortable. But something…was distressing her.

"Lily?" She met his face and smiled, like she had forgotten he was even there. Remus knew that was true. He could sit in her presence for hours, never speaking a word, but never wanting to get up.

"Sorry!" Lily laughed, "It's just…I sort of don't know how to say it. I've been thinking about it…for I think eight months now. Well, nine, but it doesn't matter. I've been thinking. And…God, this is weird. Right."

Remus shuffled forwards, reaching to place his hand atop hers, and she, again, blinked back into awareness and smiled before her face became very serious. Lily wasn't truly ever as serious as others made her out to be. This time though, he could tell how deep that straight-backed determination ran, and he understood now. Serious. Sensing the thoughts whirling inside him, Lily flipped his hand over and interlocked their fingers, brushing a thumb over absentmindedly. She stared at him, and seemed to see through his entire being to his head. She seemed to tap on it like one would knock on a door, asking for answers with that same soft smile.

No matter how serious things got, how, admittedly rigid they were, Lily always seemed to make him melt. It felt good. Being true. Felt like nothing could harm him. No fear could penetrate his skin.

"I know you're a werewolf."

The exception that proves the rule.

He choked, eyes wide and fucking petrified. His brain bombarded him with the repetitive mantra of 'don't let them get suspicious' and he swallowed shallow breaths to force out a sentence. Fuck. Fuck.

"What?" Not quite a sentence, definitely suspicious. He found himself clutching his jumper, tearing with blunt nails at the wool to reach for his heart: to slow it, to rip it out he couldn't tell. He could only understand the fear, and the full body urge to run. Before he could move, Lily grabbed for his arm and held on with a vice grip.

"Remus, I don't ca-"

"That's not very funny, Lily. I'm not– you can't just–" He pulled away, fighting and tugging with Lily's persistent hand.

"I know. And I don't care," She must have seen the tears shining in his eyes, the violent, visceral fear bleeding out from him. But she didn't pull away. She didn't even hesitate.

"I'm not," Remus choked, voice high and pleading. Please. I won't know where to go from here.

"You are," She looked so full of hope, so thoughtful. Like she could stay here for hours convincing him that she didn't care, really. That he was still loved. Grip loosening, she moved to his wrist and locked her hand around it. Remus' eyes widened, knowing exactly what scars were carved there, "It's alright. I've done some research, and, werewolves are only dangerous under a full moon, and that's not today, so I'm not scared of you or anything. Werewolves aren't violent in human form, but…I didn't need to do any research to know it's still you. Werewolf or not-werewolf. You're still Remus. No different. No less. Still my friend. Right?"

He couldn't speak. But his mouth closed, and his head fell, and he let Lily pull him close and wrap her arms around him.

"Right…I'm. Sorry, I'm.I never thought this would happen," His voice cracked.

"Is it only me? Who knows?" Lily asked. Her voice was calm, smooth and relaxed again, yet the concern running through made a smile grace his lips.

"No…um. James and Pete know. Since Second Year. And…" He suddenly found himself unable to say it. Like it would all become real the second she heard it unravel. They didn't fall out, Sirius betrayed him.

Betrayal.

There's no room for forgiveness in that, no matter how much he tried to stretch the truth. He didn't mean it.

He did.

"And Sirius."

"Oh."

"Oh," He repeated.

Chapter Text

Sirius was not, by any definition of the word, happy. It seemed such a simple statement, like the depth of all of this crushing, devastating loneliness could be brushed off with the same carelessness, the same Don't bother worrying, he's just being dramatic that he had been met with all of his childhood.

He didn't feel dramatic.

He felt dead.

In his youth, he supposed he had  never been a particularly happy person. From the age of three, the noble Black family values had been carved into his skin, the open wounds from his mother's punishments still stinging with a plea for her love. Straight-backed and rigid the moment he could be calmed long enough to attend parties as a polite host, not a scheming nuisance. Quiet and careful in his manners, in his gait, in his entire personhood. Trying to be. Failing to be.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had failed at all his life. It struck him as much easier to say just that. He had failed to be. Perhaps he had never quite caught up to that expectation, always one step behind, reaching out with a fighting, clawing hand because it was the only way to grasp that sensation.

The attention.

His brother had never found it so difficult. That compliance had never faded from his bones, raising him up from the womb to be everything they wanted. Everything Sirius failed to achieve, to be. Meanwhile, Sirius had waited under his mother's piercing glare as she shattered each bone only to complain they wouldn't grow at her command.

"A pity," She had said, wand poised, light gleaming at the tip. Her magic had never made a sound, no lightning crackle to make him flinch, no soft murmur of power moving forth. That made it all the worse. When she raised it against him, the threat of her torture burned at the tip of her wand, silent. All he could do was listen to the sound of his heart beating in his ears, feeling the force of it roll over him like the rumble of thunder in his chest as his body braced for pain.

"A pity," She had called it.

The unspoken "that my blood will go wasted on you " rang in his ears like a church bell, harsher than the spell itself. Of course he was used to the little attention she gave him. The words that were left unsaid, the deeds left in the dust in favour of more important matters, those hurt the most.

Phantom agony scorched his brain, burning the edges like discarded letters in a fireplace. Often, when he was at his worst, half-dead with a self-induced fever of torment wracking his brain, he soothed his pale, disheveled body with the assurance he would return to void in a burst of light, finally at peace in something akin to happiness. All stars did, right? The countless generations of Noble, Ancient Blacks had faced their supernova and had their lives immortalised on a tapestry of his greatest fears on their very walls. They had all done it. Wasn't that enough to know it was inevitable? Wasn't that enough to find comfort in? But Sirius didn't want to die as nothing more than a scrap of fabric on a stupid tapestry, he didn't want his agony carved into walls as a hopeless case. He didn't want light, nor drama, nor power to be revered or feared. He detested the idea. Here, now, curled up in an agony if his own making, he wanted it all to end, the darkness consuming him, all of it, but he didn't want a supernova.

He wanted light, yes, but not the kind his family had held for centuries as their earned, fabled reputation. He wanted warmth, and softness, enveloping him like a sun-soaked blanket, sweet and peaceful with the last echo of laughter in his lungs. Desperately, he wanted happiness. Simple, but he knew there was no chance in Hell he would live with more than guilt marring his conscience like blood-stained hands. Happiness was far from his grasping hands now, and he knew that agony would only settle deeper as it grew further away, splintering his heart from his own hubris, his own disgusting selfishness.

He had never truly been free of that agony, had he? Taunting him in this guarded, brick fortress, wrapping ghostly, alien fingers around his throat for the crime of cracking in the kiln. For fulfilling the inevitable. For failing.

At least stars burned out by their own design, controlled yet explosive, inescapable, beaming light no one had ever cared to notice in life.

If he should be given the chance, would he fail at that too?

Yes, was the simple answer. As simple as his wants, his pain, his regrets. What else can I do?

-

Distantly, Sirius could hear the sound of waves rippling above in the sharp Autumn wind. It was a quiet night, the sky black and starless as ever, the few leaves yet to fall trembling, the few people yet to retire to their dorms nestled in silent, comfortable company inside their common rooms. Sirius felt a pang of something sharper than the wind pierce his heart.

It was the 3rd of November.

The first 3rd of November without his friends.

The first of many, the hate in their eyes assured him. The first of many, he whispered to the echoes of his own movement in a silent dormitory.

Sirius Black turned sixteen at 3:19 on a storming, black void of a morning. That's what it felt like anyway. Cold. Sort of dead. Sort of like him. He thought if this is what he felt like to other people, the way this night felt, he could understand why they did the things they did. Why the pity always became distance, became void.

In short, that's what lead him to standing, utterly petrified, at 3:56 in the midst of torrential rain, that very first November 3rd, dead and cold, and impossibly petrified in front of Slytherin common room entrance.

Mere metres away from his brother.

The portrait did not seem to care the slightest bit that he was crying, and mumbled angrily something about students being out of bed after curfew.

"Omnes stellae mori?" He said hesitantly. Usually – or, with James – entering the Slytherin common room was the easiest task to pull off in a prank. Invisibility cloak, stake out the dungeons, sneak in. Or catch the password if they're too slow, and most portraits won't question the suspicious scarlet ties. Done. Easy. But now, he had to rely on overheard conversations, and with his throat currently raw, horse and practically shredded from sobbing, his voice was not his best asset. Finally, the door relented, and let him pass, muttering his thanks for lack of better things to say. He supposed he hadn't talked in…he didn't know. He didn't want to know. A month. That felt right. Painful, but right.

Upon entering, he caught sight of a girl, younger than him though, oddly, with a sense of wisdom about her. She stared at him, unblinking, from her place hunched over a bubbling cauldron in the middle of the floor. He recognised her vaguely, whether it was from her striking fashion sense or her possible association with his brother, he couldn't remember. He could remember the same faintly creeped-out sensation crawling over his skin just like now.

"You're not from here," She said suddenly, still burning into his pupils.

"Uh-"

"I mean I can see the tie. And it's almost four in the morning- did you get lost ?"

"I-"

"Nevermind, I'll take you back. Merlin, what is it with Gryffindors and getting lost in the dungeons? That Mckinnon girl came in here last night, said she was sleepwalking. The lovebites on her neck begged to diff- ooh, did you come here to see someone?" She had a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she talked, waving her head this way and that, the many flowers threaded in her hair swaying in time with it. He tried to shake his head, lost for words and filled with a thick, dark regret. This was stupid anyway. Fuck, I can't do this, he hates me, it's so childish, so selfish, ruining everything, he's better off alone-

"Wow, what's going on with your face? Oh…you're crying. Probably not…here for sex if you're crying. Maybe! Probably not. Sorry!" She patted his arm gently, still staring directly into his eyes like she had never done this in her life. Sort of reminded him of Remus – not the fucking time.

"Sirius?" 

The voice sent him bolting upright, like the very sound was imbued with the worst memories of his life, all mottled together into a tar-like stew of muttered curses and shared glances through glazed, tired eyes. As he whipped his head around, one Regulus Black, his brother, stood, dark circles prominent on his impossibly pale face. He had taken on those features the way Blacks were supposed to: gaunt cheekbones to match the hollow of their rotting bloodline's skulls, pale eyes like the silver of an ancient heirloom dagger, black hair, unblemished skin, thin and tall and undeniably threatening with a single glance. But still, though nobody but Sirius seemed to notice, Regulus looked like his skin was shrunk to fit him, like it wasn't his role to play. 

Regulus walked closer, carefully, until he could crane his head, subtle and elegant, enough to see Sirius' face and the storm of emotions splashed across it.

" Oh, " The Slytherin muttered to himself, and Sirius felt the familiar cool touch of his brother's hand slide across his, prying him from the slump he found himself in into a semi-respectable upright position. Regulus waited patiently, silent, as Sirius scraped the last dregs of his courage and confidence into an anxious grimace.

"Pandora?" The girl – Pandora Lovegood – inched backwards, hands up defensively, and eventually shuffled back to her potion and instantly back to her own little world. Regulus used the added room to maneuver Sirius into some semblance of privacy, an alcove nearby the stairs decorated with Slytherin-themed motifs. He hung his head low, tilting it so he couldn't even see his brother's slippers, let alone the look on his face.

"Happy Birthday."

What?

"Isn't that what you came for? You…wanted to see me," Regulus spoke, as always, in that familiar flat, cool tone, and Sirius instinctually flicked his gaze upwards, just to catch a glimpse of him, any emotion he could find. He would take it and run with it.

But Regulus, clever Regulus, betrayed no emotion other than calm. It was a bit annoying actually – though he wouldn't say that to his face, not under the penalty of death – how he could never trust it. Trust was always a fickle thing with Blacks, but especially Regulus. He trusted his little brother with everything: secrets, pain, jokes, fears, dreams, anything and nothing that eased the silence, the isolation. But he never seemed to get that same unwavering trust in return, listening to the echoes of footsteps fade from earshot from beneath Walburga's feet. Watching. Listening. Silent. That clever, obedient brother of his.

"Yeah," Sirius paused, letting his hand fall from Regulus' loose grip, "I'll – um, I'll go. Sorry for…bothering you." As he turned to go, a thousand thoughts flitting around in his mind like vultures looming over a corpse, he felt something catch his wrist, and tugged away in protest, summoning the last of his strength to wrench his arm out of Regulus' persistent grip.

Despite the animalistic urge to run, he let the comfort, however cold, of his brother's presence drag him into the sensation of scarred skin on scarred skin, quiet and still and familiar, yet too distant not to hurt. His arm fell limp in Regulus' hand, and he felt a thumb swipe over the skin, a movement that reminded him of hidden conversations in the damp crevices of dinner parties, anything to get away.

"Stay," The Slytherin said, meeting his eyes truly for what felt like the first time in years. He hadn't spoken a word about it, but still, somehow, he knew that Regulus saw deeper into his soul than anyone ever would. James made- had made him whole, but Regulus had faced the same violence that he had, and though they were vastly different people now, after what they crawled out of, he understood that icy wound of a void would connect them, even when there was someone warmer to stitch it up.

Not anymore, he had to remind himself.

Sirius looked down, sort of uncomfortable. He couldn't bear to feel like a kid again, watching the pale skin of a hand grow in a split second, scars healing pink and forgotten, and suddenly all the time they had left was lost, and he was watching a new person breathe to life. New face. New hands. Still not quite fitting the way he pretended it did. Sirius could tell.

"Okay." He was too tired to think, warm tears drying damp and cold, snot bleeding  into worn pyjama sleeve as he desperately tried to keep himself from sobbing. Regulus wrapped his arms around him, and confusion hit him all at once through the rushing tempest of emotion flooding his mind. Weeks ago, it was unwavering fact that Regulus hated him. Remus had said it himself. But here they were, twisted up in each other's arms to ease the pain like scared children. He felt warm, warmer than he had felt in weeks, like the ice that had crept into the hole where his heart was carved out was thawing at his touch. He didn't quite know how to put it, though he had never been that good with feelings. It was all just so nice. He didn't know how to convince Regulus that he didn't deserve it.

Chapter Text

Life was slowly beginning to take root, spreading its tendrils in the husk of Remus' body despite his pleas to stay buried, to say broken. But life dug its claws into him anyway, begging him to face it. Remus had grown quite fond of being stubborn. 

It was early morning, but classes were yet to start and many of the students, especially those in Fifth or Seventh year, had taken to dragging their sleep-logged bodies down to breakfast as early as six to beat the rush. He hated all the commotion, and breakfast was easily the calmest time of day too. Remus had showered swiftly – he knew well by now not to leave himself alone with his thoughts for too long – and dressed, though he, after a month, had yet to scrub the filth from his skin from that night. If he looked closely through the light of the moon on dark, empty nights, he could almost see the blood caked under his fingernails, turning the blunt to spiked and evil.

Last week, Lily had offered to paint his nails, a selection of glass bottles smuggled from Mary's nightstand dropped carelessly on the bed as a wordless sign of understanding. Eventually he relented, and waited patiently as she laid on her stomach and tilted her head to get an angle for herself. She held his hand, light, almost ghostly, and the warmth of her skin permeated his, flowing through blood and bone up towards his face, and he smiled without registering it, just letting her company wash over him. After eleven minutes, he gazed down at his nails, a shade of green he had never given a passing thought before splashed across his hands like it was made to be there. It still looked awkward, Lily's skills not quite as good as Mary's, who had eagerly painted the dorm's nails the second they asked, but it looked perfect to him. While his dried, he leaned back on the pillows and watched as Lily did her own, a matching shade of green, if not slightly lighter, indecipherably so.

Now when he looked at his hand, the blood appeared to melt away, still visible brushstrokes acting as the water he could never quite use to scrub away. 

It looked rather pretty.

Remus trudged downstairs, buttoning his cardigan as he walked, too tired to even look where he was going. The castle was empty, save for the rare appearance of students scattered across the halls or staircases, attending an early quidditch practice, or, perhaps, studying for the upcoming exams. He knew from James that Gryffindor had booked their session for tomorrow night, so he would be sleeping as long as he could to "keep his energy up." It made him sort of sad, to hear he would be gone. That night, despite his desperate attempts to bury that thought, was a full moon, the first since the Prank. And he would be alone. If he asked, James would cancel, no questions asked. That was part of the problem. James needed to heal, he needed peace and security, the kind Remus was certain the boy thought he could never achieve without Sirius. Remus couldn't bear to think he was the reason James was forcing himself to be miserable, especially not when full moons were imbued with memories of…him. So Remus slipped away, promising himself not to mention it, promising himself it would be fine. He had dealt with this alone for a decade. He had learned to live with it. What was one more night against a hundred?

In the Great Hall, he could only spot ten or twenty students at most: a few First years, quite a few more Sixth years, and some from his year, weary eyes glaring at their fried eggs. Remus slid into his usual spot, though it didn't matter much on a table with three people on. He spooned food onto his plate until he felt it would be enough to stop him collapsing, and stabbed at it until the plate was empty. By the time he was done, students were beginning to filter in gradually until a steady flood of raucous latecomers raised the noise enough to have Remus fishing around his bag for his ear plugs. With a sigh, he slipped them in and let the time pass until James and Peter arrived. Approximately fifteen minutes before breakfast was to end, James rushed through the doors, dragging Peter behind him.

"Sorry mate, got a bit caught up," James explained, snagging a piece of toast from a tray and shoving it into his mouth immediately.

"Caught up? You didn't even shower," Peter said, wrinkling his nose as he did so, "He was polishing his broom. For an hour."

"She wasn't up to her usual standard, what was I supposed to do?" James argued through a mouthful of food.

"Neither's your hygiene by the sound of it. And do you really call your broom 'she?'" Remus glanced up to see Lily sit down, side-eyeing him as if to say 'And you enjoy hanging out with him?' He stifled a laugh by taking a rather aggressive bite of toast. It didn't work.

"You jealous, Evans? 'Cause I haven't thought of a name yet, how about I start calling her Lily?" The boy snickered, and Remus suddenly got the urge to tell James to grow up. He glanced up again to see her sighing, disgusted.

"I'm not jealous, Potter. Just astonished you've finally realised you'll never get a girlfriend, and have to pretend with your broom instead."

Just as James was about to argue back, the owls descended from above, and excited murmurs arose from around the room, discussing letters to family and promised gifts. He tilted his head up to see his family owl, a tattered, perpetually injured little thing, with a letter held in its chipped beak, perfunctory and slow with exhaustion. Quick to save the creature the trouble, he stood up to catch the letter, allowing him to drop onto the table and get some rest before he flew to the Owlery, shivering slightly from the nights' travel.

The letter was encased in an old brown envelope, the muggle kind Remus was sure his mother had kept since her own childhood. The scent of dust and leather bound books was faint behind the still-steaming eggs and sausages laid out around the room, but it was there nonetheless, and the familiarity of it made him smile, if a bit worried. He had sent many letters across the years, small achievements, discoveries, all carefully plucked from the raucous mess of his school life for the easiest, calmest response. Most of them were met with kindness and the tearstain of motherly concern. Hope Lupin had written every single letter since he was eleven years old, but as Remus thumbed the envelope, running a finger across the ink, he knew this was not her usual hand, nor did it carry the clumsy smudge from her rush to send it, or the soft scent of the wildflowers that surrounded their house. It was his father's hand. Lyall had written him a letter.

He cursed under his breath, curling his hand into a tight fist to try to ignore it. If he never looked at it…he was sure it would be worse, but at least then…he could spare himself the guilt. The fear. The anger rising up at every word his father spoke.

It was one letter.

He pocketed it, the weight of a thousand words he prayed would be left at home dragging him down in his left cardigan pocket.

-

The Gryffindor common room was alight with noise and conversation, a typical sight considering the excitement around the upcoming Quidditch match was rising, and the team was, of course, training harder than ever to win the cup - or, rather, beat Slytherin, which may actually be what most of the team were really aiming for.

Despite the overwhelming atmosphere of house pride, many were just as content to sit by the roaring fire and revise, or, more likely, catch some rest after a day's efforts. Remus himself was curled up in an armchair with a pillow held tight against him for comfort. Letter in hand, he ripped it open and sighed.

Remus,

Two weeks have passed since I received news of your situation. Your mother is inconsolable, and has been since the moment she found out. The severity of your foolish actions have pained her far more than you could ever know, though personally, I believe to call it foolish is an extreme understatement. You are not the kind, strong, intelligent boy I hoped to raise. Instead, you are cruel to her, and idiotic, and the image of Gr pathetic. To convince yourself anyone would willingly consort with a werewolf of all creatures, that is the most foolish of your endeavours. You are not like them. You never will be. And I warned you the moment you were invited that your peers would become a distraction at best and, as is now the case, a path towards a life in Azkaban. I warned you, since you were bitten to be careful, to hold your secrets to your chest, and yet you disappoint me, not only in breaching trust and revealing your disgusting nature, but by harming a poor young boy, whose life could be ruined because you wanted more than you deserve. Selfish, greedy boy. These friends will do no good for you either, especially the Black boy. A blood purist. There is nothing but hatred in his heart, don't allow him to lie to you. Revealing the darkness in you to him could kill us all.

There is darkness in you, that I know more than ever. You are a foul, selfish, evil child.

Your mother sends her wishes to see you for the holidays.

Lyall.

"-emus?" A voice shocked him out of his thoughts, and he fumbled, folding the letter quickly and almost crumpling it in the process. On second thought, he stuffed it in his pocket without a care towards the creases. A presence weighed down on the side of the armchair, and in the corner of his vision he could just make out a leg curled over it, dressed in black tights.

"If you need to talk, that's fine," Lily offered, careful not to brush against him in case he was feeling sensitive. Remus considered it, and moved to pull the letter from his cardigan.

"Dad wrote…" He started, not quite sure how to continue, so he paused, letting the sound of Lily's breathing distract him, "He never does that."

"Was it about-" 

"Yeah. Unfortunately. Shame because I was quite looking forward to at least one night of peace." Remus curled further in on himself, clutching the pillow with one arm and laying his other hand atop Lily's. He watched her, silent, as she traced the mistakes on his green nails subconsciously. "He called me a fucking…Christ, never mind. I don't want to talk about it much anymore."

Lily nodded, understanding, and slid down to the floor, where she produced a notebook from her satchel. After flicking through its pages, she landed on one she was satisfied with and pored over its contents with a single-minded focus. Eventually, she glanced up.

"It's…um," She cleared her throat, awkward, not sure how to breach the subject, "that time of the month tomorrow."

Remus raised an eyebrow, and tried to remember the last time they had talked about…you know. Not since Second year, surely? It had just been…weird since he came out.

"Same," He decided, confused. What else could she be talking about? It wasn't like that could mean anything except – oh. "You mean the…um, furry little problem. Right?"

"Remus, what the-" 

"That's what James calls it."

"Of course it is." Lily shook her head slightly, a trace of a smile quirking up her lips. "I'm a bit disappointed, you know. Half the Tower thinks it's a badly behaved rabbit."

"What?"

"Mary and I have a bet on its name…" Lily moaned in mock sadness. However, Remus suddenly became very serious.

"Oh you have to tell me the name."

"I'm taking that to the grave, I'm afraid," She giggled, miming zipping her lips.

"Come on!" 

"I can tell you Mary's suggestion." Lily grinned, and Remus clambered down from the armchair to meet her level, biting his lip in anticipation. It did take him a bit longer than he would've liked, the weakness from the approaching full moon making his joints strain and muscles ache, but his pale, sickly face was alight with warmth as he sidled up beside her.

"This better be good, Lils-" 

"Mini moonykins," She admitted, a hand clasped over her mouth to hide her blush.

"What the fuck."

"Hey, Moons?" James, a boy of eternally perfect timing, stood in the doorway, broom in hand. "I got them to reschedule Quidditch practice so I'll be out tonight. That okay?"

"You… you didn't have to, I'll be fine," Remus insisted, very much not used to implying, much less talking about, his 'furry little problem' problems in front of Lily. He thought James may have been having the same thought, shifting on his feet despite his usual permanently confident stance.

"Yeah, I know that. But you shouldn't have to be alone, especially not for that." James sighed and chuckled to himself quietly. "You forget the part where I care about you, Rem?"

Remus pointedly decided not to answer that part, instead glancing over to Lily the moment he left the room with a nod of acknowledgement and an 'Evans', presumably in a rush to get to practice. There was a weird expression on her face, like the kind she had when she was thinking too hard.

"Surprised he made it through one sentence without insulting me," Lily said, and he knew it wasn't a joke. Though she didn't mean it to hurt him, it still made his stomach churn with guilt.

"He's a bit of a dickhead like that. Sorry." He gave her a thumbs up by way of an apology, but her face remained unchanged, sort of calm in its anger, like a muffled rainstorm.

"He's just so…conceited. Like he can't bear to imagine everyone's not thinking about him 100% of the time."

Lily hung her head enough for her long ginger hair to fall over her face, and only then did Remus realise how closed-off she became when talking about James. She folded her arms around herself and propped her knees under her chin, not daring to peer back at him to see his reaction.

"Besides, I can tell he's only even talking to me to make fun of me."

"I promise he's trying to be better. I know he's arrogant at times-" Lily raised an eyebrow "-most of the time, but he's a nice person really. He hasn't called you Red for months, or hexed you."

Exasperated, Lily sighed and ran a hand through her hair – well, the loose parts of it – before huffing in irritation.

"That doesn't make the things he did do better! The intention of making me embarrassed is still there, even if it's only subtle now. It's like First Year. He only talked to me to be rude, and it's still happening." As Lily touched her plait sensitively, she let herself meet Remus's eyes, though he immediately looked away, skin crawling at the staring. She paused, and Remus knew she must be thinking hard about what she had to say, because she had that same odd look on her face, only overshadowed by the annoyance of seeing James.

"I know how I look. I know I'm fat. And I know it's not a bad thing necessarily, but I know it's always going to be the first thing people see when they look at me, and how they'll inevitably react. Like the mere act of talking to me is so utterly hilarious that they have to make fun of me. Because who would actually…you know. Like me."

Chapter Text

By the time Madam Pomfrey was due to escort him to the Shack, Remus was laid out across a bed in the hospital wing, head pounding, terrified. He knew what to expect. The cracking bones, the tearing flesh, the shame. The panic of something…going wrong. Thoughts of escaping, of claws lashing out and teeth gnawing on bone loomed over him. That he was used to. That he expected. Worryingly enough, that wasn't the problem.

It had been three months since his friends had revealed their plan to help him. A short speech he couldn't wrap his head around at the time, and a swirl of magic whisked them into forms he had never seen before. But he recognised them. The Marauders were so distinct that Remus would sure those three could take any shape they wanted and still be indisputably them. A stag, strong yet graceful, proudly standing with its antlers rising up towards the ceiling. A rat, nimble, agile, skittering across the floor and climbing up to rest at his shoulder. And a dog. Fur darker than ink, softer than velvet. It lowered itself and wagged its tail frantically, tongue lolling out, the picture of Sirius Black begging for attention as he had done time and time again.

They had become Animagi.

July, and he had squeezed James' hand and watched the full moon enter his vision and crack his skull in half with pain.

August, and he had felt the weight of a dog sprawled across his torso, the pressure providing enormous relief in the moments before he transformed.

September, and he chased an alarmingly fast little rat around the shack, footsteps pounding under the echoes of laughter as they tested a theory on tiring the wolf out.

October, and excuses flitted around the room. He would be coming soon, of course. He wouldn't miss it, Moony, not for you.

October, and the moon burned into its vision as it passed the dense fog of cloud. He had never felt so connected to it. So deep in the headspace. When the first tufts of fur broke from his fragile skin, he knew something was wrong.

October, and his world went black.

October, and, as Peter had told him later, James was fighting the wolf away, digging deep into flesh with his antlers to keep another safe.

October, and he had not felt the night pass, only the screaming start and end.

Those first three months had been true freedom, as far as the wolf was concerned. It had companions, a makeshift pack to spend those dark nights with. He couldn't imagine how he how the wolf would react to losing the dog. To losing Sirius.

-

As many nights were as of late, the evening was alight with the harsh beginnings of a frigid Winter. Bitter, cold air, sharp enough to cut through the thickest of coats, and despite the sun hanging pure and gold above the horizon, it edged further down, threatening to fill the sky with darkness. Remus himself shivered, his threadbare uniform doing little to fight the chill, and held onto Pomfrey's arm. Of course he knew his way by now, but he couldn't face being alone. Not now.

The Whomping Willow came into view, its powerful branches swaying gently in the wind. As they approached, however, it began thrashing, stray twigs shooting off with the force. Madam Pomfrey paid it little mind, only humming under her breath as she always did while carrying out the monthly steps. Remus hung back as the nurse reached for a stick, long enough to prod the knot at the base of the trunk and send the tree into a state of calm and quiet. He followed her then, towards the entrance and down the tunnel, without saying a word. The air was thick with the smell of dirt and, faintly, as they traveled further down, blood. His heightened senses would usually only cause him to recoil, disgusted, but so close to a moonrise he gagged, stuffing his jumper over his nose to block out the scent. Pomfrey made a sympathetic noise, rubbing his arm.

Nevertheless, they continued to walk.

There, he noticed something different. At the edge of the tunnel, deep gashes torn into the very ground, uplifting dirt and wood and whatever else with a violent, scratching frenzy. The area around the entrance was destroyed, and he knew it was his doing. Another helpful little reminder of the night he escaped, the night that…

Madam Pomfrey urged him onwards with a gentle nudge, and he carried onwards into the shack itself. She followed, even for the briefest moment of comfort before he transformed.

"Pomfrey?" He said, unthinking, staring at the ground.

"Yes, Remus?" She spoke with that permanent strained, worried quality to her voice, a natural side effect of being a healer for so long, as well as the constant tiredness he supposed. Her hands drifted out towards his, and squeezed, a ghost of a trying smile on her face.

"I…" He tugged on his sleeve, unsure, and tried to force out the inevitable thoughts of his last memories here, "I don't know…I'm scared."

Pomfrey's face melted and she pulled him in instantly, swallowing him up in a hug like she did on his first moon in the Shack. She smelled distinctly of harsh disinfectant and the vaguely floral ingredients in her healing store, and with his heightened senses he almost pulled back, but the urge to leave was overpowered by the need to burrow his head in her shoulder. Her head was turned, and as far as he was concerned, the world was facing away too. Sniffles, followed by sobs, we're muffled against her apron, and he let the tears soak in as she rubbed circles into his back. Remus felt her words thrum inside his head, but he couldn't manifest the energy to listen, and instead let her words wash over him, carrying him to a calm-ish state, though his anxiety still pounded in his heart and in his head.

"It's alright…you're alright," He caught her mumbling, before she pulled back tentatively and rested a gloved hand on his hair, "Sunrise at seven, and I'll see to it that your friends bring you a bar of that chocolate you like. Merlin knows where they get it from, I was assured you haven't had a trip to Hogsmeade in months," She said, a hint of amusement in her voice. He found it in himself to chuckle, and she smiled wryly before glancing him up and down warily. Satisfied, she said goodbye, and with the click of the several locks, he was alone.

With a sigh, he removed his jumper and folded it on the dilapidated sofa in what he assumed was supposed to be a living room. The endless shaking did nothing for his hands and he found himself struggling to undo his shirt. Buttons finally undone, he left the shirt open, very much conscious of how long until the moon would be visible. Time ticked by slowly. The sky was just beginning to darken, and though it was a cloudy night, he knew there wasn't any hope for him to escape it. He settled slightly, on the sofa, reading a book he had stashed away months ago in an old wardrobe, and waited with the sting of fear stabbing into him. One page. He removed his socks and tucked them away with the rest. Two pages. He frowned, peering around the curtain to the sky, nearly black, and dog-eared the page. This one was old and damaged anyway, though he felt a twinge of guilt at the sight of the creased paper. After all, it had been the last thing his mother had given him before he went to Hogwarts.

Remus set the book aside in a hidden drawer amongst the rest of his things, and perched again on the sofa to wait. The ache in his bones only intensified, and he found himself gritting his teeth, body curled in on itself in a protective, scrawny knot to, if marginally, ease the pain.

The pain, the stubborn bastard that it was, was not keen on easing.

He relented, too tired to try and fight it, slumped even further down the pillows. In his vision, a crack of white appeared shining through the window and spilling out onto the floorboards, lighting up his sunken face. Moonlight. Instantly, he felt his bones stretching, his jaw in particular, lengthening and reforming to a grotesque animalistic snout. Fur, like the pinprick of a thousand needles threading through his skin, sprouted and spread from every patch. His body burned with the agony of it all: claws stabbed through his clenched fists; a tail gathered skin and bones from his torso and, in his tortured frenzy of muscle spasms, thrashed at the walls; his entire body contorted, muscles shredding onto to be stitched together the next moment, bones shattering under the weight of the transformation and healing in a new, wolf like posture. Remus didn't remember when he had started screaming, only that his vision turned black when the wails became howls.

-

James turned to Peter, concern painting his usually confident face with deep creases. They were tucked into the little bathroom under the stairs, still crumbled and broken but so far untouched by the wolf's wrath. The floorboards creaked under his shifting weight. Clearly, as if he was in the room next to him, James could hear Remus' screams, raw and terrified, echo through the Shack. He winced. No matter how many times they heard it, the sound never got any easier to bear. He wanted badly to bolt over to him and hold him until it didn't hurt anymore, until the screaming stopped. A Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in Third Year helpfully informed him that wasn't how werewolves worked.

Peter, the first to catch the low, gravelly tone of the wolf cutting through the screams, stood up, body twisting and morphing into a grey-ish rodent. His rat form immediately shot up James' sleeve and emerged at the collar of his shirt to perch on his shoulder. He squeaked urgently. James gave one last glance before twisting the handle and shuffling out into the hallway. With Remus preoccupied, though that was a fairly kind way to think about it, he guessed he had a few minutes to transform and gather his thoughts. Of course, even in wolf form, Moony was clever, incredibly so. And it wouldn't be long before he realised what - or, rather, who, - was missing.

The corridor was barely wide enough for his hulking - Sirius had called him graceful when he first saw it, fuck, Sirius - mass of antlers and fur to tumble through it. Yet somehow he managed, as he always had done, to scrape through and bound down the hallway towards his friend, Peter still grasping onto him.

It was quiet when he approached him, in the disheveled living room that Remus always transformed in. The moment he came upon him, James knew at once he was right, and that Moony too knew exactly what was wrong. Tension filled the room, thicker than the dense fur covering his friend, and sharp enough to have him wincing. He had to breathe out, exhale quickly through his snout, and slowly, carefully head towards him. James' hooves clicked against the wooden flooring, and with every noise Remus squared back, lip curling in a defensive snarl as he drew his pointed ears back flat against his head.

Usually, when it got really bad, Sirius would sidle up and rest his huge body beside Remus, his head against his chest or stop his paws, wagging his tail gently in an effort to calm him. But Sirius wasn't…

Sirius wasn't here right now.

Remus' posture changed, quickly tightening from fear to anger, and his ears pointed up. Jaws gnashing at thin air, claws scraping into the wood beneath him. Yes, it was true that werewolves didn't feel the primal urge to hunt and strike down animagi as they did humans, but get anything angry enough, scared enough, and their target's species doesn't matter. It was fear, deep and strangely human, that set itself in the amber of Remus' eyes, not anger. He saw that now. But as he made eye contact with him, a jolting, frantic sort of contact, he felt a sort of shift, and knew that Sirius' – though he hated to even think his name – absence, the betrayal that he could tell even- even the wolf understood somehow, cut him deeper than he and Pete had prepared for.

Another thing they didn't prepare for, however, despite years of DADA knowledge under their belts, was just how quick a werewolf can act when threatened.

Chapter Text

Sirius barely felt the months pass by until he was dragging his limp, numb body into the Hogwarts Express that December and curling his body into the nearest compartment. He had watched, anxiously from the sidelines as James and Peter both clambered on, though he didn't see Remus. Every moment that they crossed his vision he felt himself rapt beyond his control, unable to tear his eyes away like he was watching a car crash, or, rather, he was watching the spectators stare in horror as his life exploded in a roar of flame and metal. He still found it strange that Remus wasn't traveling with the two of them, seeing as he hadn't noticed them spend a day apart since…

Since…

People watching had resurfaced in his life as an odd habit from his childhood. Memories formed in a setting much like this, watching a train depart with his cousins inside, holding Reggie's hand and silently pleading to be let inside. When the girls were settled inside and his mother had ordered they leave before the stench of muggles embedded into their clothes, he would let his attention wander. First, a hovering glance over the thousands of parents and siblings waving goodbye, many in rich wizarding robes much like his parents, and others dressed in a smart Muggle wardrobe, unsure, like they weren't quite certain how to dress in this kind of society. Then, though his mother practically forbade this sort of curiosity, he would let his eyes linger at the muggles behind the barrier, oblivious to magic entirely, and yet somehow, they lived such full lives without it. He used to think with awe that he could only imagine the types of things they got up to in London without all of these absurd expectations weighing down on them. As a child, he thought it was wonderful, though there was a part of him that knew even then he wouldn't have found the activity half as exciting if, maybe, it wasn't just him and Regulus. If he wasn't alone.

Now, having returned to the same bleak loneliness he had faced at eight years old, he folded himself up in the corner of a compartment, so empty without his– without Remus, James and Peter, and let his thoughts slip away as he watched the students pass him by through glass.

He tried to ignore the bleariness in his eyes as James and Peter passed by. It didn't work.

It seemed a year where the majority of Hogwarts were returning home for the holidays, which would've been ideal if it wasn't for a letter from a certain someone – his heartless mother of course – he received last week informing him of an important event he simply had to be present for. By now he was well accustomed to his family's 'events,' which in reality were a pathetic excuse to berate him in front of his cousins about his every flaw, ranging from his unkempt appearance to his revolting personality, or worse, in front of countless other noble houses while he stood there, silent and helpless. Though at least his mother had the kindness to, usually, let him retain some of his dignity and wait until the night was over to punish him. When dinners were more intimate, well… he wasn't so lucky.

This particular party wasn't quite the typical Winter celebration, but in fact the announcement of his cousin's engagement. Not that it was any kind of secret. Narcissa had been selected as that Malfoy prick's bride since she was barely twelve, an age that her mother insisted she was more than ready to be wed at. Now, at nineteen, her parents were thrilled to sell her off and amend any damage to their reputation that Andy's failed engagement brought them. He said as much to Regulus when they both received the letter one breakfast, and even stoic, timid Reggie had agreed, and shared his sentiment about their favourite cousin. Sirius never cared for his family's obsession with purity and status, and though he was notorious for his – as Remus once put it – astounding obliviousness, he had noticed it, the moment her face on the wall was destroyed, and her name was forbidden from the household. He had noticed it, in his mother's eyes, a fury he had both seen too many times and never before, the certainty that he would be next. When he told Regulus, he had only nodded slightly, and returned to his pumpkin juice. He seemed to face a lot of that nowadays.

Slytherin table was much more familiar to him than he would ever have liked. It held the cold, loathing stares of those sycophants that his mother wished could've taken his place, but it also held his brother.

Students flooded through, parting off into their various compartments until the number dwindled and he could clearly see Regulus approach, enter and seat himself opposite him. There was a strange expression on his face, and he just smiled half-heartedly in response. They both knew it was going to be a long journey home, and an even longer visit. 

A shadow pressed against the door, and in seconds a distracted Pandora Lovegood was joining Regulus, a monarch butterfly settled on her ring-encrusted finger. She leaned into his brother, not properly noticing his presence until she glanced up and smiled. The girl's weird demeanor was something he had almost got used to, but as with the rest of Regulus' friends – atleast, the ones he approved of, so, not future fucking Death Eaters – he much preferred that he was left alone in that department. Rumours flew fast at Hogwarts, and he couldn't imagine the gossip surrounding the sudden split of the Marauders. All he knew was how quickly and wildly it was sure to happen.

Though, Regulus had his back, more so as of late than ever.

Sirius found his posture relaxing slightly, and slumped down the chair to fidget with the hem of his shirt. Absently, he realised his nails were chipped, black varnish all but scratched away. It was a good enough distraction, and atleast he didn't have to look his brother in the eye as he talked with Pandora.

By the time he noticed the door opening once again, his nails were bare and uncomfortable. Great. Just like how his mother liked him. Stripped of any personality and fucking miserable. 

A tall dark skinned girl – Dorcas Meadowes, a common face at Quidditch matches as Ravenclaw Keeper – entered, ushering a new figure with her. This one he knew much better.

"Sirius!" Marlene McKinnon invited herself onto his side of the compartment, swinging her arm over Dorcas and folding the other around his shoulders. He shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. She had a wide, casual smile as she nudged him with her elbow. From their…time together – a flash of regret hit him as he distantly realised he wouldn't be half as awkward about any sort of relationship if he hadn't…if he – he knew she was unimaginably touchy, and though he knew he didn't deserve it, and prayed she would at least spare him the guilt of seeing the Gryffindor House crest and fuck off, he found himself leaning into the touch, and letting her – now slightly worried – smile light up again.

"You alright? Haven't seen you at practice for-"

"Two months," Regulus finished, earning him a deathly stare. His brother simply raised an eyebrow in response, saying something along the lines of 'It's unavoidable.' Sirius pointedly looked away and back to Marlene, whose dark eyes were becoming increasingly confused.

"Yeah, or in the common room even-"

He had quickly darted his eyes to the floor at mention of his absence, but even then he could feel the tension in the air rise when Marlene trailed off, Pandora rapidly shaking her head in his peripheral. He tried to breathe through the hurt, repeating the matra over and over in his head. He deserved this. He deserved worse. Remus should have killed him when he found out, but he knew deep down that would be a lucky escape. The moment Reg found out how selfish he was, he would leave too, naturally, and then he would finally get what he deserved. Complete, agonising isolation. Yes. That would make Remus feel better. To never be reminded of him again.

Lost in his thoughts, he only half-felt the train start, moving with a force that dulled out the guilt enough to let him drift off, numb. By the time he woke again, they had travelled far enough that the scenery had changed drastically. Or, rather, the scene surrounding him. Marlene had left, probably to the compartment with the rest of the girls – Evans, MacDonald, that lot – but Dorcas had stayed, exactly opposite him and asleep with her face pressed against the door. Pandora was chewing lazily on some sweets – the clattering of the trolley faded behind him and he sat up a bit, groggy – while she scratched away with a bendy muggle pencil on a notebook, seemingly lost in her own world again.

For a moment, he assumed that Regulus had left him too, and he tried desperately to wash away the pang of pain that hit him. Crouch, probably, and his gang of Pureblood worshiping goons. It had been Snape that had taken his interest in his brother's first few years at Hogwarts, and Sirius had observed – though he did not do so without very loudly objecting to his stupid choice in friends – as Snape's connections lead him deeper into the Rosiers, the Mulcibers, and the Averys of Hogwarts. And yet he could do very little to convince him otherwise. Sirius loved his brother, his Reggie, he really did. It hurt to know nothing would change.

His parents had even encouraged him to…

He felt tiredness pulling him down again, a yawn spilling out of his mouth despite surely hours spent asleep, and slouched back down, stretching his arms out before closing his eyes. A pressure on his leg startled them open.

"Move." Sirius craned his neck. Reg was watching the muggle houses below the tracks pass by, leaning his head against the cold glass, lightly frosted by the bitter Winter air. He had changed into a thick black jumper, just sophisticated enough not to earn his mother's disgust. And Sirius' leg was laid across his lap.

"I do not need your disgusting socks on me, fuck off."

"Fine," he relented, catching Pandora's giggle. Regulus' eyes went wide, immediately realising what she was finding so funny and reaching out to knock her notebook over. He was clearly trying to keep as straight a face as possible, but the ghost of a smile was tracing over his face as his mouth fell open.

"Lovegood, I trusted you," Regulus said, the mock betrayal only making Pandora laugh more as she struggled to tear it from his grasp. He found himself laughing too, and being in on the joke didn't matter, just hearing the soft snorts spill out of the younger boy's mouth.

"What'd she write?" He asked after Pandora managed to wrestle it away from him and held it close to her chest, still cackling.

"Oh, she doesn't limit her crimes to words," Regulus, ever the clever one, swiftly grabbed his broom from the upper storage compartment and threaded it through the straps of her bag, tossing it over to Sirius to root through. He came across a pack of exploding bonbons and held one between his teeth threateningly. Dorcas had woken up by now, and was becoming increasingly confused and increasingly entertained. Still clutching Pandora's bag, he moved to chuck it back to Reg before throwing it to the gleeful Lovegood opposite, who quickly traded the notebook, catching on.

A crime indeed…

"Aww, Reggie, really?" He snickered, holding the page out so Regulus could see it again, a drawing of him and Sirius from moments prior with Sirius practically draped across his brother and a rather uncharacteristic speech bubble coming from Reg's mouth reading 'Best Brother Ever.'

Regulus seethed, pulling his wand out and, knowing they would never truly, Sirius did the same, allowing himself to indulge in the warmth spreading throughout his body when he caught a hint of a smile on the other's face.

He hadn't felt so…so purely happy, in – fuck – in months. Sirius tried to capture it in his mind, freeze it, perfect, for the shitstorm that was sure to erupt tonight.

"A duel, seriously? Are you ten?" He joked, begging to hold onto this moment for as long as he possibly could. Perhaps the desperation in his face showed, because Regulus became blank, drawing his wand back slowly.

"Hey?"

A weight disappeared from him and as his eyes flicked down to an empty hand and up to his idiot brother's smirking face, two wands rested between his fingers, the door opened once again. He didn't need to turn, guessing it was McKinnon again collecting her girlfriend.

Regulus didn't seem to think so, his jaw shut, face neutral and very clearly distracted. Confused, Sirius craned his neck.

Oh.

Scarred. Warm skin. Cold eyes. Disgust seeping through every pore, every molecule, every fibre of his being. Beautiful.

Remus.

Of course he hadn't got on the train with the rest of them, he was a prefect. Merlin, he was an idiot sometimes.

His mouth opened, then shut instantly as he realised a Sirius with an open mouth was a very stupid, selfish Sirius, and not a very good Sirius to be around. Not that there really was a good Sirius to be around. Maybe every version of him was just…cursed.

Regulus saved him the hurt of responding, his cold tone making him feel the sharp pang of guilt once again.

"What is it then?"

He didn't answer for several seconds, before collecting himself and, making an obvious effort not to make eye contact with – the admittedly quite intimidating – Regulus.

"We're approaching Kings Cross Station in five minutes. And um…" Regulus raised an eyebrow, "no dueling on the train," He added, almost as an afterthought before exiting. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he could swear that Remus hesitated on the handle. He could swear Remus glanced up at him before he left. He wondered what was going through that clever brain of his when he saw him.

Selfish fucking prick.

Sirius didn't deserve hesitation.

He deserved unthinking, resolute-

Regulus' hand was placed firmly on his shoulder, and he lifted his head up before his eyes. Oh.

"Sit down, you're sweating."

Absently, Sirius reached his hand up to his forehead and found it returned damp. Trailing his hand down his cheeks had the same effect. Regulus' eyes were pale and stormy when he met them, a sea of invisible emotion thrashing behind them, but as his shoulders relaxed, he saw the hurricane die down too, the blue softening.

He let himself fall into the gentle waves, and though he and his brother rarely touched, at least not willingly – at least not like he and James had, full body and warmer than the sun and stars combined – it was a deeper contact than ever. Sirius felt as if he was eleven years old again, wrapping a boy who he would never see the same again in a suffocating hug.

"He…"

"I know," Regulus responded simply. There was very little else he could say. There was a lot Sirius wanted him to, but very little else he could. At least, without making things a hell of a lot worse for Remus.

But he could imagine, in that slow, cloudy sort of moment, that he knew, and that it would all be okay.

The train jolted to a stop. Students from the surrounding compartments flooded out. Pandora gently patted his arm as she left. The air seemed to chill as they did the same and though it was December, he had a feeling that wasn't the cause.

On the bustling platform, his parents had no hope of being obscured. They stood out, regal and utterly terrifying. Regulus headed towards them, leaving him trailing behind like he wasn't supposed to be the confident older brother he had always pretended to be. His father's hand was heavy on his shoulder. His mother's gaze was piercing, sharper than any cruciatus curse she could shoot at his aching heart, and she led them away.

Sirius found himself reaching for Regulus' hand.

This was going to hurt.

Chapter Text

The moment he crossed the threshold of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Sirius felt the metallic clank of the ancient door locking reverberate in his mind, echoing, like the house itself was telling him not to bother hoping for freedom again. He was chained, shackled by his mother's bony, piercing grip that he felt stronger than ever, a ghostly, sickening sort of feeling. He tried to wash it away, images of warmth and comfort and good flooding in but none of it quite did the trick. Sirius knew he would never erase the blood pounding in his ears and his breath rattling his body into fits of uncontrollable shaking. Too thin, he remembered Euphemia – "Oh, please, there's no need for formalities, Sirius" – fussing over his pale, gaunt frame and muttering to herself, worried.

"Don't mind Mum, she's just excited for another person to feed," James had remarked as he entered the doorway. Last Summer, and the four of them had spent all their time in that huge country estate in Suffolk, sitting by the beautiful lake nearby or lying sprawled across James' floor sharing a bottle of firewhiskey, relishing in the burn blazing in their throats, indulging in the spark of it on each other's mouths.

Or, atleast he had.

Sirius wasn't sure if Remus even remembered.

He hoped not.

But that Summer was gone, and the frost from outside, clinging to his lips had begun to melt under the heat of his mother's inscrutable glare.

By the early evening, he was cast out from the private little corner of the house he had claimed as sanctuary and sent to his room to change. Nice clothes, respectable clothes, his mother had said. Last Summer, he would've tossed his leather jacket over his shoulders, decorated his face with stolen eyeliner and paraded downstairs with a head full of pride and memories brightening the shimmer in his eyes like the glow of a spell from his wand.

The robes felt stiff against his skin.

Regulus was standing at the doorway to the drawing room when he arrived, both their faces sullen with the knowledge of the night to come, though his brother's was somehow more blank than usual, as if he was trying to block out the world and not let an inch of it show on his face. Sirius knew that his mother, as she pursed her lips in an act of indulgent, smug criticism, would adore her little Reggie this way, cold and tired and completely erased. Beautiful. A glimpse of a memory, her caressing his cheek while Sirius himself writhed under yet another cruciatus curse, flitted in his mind, and the look of pain that flashed across his face made her eyes dart to him with a barely contained disgust. He tried to remain as blank as his brother from then on. Maybe then he would earn something other than hatred. Maybe then he would be treated to a moment of peace. Futile, he thought. Fucking impossible. Not when she was breathing down his neck, hovering like a guillotine ready to drop.

"Your cousins are to arrive in ten minutes. I trust you'll behave yourself." Her words were harmless by themselves, but something in the way her knuckles blanched against her champagne glass, her teeth gritted politely through a pinched smile penned with crimson, or perhaps the inescapable air of threat that she seemed to always carry with her told him it was all empty, as hollow as the cavity in her chest. She may have told him to behave, but an instruction as vague as her's was guaranteed to always be a promise.

I promise you will fail, it said, and I promise you will hurt for it.

Absentmindedly, his body moved without his permission and he found himself nodding gently, like a dog rolling over to distract its owner's urge to hit. She seemed appeased by this and turned away to sip her drink. A shuddering breath left him at last, but it did little to settle his mind, even without her gaze boring into him.

Sirius' eyes flicked up.

The fireplace erupted with a boom of soot and vibrant flames, and out stepped Druella and Cygnus Black, followed by the least tolerable of his three cousins. Bellatrix was dressed in typical dark, flowing robes, adorned with lace and antique jewelry. Her hands were gloved in silk, her jet wedding ring glimmering atop. A head of thick, dense black curls and a pretty, slim face made no difference in sweetening the almost primal, grotesque grin splitting her cheeks wide open. A snort of a laugh left it, causing Cygnus, the bastard that he was, to crack his hand across her face. She continued to giggle, silently, when his back was turned.

Narcissa, though still a cold, mean-spirited bitch as far as he was concerned, seemed aglow with the attention she was ensnaring. Her hair was perfectly styled into glamorous, platinum tresses that cascaded down the back of her dress, which safely erred between charming and inappropriate for polite company. Unlike her older sister's, Narcissa's ring was pale and radiant, almost blending into the fairness of her skin. Sirius, stupidly, felt a flash of disappointment upon realising that Andromeda hadn't joined them. Three years worth of Pureblood scandals hit his mind like a freight train. Even Andy's own mother wouldn't dare be seen within a hundred miles of the "blood traitor" without personally being the one to hurl a curse at her herself.

He missed her, especially in this moment with his entire host of close – though he used that term lightly for anyone other than Andy and Reg – relatives glaring at him as if to say "Go on, end up like her, I dare you."

More than anything, he hoped Nymphadora was doing well. Last he visited – with his friends, broke through before he could filter it – she had taken to wearing her hair bright yellow and her eyes violet.

But mother wouldn't approve of hopes like that.

The wretched woman offered them drinks with the air of a host who has had far too much experience selecting flutes from a pretty tray and offering them to her esteemed guests. Sirius ignored the dangerous glare she shot him as he accepted his glass, turning to it immediately and watching the bubbles swirl around. Reg stood by him after a moment, clearly just as bored as him of indulging in their Uncle's fake interest in his schoolwork. Or rather, their Uncle's fake interest in schoolwork, swiftly followed by a rant on the 'safety of the wizarding world' if people continue to be allowed to marry muggles.

"How's Cygnus?" Sirius asked, smirking as he took a sip. It was nothing like the firewhiskey, a deathly strong amber liquid that he had grown much more accustomed to the taste of.

Regulus tried not to snort.

"Not quite sure. I didn't get to ask when every second phrase coming out of his mouth is 'traitorous scum.' How's pretending you don't drink?"

Sirius hid his twisted facial expression with his glass, only realising when Regulus flicked his eyes over that that really didn't help his case.

"Fine, thanks," He forced out. His brother didn't say another word, but he could tell, if he took his eyes away from his hands, that his entire face was painted with concern. It was rare, even for Sirius, in the company of…others to show his thoughts so plainly. For Regulus to do it…that must mean something, right?

Well, Sirius wouldn't know. He didn't take his eyes off his glass.

-

A rich ebony table, adorned with lavish decorations to the point Sirius couldn't so much as shift his arm without jostling a dozen utensils or rustling several layers of delicate tablecloths, stood proudly in the centre of the dining room. Sirius knew this seat well, and his identical surroundings marbled into the aching haze of a thousand memories played out on this very table. Of course, the warm faced girl’s absence burned a hole in these memories, and he found himself darting his eyes away from her glaringly empty chair and to his soup course. Silver spoons scraped politely across the antique china. He would usually rest his cutlery pointedly in his bowl – more accurately, clattering it down with an uncaring smirk – but he couldn't tear his hands away from it. Fuck tradition at this point; he could see his mother's eyes spell a deeper anger than ever before, and he couldn't bare to think how many days she would leave it this time. Weeks, even. Maybe, he thought helplessly, still shoveling that flavourless blend into his mouth, they would forgo his return to school entirely, and let him rot in the bowels of their home until the memory of the eldest Black son, their prized heir, was banished from their minds.

It was Regulus they wanted, really, even before he was born. Even before he was another shattered sculpture on the floor. When he was just theirs to covet, and not his own to be. 

He would do, effortlessly, what Sirius couldn't, until either both were aflame with curses, or until Regulus was washing himself clean of the blight upon their tapestry he called a brother.

The fish course was served. Sirius’ fork stabbed into the closest thing with substance to it and pushed into his mouth. Something salmon, something oyster, garnished with a delicate relish of-

His mother's eyes seemed never to leave his. There was a certain quality to it, the depth to which she drilled into him just daring him to push his luck.

Selfishly, he wondered if she knew, though in reality she wouldn't care, and he could only guess she'd be nothing but stoically pleased if he finally caught on to those good old Black family values and…

And did what he had done.

He wondered if that was what it would take for her to love him.

Sirius’ nails dug into the pale swath of his exposed wrist, hard.

No. Remus did not deserve his stupid fucking wallowing. He broke him, without a thought to the consequences and he had the audacity to- to, what, beg? And sob at his feet? And stay in the same fucking room as him? Whatever she would throw at him, he deserved it.

Regulus’ face twinged with concern, gaze lingering just long enough to catch his mother's suspicion.

Absently, Sirius jabbed his fork onto the empty tablecloth, and the soft tap was enough to have his head jerking up, alert.

His mother's disgust bloomed beneath her fair skin and twisted like vines into her eyes, anger showing sharp and fierce.

You will not ruin this for me echoed in his head, her voice perfectly clear and perfectly horrifying. Defenseless prey beneath her, he weakly picked up the appropriate fork – entrées, he thought, rare to make it this far without a fight – and speared an asparagus. It tasted bitter, but he knew much better than to complain, not when these little festivities always meant punishment, and punishment meant a whole host of torture, none of which sounded appealing on an empty stomach. Usually, the curses were enough, but his mother wouldn't give up so easily.

The chatter continued on, though he admittedly hadn't noticed, much too occupied with the droning swarm of thoughts clouding his mind, leaving him trembling under the effort of monotonously dragging a fork to and from his mouth.

Somewhere under his anxiety – Remus used to, no – he heard a question thrown his way, though thrown wasn't really a good word for it. Maybe slammed down, pinning him to the table with an unmistakable air of danger and malice about it. Suddenly he felt quite impressed that Regulus had gone as long as he did before visiting him.

“Don't you agree, Sirius?” one Cygnus Black offered. His face was flushed a deep pink, probably the only colour differing to the stark monochrome palette of the rest of this fucking house. If he were to take a wild guess, the large, extravagant glass of wine, near empty as it was, may have been the cause, though since Sirius had never seen the man without a glass – at most half-empty – in his hand, he really couldn't tell. Of all the fucking awful things they were known for, Blacks had never been notorious for their healthy coping mechanisms. Or habits in general. A pack of cigarettes weighed down his pocket. Sirius glanced back.

“Pardon?” He said, not used to worrying what an appropriate response would be for Cygnus; he knew that atleast for his mother, the slightest hint of ‘impertinence’ would have his face stinging before he could attempt to apologise. But he really couldn't risk it, not on top of all of the other shit.

He would scrape and claw at the floorboards beneath her feet just to lessen the blow.

He would beg.

No one would care.

“Ah, well, your father and I were just discussing all of that nasty werewolf business going on in the most recent Death Eater meeting.” Sirius nodded, but he could feel his heart splintering. Fuck. “And of course it's beastly work,” The man let out a chortle. Sirius tried to hide the scowl that flashed across his face, “convincing those…creatures to be compelled towards any cause other than uncivilised violence.”

“Quite so.” Druella agreed.

“I was just explaining to your father that we shouldn't turn to them for input in the meetings. Merlin, they're animals! What was it I told him, Druella?” With his head turned towards her, Sirius took the opportunity to glare, harsh and deep into his Uncle's disgusting face. “Do not ask the hounds to schedule a foxhunt.” Cygnus gave another laugh, sipping his wine. He hoped the bastard choked. “There's a reason they're called Dark Creatures, and I wager there's a reason we have survived- and in fact, grew in numbers! I tell you there will be a year where those filthy mudbloods are not allowed in Hogwarts,” The table seemed united in a murmur of agreement at that, sans Sirius himself, “and it is certainly not due to the help of glorified dogs assisting in our battle.”

“Though you must admit, Cygnus, that when the time does come for battle they will form just the sort of ranks the Dark Lord is searching for. And for that I can guarantee they will be useful,” His father said. Hot white anger rose up in his eyes. Sirius grit his teeth.

“My point exactly!”

“What do you have to say about this Greyback then?”

“I doubt he has given any meaningful suggestion on, for instance, how to reach the Pureblood wizarding population and tear them away from this traitorous nuisance they're preaching in schools these days? Sirius?”

Trays were brought in containing dishes of roasted partridge, Kreacher entering with them and leaving before his response could leave his mouth.

“We’re still taught about muggles in a…positive light. And they're still freely able to attend, without much backlash.” That last part was technically a lie, though he knew it would only fuel Cygnus, and hopefully help him avoid another conversation. Every sorting ceremony, a group of bright-eyed First Years come shuffling into the Great Hall, and every sorting ceremony the venomous snickers and comments grow louder.

“Shame, indeed! You know, our father taught us exactly how to think of these muggles, because they are lesser to us. And really, I do consider it a shame that these new young purebloods – some of which were part of the Sacred 28 just as we are may I add! – have the idea that they are not, that we are equal. It is nature's way of weeding out the weak, I say.”

Faintly, expensive fabric rustled as the entire table nodded. Sirius sat still, mouth open, festering in his simmering anger. Cygnus paid him little mind.

“Regulus, as we were talking earlier, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

His little brother seemed to speak in a rehearsed kind of way, like he had been practicing just the right series of words to leave him unnoticed.

“I agree that the way Hogwarts is run is abysmal. In regards to muggleborns, absolutely. Though their teaching on werewolves may interest you. They’re violent beasts. This isn't something Dumbledore has tried to…twist.”

“Good man. Have you had him join the Death Eaters yet, Walburga?”

“He will,” She said, absolutely, “A promising case,” was then added pointedly, before she leant in marginally closer to her brother and allowed the rare impoliteness of a smile to quirk up her lips, “Of course, it's certainly not a difficult feat. I share your sentiment, Cygnus, that some do not seem to understand their blood duty as a member of this noble house.”

Cygnus nodded deeply, mouth opening in what he knew from experience would be a lament, almost certainly over Andy's similar ‘lifestyle choices.’ While he dromed on to nobody, Sirius felt his mother's eyes bore into him.

“Perhaps-” His father offered quietly into her shoulder.

“Not yet,” She hissed.

Sirius turned to the seat beside him, where Regulus was dragging cold scraps of meat around his plate. He felt his heart calm slightly.

“Reg? One course left. Pretty good for me, yeah?” He joked, though his voice held no humour, only a deep underlying current of anxiety.

“Don't celebrate yet,” was his only response.

The plates were removed and quickly replaced with the final course. As per routine, Sirius poised his fork and allowed the sound of antique metal on antique china to wash his thoughts away.

He had a feeling, halfway through the dish, that the others were very much aware of his inattention. His mother's voice trailed into his haze of thoughts.

“Malheureusement, il n'y a aucun espoir pour lui. Ce n'est pas vraiment un fils de la House of Black. Il ne l’a jamais été. Pity, really.”

Anger burned a hot white flash in his vision. He couldn't hide his scowl this time.

“What is it, child?” His mother's head was raised up high, a cold permanent sneer carved into her features melting into deep and true rage.

“Stop talking about me like I'm not here,” He refused to return her cruel gaze, instead focusing on forcing his words out like bullets shot by a hesitant trigger finger. His mother probably wouldn't like that comparison. Far too muggle.

“Oh? How would you prefer us to refer to you? As you seem so eager to reject all other aspects of this noble house’s tradition?”

Sirius stayed silent, lips pursed, eyes wide in panicked regret. Fuck, he should've just stayed silent. Stupid.

“Speak then,” She spat out, “Petulant child.”

“Yeah, that's right. Mum. I'm your child! Why don't you fucking act like it?” His hands slammed down on the table, delicately arranged cutlery scattering. Sirius’ breathing grew more and more laboured, and his eyes, now wide with anger, stared deep into hers.

“I am growing tired of your childish outbursts. You will sit down lest you embarrass yourself even further.”

“It’s more embarrassing having to pretend any of the shit you people say-”

“Watch your tone,” His father said evenly, seeming to not really take in the carnage around him.

“It. Is. Shit. Father.” Hands flying wildly, words tumbling out of his mouth without a thought, a growl halfway between defensive and enraged rising up in his throat. “They are people, the muggles, the werewolves, the fucking ‘blood traitors.’ Shock horror, your daughter is a person, and Merlin am I so fucking proud that she's not your daughter anymore ‘cause why would anyone want to be apart of this batshit family? Shock horror, every werewolf is a person, a beautiful, intelligent, complex person, and a hell of a lot more human than you lot-”

“Sirius Orion Black, I demand you sit down.”

“Are you hearing this?” He said, quietening, “Regulus?”

Silence.

Sirius scoffed.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Where did you hear that?” Cygnus muttered to himself, aghast.

“The blood traitors, thank you Uncle Cygnus!” He yelled, bolting up from his chair and rushing for the door. It hurt, stinging in his already open wounds, and somewhere in his mind he felt the urge to fall to his knees and beg, as he had done when he was small, naive, terrified. But his mother was not a creature of kindness. And he had not been naive for a very, very long time. His hand reached the door and grasped it, yearning for the taste of freedom to grace his tongue in the form of polluted London air.

On the edge of his vision, a flicker of light silently darted upwards just as he threw the door open.

Agony.

Sirius fell to his knees, limbs writhing and jerking on the cold floors. Pain. Muscles spasmed under the weight of it, like the force of a thousand claws tearing his every fibre to shreds from under his burning skin. Noise. His mouth flew open and a guttural scream ripped out of his aching throat. It almost felt so torturously familiar, as if he could sense the curse bite him back into shape – one, two, three, ten years ago. Sirius Black was six years old with bloodied fragments of glass embedded into his twitching hands praying to whatever would take him for relief. For the kindness he had never known. Sirius Black was sixteen pleading that this time would really be her last straw. Before he could catch his breath, he saw the bright lights dancing in his vision swim to life. His mother’s gaunt, furious face stared down at him.

“Mother…”

Blood pounded in his ears.

“Pity…”

And lightning struck his spine once again.

Chapter Text

Remus turned the page of a book, an old favourite weathered transparent with loving attention, and tried to tune out the constant murmur of his parents arguing. He wasn't sure he remembered a time when they truly, actually got on. Perhaps before the bite, when life was comfortable enough for a smile to bless his mother's face more often than the deep crease if her worry lines. She was driving, having, thankfully, managed to retain a job for over three years now, though it was both poorly-paying and out in Swansea, far enough away for him to dread holidays with just him and his father at home.

He wasn't a bad person, per se.

Good people make mistakes all the time.

Words, hands, sleepless nights spent wondering if your child crying beside you in a hospital ward would make you happier if he was dead.

Good people had a tendency to hurt other good people. It was just what happened when they were around him too long.

His dad, yes. He expected that.

And Sirius.

He had come to terms with it. Sort of. With him.

But he hurt nonetheless.

James had begun to pretend it had stopped hurting for him, though Remus had known him long enough to realise where the line between fine and distraught lay for him. ‘Fine’ certainly wasn't leaving the room when his name was mentioned, needing to ‘clear his head’ three times a day whenever tensions got too high in the common room, nor was it sobbing in the bathroom when he thought nobody was listening. 

Remus was yet to realise that was something he and James had in common.

The fields rolled behind the frost-blistered rattling glass of the car, dusted with the same light ice he could feel clinging to the winter coat he hugged tightly around himself. It felt suffocating, being so close to it, the relentless gunfire of words. He supposed he should be used to it, and in a way he was, to the facade of distance between love and boiling anger. But it seemed all too quiet in his head, and the argument bounded off the walls of his brain, echoing, only growing louder, until he found the sense to reach a hand into his jacket pocket and fish out the twin metal discs. Slotting them into his ears, he allowed the voices to become indistinct and muffled under the charmed devices. Third Year, his fourteenth birthday. Peter had gifted it to him, silently under the table at breakfast. The boy understood him, in a way not even Sirius had, or in a way even Lily ever would. They both hated the pageantry of those kinds of celebrations, especially the sort that their friends seemed to thrive in, cackling with laughter as they ripped open a tin of mithai, or beaming while they threw on a new leather jacket. Peter preferred, and silently knew he preferred it too, the quiet of a newspaper-wrapped box exchanged for a brush of skin and a smile. And in return, every year Remus snuck down to the kitchens with nothing but a butter-stained square of paper and greeted the house elves with the soft request of a few ingredients and a shelf in an oven, padding back upstairs with the product of a recipe Peter had spoken about when they were both barely twelve. At thirteen, he had torn apart his drawers in search of that scribbled note, and when he finally found purchase on it, crushed under a year of new memories their other friends deemed more important, he had spent hours prowling the castle for the obscured entrance to the kitchens. Eventually, a plate of slightly burned – caramelised, his mother had insisted he say after she cremated a loaf of bread in his early childhood – and enticingly sticky pineapple upside down cake happened to find its way onto Peter's bedside table. A smear of syrup was still embedded into his favourite jumper, now stuffed into his trunk lovingly despite how much the feel of it made his skin crawl. He remembered giggling through his desperate, futile attempt at scrubbing it out with Peter, echoing in an otherwise silent dorm. 

He…

He remembered the nights, much more recent and much more visceral than that midnight in Second Year, spent with his face buried in the damp collar of Peter's shirt, oblivious to the patch of tears blooming underneath his cheekbone under the constant jittering of anxiety. Reality and fear and dreams marbled together into a cloud of torment over his exhausted mind, and yet with his body pressed into Pete’s, warm and soft and achingly kind, he couldn't help but be oblivious to it. The lightning bolt of potential consequence didn't reach him under the worried gaze of his best friend. It never had. He just…seemed to make it all better.

The car came to a stop.

Without the growl of the engine, the sound of their arguing became clear even with his earplugs, and his parents soon trailed off, suddenly aware of the boy in the back seat itching to leave. Remus pocketed the devices, hesitant to have them so proudly on display in front of his father, especially when he had just been shouting. Neither of them could ever predict what kind of mood would follow one of their arguments, only that it would emanate from his father, and hang over their home like a dense fog until they learned to lower their voices for fear of consequence.

Lyall Lupin was a kind man.

He just…

“Tyrd yma, cyw…” His mother whispered, a tentative smile growing on her face as she leaned forward with open arms. He unfastened his seatbelt and collapsed into her awkward hold. The fading scent of her oldest perfume clung to his skin, but he allowed her to squeeze him, limp and uncomfortable with his face burrowed in the cold of her skin. When she pulled away, bony fists unclenching from the back of his wooden jumper, his eyes flickered off to his father's empty seat, and his tall frame treading through the mud to the front door. She cupped his cheek, twisting his head to face her.

“It's all alright,” She said, voice shaking though he couldn't understand why. Usually, though Remus would never understand if he hadn't heard it every month for the past eleven years, this tone of voice – fear masked with the thick cloak of motherly comfort – was reserved for full moons, when she would guide him up from the basement cellar they locked him in and wrap her arms around his bleeding frame - but his wounds were closed. And still she was crying.

It felt so eerily similar, like that first day home after a term at Hogwarts, only eleven and yet so worn by the world.

“Your father has something to tell you.” A bolt of lightning forked up his spine, whipping him into alertness. His shoulders tensed.

He nodded, all strength gone, eyes wide and body rigid as she stroked his cheek.

The next few hours were a blur.

Remus dragged his body to the front door, up the cobbled path and towards the house itself, weathered by years of neglect. It was a small, crumbling brick building isolated from the rest of their village, decorated only by the ivy trailing up it and the ambient sound of creaking pipes. Fragments of glass laid cracked and scattered on the doorstep, a symbol of the destroyed back window in his father's abandoned study, and more importantly something the man had promised to fix five years ago, when he had lost his latest job, though it certainly wasn't his first job lost. Lyall himself had already entered, if the echoes of a slammed door reverberating around his sensitive head was anything to go by. His mother followed quickly behind him, muttering to herself after he insisted he be the one to take his trunk in.

The inside was not a pretty sight either.

Not with his father waiting for him in a leather armchair, eyes set in a permanent, stoic glare.

“I trust you've been receiving my letters?” Lyall asked through barely concealed gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

“Then what I'm about to say surely won't be much of a shock-”

His mother shuffled in, a warm mug of tea in hand which she passed to Remus. He didn't take his eyes off his father. Not when his whole body was rigid with fear.

“Oh, really, Lyall, give him a few moment’s rest. He's only just got in,” She tutted, though her voice lacked any spark of authority that would have an effect on him. Instead, the man stared ahead, cold, as if she hadn't spoken at all.

“We have come to a mutual decision.” Remus’ grip on the handle tightened. “And I know, though you are still…childish in your stubbornness, you will thank me in the long run. When you are no longer being hunt-”

“Lyall,” A hiss broke through his mother's soft voice - a warning, he was certain.

“He needs to hear it, Hope!” He growled, a hand slamming down onto the peeling leather of the armchair so hard he swore he heard the frame crack. It took every strength in him not to flinch. He was used to distant danger. The brewing of an oncoming storm from the false safety of his bedroom. Not…

Sirius was used to it.

To this.

“I know he does, but you're frightening him-”

“Just leave me with the boy!”

Trembling under the weight of his words, he felt the first trickle of heat bleed onto his shaking hands. All other sensation save for the screaming of his ears remained miles away from his mind, where the typical constant whirring of cogs in his mind was drowned out.

Is this how he feels? When he goes home to them?

To her.

“Kitchen. Now.” Lyall stopped in his tracks, mouth agape and eyes blown wide with barely contained anger. Whatever happened – whatever he did, a crueler, more realistic voice muttered – it was bad. His eyes flew to the door, where, surprisingly, his father relented and followed the tired woman to the kitchen. Despite his compliance, the sparks of anger still burned in the dull brown of his eyes, threatening to spit. This was not over yet.

It must be something to do with the Prank.

There was no other possible outcome. They had heard, months ago, and now…

Remus thought back to that shattered window.

No.

His body tensed up once again.

But his ears, still painfully alert from Thursday’s full, didn't give him the peace of obliviousness, and he found hushed words flooding into his head from the next room.

“He is a boy, and yes, I know we discussed it, but he is our boy. Ours. I don't know when you forgot that-”

“You think so little of me?”

“That is not what I'm getting at, and you know it. Our son, Lyall! Who we raised-”

“Spare me the details, would you!”

“-to be- Oh, you'd like that? Because our son's…illness isn't convenient enough for you! Because the details are too upsetting, because my baby boy makes a mess of your image! The details are raw and bloody, Lyall, but he is our blood.”

“Our fucking blood wasted!”

“No! Christ, as much as you hate those blood puritans, you talk a hell of a lot like them. That bite did not kill our child. I wish she- I wish, God, I wish everyday it didn't happen, just to make him happy, but not to make him pure. Why can't you understand he's still here?”

“Is he?”

Remus felt the mug shatter.

Chapter Text

Remus found himself in bed, his whole room washed with a hazy darkness that he had to strain his eyes to focus on. Bundled in his duvet, clutching his sleeves to resist the choking urge to tear the skin apart, he found that laying thoughtless and glassy-eyed was easier to comprehend than the stuttering film flicker of memories crowding at the edge of his mind. For now, he could drown it out. For now, he was grateful for that.

A hushed sound broke through the murmur of muffled emotion, and he instinctively flicked his ears towards it. No. His head ached with a flash of anger. That was a beastly, wolf-like trait. Lyall’s words echoed. His heart raced. But eventually, the world was drowned out once again.

That sound again.

A knock.

Remus managed to croak out a “Mum?” before he found himself burrowing ever deeper into the duvet, anything to escape the confrontation, the string of words that would make his heart shatter like ceramic in clumsy hands.

An affirmative sound drifted through the blistered wood, before the door creaked and a familiar weight balanced on the bed. It was quite old already, having been his since he was…well since before the bite. He was forever thankful he hadn't inherited his father's height; at least he wouldn't burden them by outgrowing things.

“Shwmai?” She began quietly, a hand resting on the empty sheet to invite him in for comfort. He leaned his head by the bluntness of her fingernails, cut short and rubbed raw from washing up. In response, she raised her hand up to gently stroke his curls with no further acknowledgement but a worried hum pressing her lips.

“Your father loves you.”

Remus stayed pointedly silent as she continued.

“He just has a funny way of showing it.” Coldness is never funny, Remus found himself thinking. Funny never hurts. A twinge of pain embedded itself into that beautiful memory, Lily’s 11 year-old dormitory voice threading through his skin, his skull, his brain, a precise needle of silver glinting distraction. In his absence, her hand flattened against his head.

“He’s very protective, you might remember- well I suppose you wouldn't…When we were younger, I used to go mitching from school, God knows your Bampi didn't care to complain, and I used to sit out in the woods. That's how we met. He protected me, and of course I didn't know about all this, these boggarts and…God knows what else, even now. And he saved me. A kind, clever soul, just like you. Remus…” She seemed to deliberate on her next words, as if she already knew she had hurt him enough, “It hurt him so much to see you get bitten. More than you will ever know, and yes, I know that you know far more than I do, but you don't know this, cyw.”

The room was choked in quiet. He felt every pull of muscle as he dragged his exhausted body upright, as if it was screaming at him to stay down, bitter, confused, anxious. When he gathered the strength, there she was, eyes weighed down with tiredness and tears. Her voice was blurred into a hoarse mess, and yet she smiled as she recounted her story, as if the glimpse into a happy potential was all she needed to dive headfirst into the cruel reality of it.

“When you were a babi, your father was away quite a bit on ministry business, especially that Spring. And we were alone, but we lived in that lovely house in Gwynedd, and every day we would sit outside with our big coats come wind or hail, and I'd read to you with the record player on the windowsill, and every night after tea I would sing to you while we looked at constellations. Remember? Remus, love?” He plunged himself deeper into her arms, her chest, her unyielding hold. It felt like she was speaking to a very small child, and he allowed the intrinsic safety of those warm, unassuming words to cocoon him tighter against her.

“It was beautiful. By March it was sunny enough that you could garden with me, though you never liked touching the dirt. Lyall, Lyall always found it odd, but it's just how you are. My little boy,” She stroked his cheek, wiping the tear away with her thumb. Strangely, the dread he knew would soon enough approach seemed meaningless against her voice. It would come. But for now, the tears meant nothing when his mother's skin was touching his.

“By March we practically lived in that little cottage garden, and before long your father came home. A family.”

“I heard what he said. That's not…family doesn't- Mum, you know-”

“I know, I know, Remus. But you have to understand. Your father was protective, and clever, too clever. When that man came in, he just wanted to protect his family. He was dangerous, and perverse, preying on…Oh, God, babi.”

“Like a werewolf, you mean?” He whispered, breaking out of the hold slightly, just enough to crack the shell of comfort into questioning. Regret flooded him when his mother instantly tensed, face tightening.

“He was.”

“And he bit me.”

“You didn't deserve that, never, never…” She mumbled.

“Alright…” After a moment of silence, he found the force to, despite how much he hated seeing his strong, beautiful mother like this, ask the question that had been eating away at him for years, “But…but what does this have to do with Dad?”

She met his eyes, and he instantly glanced away, nauseous. He knew. The letters made that clear enough. But he needed to hear it, a need that he had never felt before, stronger than all the wishes sent into empty air as a child aching to be normal, stronger than anything.

“Your father is good. If he'd have known then, about what a kind, intelligent, shy young man you'd become…he'd never have…” His mother trailed off, gathering herself up in her cardigan like she used to do for him on those bright February mornings when they were alone. She was different now, though he couldn't remember anything from before the bite, the experiments, the isolation. Her hair used to be thicker, darker, and when she laughed she would throw her head back and cackle, her freckled face bold and mischievous yet warm and inviting. He had inherited her eyes, her face, her hair, but he was thankful he hadn't inherited her blindness to what he was really like. They had argued so much over the years, him being the reason for every single dispute, he was certain, yet she had a thousand reasons compelling her to love him. At that thought, he stumbled. Compelled to love who? Me, or Dad?

“I'm sorry.” It was all he could say.

“Why on Earth would you apologise?” She sighed, smiling sadly.

He didn't have an answer for that. Instead, all he could muster was to quietly plead for her to keep talking.

“The man, Fenrir Greyback was his name. He was claiming to be homeless, but your father saw right through it, knew instantly that he was…well, what he was.” Again, she took his hand and spoke firmly, a chord of anxiety reverberating into him at the touch. “What you heard, Remus, does not in any way reflect what he thinks of you. Because while you were away, I know that he missed that clever little boy he wanted to protect, but just couldn't. He loves you. Please understand that.”

Remus thought for a moment. He wanted to be silent again, to be left alone under the covers again, but instead he found himself white-knuckled squeezing his mother's hand, coaxing those forgotten, blood-soaked words into open air, where his father couldn't pretend they weren't there, that he wasn't there.

His mother winced through her next words.

“Being raised muggle, werewolves were…stories. Your father must have had experience, I thought, being a Wizard. So I trusted what he said, believed him, when he told me what they were like…He called them vile, and soulless, and evil. We didn't think, that after Greyback came to the Ministry, God, we didn't think he would come after you, babi. We had the windows open that Spring. If we hadn't, you wouldn't have…”

The bite on his arm suddenly felt all too exposed, stinging in the open air like an infected wound. He allowed himself to sob, if not for his then for his mother's sake. He wondered if, even for a moment, they had thought the same of him.

Remus washed his thoughts away in the tender embrace of his mother. Of course, he didn't want to dwell on the answer: he was certain it was ‘yes.’

-

Christmas Morning arrived, and Remus felt exhaustion weighing on him like the branches on a tree. They hadn't had a tree for years, not really, or even a proper Christmas for that matter. He could sense this year would be much the same.

Awoken to an owl scratching at his window, he felt some of his tiredness settle into his bones as his mind became just alert enough to open his window and allow the thing to perch on his windowsill. It was a dark-feathered Wood Owl with a chestnut coloured face, which hooted patiently as it presented the package tied to its foot. Lily's owl, Athena. She had told him in 4th Year that maybe the name was too posh for such a plain-seeming owl, but she was barely overcoming a Greek mythology phase that had clung onto her all of Primary School. Remus disagreed. It fit perfectly. Compared to the hell-beast that was James’ Owl, or the skittish creature that he was sent warily by Peter, he enjoyed seeing her, and even more enjoyed reading Lily's letters.

Unwrapping the twine and paper, he grinned wildly upon running his hands across something unmistakably book-shaped. It was a hardback blue copy of A Wizard of Earthsea, which – while it was rather more of a children's book, and of course with little else to do Remus had outgrown those quite young – he had always wanted to read. He had told Lily a few years ago that his mother had borrowed it from a library in Swansea as a gift, but he was so ill he couldn't read it in time. Before moving onto the letter, he carefully arranged it on his nightstand so he wouldn't forget it, glowing with a newfound spirit at Lily's swirling cursive.

Dear Remus,

Happy Christmas! At least, I hope it's been happy for you, and not as dreadful as mine have been. 

Firstly, Tuney wrote during term (though I must have forgotten to tell you!) to tell me she wouldn't be home for the holidays because she “had much better things to do than to sit around and argue” as apparently that's all I do! You can surely attest to the fact that's not at all true. Maybe, it's just her that's so insufferably argumentative, which I'm certain of, because despite what her most lovely letter states, she came home and moaned the entire time.

To make matters worse, guess who she brought?

Her new boyfriend!

A thirty year-old (in person, he looks several years older) director of a drill firm whom she met at University in Surrey. Surrey! I mean, maybe being surrounded by posh gits for five years at school has made me sound a bit more RP, but for Christ’s sake, Surrey? Not to mention that she's nineteen years old, an adult as she loves to remind me when I raise my voice in the slightest, and, unfortunately, my idiotic parents have nothing to say about that particular detail. When darling Petunia complains of favouritism, I'll be sure to remind her that they haven't said a single unsupportive thing about that prune she calls a boyfriend. Ugh!

Besides, I haven't even reached his awful personality yet.

That man is:

• badly-mannered
• snobbish
• practically evil to poor Athena and Jinx (He called him vermin! He's a cat! Yes, maybe a bitey, mischievous one but still a sweet little cat!)
• obsessed with his reputation (No, being the nephew of the last director isn't something to be proud of)
• loud
• rude
• self-absorbed
• and just plain disgusting

Anyway, that's how my attempt at surviving the holidays is going. Absolutely awfully!

Write back soon,

Lily

P.S. Check the inside cover.

Remus was puzzled but couldn't shake the grin from reading. He picked up the book, savouring its shimmering letter detail and running his hand over the spine before flipping to the first page.

His heart stopped.

It was signed.

He held the book close to his chest, desperate to see her, to go home.

Chapter Text

With just a glimpse of that softly flaming ginger hair on the platform, the first thing that Remus felt was her arms around him, her laughter muffled against the sound of the train screaming on metal tracks. He had come with his mother, who was, for the first time since First Year, quietly crying as he boarded, still smiling softly as she did then. His father was busy, she had told him. He didn't know whether to believe it. After all, what he did know was that he was lucky to be allowed back in the first place. Consequently, he kept himself unwaveringly polite and conservative, as he now definitively knew just how much he had burdened them, and just how much he was balancing on the edge of “tolerable illness” and…well, what he knew his father thought him to be. His mother told him not to dwell on it. He was trying.

Waving goodbye to her father – who, he noticed, was the only one of her parents present, though Remus thought it would be hypocritical of him to comment – Lily led him through the train to a compartment. At first he thought perhaps they would just find the closest one, that spending years with his friends had surely clouded his judgement. He should have assumed the girls would have had the same insistence on staying in ‘their’ compartment. It wasn't his typical one of course, with James and Peter and…and Sirius, which he had shared with them since that first morning years ago. Instead, stepping into this compartment struck him with an eerie, uncomfortable feeling crawling up his body. Scrawled all across the walls were another group’s memories: a muggle telephone number was scratched into the doorframe (Marlene’s, he guessed); hearts were drawn in the smallest cracks to avoid being cleaned away; and as Lily settled into her seat, he watched her elbow fit effortlessly into the crook by the window, as if the move was practiced, familiar. It was like he was stepping into someone else's dream. He suddenly felt the urge to cram his body into a corner and turn invisible, but James had the invisibility cloak, and he wouldn't be caught paying a visit to Lily without embarrassing himself (further, if that was possible), and there was no way he was joining them. He had realised, that being around them for too long felt too much like October or, worse, the years before, like Sirius, smoke and charm and leather, but he wouldn't admit that, couldn't. Besides, he had promised Lily in his letter to sit with her in return for her own promise that he wouldn't be flirted with, or harassed, or forced to endure another passionate rant about how close Gryffindor were to winning the House Cup, despite the fact the competition hadn't even started. Well, perhaps that was just for Marlene. 

Before long, the other girls trailed in after them, Remus still standing awkwardly by the door.

“-ius shagging me? The biggest dyke in Hogwarts? Are you mentally deficient, Mary?” Marlene questioned as she sauntered in, the aforementioned Mary in tow. The latter was dressed smartly, with a sweet orange pinafore dress over a turtleneck, complete with earrings and Mary Janes. Marlene, however, despite her confident walk, had an odd facial expression as she closed the curtains and sat down. He presumed, though he had never had luck with that sort of reading-between-the-lines type thinking that required, it was because of her outfit. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen her wear something so feminine. Bell bottoms were something she had certainly worn before – though he associated them mostly with James – yet still they were pressed neatly, and in a pale colour so outside her style he narrowed his eyes, confused. The top was a tight, floral-patterned material that made even her, who he had since First Year thought of as tough and resilient, itch visibly. She even had the slightest bit of makeup on, but before he could get a better look, or realise that he was staring for that matter, she wrenched a handkerchief from her jacket and rubbed at her lips until it was clean. Notably, she let the mascara remain, just barely smudging it until it formed an adequate rocker mess. She looked rather more like herself.

Remus felt a flash of contact on his arm.

“Sorry?” He watched Lily, the source of the pain, nod her head subtly over in Marlene's direction, who immediately began replacing her top with an oversized Kiss shirt. His head whipped back to Lily, “Sorry.”

“What?” Marlene said as she pulled the shirt over her head, ruffling her hair as she spoke. Upon noticing Remus, her eyebrow quirked up, “Lils, you didn't tell us there'd be a lad here.”

Mary smiled politely, waving in greeting.

“Hi, Remus.”

“Hello…Mary,” He responded, fighting instinctively with the sleeves of his jumper, avoiding all eye contact possible, “I should go,” he decided.

“No, you promised!” Lily said, hand on his sleeve as he turned to leave.

He really couldn't say no.

Fine.

“Fine,” Remus relented.

“You straight?”

He nearly choked.

“Exc-excuse me?”

This time Marlene received a playful pointed kick. Lily must have forgotten about his heightened hearing – her whisper felt no different than ordinary overheard conversation when she mumbled that he was “sensitive” about that.

His cheeks burned red.

Me? Sensitive? About being straight?

“Alright, so you are,” She was still smirking, which brought him little confidence, “Then shut your eyes, I'm changing.”

He did as he was told, not wanting to see…all that again. But that didn't mean he was…queer, did it? In fact, he was sure he was interested in girls, he just wasn't ready for them. With his condition in mind, that was probably the wisest path. He would never be able to marry, so why date? He would never be able to tell a girl about his illness, so why even waste time thinking about them? In that way at least. The closest he had come to understanding the pure, irrational, smitten nature of love was when he was with Lily. She was a girl, and though he would never want to date her, wasn't that close enough to love? Yes, he decided, he was heterosexual. It wasn't as if he had ever thought of boys in that way.

When he was given the cue to open his eyes, Marlene was posed in a much more relaxed, open manner, her look complete with black jeans and scuffed Doc Martens. She was assembling her jewellery, breaking the silence to explain.

"Mam thinks I'm too butch, so she's practically thrown out all my stuff and replaced it. Mary, if you want the flares?” She said, gesturing with the screwed-up pair of bell bottoms.

“No thank you, I'm not your size.”

“I swear, that woman, if there was a way for her to shave my hair long as a punishment, she’d have done it.”

“I think your hair looks nice short,” Mary said supportively, “In Second Year, with the ponytail, it was just…bleh.”

They all laughed at that, collectively struck with the memory of little Marlene with the longest hair they'd seen, apparently at the behest of her mother.

It was quite the opposite with Sirius. He had told him once, perhaps last year – with the firewhiskey, a memory he was trying to erase, a memory that was shameful and disgusting no matter how true it felt in the moment – that his mother had always wished he were more like his brother. More masculine, dignified, polite. Remus bit his tongue, arms tight around himself. And I left him there with her.

He didn't laugh the rest of the journey.

-

Remus found himself trailing behind Lily all day, strangely thankful that Snape had found company with Mulciber and Avery as of late. Sleeping in the same dormitory as one person from that night was hard enough, he couldn't bear to have to socialise with another. Of course, those two were vile creatures, and, as Lily explained, it was becoming increasingly obvious just how easily persuaded her ‘friend’ was. He used to tolerate Mary, despite her being just as much of a muggleborn as Lily herself. Now, he wrinkled his nose at her in the hallways, despite Lily's disapproval. Well, despite Lily's disapproval, she was just as much of a pushover as him, and just as unlikely to stand up to someone she considered a friend.

Sirius came to mind.

He wished he didn't.

By breakfast the next day, he was surrounded by girls, which made his skin prick with goosebumps and his cheeks flush. He brushed it off as finally inviting them – though the thought of sharing…romantic feelings with one, a girl, made him feel slightly nauseous – into his life, as he was sure, even if he didn't realise it, he had been shutting them off. That certainly explained how weird he felt, particularly when Mary excitedly told them that she had finally worked up the courage to ask a boy out to Hogsmeade.

“Who is he?” Lily said, wiggling her shoulders.

“Umm…” Mary was still smiling bright as ever, but she hesitated ever so slightly, girlish embarrassment painting her cheeks a shade warmer, “Don't tell, please.”

“I promise.” Lily offered her pinky finger out, and Mary took it gladly, taking a deep breath before whispering.

“It's Sirius.”

Lily's eyes flicked over to him before squeezing his hand gently under the table. The black-haired girl must have caught her movement, because her shy giddiness melted away into something uneasy, concerned.

“Is something wrong? Oh, God, is he seeing someone?” Mary glanced to Marlene, who choked on her pumpkin juice at the silent accusation, then to him, his heart skipping a beat – he was hoping he could just remain unnoticed until lessons started. “Remus, you're mates, right? Has he said anything?”

“Um- well…”

“Not to me, he hasn't. Barely spoke on the train home,” Marlene said casually. He shot up in his seat, alert, “Doubt he's in the right space for a bird.”

“You're friends?” Remus blurred out.

“Yeah,” She said, one eyebrow raised, “Are you not?”

Cutting him off, and influx of flapping feathers approached, with his company becoming distracted momentarily as they searched for their owls. Evidently, Mary still received biweekly letters from her father and siblings, and neatly opened her's, smiling. Remus, an only child, had become increasingly impressed with how relaxed she was typically, when not talking about boys, considering how chaotic that dynamic seemed, especially with mostly sisters. Of course, he didn't know, but Lily always spoke about how messy things were with her sister, and Peter often lamented about how girls were so complicated, and how he would never understand them. Lily seemed easy enough to understand. Perhaps he and Lily had something in common that Peter simply didn't. He couldn't think what.

As everyone received their post, the groans and murmurs from the students sparked with noise. The Slytherin table was first, snickering, voices cold and smug. The realisation trailed throughout the Great Hall, until Remus felt a presence behind him, a hand at his shoulder and the scent of broom polish and embers behind him. He turned around to face him.

“Hey, mate, a word?” James offered. Lily glanced to him, then to the black-haired boy suspiciously, and Remus took that as permission enough to leave. Distantly, the whispers grew louder as he was led out of the hall.

“Is- is everything alright?” He hesitated.

James looked at him sort of strangely at that, and Remus pursed his lips, wishing people would just find the courage to say what they meant instead of dancing around it like killing curses were being shot at their feet.

“You've been avoiding us,” James began, “Hanging around with the girls, I mean, right?”

“Do you want to know what Lily's been saying about you?” He said, deadpan.

“No, that's not- she's been talking about me?” His voice raised about two octaves higher, “Nevermind. It's, Merlin…you need to hear it from him, but that's not happening anymore so, fuck, it's on me.”

He stayed silent, backed into the stone wall by the entrance wanting to be anywhere else at all less confined.

“It's about Sirius.”

James presented a copy of The Daily Prophet. A headline rang out in his mind, bold, mocking.

The Heir to Rebellion.

Sirius Black Disowned from Noble House of Black.

Chapter Text

Despite the seclusion Remus was provided in discovering Sirius' disinheritance, the boy himself was not awarded such a courtesy.

His frame bore no bruises, save for the sickly marks of hands held too tight around now-frail limbs, and yet still he felt he had been shaking for days, as if all the invisible gashes cursed into his body over the years had reopened, bloody and vengeful. After what felt like hours of agony, the absence of pain became impossible to bear after writhing in its raw embrace for so long. He had lived and breathed in it. Sirius wouldn't react unkindly if he died in it.

He crawled from her penetrating glare, fingers scrabbling at the pristine floorboards, desperate to leave his blood in the cracks. If he were to die then, perhaps his filth, set deep in the cracks of her noble shitstorm, could serve to haunt her as she did him in his life. If he were to die then, perhaps he could give Remus what he needed – a world unburdened by lack of forethought and foolhardiness. Of course, Sirius didn't think that in the moment. The dead don't dwell on living habits.

When he met Regulus' eyes again, he knew. They both knew.

At Hogwarts – home, he corrected, before remembering otherwise – he dragged his exhausted body up the tower to the dormitory, head heavy and pounding. None of his…none of the others were there yet, to which he sighed in relief. He was able to shower, taking much less pride in his appearance than he used to, though he supposed he didn't take much pride in anything these days. His hair was limp, his skin pallid and, his appetite destroyed, he was growing thinner and weaker by the day, robes once tailored perfectly now hanging off like a badly dressed corpse at a funeral. Even his grades, once effortlessly good without the need to study, were slipping. McGonagall had surely noticed, especially since he used to adore transfiguration, much to James' teasing. His heart pulled at the memory. Stepping in, Sirius attempted to distract himself from the growing shameful pit in his stomach.

The shower was hot. He knew the curse had left no wounds, but his body felt strangely dirty, as if the gore of it had been stitched up still infected. He turned the dial, the steam mingling with sweat. Slowly clouding up, a mirror faced him, above the sink where he had sobbed that first night without them. As his reflection disappeared, he wondered which would have been the better way to die. At the hands of his family, or of his own accord. Ribs formed jagged daggers in the mirror, strikingly visible even when the last of his face disappeared. He was going to die if he kept going. Sirius wasn't sure if he was as fazed by that thought as he was supposed to be. Food turned to ash in his mouth. Twelve years old, spearing a sausage at breakfast with a fork and gnawing on it without his mother's steel-eyed insistence for good manners, the feeling of freedom coursing through his veins as the trademark Black House gauntness in his cheeks melted at fourteen. Now, he ate just enough to subdue the faintness of nausea, alone at the edge of the Gryffindor table.

Laboured breaths and torrential waterfall drowned the room in noise. His stomach felt heavy again, and his throat was constricting, preparing to expel whatever he had managed to choke down. Distantly, Sirius turned the dial up again.

The world was swallowed in black.

-

When Sirius woke up, the room was quiet, absent of all noise save for his own heavy breathing. As his blurry vision came into focus, he realised he was much lower down than before, hands gripping at something smooth and red. Tiles swam into view, the vague shape of his head gently reflected in it. His hands were wet, but the rest of his body was only barely damp. He shifted his weight, finding something soft and thick covering his legs. A towel. Pressure on his arm struck him into alertness, and he turned his head, wincing at the ceaseless pounding that came with it. Pale skin met his.

Peter stared down at him, kneeling, eyes wide and shining, bottom lip between his teeth. 

Peter stared down.

Peter.

“Fuck, I'm fine, don't worry,” Sirius said before cursing himself. Of course Peter wouldn't be worried. He was probably just annoyed he had taken up the shower, encroaching on their space, reminding them of what he did. He should…yes, he should ask Dumbledore to move dorms. That would make it all better.

His eyes shut again, giving way to blankness.

The pressure returned on his face this time, and he reluctantly gave in to the stinging brightness surrounding him. Slowly, the air was cooling.

“Padfoot…” Peter began, like the word was new, unfamiliar. It felt like Hell to hear it, but the sound of one of his friend's voices, soft and kind, though he would never deserve it, not after what he did, was bliss to his ears, something he never thought he would hear again. 

“I'm sorry, I'm going now,” He offered, straining to lift himself up.

“You don't need…hm,” The boy mused, eyebrows creasing in thought, “I should take you to Madame Pomfrey, she'd know what to do.”

Sirius shook his head.

“You're bleeding,” Peter reasoned with him, voice high and almost pleading. He felt guilt boil inside of him. Peter should not be begging, he should be.

Finally registering his words, Sirius raised a hand to his head. His fingers came back stained red.

“Oh…”

“James is at Quidditch practice, and Remus is in the Library with Lily. If you come with me, you won't have to worry about them seeing you. That okay?”

He nodded. Relief painted his bones, easing his muscles until he could get up without listing. After he had wrapped himself up in clean clothes, they began to walk, Peter being a strong presence by his side.

“Please don't tell James, I don't want him to feel sorry for me.” Sirius knew that James wouldn't, but he needed to get the words out somehow, no matter how true they were.

“I won't. I can keep a secret, Pads.”

Sirius didn't smile, but his face smoothed out, the visible pain melting from newly formed creases until he approached something close to relaxed. Pete’s hand didn't move from his arm. It felt nice. Comfortable. He didn't remember the last time been touched and it didn't feel like a dagger in his heart.

“How long…” Sirius began, somewhat selfishly, without thinking, “before Remus forgot about me?”

Pete stopped in his tracks.

“What?”

Reality caught up to him. Too comfortable, fuck, too comfortable. He ruined it again. He shrank in on himself, stammering.

“I'm – fuck – I-I didn't mean that, Merlin-”

“No, no, I get it. It's okay.” Sirius nodded even though it most certainly was not. “Remus didn't forget about you.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. He wanted to protest, to break down, to prove he was what he always will be, a Black, evil and apathetic and cruel. But he could only muster out one word before tears started to prick at his eyes, “But you said it yourself, he hates me! Isn't he cross? I just need to know, I'll be able to manage it if I just know what he wants me to do!”

They were outside of the Hospital Wing now, and Sirius could see Pete step back, as if to leave now that his job was done. Instead, he sighed, looking down in thought.

“Remus would never be mad at you, he's not that sort of person. When he first found out, he hated himself for it, sobbed for hours with me and James ‘til Pomfrey made us go to lessons. He wouldn't accept that it was…your fault,” Peter’s watery blue eyes met his. He looked uncomfortable, but there was something itching at the back of his throat, or beneath his skin. Perhaps he had wanted this chat for a long time. To see him again.

“He doesn't want you to disappear, Pads. He just wishes you cared enough to be serious. To, y’know…think.”

Peter pushed the doors open, Madame Pomfrey glaring in his direction, and left without another word.

Upon entering, Sirius was treated for scalding, which had left much of his body, especially that which bore the brunt of the shower once he fainted, badly burned. Thankfully the wound on his head from the harsh tile didn't require quite as serious attention, so he was given a healing potion and magically observed for brain damage. That part felt strange. He had dealt with worse pain without intervention, so surely it wasn't that serious? However, he was ordered to stay in the cot, and too tired to complain, he relented. As he had missed dinner by that point, he was given food when his particularly nasty wounds were dressed and he was able to sit upright.

Pomfrey had treated Remus dozens of times before. How many times had she seen him sob, torn apart by betrayal, knowing that it was him.

A plate of toad in the hole was set gently on the bedside table next to him with a fresh glass of pumpkin juice. The healer herself was gazing down on him, lips pursed slightly.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“I'll give you a chance to rest, but you'll be woken for one more dose before night,” She warned him politely. He nodded in response, waiting until she had considered him fit to eat alone and departed. It was so much food. Surely she knew that. The thought of swallowing it all made him nauseous, but the thought of going another night starving was worse.

He attempted to lift the fork, grimacing when it clattered against the china. Around Remus, that would have been something to avoid. Loud noises, bright lights, they never sat well with him. He sort of missed that. Caring for someone. Being careful. Though he supposed he was never careful enough.

Sirius pushed the food across his plate.

You need this.

I don't deserve it.

But I need it.

He scraped a forkful of mash up and slowly began to chew. Assured that it wouldn't come back up, he searched the plate for the next safest thing: a chunk of batter. The minutes went by slowly and monotonously until finally he had finished his food – or, rather, what he could manage – and she collected the plate, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as she passed him. Lights flickered off and footsteps faded. Sirius was left alone in the Hospital Wing.

-

The next morning was much easier on him, though the same couldn't be said for the rest of the day. Lessons were boring, but with two (almost) full meals in his stomach – and perhaps the word with Pete helped, not that either would mention it – he found himself able to focus, diligently following steps in Potions instead of letting Sybill do all the work. Defence followed similarly, as did Muggle Studies. The latter was one of the few subjects where he wasn't completely isolated from his- from them. Pete was in front of him beside Mary Macdonald, and he sometimes listened as they whispered amicably. James was one desk to his right and two rows ahead, but when the boy stretched around his chair to crack his back, eyes screwed shut, he could stare, and wonder what he was thinking. If he thought about him.

Remus was at the back, one row behind. He hoped that he crossed his mind sometimes, as Pete did in front of him.

After three, he took to the dormitory again. As Marlene had said before Christmas, he really hadn't been seen in the common room since the Prank, and he wasn't going to make a habit of doing so. Besides, he passed the spot where they typically convened on the way to the dorms, with Remus surrounded by the girls, staring into a spot of flooring, and James dragging Marlene out of said group for Quidditch training. He decided it was safe enough to go.

Upstairs, Pete was sitting cross-legged on his bed hunched over a piece of blank parchment, frowning in concentration. Thinking about it, he had never once seen him without one of his friends, always tagging along to something. But there he was, sitting alone in the dormitory, humming along to Let It Be, which was playing softly on Remus’ record player, the one James had bought him for his fifteenth birthday. The last birthday he would ever spend with him.

Sirius looked away, nervous to initiate anything, and certain Peter wouldn't appreciate it. Instead, he approached his bed, ready to draw the curtains and stay there until dinner, or maybe after still.

The floor creaked.

“Huh?” Pete said, glancing up to see Sirius' blanched face staring back. The blonde boy sighed, flicking his wand in the direction of the vinyl with a muttered spell before sitting up properly. The Beatles stopped playing, and Sirius watched as he shuffled over, slotting the black record back into its case and selecting something new. The cover was white with a colourful design in the centre, placed aside to reveal the vinyl, and as it began to spin, Peter held his wand aloft, swishing it carefully until it settled on a song he liked. Sirius was enraptured by it.

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide

No escape from reality

As piano began to play, he sat down, undoing his tie and letting the sound wash over him.

“This is Queen,” He said dumbly, still awestruck as it continued.

“Yep,” Peter responded. He looked slightly uncomfortable, lips pursed tight as he thought like he was fighting to keep something in, “A Night at the Opera. Thought you’d like it. Honestly, ‘m a bit surprised you haven't heard it yet. You used to…well, I thought Queen was your favourite.”

“I was a little busy, mate.” That mark of familiarity shot out before he could stop it, but as he raced to apologise, cursing himself for getting too close, he saw Pete wasn't the least bit concerned, still fiddling with the parchment, letting ink appear as his wand traced it.

Any way the wind blows

Doesn't really matter to me

To me

Six minutes passed. Pete let the song play out, flicking his wand occasionally to introduce Sirius to something new, or Bohemian Rhapsody, as he discovered it was called, yet again. By the time he had listened to the album twice over, albeit not in the order he was supposed to, Pete was tidying up (shoving all the mess in a corner and praying for the best) and heading to dinner. After five minutes, he considered it safe enough to follow, and began to trail after him. He had skipped lunch, and had eaten breakfast in the Hospital Wing, so his stomach was growling. Maybe it wasn't best that he ate dinner last night. After all, he wouldn't be used to going hungry the next time he had to.

Having waited five minutes, he had missed the flood of students all cramming into the Great Hall, and was instead one of the last to arrive.

Heads turned to him as he walked to the Gryffindor Table, and an influx of whispers bombarded his ears. He finally sat down, the scraping of cutlery dying down and replaced with snickers.

“Does he not know?”

“-disinherited-”

“Wait until you get the howler-’

“I knew Blacks couldn't be Gryff-”

“Not such a rich boy anymore-”

“- wasn't here when the Prophet ca-”

Sirius shrunk in on himself, feeling as if every comment was an arrow plunged into his skin that he didn't have the strength to brush off anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut.

It was all too much

I never asked for this.

I never asked to be a Black.

Fuck, I'm not like them!

Maybe…

The smack of paper on wood startled them open.

Regulus was holding a newspaper, face blank, cold.

The Heir to Rebellion.

Black Son Disowned from Noble House.

Chapter Text

The roar of raucous cheering filled the grounds with passion and celebration as Remus trudged through mud to the library. A match was starting soon – Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, a pairing James found much less exciting than his rival House, who they had played against last November. He had been dragged to the Chaser’s freezing early morning practice along with Peter, who was twitching nervously and fiddling with the tassels of his red and gold scarf. Now students were flooding over to the stands, and Remus was quickly leaving, waving goodbye to Pete and bundling himself tighter in his own scarf.

He had come to the library for a reason. Of course, it would be easier to find books on the matter in muggle shops, though muggles were sort of…funny about these kinds of things. That was a massive understatement. Perhaps Wizards would be kinder. No. He shook his head internally. I don't need someone to be kind. This has to be normal. I need to be normal.

What Marlene had said to him had been irking him for days.

If he were normal, it wouldn't. That was the simplest explanation.

Remus headed towards Madam Pince before realising he couldn't just ask her for a book on it. It was inappropriate at best and at worst…well being a werewolf was bad enough. A homosexual werewolf?

He wouldn't know what to do.

But, if these kinds of…complications were something all teenage boys go through, he would be fine, right?

With most students preparing for the Quidditch game, still filtering into stands and such, Remus wasn't surprised to find that the Library was predominantly empty, with only a few students – mainly Fifth and Seventh Years cramming for exams, which now gave him more to worry about – studying quietly or searching for books. In fact, it was a Saturday, meaning typically Lily would be here with her revision group, if it wasn't for the match. Rather, if it wasn't for Marlene, who begged her to watch every time. Instead, the only member of the group to be found was one of the two Ravenclaw girls, the other being Emmeline Vance if he remembered correctly, who was sitting with work spread out in front of her, neatly applying muggle highlighter to a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Dorcas Meadowes was a tall black girl whom he had known just barely from his years studying with Lily, though he got the impression that she, like him, wasn't all too bothered about the group, instead seeing it as an individual opportunity rather than somewhere to bond. She was a familiar face from the Prefect meetings, too. As it was a weekend, she was wearing her own clothes: a long black skirt that flowed to her ankles, Fenchurch boots and a plum-coloured bell-sleeve top. There was a purple crystal hanging from a leather chord at her neck, and her fingers twisted absently with her locs. She was reserved, pretty, intelligent. Exactly the kind of girl he should be interested in.

Remus trailed through the aisles, evaluating each section before shaking it off. Legal could be good, he thought, If it goes into detail about the criminality of it. Is homosexuality even banned by the Ministry?

He picked up a stack of books that appeared promising and sat down at a nearby table. First, he flicked through a dense book explaining the differences in Muggle and Wizarding law, though it was published over thirty years ago, presumably inspired by the chaos left by Grindelwald. Pushing the outdated thing aside, he turned to an old Daily Prophet carelessly left between its pages. Perhaps someone was having the same dilemma as him, or had done in the past.

Someone huffed to the left of him. Dorcas stood up and, with a small pile of textbooks under her arm, approached Madam Pince, seemingly checking those books out. When she returned, she began to pack away her things, neatly separating her stationery and her notebooks in different compartments of her worn leather satchel until only one book sat on the table. Remus found himself staring at her as she worked. She had a way of moving that was entrancing, slowly lifting her limbs like she was treading water, floating, effortless and almost ethereal.

To his surprise, she slipped into the chair opposite him, glancing curiously at him.

“I thought you'd be watching your friend,” Dorcas said plainly. She was threading a small metal dragon between her fingers. As he squinted at it, it reared its head and flared its nostrils, sending a miniature eruption of smoke in his direction. She stroked its scaled head lovingly in response.

“I thought the same of you,” He said, distracted by the enchanted creature. When he finally flicked his head up, remembering most people found it off-putting when he avoided eye contact, she was reading his face shamelessly, pursing her lips slightly.

“Marlene, I thought…you and Marlene-” Remus choked out, stammering slightly as he gathered his thoughts. He had…theorised, but he would never, Merlin, never, say it. That was their business, he couldn't…

“We are,” Dorcas interrupted, “Though I suppose you didn't mean friends, did you?”

Remus swallowed.

“That too, then.”

“Um…congratulations,” He offered, staring deeply into the table. Without warning, she began to laugh, hand covering her mouth. Remus didn't really think he had seen her laugh before, though there was certainly little at their revision sessions that would warrant it.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“I don't know yet. It seems I'm always doing that.” Dorcas lifted her arm up, allowing the dragon to snake around her wrist and settle in the crook of her elbow, now laid flat against the table. Suddenly she must have decided that she was done listening to him embarrass himself, and she met his eyes, much to his chagrin, “I’m going to guess you're not a fan of Quidditch. Would I be correct?”

“You would be,” He said, “Do you mind if I'm frank with you?”

“Not at all.”

“You're not much like Marlene.”

“As I'm told,” She remarked. He noticed she shared the same odd habit as him: her eyes never lingered for more than a second on his, first meeting his face, flicking down to the dragon, then after a second or two back up, almost as a precaution, “Nor are you and yours. Marlene likes the drama. I don't.”

There was a long silence, where Remus was internally debating whether it would be normal to continue reading, or whether he would have to endure small talk, Quidditch and girls and eventually, probably the weather. Though there was something quite different about her. Perhaps it was just a nice change to hold a conversation without shouting. James certainly didn't know how.

Fortunately for him, it was decided for him when Dorcas reached into her bag and removed a novel, Little Women, it looked like. Sensing it was safe for him to follow, he thumbed through the flimsy Prophet pages curiously. It seemed a perfectly unassuming edition, with the only notable difference being that it was clearly thoroughly used, as if it was a personal copy someone had paid great attention to. The corners were dog-eared, there were tea stains and blotches of spilled ink. It was too worn to be left there accidentally. Even without that, it still puzzled him that someone would leave a newspaper in the middle of a book from the Law section. There. It had to be intentional.

But why?

Remus thought back to his childhood. After all, if these books couldn't answer anything, he was a half-blood, so wouldn't his father know? However, he had spent six years of his life isolated from all but his weary parents and the few sheep in the neighbouring fields. It wasn't as if he would have met any people that were…like that. And his father didn't exactly jump at the chance to preach fairness and equality to him. His mother had done all that, made sure he turned out kind, turned out human. Lyall just spent a decade mourning the boy locked in the basement.

Then again he hadn't been around people at all in his youth, much less Wizards, much less gay ones.

Had Mum said anything?

Of course she wasn't integrated into Wizard society as long as he was, but she could still have told him something, a remark, anything.

The more he thought about it, there was something…

Fourth Year, June. He was packing up to visit James, and, while Pete would have stayed over plenty, it would be his first time. Sirius too. All of them, together. Despite his parents having (reluctantly) allowed him to make friends that year, his mother especially was still hovering over his shoulder, fretting about whether it would be ‘dangerous’ for him to do so, assuring the visit would fall nowhere near the full moon, and, the week before, meeting with the Potters. He was certain it was the first time his father had met with Wizards since Dumbledore, and before then since the Ministry. At the time, James' parents didn't know about his condition, and he sincerely hoped he hadn't told them since. They were lovely, honest people. He would hate to ruin that. He had already fucked up one relationship just by being bitten, he wasn't prepared to have James taken away too. Then Pete, then Lily, then…

But he didn't want to focus on that. Something was still irking him, the thing that led him to that strained conversation.

“There won't be any girls there, will there?” She had said, inspecting his trunk.

“No, just us.”

“Suppose it wouldn't matter for you, you can't…” Trailing off, he remembered her staring at him oddly, like there was an unpleasant taste stuck to her tongue. She had raised a hand to his face – smooth, unmasculine, wrong – and thumbed his cheek as if he were a well-loved book, falling apart, pages weak yet still worth devoting time to.

“Still I don't want any funny business, alright? You'll come back nice and proper, not-”

“Merlin,” He had whispered, face red.

And even now, he was embarrassed just thinking of it. Had she caught on? Known that something was wrong with him?

If it were illegal, wouldn't she have mentioned?

He would need to do further research.

Remus blinked back to reality, finding himself gazing down at the newspaper absently. In a flash of wand movement, he gathered up the books, now strewn across the table, and, as Dorcas had done minutes earlier, checked them out, slipping the Prophet into his jacket so as not to invoke suspicion. Truth be told, he was suspicious himself. As he tucked it closer, he knew there was a reason it was placed there.

The cheers grew slowly louder. It must have been starting soon. Immediately upon crossing the threshold, the static whistle of the commentator’s – Benjy Fenwick, Hufflepuff, veiny hands, handsome, not now – microphone rang out over the pitch. Though the average person’s senses would be drowned out by the screaming, Remus could hear the crunch of Fenchurch boots on now-dried mud.

“You could've just asked me,” Dorcas said, catching up.

“Sorry?”

“Marlene said you were straight,” She said, her typically stoic face dancing with a burst of silent laughter like there was something terribly funny he was oblivious to, before muttering under her breath, something like “Marlene needs her eyes checked.”

“I don't…hm,” He started, heart quickening though there was no reason to. If he were normal that was. Normal boys don't have a stroke when someone mentions the word straight.

Or when they think of boys for that matter.

“It's legal.”

Remus stopped in his tracks, and she followed, a step in front with her eyes boring into his skull.

“Oh.”

“Why did you want to know?” She asked when he finally gathered his thoughts enough to move. They were heading towards the Gryffindor stands now, and while Dorcas was a Ravenclaw, she didn't seem to stop. He didn't comment.

“Um, just a friend, they wanted to know if they could…you know, propose to their…” He started awkwardly, “I'd best be off actually, James would want to see me.”

“Can I ask one more question?”

His heart kept pounding. Merlin, he was so fucking obvious.

“Go on,” He relented, tapping his fingers under too-long jumper sleeves, trying to breathe, failing to.

“Who's the friend?”

“Marlene,” He said without thinking.

Stupid, he thought when he met her eyes again.

Dorcas opened her mouth, then shut it again. She nodded before moving past him, and up the the stands.

“Thank you,” He heard as she disappeared into red and gold fabric.

When he finally made his way up, she was sitting on his usual row, beside Lily who was awaiting him, a reserved seat next to her marked by her Gryffindor scarf.

He couldn't see Pete yet, though he had sworn he was there, clinging to James when he left for the Library. The absence beside him was almost tangible, and he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Wind was picking up now, beating into his ears. He slotted the discs in, quelling the screams to a murmur. It was five to, now. Benjy Fenwick’s voice erupted over the stands, calling in the arrival of the Quidditch teams. Both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor lined up. Footsteps traveled faintly up the stairs again, seemingly the last of the crowds. Lily tapped his knee twice, gentle, questioning. He turned his head to acknowledge her, but, eyes still set on the stairway, he couldn't move his lips before all reasonable thought was washed away.

Sirius Black, for the first time since October, walked to a bench in the Gryffindor stands. He stood still for a moment, assessing, searching the faces for recognition.

He must have found what he was looking for.

For the first time since October, Remus’ eyes lingered on Sirius' for more than an agonising second. The Black boy’s mouth opened, a hand reaching closer.

A whistle screamed out across the pitch.

The game started. Through the noise, Peter, the last to arrive in his seat, tugged subtly at Sirius' cloak, easing him back to awareness, and sat beside him.

From two rows behind, Remus felt his heart break once again.

Chapter Text

Gryffindor won at 260-80 and, naturally, the whole common room was dashed with crimson and gold, bunting cascading from the ceiling in proud loops, scarves adorning every surface from the suits of armour to the fireplace. The team was joyous from the moment Davey Gudgeon caught the snitch, not bothering to change as they sauntered through the halls in their uniforms, damp with rain, cold from fierce wind and still grinning. The last of the decorations floating into place, Remus watched from the staircase – having planned on getting to sleep as soon as possible – as Marlene’s arm disappeared into one of the aforementioned suits, flicking away its helmet and diving into its neck to retrieve something. A moment later, the crowd of Gryffindors cheered at the sight of three bottles of Firewhiskey gripped loosely in her still-gloved hand – James' secret hiding place.

The roars were drowned out. He couldn't handle the joy, the bleeding House pride, when all he could picture was Sirius' face, ghostly pale, mouth wide open, reaching out.

In all honesty, he was still numb. He had barely felt the match pass by until Marlene was hovering over the stands, tilting Dorcas’ chin up and beaming. When he looked to the scoreboard, Sirius was already gone, the last trace of him, a sliver of his shoulder and windswept hair, darting down the stairs before his gaze could linger. Merlin, he wanted to linger. Just thinking about him, his mind choked with anxiety, a thousand memories, it felt like a silver dagger had plunged into his heart, but just looking. Eyes set. Unthinking. Just looking. He wanted to, desperately. Remus knew it was wrong, after all he tore apart, but he needed to see him. A part of him wanted to forget him, to finally find the peace that had been stripped away from him that night. But something else, vivid and writhing, was pulsing in his heart, dragging him deeper into his own thoughts, into Sirius, until he was only vaguely processing the students weaving around him, the crackle of fire and the gurgling pour of drinks. His nostrils burned with it, distantly, but inside, he was drinking in the scent of Sirius. Gilded, vociferous, wicked, beautiful. He wanted to scream, all full moon anguish and fear of the truth. More than anything, he wanted to be held by him. To look in those young eyes, deep set from separation, and have him make it all better. To make it better for him in return.

Remus didn't care if he didn't deserve it. As much as it conflicted him, whatever Sirius was to him…it couldn't be killed by that.

Suddenly a heavy thud sounded from behind him. He whipped around, cautious.

“Right folks!” James yelled from atop a coffee table, “We decimated Slytherin in November and we've just bloody annihilated Hufflepuff! We know what that means, don't we? One more House to smash before victory's ours! Gryffindor for the House Cup!”

James stretched to raise his bottle up before promptly stumbling off of the table. Everyone cheered, dizzy with the mirth of winning yet another match. Remus, however, began to inch his way up the stairs. Thinking, yes, that sounded good, but sleep was twice as alluring, to lock it out, for the moment at least. If he was lucky, he would be able to collapse into bed with a book immediately, alone and separate from the party. If not, perhaps Pete would be there, and he could inquire about the project he had been working on for the last few weeks, before, again, immediately collapsing into bed.

Instead, he felt an arm cling to his jumper and wrench him down two steps in a clumsy oblivious scramble. Dorcas was staring up at him. She looked mostly the same, except for the notable addition of a small lovebite at her collarbone, and two smudged strips of shimmering red and gold on each of her cheeks. Seemingly registering his position on the stairs, her almost black eyes drifted up and down, first to the boys’ dormitory, then to Remus himself, swaying slightly from the pull.

“I’m sorry, were you heading to bed?” She blurted out. As he stuttered through an answer, still a bit shocked in all honesty, she fidgeted with a silver bracelet at her wrist, the same purple crystal still hanging from her neck glinting on her arm. In a flurry of shifting metallic jump rings, the bracelet morphed itself into something thicker, something livelier. The dragon he had pondered over sat on her skin as if waking up from a long nap, blinking blearily to reveal gemstone eyes. It was very obviously enchanted, and excellently done, but it still made him curious.

“Yes, but it's fine- sorry, what is that?” He asked over the music that was beginning to pound from an enchanted record player – easily twice the volume it would normally allow – nodding in the direction of the creature, now stretching the interlocking panels that made up its limbs.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, smiling wider as she talked, “It’s a study charm, it helps you focus.” Staring at the floor by her feet, she fiddled with the body until it transformed yet again, this time liquifying to form a ring at her finger made up of several parts, each of which spun as she twisted them. Finally, she added, “I make them.”

“That's so cool!” He blurted out, immediately musing with the concept, the magic, the craftsmanship, though he himself was never much creative with anything but wool, as his mother had taught him, “I knit sometimes.”

“Knitting is very useful…I think Lily knows how to crochet. Can you do that too? I prefer the metal because it's smoother, and colder, and more versatile, though I suppose yarn is quite versatile as well. Plus I love crystals, so I like to combine the two. This one's an amethyst,” Dorcas pointed to the ring, which held the same two gems – amethysts, he had learned – as rotating central pieces, “and according to some Muggles they help with focus, even though others claim they're just rocks. They believe anyway. Isn't that beautiful? Maybe their form of magic is real, or it isn't. It's no different than Divination, but what matters is it's theirs, no matter how real it is.”

Her dark eyes trailed up to his.

“Did I speak for too long?”

“Of course not,” He began, thinking, “I liked hearing you talk. Most of my friends just say nothing even if they won't shut up.”

She laughed at that.

The music was starting to hurt his ears and, though he sort of missed the lull of sleep, the soft gravel of her voice was blurring the ache in his bones, the weight of his head. Perhaps she sensed that, because she gestured down the hall to the wooden bathroom door, and as she approached, he followed.

Compared to the ecstacy of the Common Room, the corner that they decided to nestle in was silent, only the muffled laughter trailing in from outside and murmured conversation echoing off the ancient walls interrupting it. It went on like that for a while. Dorcas was nice, truly nice. She was the most genuine person he had met since Lily, since Peter before her. A distraction…maybe, but she did a better job of melting the clouds forming at his skull more than sleep ever would, and for that he was grateful. Remus shifted into cross-legged comfort, head against the cool sink edge, tawny curls spilling into the basin. Gently, David Bowie’s Moonage Daydream faded into the acoustic guitar that signaled Starman.

Sirius' favourite. Said it was about him.

The door creaked open.

And there he was.

Remus reveled in the chance to linger.

Sirius swallowed visibly. Tentative, he stepped forward, and on pure instinct Remus pressed his body flat into the sink, shrinking in on himself, guarded, jaw set. Unbelievably, he stepped back, breathing out, almost like he was thinking before he spoke.

The Sirius that told Snape would never do that, he thought bitterly.

But if Remus had to say, he knew that ‘this Sirius’ couldn't be further away from the Sirius that pulled the Prank. He looked like a shell of himself. Hollow. Broken. Images of his own scarred skin tracing the cracks healed, pressing warmth into the gaunt and jagged entered his head unprovoked. Lying on his chest and reading. Watching the stars in sleepless nights. Gritting teeth into his chest as his wounds were bandaged. Sneaking into Hogsmeade with the cloak. Images of…of last Summer.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it for days, but he almost choked hearing it. Remus’ mask broke and tears began to gather in his eyes. It was so unfair, so fucking unfair. He was still so beautiful. Silver eyes, perfect lips. Without another word from him, he could spend hours watching him gaze down, like he wanted him back, like he was precious, made of something lovely, instead of something rotten, twisted.

How could he have ruined my life and I still want him?

“I've done that enough, I get that now,” Sirius started, running a hand over his hair to tuck it back, “Moon- Remus, please. I can't do this forever. I miss you, okay? I miss us.” He was disheveled and desperate and exhausted, hands twitching into a clasped plea.

But he still ruined my life. Isn't that worth something? 

“He doesn't want you here. Fuck off,” Dorcas said defensively.

“Can I just talk to him alone?” Sirius directed his attention to her now, as if there was no reasoning with him. Remus didn't back down from the wall, muscles permanently tensed. He didn't say a word. Couldn't.

“Look, I fucked up. I hurt you, I was an arsehole, I deserve everything you’ll throw at me. You want me to shut up? You want me to leave, to get expelled, go back to my Mother? Hand myself over to Azkaban? Please, just tell me and I'll get it over with so I can see you again, because I really can't keep going if you won't look me in the eye, okay?” He was practically yelling now, hands thrown about wildly and face contorted in an expression that seemed so unlike the Sirius he knew, perfectly elegant even when cackling, the epitome of charisma. Then silence. Only Sirius' heaving breaths and the internal pounding in Remus' ears remained.

“We were mates, weren't we? I just want to be mates again, I'm sorry…” Head hung low, Sirius waited for an answer. Eyes wide beneath him, Remus still couldn't find the words.

Mates don't do that.

I miss you.

If James hadn't been there I'd be in Azkaban. That's real. Your threats aren't.

I need you.

If I say yes, you'll do it again. You'll never learn.

I can't sleep without you there, just in case. I can tell you can't either. I hear James fighting not to hold you when you wake up terrified of her.

I'm terrified of what you'll do next.

I have so much to tell you.

You promised you'd never be like them but…

I started doing it again. I said I'd stop.

Maybe he'll die next time. Or I will. Would you mind? Would you notice if James didn't?

I love you.

Please stay.

Please stop talking.

Just because Peter forgives you doesn't mean I have to.

I need to forgive you to stay alive.

I love you.

The door opened again. James burst in, affixed to any sign of tension, and nodded towards him in the direction of the exit. Remus' whole body had gone rigid, cold and confused and completely frozen in Sirius' strained voice. Still, he found the strength in himself to slip past the boys, burrowing into Dorcas’ presence as she led him to the staircase again.

-

Inside the bathroom, Sirius felt the air being punched out of him at the sight of Remus’ face, paralysed.

“Get out,” James said tersely.

It was not a request. Sirius examined the Quidditch player's appearance, the image of celebration and joy painted onto a canvas with conflict sketched into it. James stood tall despite it all, staring him down from two inches below. Where once people would call them twins in all but looks, they were nothing alike now. Now, they were both faded, split apart into two halves silently aching for completion.

“I can't,” He responded, voice cracking with the force of a hurricane battling to unleash itself, “What d’you want me to do?”

“Leave him alone,” James bit his words as if he was fighting not to hex him, slow and seeping with restrained anger, “You saw him, he's terrified! If you were really mates, you'd see that. You'd sod off and let him be.”

“But-” Sirius huffed, “I apologised! He knows I didn't mean to hurt him, how couldn't he? Tell him for me, mate, come on.”

At that futile attempt James snapped, fist unclenching to point in his face.

“It’s not your decision to make, it's his. Merlin, what’s wrong with you? You spend three months feeling sorry for yourself, then suddenly think you have the right to demand he forgive you! You're not the victim!”

Sirius was taken aback by that. He stood there, breath still laboured and grimacing like a petulant child after a tantrum. The seconds ticked by, James calming eventually and stepping away from the palpable tension to lean against the stone wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose like Remus used to do after they had presented a particularly stupid idea.

"What did you even tell Snape for?” The Chaser asked finally, arms crossed.

“Wanted to…” He bit the inside of his cheek. What could he even say to explain it away? Once, he was used to this. Brushing shit off because he could, because who'd dare question? Maybe it was some of that Black power and arrogance resurfacing, the scum in his veins showing itself. Now, all he could do was hope that James had it in him not to slam the door in his face, which he couldn't blame him for after what he did. It was just so hard, “teach him a lesson. Scare him. He'd gotten so close to figuring out Remus' secret. I don't know. It was stupid, I-”

“You what? Got off on the fact ‘I’ll sic a werewolf on you’ is a better threat than ‘I’ll hex you.’ That sure is what it bloody sounds like.”

“No, I-! Fuck, I don't know, okay? I didn't think, I never do! He deserves better than the shit I made him put up with. I heard you saying that, y’know,” Sirius breathed through his words, chest puffed up in the fear that if he let himself fall, shrink into himself, he would never get up again, “Couple nights after the Prank. Said I don't deserve him.”

James looked him dead in the eye. He didn't move.

“I'm trying to,” Sirius mumbled, “And if that means I wait years before he can feel safe with me in the room again, I don't care. He should know I'm trying.”

Listlessly, he sank down to the cold tile and held his head in his hands. From above, James’ eyes bored into him. Surprised he hasn't walked out yet, he muttered under his breath. He was even more shocked when he began speaking.

“D’you remember last Summer, what you told me after we played that Muggle game?” James spoke casually, evenly as if he was speaking to a classmate. While he had always been charming to whoever he met, finding making friends exceptionally easy, James preferred a tight-knit little group, something small he could be protective over. Hearing his friend talk to him like this, and invader encroaching on his family, broke him more than any amount of his shouting ever would.

Registering the words at last, he used the dregs of his strength to acknowledge the remark, a small “Yeah” being all he could muster.

Spin the bottle. Remus. Wardrobe.

“You were pretty drunk, we all were. Stole out my Dad’s drinks cabinet, but he said he got up to far worse at our age,” James chuckled lightly, but it was empty, “The bottle landed on Remus when you spun it. Obviously we thought it was a bit of a laugh when you suggested it ‘cause we're all lads, yeah? But then you spun it.”

In the pause, he sat down beside him, sighing. He shuffled a bit over in response, mindful of the fact the scent of Firewhiskey was emanating off of him from the amount he had chugged, and spilled, on his way over.

“I don't really know how I didn't see it before then,” He was focused on the brick of the wall, odd stains crawling up its rough surface, too in tune to him by now not to realise when he wasn't up for talking. Of course he continued anyway. Just because it was uncomfortable didn't mean he didn't need to hear it, “Little glances, blushing, that sort of stuff. You'd never hesitated to talk about fit birds with me so, guess I didn't catch on ‘til you told me. Pulled him in, planted one on his lips like it was nothing. I thought, for a second there, that it was just nothing. That it was just a game to you,” Sirius found his head rising from his arms to rest against the wall, staring at the ceiling. It was temporary. But it felt so good, “Then you told me how the rest of that night went. You and him looked nice together, Pads. It made sense.”

“I know that,” He dismissed.

“You see it though, right? That's you,” James tried to explain, finally leaning in to face him, “Not the prat who told Snape about the Shack, not the dickhead who can't tell when to shut up. You used to re-wrap his injuries when he came back from the holidays. And you'd buy him chocolate to bribe him to take a break when he was studying too hard. You had the idea to become Animagi- for Merlin’s sake, he was the only person you'd willingly visit the Library for, let alone shut up for a whole month with mandrake leaves in your mouth for,” Sirius laughed weakly at that, “That's who my mate is.”

“But I still did it.”

James took another deep breath, ruffling his hair as he thought, “Yeah, you did. And I don't blame him if he never forgives you. But Moony…he's a pushover. He doesn't complain or anything, even if it really hurts him. The fact he’s not talked to you this long, that's how badly you damaged him. I mean, turning him into a murderer, when you swore you'd never see him as a monster hurts. That you'd even think to breach his trust like that is fucking depressing, Pads.”

“I get it, I get it,” He moved his hands from anxiously clenching and unclenching to wrapping around his knees again, “I am trying.”

There was a shift of movement beside him as James got up, and gazed down at him, a small sad smile painted on his face.

“Thanks for that.”

Chapter Text

Remus found himself crawling into bed soon after then, waving his good-byes to Dorcas who gazed at him oddly in what he could only assume was pity, or worry, or one of the other half dozen emotions he was met with since Sirius had done what he'd done. Not much to his surprise, Pete wasn't there, probably tagging along behind James at the party. That was alright. He wasn't quite sure he’d be able to talk.

Thanks to a quick muffling charm the boys had cast on the door to prevent one too many visits from Prefects, the music had dissipated from the moment he crossed the threshold into the dormitory, but that didn't stop his head from pounding as if the record player was blaring into his sensitive ears. Spelling the curtains closed, he shrouded himself in the darkness of his duvet, arms tucked under his chin. He desperately wanted sleep to drag his muscles out of the rigidity they'd grown accustomed to, but his mind remained agonisingly alert. Sirius. It was all he could think about. Him.

He had apologised. Why didn't I admit it then? Forgive him?

He had discovered his power for the first time. Sirius was the judge tipping the balance of crooked scales, smirking as one side plummeted into emptiness and the other became drunk on the excess. The pranks, the jokes, that's all they were. While they were friends, Sirius had allowed him to lift that goblet high if it meant he would remain blind to his cruelty. And when he was younger, he wouldn't dare question whether their victim deserved it. In First Year he had casted Waddiwassi on Sirius in a flash of justice when he had hexed Snape. By Third Year, their bond was too vulnerable. He was on thin ice, thin, blood-stained grotesque ice. But now? With Sirius gone?

He couldn't help but wonder what had Snape ever done to deserve it?

And why the fuck hadn't he stood up to him sooner?

The boy surely wouldn't accept his defense now, now that all he was in his black eyes was a creature deserving of nothing but silver muzzles and buried cages. Sometimes, he couldn't help but agree. Especially since October.

Essentially, he couldn't sleep.

The slow drag of wood and gentle fabric drew out as Remus parted the curtains and lingered on the bed, eyes set on the floor, before he got up fully. The room felt strange so empty. As if suspended in the hazy memory of the other dozen parties he had escaped from. As if, if he tried, he could imagine that Sirius was downstairs, cackling at another one of James’ attempts to woo Lily, and James was whipping his head back to him, grinning. Sirius could be leaning casually against the wall, Quidditch gear adorning his built frame, the taste of alcohol searing all hesitation from his lips as he spoke without a care as to who heard him. The sort of comfort he would never be witness to again. Effortless, unthinking, comfort. Effortless, unthinking beauty.

Parties always reminded him of...

Fingers stained from nicotine, hair swept into a bun at his nape, silver eyes darkening as they tracked his hazel. Mouth parted, tongue flicking out, hot and looming. He remembered how every second bled out endlessly as heat rose to his cheeks and spread over his body, now gripped by him, an arm pulling him close, enough to taste the choking scent of leather. And then the bottle had been presented, a joke, he had thought at the time, whose eternal consequences had yet to cross his mind. Before he could register the grinding halt of glass against wood, his mouth was aflame with the intensity of Sirius' – smoke, mint and Firewhiskey – and he was freezing up, only to melt so deliciously into it, like it was natural. Like all the shit he had gone through was bliss if it meant he was sharing skin with him.

Followed by the morning, when neither of the two would risk a glance, and both held the unmistakable quiet giddiness of someone who had been seen, truly seen for the first time. Perhaps it was his mistake to pretend it was just that, a mistake, an accident worth forgetting. It couldn't be more untrue. He would never forget, and Merlin did he want it again. Him, again.

Tentative, Remus pulled back the curtains protecting Sirius’ own bed.

The bed was empty, as expected, unmade and wrinkled. On close inspection, his nightstand was completely bare, where it used to hold all the tat and clutter he couldn't be bothered to put away: textbooks he never read, a spare tie he had taken to doodling on and, famously, a box of Ice Mice that had been left out for two whole terms. Dust had replaced it. Remus had never realised how much that spot of Siriusness had impacted the room. He traced the bedpost, lingering over the years-old RJL + PIP + SOB + JFP carved carelessly into the wooden post. He wondered…if they could be like that again. But most of all, he wondered if Sirius had ever thought to touch it from his place shut behind curtains, to run a hand over those initials and wish he could feel the warmth and love they scored into it again. Remus absently thumbed Sirius' carving, the elegant cursive that had been beaten into him abandoned just this once in favour of the convenience of lazy chicken scratch brushing his skin.

Sirius touching my skin…

Thankfully, before he could sink further into that particular thought, the muffled chaos downstairs shifted into silence. Trailing downstairs, Remus caught sight of the common room crowded at the entrance, giving a wide berth to one robed figure.

“Come on, Professor,” He heard Marlene shouting, “It's one party!”

“One party it may be, Miss McKinnon, but the rest of the castle is asleep,” McGonagall stressed tersely, “As you well should be. 50 points from Gryffindor.”

The whole room erupted in a chorus of groans.

“Now off to bed.”

She turned to leave as the Gryffindors weaved past him to retire into their dormitories before catching movement at the door. Remus stayed still at the top of the staircase peering down at a figure following suit from the newly-opened bathroom door. Sirius. Her eyes narrowed in his direction. His eyes were red and swollen, much more so than they had been when Remus had last seen him. She beckoned him towards her, and the taller boy followed, as if, even silently, he knew exactly where it was leading.

A surge of discomfort shot through his shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry, I know you don't like that,” came Lily's reassuring voice, a Northern accent muted by years of being surrounded by “posh toerags” as she called them shining out.

“We came to rescue you,” Peter gave a small smile, furtively glancing from Lily to him to the door.

“I came, he followed,” She amended, to which the animagus responded with a shrug, “I thought you could probably do with some sleep, given you're on your period next week.”

Remus looked down at her, utterly flabbergasted.

“Excuse me?” He breathed out.

“It's better than Furry Little Problem if you ask me,” Pete admitted, “Don't tell James I said that actually.”

Immediately after finishing his sentence, he blanched and his mouth fell open.

“Jesus, I shouldn't have said that.”

“She…um she knows,” Remus assured him.

“Oh,” Peter said in surprise, “That's good then. She alright with it?”

“How about you ask her?” Lily said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Her mouth betrayed it all, however, pursing into a stifled giggle.

“You alright with it?”

“It's fine, he's still the Remus I love, so it doesn't mean anything to me,” She scrunched her nose affectionately at him.

“Hold on, you love him? Does James know?” Pete dramatically whipped his head around as it searching for the boy, and Lily rolled her eyes even harder.

“You can't possibly expect me to believe…” She muttered under her breath before snapping back to the conversation, “Anyway, your period. Now, I might not know-”

“Sorry, can we call it, maybe, anything but that?” He offered, screwing his eyes shut in exhaustion.

“What's wrong with it?” Pete asked, clueless.

“Oh!” Lily began to laugh loudly, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“What?”

Remus leaned in closer to him.

“Because I have one of those already,” He explained awkwardly. He hated talking about it, even with Lily who had seen every glimpse of his transition. She might've always known, wise beyond her years. A tiny First Year with hair to her back and an ill-fitting skirt, stifling sobs when the stairs wouldn't just let her through because she couldn't be different, not more so than she already was. But she was always patient, always accepting, taking secret outings to the Library to research reduction spells, magically heating up hot water bottles when he couldn't bear to move to arrange it the Muggle way.

“I forgot,” She confessed through laughter.

Or so he thought.

“You what?” Pete said.

Lily mouthed “Tell him?” and at his nodded response began to explain.

“He was born a girl, so he has a,” She brought herself directly to his flushing ears and whispered, “menstrual cycle.”

“Double whammy,” He replied without thinking, “Y’know, like the,” Pete made a definitely offensive werewolf impression, hands bared like clawed paws and snarling, “as well as the…blood stuff. ‘s not fair, really. You should complain.”

“I'll bring it up to my mother, I guess.”

“Get it right, Hope,” Pete joked, “Actually, wouldn't it be his Dad’s fault, because sperm’s what makes you a girl or a boy?”

“Um, that sounds right.” In all honesty, his father never cared much for Muggle subjects when he was homeschooling him. He was pretty good at English because of his mother’s insistence to read to him, but of course, they didn't think he would go to school at all, nor get a proper job. They had done their best with the stigma they had to fight against. But some general knowledge would've been nice.

“Fuck you, Lyall, then!”

For more than just that, Remus thought, remembering what his mother had told him at Christmas.

Lily’s laughter filtered off, and she gazed into the distance for a while before speaking.

“Hm,” She started, twirling her long plait between her fingers, “Does it align like that? Your two issues.”

Remus thought for a moment. This next full would be on the seventeenth, and his cycle would begin…

On the sixteenth.

“I'm not being funny, Lily,” He said flatly, watching her mouth fall open as she realised she was right, “but I hate you so much right now.”

She continued to giggle unashamedly, finally whispering out, “And on day two as well!”

“Day two’s…worse?” Pete wondered aloud.

“Oh, famously,” She replied, still grinning.

At that, the grand entrance creaked open again, revealing McGonagall and Sirius. She had walked him back, which confused him. It had never happened with any other student she had talked to privately. Her thin hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, peering down at him through her glasses before sending him on his way. Watching him disappear up the stairs, she caught a glimpse of them failing to hide by the stairwell.

“You three, to bed. And really, from two Prefects, I expected better.”

“Yes, Professor,” Lily said smoothly, forcefully urging the two boys to follow her.

Chapter Text

“Well, I would, he's braw if that's what matters to you, but his friends spread that nasty rumour about you, so I'd rather not,” Mary replied to Marlene from across the dormitory. Remus had taken to waking up earlier than usual, showering, then meeting Lily, who was almost as much of an early riser as James, at the stairs so she could charm him up them. Currently he was sitting against a wall as the three of them decorated their faces with various creams and powders, none of which he understood. As a young child, he was certain his mother had worn it on special occasions, Christmas and the like, but something must have changed her mind, because as the years passed by she began to wear it less and less, calling it frivolous and unnecessary. But even before the bite, she definitely wouldn't have invested in the products Mary gravitated towards, all bright and eye-catching. He noted that Lily used very little, only a dash of pink lip balm, but still spent quite a while scrutinising her face, subtly pinching at her round cheeks with a small frown. He tried to distract her, offering to speak with her while Marlene hogged the mirror to smear eyeliner onto her eyelids, but he wasn't sure if it made a difference. It had been like this since First Year. Remus would hate to think there was nothing he could do to convince her how lovely she was.

“Which one?” The blonde girl retorted, finally snapping the pocket mirror shut.

“That you're going out with Sirius again,” She said simply, glancing back to catch her friend making a dramatic retching gesture, “Which I'm sure would be disgusting for you, but he's nice-looking. Good cheekbones. I certainly wouldn't complain if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me.”

“We know that, Mary, you asked poor Remus if he was seeing someone,” Lily reminded her.

“Sorry,” She said, eyes tracking his reflection in her own handheld mirror, “It's exhausting, though. I just want one, good, honest lad, but whenever I try to find one, the whole school thinks I'm a slag. It's not fair.”

“You should try girls,” Marlene said, “It’s easier.”

“No it isn't,” Lily snorted. Her skin then brightened several shades closer to crimson when she realised what she said. All heads turned to her.

“How would you know?” Mary blurted out.

“I wouldn't! Just…just…” She glanced down at Remus, wide-eyed.

“Because of the homophobia, I'd expect,” He filled in.

“Ach, you’re right with that one,” The beater conceded, returning to smudging the living daylights out of her mascara, “‘s better than with the Muggles.”

“Is it really?” Remus wondered aloud. His Mother had never been too…vocal about homosexuals, leading him to investigate in the Library in the first place, but growing up Muggle in the 40s, well…he wouldn't be surprised. Then again, there had been that conversation last Summer…

“They can be cruel,” Lily chimed in. Mary set her mirror down and settled beside the ginger girl on her own four-poster, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing her sympathetically. They would both know better than anyone else, with Marlene being a half-blood raised mostly by her Muggle mother, and himself being…well, not really belonging to either group. When he was still in their dorm, he remembered that being the thing the two girls bonded over, even if Lily was a bit hesitant to befriend anyone Snape hadn't approved of first. Still, he wasn't sure if she had had any experience with Muggles’ reaction to homosexuality in particular. They just hadn't spoken about it. For that, he was thankful. The first mention of being like that had probably been on the train, when she had called him sensitive. His skin crawled. If he could help it, no matter how close they were, he would never tell her what he had been reading up on, what Dorcas certainly knew. If he could help it, he wouldn't know either.

Breaking away from his thoughts, Remus found his eyes lingering on the two as they embraced, the way Lily's whole face flushed at the surprise contact, the way Mary slotted her head perfectly on her shoulder. Lily quickly tried to rub away the redness, and he couldn't help but remember a time months ago, when it had been him in her position, yet, too tired to be embarrassed, he had leaned into the touch and buried his own head into the crook of Sirius’ neck. Albeit bitterly, he hoped that the girls didn't have anything like that to ruin their friendship.

When Lily had playfully shoved Mary off of her, the latter wrapped her torso in a throw from her perpetually unmade bed and shuffled to the end to listen closely to Marlene.

“Yeah, me mam was…” She rolled her eyes dramatically, “not as welcoming as you lot. I haven't told her yet, but you should hear how she talks about it at home. Even Bowie.” With that, Marlene sucked in air through her teeth in discomfort, casting a glance to her friends on the bed before continuing, “Love her, but…I don't know what I'll do when she catches on. Move in with Cas, maybe.”

“You have us,” Lily assured her.

Marlene didn't respond to that, just groaned and flung herself off of her bed and upright. After a brief silence, the fleeting sounds of fabric rustling and makeup product caps popping interrupting every so often, the conversation returned to its original point.

“Still, I don't think reverse conversion therapy would do me any good,” Mary sighed, “Unfortunately, I have the wee habit of fancying exclusively dickheads. The male kind.” She punctuated her comment with a smack of her lips, smoothing out her lipstick. With that, the girls set off to breakfast. All except one. Lily waited patiently by the door as Remus strained to get up. It was a full moon that night, after all. He could feel the full-body drag that threatened to splinter his bones taking hold of him already, and, joints weak, he trembled as he gripped the wall.

“You could've told me if you needed help,” Lily said gently, smiling as she offered a hand to him. He shook his head, struggling not to let her see his teeth gritted in pain, “Or sat on the bed?”

“Didn't want to intrude…”

“That's ridiculous.”

Remus accepted her hand, blinking down to her nails when his head stopped spinning.

“I'll ask Mary to paint them this time,” She let go of his hand, trusting him to tell her when he needed the contact again, “Probably loads better than my skills.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Remus grinned, “But I liked it when you did them, anyway.”

-

Half-listening to the conversation, he pushed food around his plate. As Madam Pomfrey constantly reminded him, he needed extra fuel for full moons, but he didn't have the energy to lift his fork to his mouth, instead taking unthinking sips of his tepid cup of tea, snapping back into awareness to cast a quick heating spell before instantly trailing off again. His measly plate of toast and poached egg had been left abandoned for near-on twenty minutes now, while even Mary, who would stop to talk three times before her food made it to her mouth, was finished with her’s.

Lily leaned into his ear.

“Eat something, you'll feel better,” She whispered.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes, “Lily, I'm surprised I'm not asleep right now.”

She sighed, and Remus relaxed, hoping to get a few seconds of rest before the chairs started screeching. Instead, he heard the paper crinkle of something being presented to him discreetly beneath the table. He cracked an eye open.

“Chocolate always helps with mine.”

He took it and examined it closely. It was Muggle chocolate, Dairy Milk, not anything like the rich Honeydukes bars that James throws his way every month.

“Thank you,” He muttered, snapping off a row and biting into a square of delicious milk chocolate. Eyes closed, he let the piece melt on his tongue. It was definitely helping. With what, he wasn't sure, but after a few more squares he at least had enough energy to join the conversation, holding onto it until Mary mouthed “Pretty please” from opposite him with her hand outstretched for it. As he leaned forward to pass it over, he felt the unmistakable clunk of worn shoes beating down on the floor behind him, too quick for him to react before a hand was flying into his peripheral and a voice was firing out beside him.

“I need to talk to you,” Snape said curtly, staring deep into her bright green eyes. Lily glanced to him awkwardly with her lips pursed, but before long she was standing up, shielding his heated demeanour from her friends with her body blocking him from view.

“What is it?” She spoke in a hushed tone, though even Remus could tell just from peering in their direction that she still held a bittersweet fondness for him, lonely and washed up on her heart from her childhood spent with him. The people he hung around – Mulciber, Avery, Rosier, even Regulus from time to time – were vile people, but Lily couldn't find it in herself to let him go. It reminded him of Sirius, in a way that both boys would certainly hate. Still, the guilt from his role in the Prank made his heart clench in sympathy for the boy, and he regrettably found himself staying still and silent, hesitant to aggravate him, or worse, push him to expose his condition. It had been months, yes, but working beside him in Potions was taxing enough. A conversation could turn Snape's rightful grudge into a rightful prison sentence.

“Just follow me, we need to talk,” He repeated, his words impatient and strained, “Like you have something better to do than talk to your best friend-” Snape added indignantly.

“Don't talk to her like that,” Marlene interrupted. Beside her, Mary had her arms crossed and was scowling at him. Perhaps they had thought the same thing Remus had.

“She'll talk to who she likes,” Mary chimed in.

“It's fine,” Lily forced out in some attempt to reassure them, “Let's go, Sev.”

She took a step forward and away from the table, leaving Marlene and Mary to whisper in her absence. Remus, however, maintained his watchful gaze on Lily as she was led towards the doors. From his position, he caught James pass the duo as he headed to his claimed chair, and he found himself absently biting his lip, almost certain that the Chaser was going to make a fool out of himself, or worse, repeat the whole incident that lead him to shiver whenever Snape raised his hand in Potions. James may not have spoken as he locked eyes with the Slytherin, but for a moment an unsaid jeer hung threateningly in the air. Last year, or even in September, Remus would feel his stomach squirm hearing the customary “Hanging ‘round Snivellus still? I‘m surprised you haven't caught something off him, Red, or, really, the grease hanging off his hair, it's practically sentient enough to spread disease” or something similar, but now, when James had seen truly how badly his arrogance had affected someone, he let the words die on his tongue, and instead settled for nodding in acknowledgement at him, flashing only a corner of a smile at Lily in contrast to his typical smug self-absorbed grin. Snape found no comfort in that. He narrowed his eyes and frowned deeply, yanking her hand to drag her away from him.

“I told you what he is, didn't I? September, I told you. Why didn't you believe me?” Snape asked sourly. He was still gripping her arm, “And you're talking to him, as if he's not a…nevermind. We used to be friends.”

“We are friends, Sev-”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I'm not avoiding you,” Lily insisted, “I'm just not keen on the kind of company you keep.”

“They shouldn't bother you,” He responded defensively, “And, I'm not interested in your friends either, you know. I’m lucky mine want me there, I know you were raised by mud- muggles so you don't understand-”

“How could I not understand!” She whispered back, tucking her hair behind her ear in a flash of frustrated movement, “From the moment I got my letter I've been different! And now my best friend thinks I'm different too? You're better than that.”

“You are different.”

“Is that why you're so comfortable calling everyone but me a mudblood?” It seemed that even without full-moon heightened senses, the rest of the table grasped onto that word, and soon heads were turning to face Snape's humiliated face. Mary especially, who, being popular and Muggleborn, was the biggest target for Slytherins, cast a look of sympathy to Lily, leaning her head across the table as if she wanted to dive over it and comfort her immediately.

“It's just a word. You know I'd never mean anything like that, not really,” He said after a while, softer now,like speaking any quieter would do him any good now that all eyes were set on him. All Lily could do was stare.

“I can't talk to you right now, Severus,” Lily sighed, and returned to her seat resting her head in her hands. In a moment of terrible timing, James brushed past her again, and, if he noticed her burying her face into Mary's shoulder once again, he didn't comment on it. Instead his gaze turned straight to Remus.

“Did you hear the shit he said about you?”

“Please don't try anything,” He said worriedly, “He won't be so quiet about…that if he hears you've tried to hex him in defense of me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James realised, pushing his hair back, a notable change compared to his typical cocky ruffle, “How’d you think he'd look with his hair dyed blonde, though Moons?”

“I don't think he'd care nearly as much as you would,” Remus replied, far too tired to play along.

“Nah, I'm not the self-absorbed one, you know that.” James’ face sort of fell when he realised exactly what, or rather, who, that implied. He cleared his throat, “Anyway, I'll meet you before you take care of your furry little problem at four, alright?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“See you then,” James said, “Bye, Lily.”

Mary's head shot up so fast her shoulder nearly smashed into the redhead’s skull.

“Jesus Christ, MacDonald, what is it?” Marlene laughed.

“Did you see him?” She demanded.

“Of course I saw him, he's the size of a wardrobe,” Lily said, confused, and perhaps more than slightly shaken from her conversation with Snape. 

“No, no,” She began smiling excitedly, “You didn't hear? Lily!”

“Can you spit it out,” Marlene interrupted.

“He didn't call you Evans,” Mary whispered.

Incredulous, Lily blinked at her several times before fetching her satchel and promptly leaving. Marlene didn't hesitate to follow her.

“I…um, don't think she was in the mood to hear that,” Remus piped up.

“Maybe not…” Mary visibly deflated, longingly watching the empty space where her friend sat just seconds ago before flicking her gaze sharply to him, panicked, “She's going to be okay, right? I didn't ruin anything?”

“Of course not,” He tried.

“I just really wanted to cheer her up. Snape's not the nicest, even if they've known each other longer than we have, but if James likes her. I don't know,” She sighed, “I want to help her. She's my best friend. Wouldn't you want to help your best friend?”

He remembered how awful he had felt when Sirius and Marlene were going out years ago, just playing at being in love for the drama of it all, but even then it was like suffocating. The thought of actively setting him up with someone? It made him feel sort of nauseous.

“Yes,” He lied instead, taking a sip of his cooling tea to settle the odd feeling sitting heavy in his stomach.

“I asked her to practice with me before I asked Sirius out,” Mary mentioned in a hushed voice, “You don't think that ruined anything, do you?”

Remus almost choked.

“Uh- practice how?”

Her entire face glowed with embarrassment.

“You won't tell anyone, right?” She pressed. He shook his head, still curious, “Kissing.”

“Oh,” He said dumbly, until finally he could muster actual words, “I'm sure that won't change anything…”

Mary seemed to relax hearing that. Before long, she got up to find Marlene and Lily, unaware of the shitstorm of emotions she had left him with.

Was that all that night was to him? Practice for a girl?

Chapter Text

Grey eyes cast rays of scrutiny over his form, shaking with nerves, with want, with need. Sirius grasped his arm, and he felt himself grow limp in his base thoughtless need to follow him. Dragged off into the nearest room, Remus let his head be tilted up to close the four inch difference between them, and as their lips met in a smoke-dazzled dance, he couldn't bear a second of contact before he was gasping, open-mouthed, embarrassed, yes, but it wasn't the shame of their embrace that was making heat rise to his face, it was the sensation of Sirius gliding his hands up his shirt, breaking for air and to nod towards his enchanted bindings, which he hastily removed to touch every inch of skin possible. Merlin, his hands. Those cool rings were making his skin flare up in delight, goosebumps forming, hairs standing up to meld themselves to the air which they both breathed, hot and heavy and tainted with sin, but he wouldn't breathe again if it meant choking beside him.

Sirius traced the topographic map of his skin, and in return, Remus let his own fingers wander, settling on exploring his carved torso, chest defined with muscle and core cradled in softness, a welcome side effect of the weeks away from Grimmauld. As he snaked a hand to his back, he felt their bodies move in rhythmic unison, Sirius pushing into him when he pulled closer, and soon it wasn't only their lips that were deliciously close. His lover's black jeans rutted against him, a certain pressure digging into his own corduroy that made him groan into that smirking mouth. He was desperate now, they both were, hands giving up on gentle touches and resorting to passionate neediness, quick-paced and cloying like the sweat beading at his skin. Fuck, he needed him. Their eyes met, and, only now registering the bed, Sirius guided him from the wall he was thrown against and onto the sheets, laying him down carefully as if he wasn't snogging his brains out ten seconds before. Remus could have watched that man strip all day, first the removal of the leather jacket, then the Queen shirt, the only lapse in eye contact since their lips touched, until finally his leather belt was whipped off.

Slowly, he approached the bed, and in a flash of movement that left Remus practically grinding himself into the duvet for friction, he was on top of him, on his hands and knees like an animal preparing to ravage him. Instead of starting where they both knew it was heading, he felt his mouth open again at Sirius' tongue's request, this time soaking in the taste of Firewhiskey and cigarettes. Patience may have been his strong suit but it definitely wasn't the Black’s, as before long he felt the lonely sting of air settle into his open mouth, only for it to be replaced by a more risky sensation. If he thought his skin couldn't get any more sensitive, he was wrong. Remus' whole body was aflame when those lips meandered down his jaw to his neck to his exposed collarbone, and when Sirius' lips found purchase on it, his head tipped to the side listlessly, freeing up even more skin for his lover to make his. When he felt one hand disappear from his skin, he peered down to see Sirius caressing him with his left and, with his right, he unbuttoned his own jeans, shrugging them off before turning to Remus’ jumper, tongue on him again in seconds. He felt panic rise up amongst…other feelings and raised a hand up in signal.

“I didn't think this far ahead,” He admitted awkwardly.

“That's okay,” Sirius assured him, pausing to sit up, legs still spread as to trap his own between them, and he couldn't help but be grateful. His thighs would've trembled otherwise, he was certain, “I don't mind taking it slow. Like last time, that alright?’

“Yes,” Remus paused, worrying whether or not he should speak up, “I don't really want to take my top off.”

“Scars?” The Animagus guessed, to which he nodded, “Fair enough. Y’know I think you're hot either way.”

“Still…” He pressed, and Sirius immediately waved off any concern or anxiety, praising him for saying so, which made him feel more loved than he ever had been. It washed away all the guilt coursing through him – being this close to a boy, fantasising about this boy in particular, what would his Dad think – and turned him into a fluttery-stomached blushing mess.

“Tell me if you get too hot though,” He winked from his waist.

“Ventus Minima,” Remus replied, and a light jet of wind shot from his wand, which he removed from its place in his pocket and set on the nightstand.

“Very good,” Sirius said, lowering himself once more to pepper kisses below his chest. Reaching his zipper, the black-haired boy grinned and took the button between his teeth, twisting it in his mouth until he pried it undone.

“Do you do that with all the girls?” Remus teased breathily.

“Nah, just my favourite shags,” He lifted his hips up in one hand to ease both his courds and his underwear off of him. Fuck. All reasonable expression was wiped off his face as Sirius’ fingers braced his shoulders and his teeth sunk deep into his vulnerable neck. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Then the wind was gone. In fact, it was silent. Hot breath clouded above him, streaming into his open mouth. The gentle control of Sirius' hands were replaced with something ragged, something primal and painful. Sharp claws raked down his torso, and, though his eyes remained closed, the weight above him was so vastly different, unthinkingly heavy like a hovering hydraulic press, that he just knew something was wrong. A drop of saliva hit his cheek, and he was overcome with the urge to run, run, run. Eyes flashing open, Remus’ mouth contorted into the image of a strangled scream, cut off quickly by a large rough hand.

Greyback was pitched above him, a gun in its holster just itching to fire again. He had been wrong. It wasn't saliva that hit him. It was his own blood. Teeth stained red grinned down at him, that knife of a tongue picking them clean while tainted spit leaked freely from his maw.

“Look at that. My cub’s all grown up,” He snarled. Fear traced Remus’ spine like the slam of piano keys. His muscles tensed as pain flooded his nerves again, the pale flesh of his arm. As those teeth pierced through skin, through blood, through bone, he felt Greyback’s matted hair grind into his chest, sweat soaking his jumper with a mangled dye of his own blood and that of the monster who turned him. His legs kicked out violently, struggling. Hands pinning him into the mattress-forest-floor dug deep into him, nails tearing at all they could reach, blood pooling beneath him. Hands, nails, blood, paws, claws, blood. He couldn't breathe. When the pressure above him settled to a crushing weight, thrashing finally dying down, a massive hunkering wolf was choking him from above, growling. The paw relented its grip on his mouth, scratching down his blood-stained face to sift claws through dirt.

“P-please,” Was all he could muster before the sensation of rending flesh interrupted his words with an echoing scream. It wasn't Greyback that was tearing him apart this time.

The calm off-white of the bedroom was washed away with the haunted growth of Blackthorn trees, stretching up into a tear-blurred canopy. The world seemed so still. And yet inside, his head was burning with pain, nerves alight in every part, screaming out in desperate agony. He craned his neck up until his spine released a sickening crack, muscles convulsing as the skin raised with lengthening, thickening fur, ripping open like a wound reslashed only to be cauterised with oozing blood. It was hell. Remus' senses flooded with the unmistakable stench of wrong. Usually, his eyes would roll back into his head, and consciousness, at least for part of him, would fade like blood in a shower drain. But the black never came. His mind stayed whole, cracked from the unbearable pain but stitched together still, unrelenting, alive, awake. Anger filled his canine eyes. Not his. No. Still the Wolf’s. But…he was there. Festering in the back of his own skull, begging to be let out.

The wolf raised itself up, throwing its packmate off of it in the process. It stunk of hot fresh blood, human but…off. Remus knew the blood to be his, but the wolf didn't. Instead, the wolf followed its snout. More prey was hiding, deep in the forest. The wolf kept walking. Leaves crunched underneath its paws, and slowly, the crisp break of twigs, the squelch of fallen berries into mulch, transformed. It found itself having to weave around forest branches, gnarled and twisted like rope knots. Even the wood smelt different. The creatures inside perhaps, perhaps there were others. Humans. The wolf followed its snout again, all instinct and primal hunger, all want.

Remus watched with fear through inhuman eyes as the wolf dragged in the humans’ smell. Hind legs picking up speed, sprinting full force as dirt sprayed at its claws towards them. Bright light revealed the three of them. A pale, chiseled face. A set of watery eyes. A nest of jet black hair. Claws dive towards them, pouncing before it's- his- its teeth found purchase. Warm blood bloomed on the fur of his face. They screamed out. As did Remus. The wolf didn't list-

He shot up panting.

It was pitch black. The rustle of sheets in the bed beside him was drowned out by the pounding in his ears, the echo of tearing throats and gargling-

Merlin, he couldn't think about that right now.

Breathing shallow and aching, he clutched his chest. He was drenched in a cold sweat. I almost…fuck, I could've, still can. If that happens again. What if…it's going to…

Knees to his chest, he heaved all the black tar thoughts out of his lungs, and wiped tears away with his threadbare pajama sleeves. He was too old to be…having nightmares this intense. Lips locked together in an attempt to quieten down, to sort his ragged breathing before James and Peter woke up.

A whimper left his mouth the second they opened. They deserve to rest, he thought to himself. They don't deserve to see me like this, he meant.

Tears streaming down blotchy cheeks, he shifted in his bed, trying not to make any more noise. Phantom claws twitched at his throat and he couldn't help but flinch. I'm fifteen. Maybe in First Year, but I should be used to this by now. I should be…I shouldn't be so affected.

But if he escaped again, or if someone found him again…fuck, he barely coped in October. Without the false comfort of the knowledge everyone would still be there when it was over, this time with the knowledge that Sirius would be a ghost in their dorm room, unable to understand, unable to forgive his distance. He would…he'd have to…Merlin, he was trying so hard. It came crashing down on him like this so often, the sheer lack that made him shake and cry and want to run all the way to Wales to sob in his Mother's arms like he did after his first full moon. Remus missed it all, before he had made things complicated just by being bitten, before seeing Snape made him feel anything other than dread, before Sirius haunted him in the edge of his vision, when the only betrayal he could possibly picture was a slightly careless, cruel joke. At least then, when he was all venom and smoke billowing out of quirked lips, he was there. That's what mattered. He knew, though it made him nauseous to think about, it wouldn't be long before James realised he'd rather have his best mate there than the sickly little werewolf who needed to cry into his shoulder after nightmares. Before Pete realised he couldn't encourage and applaud someone who only lurked in the shadows of his friends, praying he wasn't provoking suspicion. Before they all just…let the rumours pick at him until he broke. God knows Snape wasn't the only one who suspected something.

Remus tilted his head towards the ceiling, biting hard on his lip, still trembling. It was all too much. He tried not to let it show – even if it was making James suspicious and overbearing, something he had noticed lately – just in case it pushed Snape to…talk. This month had proven that if that morning in the Great Hall was anything to show for it. Through quivering lips, he sucked in a shaky breath.

The mattress creaked to the left of him. His neck whipped towards the sound.

Something shifted under his curtains before disappearing in a swish of black. It almost looked like-

“Remus!” Pete's squeaky voice exclaimed. His eyes shot open to see both him and James standing over his bed. Well, to be fair, Pete was kneeling down about a centimetre from his ear. James was a looming stag with his head poking through his curtains.

“Oh you're up,” He said, transforming into the same messy-haired Potter boy he was much more comfortable with standing near his bed. The giant deer…he would have to get used to it.

“Mhm,” Remus said quickly, swallowing. He was very sweaty, and very red, “I am. If you wouldn't mind closing the-”

“Have you been crying?” Pete blurted out.

He just stared, aghast.

“Leave him alone, Wormy,” James pushed his rat friend out of his view, following suit and spelling the curtains closed for him. When he was...himself enough to step out – still dressed in the worn pajamas his Mum had gifted him last year after a growth spurt – he noted that both boys were perching on their respective beds, silent and sleepy. And it was dark outside.

“Please don't tell me we're using the Cloak again,” Remus pleaded. His eyes were still red and puffy, he was certain of it. They didn't mention it if they noticed. Well, knowing James and Peter, they had probably noticed.

“Course not,” The Chaser said, “We know every inch of the castle by now. No need. And I know you're anti-prank.”

“I'm not anti-prank, I'm just anti…people getting hurt,” Remus amended slightly sourly, “And you're not nearly as funny as you think you are, so most of your pranks are just turning Slytherins’ ties red.”

“Hey, what's wrong with that?” James laughed, aiming his wand at his own tie strewn across the floor and flooding it with silver and green, then back to Gryffindor crimson, “While you were revising, our Wormy said we should work on a spell to turn their robes see-through, the little clever clogs. Hardly all my ideas.”

Remembering the ideas that hadn't been James' in quite a negative light, Remus didn't dignify that with a response. Perhaps Peter was safer, though he didn't exactly believe that the transparent robes trick was entirely his idea – he had been bullied before in Primary, and Remus knew him better than most, that he wouldn't want to be like them – but Sirius…well his idea of fun stung.

“What's Wormy for, then?” He asked quietly instead.

“Oh! It's so cool!” Pete said excitedly, all sleepiness fading as he launched himself off of his bed and began to speak, “You know how we call you Moony and Si- right?”

Remus pretended not to catch the slip of Sirius’ name, “Yes.”

“Well, what does a rat’s tail look like?” James grinned.

“A worm!” The rat animagus finished, “Wormtail. My Marauder codename is Wormtail.”

“That suits you perfectly,” He said genuinely, only to be met with an “Oi!” from Pete, still beaming.

“Right, well, why did you wake me up then? It's about ten o’clock.”

“You have visitors,” said James proudly.

Chapter Text

Narrowing his eyes, Remus felt something hit his foot. He Accio’d it towards him, squinting to read a message on a page of Muggle notebook paper written in Biro.

Get your arse out here, we're going out.

Wear something nicer than your ratty jumpers.

Don't. Bring. Your. Stupid. Friends.

Love L.E.

“Don’t let James see,” Pete whispered warningly.

“Don't let me see what-!” James started, mouth agape the second he saw Lily's initials. He hadn't told anyone about his glaringly obvious crush on her, but seeing him scan the scrap for the same L.E that he doodled on the corner of his parchment in class was quite amusing.

“Bollocks, you've got a date before me!” He guffawed.

“It is not a date.”

“It sort of is,” Peter offered sheepishly.

“Whose side are you on-!” Remus sighed, “Nevermind. I’d like to go.”

The Marauders were his brothers, his best friends. He couldn't really admit the reason it had become so awkward all of a sudden. That being said, he wasn't sure he even knew. They used to be so close…Part of him wanted nothing more than to stay by James’ side, his protector. But the overwhelming majority wanted to shut out the ghostly presence that cloaked that dormitory in guilt. Heart clenching in fear every time they locked eyes, head spiraling that it would happen again, that he couldn't trust the wolf and now he couldn't trust his best friend with it? Merlin, it hurt being in the same room as him. Remus glanced to the only four-poster with the curtains fully drawn. Sirius'.

James looked at him strangely, then patted his arm.

“If you're sure,” He said, sounding a bit too much like his mother, “Keep out of trouble, you hear me?”

“Ah yes, James Potter, famous for keeping out of trouble, wants me to behave myself,” Remus said sarcastically, throwing an old threadbare jumper – well, one of the nicer ones, only two years old instead of almost ten – over himself to at least somewhat disguise the fact he was still dressed for sleep. James, oddly, though that wasn't to say he wasn't one for physical touch, pulled him in and clapped his back, just a second of contact.

“See you soon,” Pete added, rubbing sleep from his eyes. James was much the same. Remus lingered at the threshold for longer than he'd have liked had he been fully conscious. It wouldn't be until later that night that he realised just who he was waiting for a goodbye from.

As soon as he closed the door, he was met at wandpoint by a very elaborately dressed Marlene. Her eyes were shadowed in thick black lines, ending in a sharp point just below her brow. Cropped blonde hair was spiked up with some sort of hair enchantment spell, and he noted that it had definitely gotten shorter since he last saw her. And though the two shared similar tastes, unlike Sirius, – someone he, face growing slightly hot, couldn't help thinking of the moment he saw her outfit – she didn't care much about her appearance, in fact she was rather known for sauntering into the Great Hall with a new look that her friends would complain they had to fix into something slightly more presentable. Beneath her face, dark and serious in a way he had never seen it, she wore a Sex Pistols shirt and a heavily studded leather jacket, complete with ripped black jeans and heavy boots, as were customary in all of her outfits, even uniform.

“Swear you're not the kind of Prefect who’ll snitch,” She said threateningly.

“Jesus, Marls!” Lily stepped in, pushing the girl's wand out of his pallid face.

“Fine, Three Broomsticks, us five, you in?” Marlene amended mischievously, returning the wand beneath his jaw. He nodded, leaning his face slightly away from it, not quite keen on getting his head blown off if something went wrong.

“Grand,” She said, pushing back with her face lighting up in a gap-toothed grin. With that, they began their trail towards…well, Hogsmeade apparently. Remus straightened up slightly, wondering how they could possibly get there, or, rather, how Marlene and her friends could possibly know. They weren't exactly as adventurous as James and his lot were, always looking out for a new hideout in their first years at school, and plunging into secret passageways later on, finding creatures in the forest, brewing potions for pranks, sneaking out with the cloak more times than his stubborn anxiety could handle. Or that's at least what he assumed. Marlene, well…he couldn't speak for her. She was unpredictable to say the least. Mary was quite shy all things considered, yes, popular, but, almost like Peter, she much preferred to stay out of the spotlight, her bubbliness reserved only for friends. And then there was Lily, one of his first friends. Lily, however witty and fun she was when they were alone, had quite the reputation of being a Teacher's Pet. This year, becoming a Prefect had only made her more of a stickler for rules, and with her OWLs coming up, it was safe to say she was prioritising academics over anything else. Definitely over sneaking out with her friends to some dinghy pub. This kind of behaviour seemed odd. And it was January! Only four months until the start of their exams, so…

Oh.

“Happy birthday, Lily,” He said, smiling softly, if a bit surprised.

“Thanks,” She was grinning, looking up at Marlene then slightly down to Mary. Merlin, he never had been able to kill off that simpering little voice crying out that he was intruding. This wasn't his group. It wasn't right. He loved them, of course he did, but he couldn't shake the pack instinct that he was missing something, missing them. Him. His eyes drifted to the door, only to lock back onto the trio.

“Sorry I didn't get you anything,” Remus confessed, face burning with guilt.

“Didn’t you?” She teased, “Stop looking so scared, it's just a day. I'll just return the favour for you in March.”

“How shall I cope?” He said, smiling slightly bashfully.

“Hopefully well enough to get absolutely smashed,” Marlene interjected.

It was strange, walking these familiar hallways in such a different pattern. The McKinnon girl lead them, and, as he watched the dark outline of her figure move indistinctly, Remus quickly noticed she had taken a moment to remove her shoes, and was carrying them under her arm. It was much quieter, he supposed, but he couldn't deny her efforts had made him that much more conscious of his own lack of vigilance. Sneaking out with the boys so often under the protection of the cloak was making him lazy. Thankfully, it was all too easy to remind himself just what would happen if he got distracted. If he let down his guard. Remus lowered his head to the ground, and cast a simple silencing spell over the four of them under his breath.

Behind her, Lily was catching up. She had squeezed his hand gently, a sweet alternative to tapping his knee when they weren't sitting, and skipped past him and Mary for a muffled conversation with Marlene. That left him with the last of the group. She smiled warmly at him, and he did his best to match it.

“Has Lily told you…much about tonight?” Mary asked. She sort of lingered over her words, selecting them carefully. It made him a bit nervous, since she was known for her lack of filter, but he tried to reassure himself she was harmless. Not someone gunning for his secrets, not someone he had become too careless around. Not another Sirius. Just a polite girl, resorting to small talk while her real friends chatted up ahead. Harmless, he repeated internally.

Externally, his breathing was coming out as an anxious tea-kettle whistle, and he looked mad staring at her mouth agape.

“Oh! Um, nothing weird, just, I didn't know if it was a surprise,” She explained.

“Surp- oh. Yes, I didn't- I didn't know,” Remus cursed under his breath. Weird.

“Okay! It's going to be exciting then!” She said, grinning.

Remus tried to mentally list all the things they could possibly do at the Three Broomsticks that could be described as exciting. Chips were at the top of his list. If he were with painfully eager Third Year Sirius, there would probably be some flirting with the barmaid, or with James, maybe tying together a visiting Professor’s shoelaces with a charm and running away. He looked back with a nauseating mix of fondness and embarrassment.

Now, there was no way of knowing what to expect.

He came to an abrupt halt as Marlene, then Lily, then Mary, all stopped in front of a grand door.

Above him, a stone ceiling loomed.

The Dungeons.

Specifically, the Slytherin common room.

With one glance to the others, Mary took a piece of scrap parchment from her cardigan pocket and crouched down, slipping it just barely under the door. A spell escaped her lips, and without a trace of movement from her, it rushed the rest of the way under. Remus’ ears perked up as it softly fell to the ground a few metres from the door, and just moments later, footsteps began to approach them. He took a cursory step back. The girls didn't.

A surprisingly well-dressed Dorcas emerged from the doorway. It seemed not everyone was as much of a last-minute addition as him.

“Cas!” Marlene raced forward to scoop up Dorcas into a tight embrace.

“Hello, beautiful,” She responded, voice low and hushed.

“Um,” Mary interrupted, “I don't mean to interrupt.”

“Never,” Marlene said sarcastically, still stamping kisses onto Dorcas’ cheeks.

“But it's sort of Lily's birthday, and we sort of have to get going.”

“Sort of?” Lily said.

“Mhm.”

“Fine, but only ‘cause I love you so much, Lils,” Marlene relented. They began to walk. The couple were just in front of him, with Lily leading this time, and Mary trailing beside him.

“Who were you visiting?” He heard the blonde girl whisper.

“Pan,” Dorcas said, “She says she heard something about her friend. The one I told you about.”

“Fucking hate him. Little pureblood twat.”

“I don't understand why she's so attached. He hurts her time and again, but she just-”

“Remus?”

A voice from his right snapped him out of his eavesdropping.

“Sorry?”

“Marlene’s not going to ask you, she's too proud,” Mary confessed. He squinted his eyes in confusion, “But I can tell she doesn't know where we're going.”

“To Hogsmeade?” Remus guessed. He hadn't noticed that while Mary was talking, Lily had hung back, standing at his left.

“Funny that. She reckons your group know all the secret passages,” She was smiling now, mischievous and bright-eyed, “I wonder if a certain member of that group could tell us if that's true.”

“Well, I've been sworn to secrecy.”

“Really? Because she swore she saw Peter Pettigrew disappearing behind the one-eyed witch statue,” Lily said with mock accusation. As they turned the corner, Mary gasped and tapped his arm, urging him towards it.

“That would be helpful, if someone knew how they managed it,” Mary said, gazing up at him hopefully, “Remus, would you know how he managed it?”

“Certainly not by tapping the hump with your wand, for example, like this, though I wouldn't know, of course.”

“Of course,” Dorcas said slyly.

“And making sure to cast Dissendium.”

“Whatever that means. Sounds like a whole lot of nonsense,” Lily smirked as she crawled through the opening in the hump.

With the whole group inside, they mostly travelled in silence through the tunnel. It took almost an hour of walking, which he was glad for, even though it did remind him of all the times he, James, Peter and Sirius had ventured through it. And it was nice at least to have some form of expertise: when Marlene suggested they speed up the journey by flying through on their brooms, he fortunately knew exactly how that would end. James' nose, still slightly crooked from putting off healing it, would remind him of that forever.

Remus knew it well – it was the passageway they had found first after all, he and Peter sometime in Second Year with just their wands to light them and only the crippling anxiety of being caught halfway to motivate them – but the girls less so. He had to stop himself from hanging back, waiting for James to assess the area before letting the rest of them climb through.

Wait. His heart caught in his throat.

Honeydukes had been closed for hours by then. And they didn't have the cloak.

Remus tried the hatch, sighing in resignation when the pitch black basement was revealed to him.

“Lily?” He said through a wince. She was at his side immediately, “It’s all locked up. And I don't know if I'm prepared to get arrested for breaking into a sweet shop.”

He half-expected her to conjure up some mad plan that he'd been left out of the loop about, a bottle of polyjuice stashed away in her cardigan, something or other, but instead she just stared in thought before looking down at Mary.

“You're better at charms than I am,” Lily said pleadingly.

In an instant, Mary climbed through to the basement, casting Lumos to light her way.

“I thought you said I shouldn't doubt your charms abilities?” Remus leaned over to Lily and whispered.

“Shut up.”

“Have we tried Alohomora?” The shorter girl asked.

“No, but that doesn't exactly fix that we'll be seen as soon as we leave,” He said gently.

“Oh! That's easy!” Mary excitedly scuttled down from where she had been inspecting the door and pointed her wand at him.

“This is going to feel weird, alright?” She warned.

“Um…alright.”

With a simple tap to his forehead, he immediately became overwhelmed with the strangest sensation he'd ever experienced from a spell. It was as if a raw egg had been cracked on his skull, and was steadily flowing down the length of his body to his toes. In just a moment, he felt the effects dissipate, and held out his hand to look.

He was invisible!

Well, almost.

His body blended in with the darkness behind him, and as Mary directed a second Lumos spell to him, he watched his torso softly glow as if he were transparent. When he came back to reality, she was giggling, hand clamped over her mouth.

“It's never worked that well!”

“What?”

“Don't worry. Who's next?”

-

With everyone appropriately camouflaged, Mary unlocked the door. It was dark inside, and through the massive shopfront windows they could see an empty street, still pecked with snow and frost from the fading Winter. They weren't much concerned with the task of getting out yet. Lily, ever the sensible one, held out an arm to shush the group’s whispering, and listened closely. Remus heard nothing. Pure silence save for the sharp inhale of baited breath.

Something shuffled beside them. Then the creak of a door. His breath hitched.

“What was that?” Dorcas said lowly, and he could hear, in such a crowded space, her heart rate quicken.

“Just a rat,” He answered. Peter had made certain he knew exactly what they sounded like. A trip to the Forbidden Forest where he had got lost and they had brought back a mouse instead of their animagus friend was enough to scare them into learning the difference.

“Are you sure?” Mary said, taking a tentative step back.

“It did sound like it came from over there. There's bound to be another exit, let's go,” Marlene offered.

“There’s no-one here,” He assured her. Understandably, all but Lily seemed to doubt him. She gave him a knowing look, and reached out to squeeze his arm. His ears flushed. Of course they couldn't hear it properly.

“Remus has rats back home, that's why he knows the sound so well!” Lily swept in cheerily, leading him to sigh in relief. They'd listen to her. They wouldn't pry if she brushed it off. He had nothing to…nothing to worry about.

But he couldn't shake the feeling of suspicion boring into him. Remus swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to muster up an explanation.

“Oh, as well as rabbits?” Mary wondered aloud, and he couldn't help but laugh. Lily had said that was the rumour.

“Yes!” He rushed out, “It probably knocked over one of the products at the lower shelf. They…they do that.”

Desperate to get any focus off of him, he cast a quick spell and, crouching down, pointed a soft beam of light at where he last heard the little creature. A display case of sweets was illuminated, and, sure enough, a bar of chocolate had fallen on the floor. He put it back on its shelf, and, ignoring the crack of his knees, stood up, a shaky breath at his nervously smiling mouth.

The rest of the journey had much less fanfare. They took a back alley behind one of the nearby shops and, with only one or two near misses when the spell began to wear off, they were there. Marlene lead them to scurry behind the pub first to shake away the last of the effects.

“Happy Birthday, Gwendolyn Natter,” Dorcas said. In her hand was a series of parchment notes all covered in information. She handed out the first to Lily, who covered her mouth the moment she started to read.

“I'm a magizoologist visiting Hogsmeade to study Nifflers. I was born in Cornwall to two broomstick makers and studied at Beauxbatons until last year. I despise Quidditch, and my zodiac sign is Taurus- was that last bit really necessary, Cas?”

“Yes,” She said flatly, “Mary, I hope you like Kneazels because you own a sanctuary, and you're starting to get tired with the lack of business lately.”

Dorcas continued to pass out their identities for the night. Mary was Odette Croakley, a home-schooled witch who was due to marry her Hufflepuff boyfriend in August. Marlene was Trinity Defessus, Trin for short, and she specialised in enchanting music to spread images in the listener's mind. While she was at Hogwarts, she stole Albus Dumbledore’s hat, and transfigured it into an earring. Dorcas herself took the role of Cyril Bleaktree, a wonderful young Bristolian aspiring writer of a non-fiction book about the artistry of wandmaking. She always paid exclusively in sickles and enjoyed medieval jousting just slightly too much.

When the roles were acquired, Remus looked around with a twinge of disappointment.

"Am I just me then?” He said, trying not to betray anything in his voice.

Dorcas hung her head slightly before responding, “Well, Lily only told me you would be joining us earlier today, so it's not as refined.”

“What d’ya mean ‘not as refined’ I put my heart and soul into that note-!” Marlene shrieked playfully before he cut her off.

“It’s no trouble,” Remus reached out in expectation for the last piece of paper in her hand, thanking her when she passed it.

Name: Harker E. Tibbling

Occupation: Potioneer

Very funny, he thought to himself. Ah. Remus read on a bit. He could clearly see where Marlene’s focus was.

Background: Vampire. SEXY vampire. Nightclub owner or some shit. You're a potioneer nightclub owner. Makes magical cocktails love potion ? Not getting into the ethics of that. Normal potioneer. Muggle? Fuck that. Vampires are boring. You can't say that about a whole race of people, it's cruel. They fucking bite people. Not even like you and I do

“Oh, um, I just remembered!” Dorcas snatched the letter away, face flushing, “That was the-”

“Practice sheet,” Marlene added, gleeful at making her lover blush.

“-Yes. You're Mary's Hufflepuff boyfriend,” She amended, looking very much like, even in the cold weather, she needed about twenty cooling spells to stop her from overheating, “So. Kneazels for you too. Enjoy.”

Dorcas quickly ran into the inn, and they all followed after her. He had never been here so late, at least not without Polyjuice. The barmaid glared, scrutinizing them under her raised brows.

“Hello,” The Ravenclaw girl greeted, sickles in hand.

“Evenin’” She grunted, returning to cleaning a glass with an untrustworthy looking grey cloth, “Shouldn't you lot be at school?”

“School? We all passed our NEWTs last year,” Lily joined in. She had pushed her hair behind her and wrapped her scarf even tighter around herself in an attempt to conceal her childlike features.

“Oh really?”

They all nodded in varying levels of believability.

“We’re out for a drink to celebrate!” Mary chipped in.

“Celebrating leaving school? Last year?” She smiled, catching on.

At the table, they all sourly sipped on their butterbeers, which were as alcoholic as you could get under the watchful eye of, in Marlene's words, the bastard barmaid who can't get the stick out of her arse long enough to turn a blind eye to minor crime. Remus reached in for a chip from the dwindling newspaper in the middle of the table.

“What was your plan exactly?” Lily asked.

“Yeah, what did the names have to do with…anything?” Mary trailed off, tracing the rim of her drink.

“I just thought it would make it easier to get away with it. I don't like lying,” Dorcas confessed, “And, Marlene's banned here-”

“What?” Remus nearly spat out his drink.

“Oh, shite, did I forget to say- yeah, I threatened to hex the barman, not this one, she's the nice one-”

“The one you said had a stick up her arse is the nice one?” Lily demanded.

“I mean, yeah, the other one was- there's the cunt!” Suddenly, Marlene shouted “Accio Firewhiskey” and, grabbing the last of the chips, sprinted out. Remus stared at the tall, dark-haired man passing through the pub carrying a tray of pea soup, who pulled his wand out, face contorted in a wrinkled mess of shock and rage.

“Remus, you idiot-!” Lily grabbed his arm and soon they were sprinting through the streets cackling, until their ribs ached and their breath was half-coughing half-panting, until they finally came to rest at the edge of an old rickety fence at the bottom of a hill. Secluded and out of sight from handsome pub staff, they caught their breath sitting against it.

“You are such a- a toerag, Marlene!” Lily laughed, running a hand down her bright red face.

“I got us free alcohol, you should be thankful!”

“Thankful that I'm probably banned from the one good pub in miles!”

Remus wasn't catching his breath. He brought his knees to his head, heaving, trembling, heart racing as he tried to keep his focus on the thin blanket of pure white crystals underneath him. On his friends. On the slope that lead them to the fence. His chest began to ache, fluttered with poison from a lifetime of fear and the echoes of his own guilty thoughts. He couldn't hear now, let alone see. All that broke through was the crack-stab-pain of memory and phantom agony as Mary pointed out what he had known since they offered a night at the Three Broomsticks.

“Is that the Shrieking Shack?”

“Aye, so it is? Have you not been?” Marlene said, tutting, “It's just an old house, scratched up and that.”

“It's really nothing special,” Lily patted her friend gently on the arm, “And I doubt there's ghosts. It's more likely it's…”

“Werewolves!” Marlene roared.

He could feel Lily's gaze flick to his forehead a fraction of a second. He couldn't breathe. He could barely react, and before he knew where his own even were, Lily's hands were cradling his carefully, as if he was made of glass.

“Do you need to go home?” She whispered.

“...ruined your night,” He muttered.

“Never,” She breathed, and he found himself standing with her, dragged up before his body could plant immovable weights at his feet like panic attacks did ordinarily. Remus blinked in the direction of the Shack. They were moving away from it. They were leaving…

While her friends talked quietly up ahead, Lily leaned in, holding his hand in an act of gentle, effortless support.

“Did you see Sirius?” She guessed.

“No, I just….” Remus took a deep breath, ignoring the pain tearing up his throat, threatening to make tears spill, “That's where it happens.”

Lily stopped walking.

“Oh.”

She wrapped her arms around him, and he found himself collapsing awkwardly into her, “I know I've told you, but I really don't mind. I don't like seeing you hurt, mind you, but you're such a lovely friend. Something like that is nothing.”

“Just didn't want- hm,” He gathered his thoughts, wiping the tears on his now-not-so-nice jumper sleeve, “what if they found out-?”

“If they said anything, I would hex them, and they wouldn't say anything like that again,” She warned darkly.

“You're starting to sound like James,” He laughed through a sniffle.

“Ugh, do not say that prat’s name to me,” Hearing his voice soften, she paused before speaking again, “I thought you were being sensitive again.”

“What do you- oh.”

Remus suddenly was struck by the unforgettable image of the barman before he pulled his wand. Long black hair. Lean but strong arms. Pale. Blue-eyed. Stunning. Almost, like…

“Fuck.”

“Realised it yet?”

Remus held his head in his hands.

Chapter Text

Down the stairs. Cross at the second flight – third flight, perhaps, or even the fourth, depended if he was counting up or down – down the corridor and, fuck, that's not right. Up a flight. Catch that one just as it began to move. Close one. Down the stairs, two flights this time. Then flat ground. And walk. The corridors were endless. Well, at least to him. Sirius meandered aimlessly through the halls, swaying as his mind swam with thoughts. A bottle of something or other that he had smuggled from Grimmauld however long ago it was glugged in his left hand, spitting on the floor in a trail of bitter mistakes.

Ancient doors swung open at his wand’s lazy command, and soon he was trudging through the snow fallen grounds. He lifted the bottle to his cracked lips. Rich, expensive wine flooded his tongue. Goblin-made, possibly a hundred years old, and certainly costing twice that in galleons. Sirius took another swig. He was getting sort of tired of the taste of Firewhiskey. The burn had stopped feeling like remorse and started feeling too close to hope. That was useless as far as he was concerned. This would be the one useful thing he had done since before the prank. Maybe ever. Another glug. A pleasant buzz was starting to bloom inside him, and though his limbs weren't quite lead, his fingers began to slip, his grip on the bottle faltering.

Instead, the wine just tasted like distance. His mother wasn't a drunk, but he pictured her best with a wine glass of some description balanced in his elegant hands. Still, it wasn't that kind of distance. More of a disconnect. The fuzziness helped him not to think. For that he was thankful.

James' mother had been drinking wine in the Summer, rosé, he thought, on evenings where the lake would shimmer with a pastiche of the sunset, when she and Fleamont spent most of their time in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth of something pure and true. But now, he couldn't quite grasp the bliss that he had witnessed that night, even then desperate to hold on despite being blind to his own hands tearing him away from it. Maybe, the rest of him was just too strong to shut everything out. So he became numb.

Not just my brain that's wrong. Rest of me’s cursed too.

The willow was in sight now, its great branches whacking peacefully in mid-air, as if it were a sleeping cat dreaming of catching mice. He fumbled for a stick on the ground and prodded the knot, causing it to stop thrashing and allow him to run through to the passageway.

The waning crescent disappeared from view as the darkness of the passageway shrouded him, and before he could think, guilt tearing up the haze of drunkenness bubbling within him, he stopped. His eyes traced the passage. Lumos. Blood and dirt mingled together on the floor, flecking every surface in a thousand ways.

He remembered watching under the cloak as Remus was carried out of the shack at thirteen, blood seeping into the floor from an oozing gash at his leg. The trail of dried crimson still remained. And as he finally gathered the strength to keep moving, for Remus if not for him, splatters of viscera, dead animals they had caught in animagus form crushed under the paws of a wolf.

That had been the first time they had seen him transformed, and not seen the shy tawny-haired boy that visited his mother once a month under it all. When Remus had woken up the next morning, bruised, yes, but light, like he was tasting freedom for the first time, tasting hope and warmth and trust, he had asked, inevitable worry crawling back into his bones, whether he thought he was a monster yet. As if anything could shake his determination. As if any amount of blood could change his mind. Remus was beautiful. Kind, and clever, and witty, and honestly too anxious for his own good. That had never wavered in his opinion.

Yet, he couldn't help but think, if he had stayed scared of him, would Remus be happy again, sitting with all four of them in the dormitory, laughing, weightless and free as he once was.

Wasn't it funny? No matter how much he hurt for it, it would never erase what he did. The blood was there to prove it after all. He could bite and scratch and drink himself to death, but Remus was the embodiment of that memory. He wore his fear like a second skin, his guilt marring him deeper than any scar could. It was obvious how much he had damaged him. Broken, carelessly like a petulant child smashing a toy so no one else could have it. Remus lived everyday with the consequence of Sirius' foolishness branding him from the inside out. He wanted so desperately to magic him better, or to glue the pieces together, to stitch his wounds. He was done feeling sorry for himself.

But still…the fear on Remus' face was burned into his memory.

He resolved to never make him feel like that again.

The entrance of the shack met him with tired resignation. He crossed the threshold.

When empty, it was almost ordinary. The furniture was put back into place after every moon, lest the townspeople grow suspicious that someone other than ghosts was staying there, and the scratches, the blood, the dirt…well, from this angle, Sirius could force himself to forget the crushing bones and ripping throats and…

That night. From this angle, Sirius could almost pretend everything went how it was supposed to.

That instead of nearing new, the moon was full and he was leaving a book in the wardrobe Remus left his clothes in, something to keep him occupied while he waited for the clouds to part.

He kneeled down by the crumbling fireplace, pulled a piece of lined notebook paper Remus had gifted him to encourage his love for all things muggle, and began to write. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to explain.

-

The next flight of stairs spiralled up, and as his body toppled over step after step, he found himself losing balance, gripping the wall to catch his breath and sinking down to rest on thousand-year old wood, a strange laugh choked in his throat.

No coming back this time. When James said that he probably didn't think it'd take me this long to step up and fucking do it.

The wine was starting to hit. He wasn't immune to it after all.

Straining to his feet, he dragged himself across the wall and to the balcony, the whole world stretching out beneath him. Unthinking, he shot a spell out, sparks of light bursting out and soaring into the sky. It wasn't a black void of a night, and Sirius was no longer freshly sixteen, but he still felt sort of dead. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he felt more alive than ever. And even drunk, perhaps his mind was the clearest it had ever been. A lifelong decision strung out like the string of a violin beckoned him to look down. The stars alighting the sky faded into hills, then trees, then grass, all intertwined and connected.

Maybe his supernova didn't have to happen at the same pace as his family. The ground could provide just as deserving and as fitting an end as the sky would. He never much liked the tapestry anyway.

Trembling with anticipation, all business finished in the stroke of a pen, Sirius swung his legs over the ledge, and drew a breath. Warmth fogged at his lips.

“What are you doing?” A flat voice called from behind him. He flinched and dropped the bottle. Fuck. Annoyed, Sirius turned to see who had ruined his night.

Oh.

Regulus.

"You don't need to throw away your chances any more than you've already done,” He continued, walking closer.

"That's not particularly comforting, Reg,” Sirius mumbled.

"I don't need to be." The younger brother stated evenly. As he climbed back, head hung low, he couldn't quite see the sharpness in his blue-grey eyes, or the way he stood back an inch too far, or the disgust in his voice. What he could see, just barely, was a pale, twitching hand reaching for his wrist. Sirius met his eyes, confused.

“What's wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” He responded defensively, lips tightly pursed.

“Lucius Malfoy used to do that,” He didn't break eye contact, prying the discomfort out of him, practiced and threatening. If he was wrong, Regulus would prove it to him. Please prove me wrong, “everyday, for weeks until the end of school. He'd duel anyone who mentioned it, and he'd win.”

“What does that have to do with anything-”

“Lucius Malfoy’s a Death Eater now,” Sirius finished, aching to tear the nonchalance and boredom from his brother's face. They were too fucking similar sometimes, he hated to admit, but he was not going to let his brother fuck his life over just like him. If Regulus wouldn't let him go, then he wouldn't fucking go, “So tell me,” he stepped forward, reaching for his wand, “that you're not that fucking stupid.”

"You could have joined too. Mother offered in your First Year for you to join Slytherin, be her heir again. Return to how everything was when we were children,” Regulus never faltered, never let the mask slip. He just stood there, perfect posture, holding his gaze like the words that left his mouth weren't poison.

"I can't believe you. Just because you were some golden child who never saw the end of Mum's wand doesn't mean it was all fine back then-!”

"Then why am I any different to them? If you knew that we're so different you never would've come crying to me on your birthday, you never would've apologised,” Regulus bit back, “You were lonely. You know you'll be worse off if you don't take the opportunity, you and I both know that.”

"You're different because you're my brother. How is that so hard to understand? Is staying on their good side worth losing that shit again?” Sirius snarled, “You ignored me for years because you believed that I cast fucking shame on our stupid house, and when I think you've changed...you join them? Them? The same people our vile parents worship!”

"Do not call them vile. They are honouring our sacred values, something you would know if you listened for one second-”

"You sound fucking brainwashed!” He laughed, delirious.

"They are our parents.”

"Exactly," Sirius pleaded, as if it was that simple, as plain as the mad desperation in his eyes.

"I'm not defying them, Sirius,” He said after a moment of deafening silence.

"Why the fuck not? Are you a coward now too?" He cackled incredulously, wand at his throat.

"I'm not defying them because they didn't force me.”

Sirius' grin fell like a body from a balcony. It was replaced by the heat of anger and disgust. This wasn't his brother anymore. That was fine. He was certain that he wasn't Regulus' brother either. Just enemies with the same face, haunting each other's memories. He gathered the strength to respond, but all that could come out was hatred.

"What?”

"I decided on my own. I'm going to become a Death Eater, honour our family values, and rid Mudblood scum from the world,” He said calmly. Something inside Sirius broke hearing that. The dam burst. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? What happened? You used to be an idiot, and you- you used to be soft but Christ, you really believe all this shit! You listened to me sob last Christmas and you, what, agreed with them? The whole time?” Sirius exploded, his wand tip rigging into his traitorous neck, “You're pathetic. You're not my brother.”

"I never wanted to be,” Regulus said, unaffected.

"Well I never wanted to be yours either, thanks, but I guess we're stuck like this,” He breathed out.

"I'm not. Mother is burning your face off the tapestry as we speak. I told her about your half breed friend,” He finally smiled, almost proud. Sick, twisted-

"No…no you didn't. Remus doesn't deserve to be dragged into any of our shit, don't you dare!” Tears gathered in his eyes. He felt like he was drowning, like every emotion he had locked up inside these past months was echoing out of him weeks late. The thought of Remus being in any Death Eater's mind made him sick.

"She gave you a choice. You were too prideful to take it,” The Slytherin stepped back, wiping his hands of the mess he caused.

"I hate you.”

"Goodbye Sirius.”

As the last of him disappeared down the staircase, Sirius sprinted, heart in his throat and wand at the ready. Teeth flashed into a primal smile when a look of surprise crossed his brother's face, if only for a moment.

"You're not just walking away like nothing happened. You just fucking can't, that's insane! We are not our family,” He growled.

"I am. What now? What are you planning on doing, hexing me?”

Sirius couldn't tell why, but he lowered his wand. His brother just smirked in response.

"I thought so.”

"Am I the only one who knows?”

"Pandora figured it out last night.”

"And you're fine with that?”

"She shouldn't have been caught up in this, it's family business really. But she knew that. It's her own fault for becoming attached,” He looked up at him strangely. It was a look he had seen people dressed in his same clothes give to Lily, to Mary, even to James, the blood-traitor. A look that spoke nothing but misfortune over having to see something so shameful. Like finding scum on the bottom of new dress shoes. 

"You are a cruel bastard.”

"No. You might not have said it but you know the real issue, Sirius. You're right. We aren't children anymore. We just can't be on the same side. We've given you every chance not to get caught up in the forthcoming. What happens next is not my fault. If you and her were too blind and naive to see it, well I pity you. Goodbye, Sirius.”

He swiftly turned on his heel, and, well, if he heard what Sirius shouted after him, he didn't show it.

For the second time that night, he sunk down to the wall. This time, he didn't have wine, or the odd comfort of knowing he was a step away from never feeling again, if he chose to, if he needed it. He only had a voice in his head begging him to act. For Remus. Wand poised, he whispered a spell, and waited with baited breath.

For him.

Chapter Text

It was late, the sky pitch black and spilling stars out like drops of ink, and though technically not Lily's birthday anymore, she had confided in them that she had never had such a good one. Half-listening, he gathered that Marlene had bought her some antique rings and a gorgeous new visor beret, Mary had gifted her a muggle perfume – which must've been expensive from the way that Lily gasped when she saw the brand – plus a box of fizzing whizzbees and lastly from Dorcas, she received a pair of intricate silver and aventurine earrings that transformed into twin metallic pygmy puffs much like her own dragon ring. She squeezed his hand as they snuck back into Hogwarts through the passage. It didn't make him feel any less guilty. In fact, that was just one of the many emotions tormenting him. The most prominent one being that he was absolutely, entirely certain that he was just slightly head over heels in love with Sirius.

Remus dragged his protesting body step after step. At least the contact was nice. Grounding. He was sure he would be having some sort of nervous breakdown on the floor half a mile back if she wasn't so good at reading people. Every time his breath began to hitch she would hang back, smoothing over the scarred skin of his hand with her thumb, whispering nonsense to bring him back to Earth.

What didn't help, if he was being perfectly honest, was the fact she couldn't stop talking about it.

“I'm pretty sure we all knew,” She continued, “You're not exactly subtle and I know from experience you cannot lie, Jesus Christ, you're bad at that.”

“Mhm,” He strained out, flushing brighter than he ever had.

“But I think it's wonderful, you know, breaking out of your shell-”

“I'm pretty comfortable in my shell actually.”

“- and if you tell him, which you have to-” She urged, “maybe you wouldn't feel so guilty all the time. I'd love to see you happier, Remus, really.”

“It's not that easy. Nothing's ever easy with me,” He mumbled.

“Love isn't easy either, furry little problem or not,” Lily said softly, “You're not a difficult person to love. And if love is difficult for you, I promise it's not because you're undeserving or you ruin everything. It's because you can't accept it.”

“You're single too,” He pointed out.

“I know that, silly,” She laughed, “You think…other types of people don't go through the same thing?”

“Well, it's not just that I'm…different,” He started, fiddling with his jumper sleeves, “It's more…um…”

“Sirius is a dick? And you've fallen out with him, and you haven't spoken in months, but you still love him? Did I get it?” She said, smiling quizzically.

“Most of it, yeah,” He forced out, pinching his brow.

“The other bit?”

“We fell out because,” Remus took a deep breath. He couldn't believe he hadn't told her. It felt like he was tumbling into another lie, Second Year all over again. But this time it wasn't his friends’ trust he was betraying. It was himself, somehow split between the rose-tint of love and the crushing reality of what Sirius has done to him. He sighed once more, hands trembling, “because he told Snape about the Shack. And he saw me. He-he-”

Lily swallowed him up in an embrace, allowing him to sob into her dress like the pain was fresh instead of months old. The fact he hadn't admitted it out loud hit him with the force of a hundred Stupefys. Maybe the wound hadn't healed yet.

“He almost died, Lily!”

“Remus, it's okay,” She consoled him. Her whole body was warm despite the Winter chill, and she muttered something indistinguishable but just as comforting into him. Moments passed, blurred and uneasy in his stomach. It felt like hours before he could speak again.

“I think I forgive him,” He muttered, after the moment had settled into comfortable, easy silence, as if everything he had been hiding inside himself was released, like rain filtering through the bars of a storm drain, and all he could do was watch helplessly, almost relieved when the sky cleared and he was left feeling shaky, but whole, save for the dampness on his cheeks making his skin itch.

“Even after what happened?” She asked, and inside, he felt an answer so unshakable form itself on his tongue before he could think. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to do this months ago, to give into the guilt and to meet Sirius with his tail between his legs, to finally voice the sick, fear-twisted urge that it was all his fault for being like this, that he couldn't fault him, really, for treating him like a monster when he swore he only saw human, to pray that he was forgiven for making a fuss, and life could return to some semblance of normal.

But months had passed, and as much as he still felt like an open wound in the dormitory, watching curtains close and never reopen, he felt more whole, more human than he ever had. He didn't need to make excuses in order to forgive him. It was well and truly fucked what Sirius did to him.

More importantly, if making a fuss was the only way for him to see how deeply he could hurt people, Remus was sort of glad he hadn't been forced back into normalcy.

That didn't exactly mean he was perfectly fine either. He still felt guilty. And he still felt betrayed. And it still ached like a thousand full moons to think of that night. Talking wouldn't hurt though. He didn't have to pretend nothing happened, and he didn't have to spend another night spiralling, hating himself, paranoid in case his secret got out, whether that be from Snape, or from Sirius.

He just needed to talk.

Confronting the lovesick feeling in his chest could come later.

Remus swallowed a lump in his throat, and pulled himself away from Lily, grateful she had allowed him to be in his own head for a little while. He nodded, an answer to a question he couldn't fully remember, and her face broke out into a soft smile.

“Are you two planning on catching up anytime soon?” Marlene called out.

“Coming!”

-

Within a few minutes they were back at the One-Eyed Witch statue.

“Well, I suppose that was a successful trip,” Dorcas said, everyone meeting her with slightly queasy agreement, from the looks of the half-empty Firewhiskey in Marlene's hand. The Ravenclaw departed nearer to her own Tower, while they trudged on with the help of another disillusionment charm, cast in a rush when they caught a glimpse of the caretaker rounding the corner. Remus kept his eyes trained on the floor as they chatted quietly.

He stopped.

Blood. Rich, dark blood staining the stone, drawn out like a holy symbol slashed from a wrist.

Remus sucked in air through his teeth, eyes wide and helpless.

Lumos.

Lily turned around and approached him curiously.

“Are you alright?” She whispered, careful not to break his focus. He was fighting the urge to use his abilities to their fullest extent, instead staring pointedly at the splatter as if the mere act of eye contact would pry answers out of it. Blood was an easily discernible thing. He was familiar with it, his own more than most. Others’…took time to decipher. He knew he could, it was just…well, he didn't want to look suspicious. A strange boy lurking in the corner was one thing. That same boy crouching down and breathing in the scent of blood and, what, following it? Leading a group of girls who would much rather go to bed on a wild goose chase around the castle like an amateur detective was truly another. He was already odd. He didn't need that.

But he didn't need anyone to be hurt either.

The damage was done for the prank. This, this could still be helped.

Remus crouched down, shining his wand onto it.

Hold on…

“It's just wine,” He muttered, “That doesn't make any sense.”

“Who's drinking wine at three in the morning? At school?” Lily asked, her almond eyes narrowed.

“To be fair, Lils, we're not far off,” Marlene said, “Lead anywhere?”

“Um…maybe. I'll check,” Remus waved the light over the floor again, following its mark. The pools grew smaller, until they were drips blotting out cracks in the stone every few steps. The grand wooden doors to the Gryffindor common room faced him, the last splatter a streak of crimson far to the left, as if it had flown straight from the bottle as the drinker burst through.

“Oh,” He said dumbly, “I'm afraid I- No, no. I have to leave. I need to leave.”

“Remus, you don't have to-” Lily began.

“I can't- I can't not,” He said almost pleadingly, “It's him. I don't really have a choice.”

She looked at him strangely, like the half-second between realisation and confrontation, all soft and tired as melting ice, before listing her head towards the Fat Lady and mumbling the password. Graciously, she allowed him a second to gather himself, though he missed the sight of her holding the door, smiling as way of beckoning him inside. The clank of wood shook him out of his thoughts. He took a shaky breath.

The door swung open the moment the password left his lips, and before a silencing charm could leave his wand he was running, up the stairs winding towards the dorm, into it and turning the light on.

“Remus?” James groaned, voice thick and hoarse with sleep.

“Sorry!” He rushed out. Sirius' bed was there. Right fucking there. He felt like his heart might explode. Memories flooded him like flushing skin, and before the rational part of him could catch up he was pulling open the curtains. Empty. Made, and empty. Arguably worse. He ignored his knees and flung himself to the ground, searching each drawer, finding less and less each time. Dust clung to his nose. How long had it been like this? How long hadn't he noticed, cared to glance for more than a guilty fraction of a second? His stomach churned with fear.

“Mate? Can you hear me? Y’right?” James' voice filtered in. He whipped around, almost knocking the glasses off his face. Eyes flicking down, he noticed James' hand knocking gently on his knee, and Peter crouching to his right. He couldn't bring himself to look anyone in the eye. The only thing he could bear to focus on was the empty space under Sirius' bed. Third Year. He had lost his wand in the dorm, someway or another. By the time James had to leave for Quidditch practice, and Pete was hurrying to attend a detention, it was just them. Sirius had cast a quick Accio from his place lounging on his bed, and when that proved fruitless, his heart rate had begun to quicken. Money, lessons, fresh wounds still healing, all that and more flurrying in his mind like a tempest, he could still remember it, the ache in his mind, an almost constant reminder how alone he was in his pain, despite petty sympathies. A shaking mess on the floor beneath his best friend's bed, he could do nothing but watch the shadows dance. A strong sense of déjà vu overcame him. Although unlike then, the black void didn't shift into a pale face and grinning teeth, into a hand outstretched with his wand between the fingers. The shadows stayed still.

But something did stand out to him. A trunk.

Remus pulled it towards him.

Clothes strewn about, photos laid haphazardly across them, and most strikingly, a series of bottles, most of them more expensive than he had ever seen, some more ordinary, sherry and cooking wine raided from the kitchens, Firewhiskey.

Beside the trunk, a dark, blood-red stain sank into the floor.

He was stumbling into the open before his nose could recognise the scent, the mix of dormant mint, smoke and leather mingling with it. Staircases seemed to give way to him, missing every other step, off-balance and panting. He didn't care who saw him. It felt strangely free. It must've been the first time he had felt like that. So…single-minded.

Suddenly, he could see it. The Astronomy Tower spiralled up into the air distantly. Remus clutched the wall. Cold stone knocked with endless memories. He caught his breath – all was silent.

Except. Except something was moving. Heart in his throat, he stepped forward hesitantly. Thinking this far ahead hadn't occurred to him. He tried to remember why he had begun running, why he could feel dampness hit his cheek, just why. It was a question he had asked himself countless times over the months. The answer evaded him, as did the clarity he had glimpsed with Lily, or when alone in bed, picturing his wicked, beautiful face. He'd rather be confused, tormented by a maelstrom of emotions, if that meant Sirius would be there. Careless, yes, but kind. Creative. Loyal. Fierce, powerful, intelligent, quiet, observant, everything he had been before he tore them all apart. Everything he still was. That bit was harder to swallow.

The reason might be lost but the need was there, strong as ever.

“Sirius?” He offered into the darkness.

Only a shifting of weight on the stairs acknowledged him. No response.

“I don't- I'm not…”

Sirius. Up those stairs. Colours shining in his eyes. The brightest star in the sky.

“Sirius, I just…”

“He's not there,” A voice echoed out. It was low, and calm. Emerging from the shadows was a boy he had only seen in passing, but had heard more than enough of. Sharp features. Pale skin. Dark hair. Only barely slighter and smaller than his brother. Regulus Black.

“Right,” He thought it over, brushing off the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach reminding him who's fault that was, “Thanks. Do you…do you know where he is?”

“Speaking to Dumbledore, I'd wager,” The Slytherin said cooly.

Remus’ eyebrows knitted.

“What? Why, sorry, why would he do that- did something happen?” He pressed, closing the gap between them.

“He’s visiting home.” Regulus’ lips remained perfectly pressed, his face stoic and sharp. It was troubling. Sirius never shared much of his home life, and even less of his childhood, when Remus had gathered they had been closer. But Sirius hadn't lived up to expectations, and a year passed and by the time he came back it was clear how much space Regulus had filled, how many of his brother's duties he had fulfilled just by existing in his parents’ image. He could see it now. The apathy. The heartlessness. When Sirius was in First Year, the first time he had opened up – well, opened up properly, not joking, not commenting quickly about “just not getting on” and gesturing to his tie before elegantly switching the topic as if family had never been mentioned – he had said they had different priorities. Legacy had been theirs. Tradition. Order. Purity. But James had burst in, shouting over them and they had clambered off of the roof and into the dorm, at his whim instantly, and before he could ask what his was, it was January, four months since they had spoken. Remus swallowed, bringing his mind back to Regulus.

“Our cousin’s wedding. As the heir, he had certain duties to attend to before it was prudent for both of us to be expected home,” He explained, long fingers tracing the banister.

“Right,” Remus was quiet for a while, “Well, um, thank you. For looking out for him.”

It was Regulus' turn to be silent. Blue-grey eyes bored into him, and he couldn't tell what was whirring behind them, but for a moment, emotion flickered on his face.

“If you see him, could you tell him that? Please?”

The dark-haired boy opened his mouth to speak, only to lick his lips, glancing up and down his frame. Several seconds passed. He was wildly uncomfortable. Regulus’ lips contorted in a semblance of a smile, though even Remus could guarantee the feeling behind his smirk wasn't exactly positive.

“I will.”

The slim, tall form of Regulus Black passed him, and, breathing deeply, he tracked the wall, expecting shadows to appear, whisk themselves into the one person he wanted to see.

Just as he began to turn on his heel and leave, dejected, bones weary and heart strained, the floor started to glow.

Facing him, a huge ghost-like dog stood on the bottom step. Its maw opened, and instead of the rumbling growl, or the protective bark he was used to, words of a human tongue began to spill out. Sirius' voice hit him hard enough to force air out of his lungs.

“I'm sorry. I need to talk to you. Meet me opposite Orion - From Padfoot.”

Chapter Text

Wind raked through the trees of the Forbidden Forest like hands carding softly through hair, though the bite from the late Winter air wasn't nearly as gentle. Remus kept his gaze steady on the stars. Opposite Orion.

He hadn't so much as breathed since he heard the message. His heart was pounding intensely, skin tight and itchy, embroidered with beads of a cold sweat like the aftermath of a nightmare he couldn't quite wake up from. All in all, he felt like shit, bundled in his too-small childhood robe and trying desperately to force all stages of grief to pummel him at once so he could at least be clear-headed when he saw Sirius.

“Hey,” A voice wavered behind him. He whipped around, face caught in a battle between the twisted urge to blush or to blanche. Instead, he was sure he just turned a sickly green, turning forward again with such force his neck made a painful popping sound.

Sirius looked…well in all honesty he couldn't say he got a good look at him. Pale. Dark hair. Crouching on the ledge of the window with one hand gripping the roof for balance. Remus made the executive decision, after a moment's deliberation that no, looking at the boy who he'd been friends with for years wouldn't hurt him, to take another glance.

Oh.

Sirius looked…not at all like himself. His hair was longer now, something he hadn't allowed himself to notice, and hung limply at his collarbones as he leant over towards him. Still pale as ever, even more so if anything, and, yes, as Remus watched his muscles jump oddly with restrained emotion, he could see that now, the soft tan that had washed over his once-glowing skin now stark white, contrasting harshly to the darkness painting his deep eye bags. Mouth hanging slightly agape, Sirius stared back.

Neither could escape this any longer. Remus couldn't run, lie and cover up the truth with an awkward clumsy string of words, vowing never to confront the sickly feeling of hurt, but also of loneliness, of desperation for normalcy and for the freedom he had felt in the quiet moments when he didn't have to worry about anything, rare as they were. And nor could Sirius deflect, brushing off the world's cares, revelling in his instinct, throwing caution to the wind with reckless abandon whenever the slightest ache of boredom struck him. Every second of his life hung like stars in a pitch-black sky, crucified, as vulnerable as an open wound in his mind. Remus tried to gather himself. He had been practicing this. Hushed, semi-terrified, alone on this roof. He just hadn't thought about being the first to speak.

“I suppose you've realised it wasn't just a joke to me,” Remus muttered. One glance of invitation sent Sirius hauling himself out of the window ledge and next to him. Now perched, he began fishing something out of his pocket, a distraction of some kind, which he couldn't help but feel bitter at. Even now, Sirius refused to listen. Before he could sigh, hold his head in his hands and push him away like he always did, Remus saw in the corner of his vision a pack of cigarettes being offered to him.

“Want some baccy?” He asked, though the playful glint in his eye was dull, and the hollowness in his face stopped Remus from giving in.

“I don't smoke, you know that.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sirius held the thing between his fingers, barely gripped between his teeth, and lit it with his wand. A puff of smoke left his mouth, dispersing into the cool air.

“Those aren't good for you,” Remus mentioned pointedly, his eyes trained on the boy as he took a drag, held it, flicking the ash absently before exhaling. Subtle muscle movements captivated him, and soon without noticing, he was staring, mouth agape in almost disbelief.

“Well, they help me relax,” He smirked.

“What about the alcohol?”

Sirius’ face fell, and his eyes darkened imperceptibly. Remus’ heart jumped to his throat at the sudden silence – he hated that treatment from Sirius, it made him feel like he was suffocating – and couldn't help but wonder if he pushed him too far, had failed to realise that, while he was working up to letting the Black back into his life, perhaps he didn't want Remus back in his. He bit his lip.

“Helps me stop thinking,” He revealed eventually, “Didn't know you'd noticed that, actually.”

“You're not an easy person to ignore, Sirius,” Remus admitted. A small snort escaped the smoker.

“Is that a good thing? It's nice to know you think so highly of me, Rem, I’m flattered.” Words flowed off his tongue without a thought behind them, and Sirius coughed realising what he'd said. A quick glance between them spoke more than they'd done in months, “Anyway, we're talking about us, aren't we? Not fags and wine.”

“Us.”

“Yeah, us. I don't really know where to start,” Sirius said vaguely, breathing in the smoke again.

“No, no, that's shit. Sorry, Remus. I'll try again.”

“You don't have to-”

“Yes, I do, I fucked up your life. Least I can do is give you a proper apology,” He insisted, putting out the cigarette on the roof in punctuation.

“Alright then,” He said after a moment, finally relaxing his muscles, a deep breath flooding his lungs.

“It was shit what I did to you. I wasn't thinking about how it would hurt you, I just wanted Snape to feel scared,” He started, more casual than he had seen in a long time. It was…nice, hearing him talk, but he knew he had to listen. He'd never forgive himself if he wasted this because he couldn't pull his gaze away from Sirius' perfect face, “He cornered me after Potions, and I thought we'd just hex each other and move on with our lives like normal. But he didn't even pull his wand out. He said…he knew your secret, and that I'd regret keeping it. We all would.”

“Did he say what it was? Are you certain he knew?” He said quietly.

“Fucking positive, Remus. I know you probably don't trust me right now, not that I blame you considering, but I'm not that careless,” Sirius assured him. He believed him.

“Continue, then.”

“Okay. Well I told James. He said we'd just keep an eye on you, and we'd get Snape back on Halloween. We had a big prank planned, and…it all feels stupid now. You didn't do anything last year, did you?”

“No. It wasn't the same.”

“I thought so,” Sirius whispered under his breath, “I am sorry, I can go if-”

“I need to hear it. It'll help, I promise. Please?” Remus looked up at him. His face broke into a helpless smile when Sirius nodded.

“He told me to leave it alone, should've listened obviously, but at six o’clock I went to the Dungeons and met Snape before he could go to the Great Hall. Told him he was right, and if he went to the Whomping Willow and prodded the trunk with a stick, he could prove it. I guess I thought he wouldn't go, that he'd see through it. Stupid.”

“I'm not even sure why he went,” Remus said, “I understand that he wanted a comeuppance, but Dumbledore knew. McGonagall knew. And there's not much punishment for being a werewolf you can give that's worse than the punishment of being a werewolf itself.”

Sirius gazed at him sympathetically, “It's awful that you're in so much pain. But, if it helps, I always liked every part of you.”

Remus stared at him oddly.

"You don't have to pretend."

"It doesn't bother me, really. I've known about it for years without it bothering me, it won't start now."

"Point still stands."

"Fair enough. Wish it was easier on you, that's all. So you didn't end up thinking this shit."

“Blame my father,” Remus joked, only to sit straight-backed when he realised, “You don't know.”

“Know what?”

“It was my Dad. He insulted the werewolf that did it, and he saw this as a fitting consequence,” He felt something well up in his throat, but he pushed it down. Catch-ups could come later. This was so much more important.

But Merlin, he was so tired of keeping everything in.

One knock to Remus’ knee and he was collapsing into Sirius' arms, trying to breathe through the pinpricks of tears in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, I'm here, it's fine. You don't have to feel sorry for him anymore.”

He rubbed his eyes and took a ragged breath. He felt so much better beside Sirius, as if his cares were melting and dripping off the roof like raindrops. Remus laughed.

“I've really missed you,” He said, drinking in the scent of him. It was perfect.

“I've missed you too. So much. I didn't get to say the rest, but it's not important. What is important is that I'm really fucking sorry. I just tried to laugh it off, thought I could ignore fucking up like I do every other time. That’s not right. Real friends don't fuck up like that, they, I don't know, say something awkward or forget a birthday. Genuine mistakes-” He stiffened up, “-they don't ruin other people's lives. Especially not your best friend’s. I was an arsehole, and I deserved to be hated for it.”

I don't hate you. You're not an easy person to hate.

“Your life isn't just a laugh to me. You don't have to trust that, you don't have to forgive me. I just needed to say it. I miss you, and I'm sorry, and if you want, I can make it up to you. I understand if you don't, though. Pretty reasonable all things considered,” He ended his speech sighing, and a stifled laugh left him, sweeping through his hair. It was so familiar, and so comforting, Remus could almost pretend it was last year, in the Gryffindor common room with a fire cracking nearby, and the absent chatter of the rest of the castle dragging themselves to sleep murmuring around them. It was a vision he wanted desperately to recreate.

Remus tried to lift himself up, finding his limbs impossibly heavy. He groaned into Sirius' chest.

“If it's alright, I'm tired. I need to go to bed.”

“Okay, that's okay. I need to sleep as well, I'm meeting with Dumbledore in the morning,” Sirius rushed out.

“Oh- um. I didn't say that out loud, did I?” He mumbled awkwardly, “I don't mind being friends again. You were a good friend. I don't particularly want to lose that.”

“Me neither,” Sirius’ face was split in a huge smile of relief. He helped him up, stabilising his sore back as they crept back inside, “Want to talk in the morning?”

“That sounds lovely,” Remus said, blushing. Maybe Sirius would think he was just flushed from the cold. He didn't mention it, thank God, so he counted that as a win and, with one last giddy, awkward smile, climbed into bed.

“Wait, Remus?” Sirius' voice was still hushed – he still hadn't reconciled with the rest of the Marauders after all – but it was strangely confident, warm and deep and just as Remus hoped to hear it.

“Mhm?”

He sat up.

“Just-” Sirius was quiet, and it made his heart clench, “just looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

The vague Sirius shaped blur shifted nervously from outside the curtain. He was certain he was blushing like an idiot now.

“Me too. Now please let me sleep?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, Moons,” He said, that characteristic playfulness settled comfortably in his voice again, where it belonged, “Night.”

“Goodnight, Sirius.”