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Chapter Text

When fourteen-year-old James Potter saw the poster in the library, he knew it was a sign. The annual Hogwarts end-of-year talent competition, open only to fourth through seventh years, something he had been waiting for since his parents first told him about the ones they had been a part of during their time at Hogwarts. Honestly, he’d be lying if he said their stories weren’t at least part of why he learned to play the guitar—he wanted his first real opportunity to perform to be absolutely, positively, irrevocably unforgettable.

But for that, he needed a band.

Obviously, he had Peter, who was killer on the drums, but a band needed more than just a guitarist and a drummer. They definitely needed a bassist, and more than anything, they needed a singer. Yeah, he and Peter were good, but they needed to be great , and a bassist and actually good singer (James was not counting on his own abilities) would make sure of that. And thus began Operation: Procure Bandmates.

It was harder than he had thought.

They both asked around about bassists, but everyone they asked who said they knew what they were doing were either already part of a performance or were actually terrible. James was starting to lose hope entirely, until he offhandedly mentioned his predicament to Professor McGonagall. She the head of the music department—a woman with a stern demeanor, a reputation for being strict, and a rare, soft smile reserved for only the most special of occasions. She was also his favorite teacher.

He was feeling particularly downtrodden in the middle of her class one afternoon, letting out a long sigh as he struggled to find the energy to decipher the music in front of him. Peter was similarly lethargic, a tired frown twisting across his round features. 

“Do I want to know what has you two fools looking as though you’ve just been run over by the Queen’s royal motorcade?” Her voice had the slightest tinge of humor as she stopped by the desk that they shared. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you two looking so glum in all my time as your teacher!”

James let out a long-suffering sigh, running his hands through his already disastrous dark hair. “We want to enter the talent competition,” he explained dejectedly, “but we need a bassist, and no one with any talent whatsoever wants to help us.”

Professor McGonagall cocked her head to the side. “A bassist, hm?”

Both James and Peter nodded.

"I might know someone,” she said, and they both lit up. However, before they could begin to profess their plethora of thanks, she held up a hand for silence. “I’m not going to make you any promises—he may very well say no, but it would be a shame if you didn’t at least try to get him to join. He’s quite talented, if a bit quiet.”

James grinned. “Who?”

The ghost of a smile twitched on the professor’s face. “Do you two know Remus Lupin?”

Peter blanched at her words. “Lupin? That quiet kid who’s always in the library? He’s a bassist?”

“And quite a good one at that.” McGonagall’s voice was no-nonsense as usual. “Again, I can’t promise he’ll say yes, but he’s probably your best choice.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you !” James practically leapt from his desk, dragging Peter with him. They had a bassist! They actually had a bassist! God, he could practically kiss her.

Not really, though.

She only shook her head as they left, James practically bouncing off the walls. “The library is the other way!” 

“Thanks, Prof!” He called, and in a matter of moments, they were long gone. He wasn’t sure if he had ever run through the halls so fast, and Peter was definitely struggling behind him, but he had to get to the library. He had to. The future of his future band depended on it.

It felt like an eternity before they burst into the ancient hall, tearing through the infinitely tall bookcases, scanning, scanning, scanning—there! In the classics section! Seated on the floor, leaned back against a towering shelf, shrouded in shadows as he pored over a massive tome. 

“God, he’s terrifying,” Peter whispered, eying him warily. “I heard he’s in a gang—got in a knife fight in the streets one time, and that’s why he’s got all those scars.”

James didn’t take his eyes off of the long-limbed reader as he responded. “Don’t be silly, Pete, I’m sure he’s fine. Nice, even?”

“Nice?” Somehow, Peter’s hissed words managed to jump an entire octave in pitch. “Nice, James? He never talks, and you know why?”

Honestly, James wanted to know.

Peter was almost hyperventilating behind him. “They say he’s a part of the mob, and if he says anything to you, then they’ll come and kill you, and then maybe him!”

Okay, so that was freaky. It was fine, right? No mob in their right mind would let a tall, skinny fourteen-year-old join their ranks.

Would they?

“You guys do know that I’m right here , yeah?” The voice that interrupted their whispered conversation was quiet and the slightest bit rough, and in that odd stage of not-ridiculously-high-but-not-fully-dropped-either.  “If you’re going to talk about me, at least ask me directly. Or do it when I’m not right fucking here.”

Peter blanched, but James wasn’t bothered. No, in that moment, all that he could think was that he really, really wanted to be friends with this kid. 

“Also,” Lupin continued, leaning forward, “what kind of dumbass lets a fourteen-year-old join a mob? Like, that’s just fucking stupid.”

He made to turn back to his book, but James couldn’t lose this opportunity, not even if Peter was being a little scaredy-cat. “McGonagall said you’re a bassist!”

Lupin looked back up at that, eyebrows furrowing. “She did?”

James nodded emphatically. “Yeah, she did!” Now or never, he thought, and then he burst. “See, Pete and me, we wanna enter the talent competition as a band but he’s a drummer and I’m a guitarist and we really need a bassist but no one we’ve asked that’s actually good wants to join and everyone else kinda sucks so we asked McGonagall and she said you were the best bet so would you like to join our band?”

Frankly, Lupin looked rather taken aback at his outburst. He sat there for a moment, as though trying to figure out what in the world was going on, with his lips pursed and his head cocked to the side. “You want me ,” he said slowly, “to join your band?” 

James nodded.

“But why?”

“McGonagall recommended you herself.” James grinned. “Figured that if we can trust anyone to know talent, it’s her.”

Lupin closed his book, running a hand through his curly hair. “You haven’t even heard me play. You literally have no idea if I’m any good, and you’re already asking me to join? Aren’t you getting a little bit ahead of yourself?” 

He hadn’t really expected this much pushback, but to be fair, he hadn’t really thought this through at all. All he knew was that he needed a bassist, and Lupin was his best shot. Clearly, though, just asking was not going to get the job done. Dang.

Okay, so he would be as persuasive as possible. Time for a change of tactics. “I mean, you’d have to audition,” he added, keeping his voice the tiniest bit hesitant, which was harder than he’d thought it would be. Naturally honest by trade, he wasn’t expecting to have to pretend he wasn’t absolutely faithful in Lupin and his abilities even though he hadn’t actually witnessed them. “We’d need to see what you can do, but other than that, you should be set.” He paused, and then cocked his head to the side, realizing. “Unless you don’t want to join?”

Lupin sighed. “I don’t have anything against it. I just don’t understand why you’d want me.”

This time, it was Peter who spoke up—his first words spoken since the hissed conversation about Lupin’s supposed place within the ranks of various gangs and mobs. “You’re our only shot, Lupin. We kinda need you. So are you in, or are you out?”

Pushing himself into a standing position, Lupin sighed once more, then nodded. “Fine,” he said, voice hesitant. “Fine, yeah, I’ll try.”

It was almost instantaneously evident that Lupin’s hesitance was completely unwarranted—his audition was absolutely flawless. He was clearly shy about his talent, but by God, could he play that bass like he had been born doing it. His hands fluttered across the strings like butterflies with the confidence of a multiple-time-Grammy-winning star, and then he had the nerve to stand there awkwardly in front of them when he finished and apologize for being bad.

“Bad?” James burst after a moment of stunned silence. “ Bad ? Lupin, that was bloody brilliant —are you sure you’re not secretly a rock star or something?”

Lupin shook his head, sending curls spilling across his forehead. “Nope. Just play a bit in my spare time.”

Peter shook his head in shock, a smile spreading across his face. “That was fantastic, dude.” He turned to 

James, eyes sparkling. “Now we just need a singer!”

James grinned broadly. “I know exactly who to ask.” And sure enough, barely half an hour later, the three of them were standing in front of none other than Sirius Black, asking him to join their band.

“Wait,” Peter said, blonde brows furrowing slightly as he glanced between James and the heir of the House of Black. “I thought you two weren’t friends anymore?”

Sirius smiled that famous, troublemaking, quicksilver grin that made teachers wary and students swoon. “Oh, that was all a farce!” He ran a hand through his dark hair—hair that should have been falling in loose curls past his shoulders, but thanks to the work of his mother over the summer, barely reached the fully-buttoned collar of his shirt (and that was with the months it had to grow) and was impeccably gelled instead of wild. His uniform, too, was perfectly pressed, his tie knotted perfectly. God, it was uncanny. This was not supposed to be Sirius, and yet it was, and in that moment, James wasn’t sure if he had ever hated his best friend’s mother more.

“A farce?”

“Yep!” Sirius winked, and James could barely repress a snort. “Mum went berserk this summer, said she’d let me too far off the leash and all, and went on her own personal mission to make me a ‘proper Black’ again.”

James nodded, a strained smile on his face. It was easier to make light of the whole situation than to think about how every summer since their second year, he had begged Sirius to come home with him instead of going back to his parents. He had known that his best friend was going back to a vicious, abusive household, and he had let him go each time. Really, if anyone could be blamed for the way Sirius had come back to school this year, it was him, because he could have fought harder to keep Sirius away from the horrors of his home and he didn’t. “Yeah, we figured his mom would have eyes on him and I didn’t want to make anything worse for him—he’s one of my best mates, you know? So we thought it’d be smart to make it seem like we’d had a fight, and just keep our friendship on the down-low.”

“Most agonizing few months of my life,” Sirius groaned, pretending to swoon dramatically. “Do you know how hard it is to not traipse around joyfully, proclaiming my love for my soulmate here for all the world to  hear?”

James rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless—a real smile this time, not a painful one. This was the Sirius he knew and loved, no matter how much differently he was presenting himself to avoid word of disobedience getting back to his mother. “Tragic, truly,” he replied in kind, clapping a hand to his heart. “But they say that absence helps the heart grow fonder, though I hardly see how that could be possible, considering just how fond it is already!”

Peter looked as though he were not entirely sure what to do with this conversation, but then again, his friendship with James was very different than Sirius’. All that really mattered, though, was that Sirius tipped his head back and let loose a brilliant laugh that was so quintessentially him that James couldn’t help but feel that for a moment, everything was perfectly alright.

In the end, it was a cough from behind James that snapped him to attention. “I don’t mean to intrude,” said Lupin, voice dry, “but I did think we were here on a matter of business?”

How could he have forgotten? Maybe he was going crazy. 

“Business?” Sirius asked, cocking his head to the side, and if possible, James’ grin grew even wider.

“We want you to sing in our band for the talent show!” For a moment, James thought he had miscalculated, seeing the way his friend’s eyes widened. Maybe Sirius had changed this year, maybe he didn’t want it after all, maybe those had just been the dreams of a few silly, starry-eyed eleven-year-olds, maybe—

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sirius’s voice was more excited than James had heard all year. “Are you actually fucking kidding me? Of course I will!”

“Great!” Honestly, it was all James could do to not jump around in excitement. “Okay, so we just need to decide when we’re gonna practice—“

Sirius held a hand up to interrupt him. “Uh, are we forgetting the audition?”

Peter shook his head. “We’ve both heard you sing—James more than me—and we know you’ll be fine so really, there’s no need—“

Sirius shook his head violently. “Uh uh. I refuse to be nepo-babied into this band, Pete. I want it on my own merit.”

Lupin furrowed his brows, looking at James with questioning eyes. Nepo-babied? , he mouthed, and James had to stifle a laugh. He’d explain later. “If you feel that strongly about it,” he said, shaking his head a little at his friend's antics, “then yeah, of course you can audition—it’s not like I’m going to stop you or anything!”

His best friend’s eyes positively lit up at his words, grin somehow stretching even wider. He darted over to the cabinet in the corner of the open music room they were using, grabbing the silver guitar James knew to be his favorite. “Any particular song you wanna hear?”

James shook his head, already knowing he was going to play something by Queen—it was Sirius Black after all. He nudged Lupin, who was eyeing his friend with mild curiosity. “You’re in for a treat.”

Lupin quirked an eyebrow, but his lips twitched into some semblance of a smile—the most James had seen from him so far. He’d make him smile for real one day, James vowed, just like he had the first day he’d seen Sirius Black at the train station. Of course, he got the feeling Lupin would take longer than fifteen minutes to crack, but it was a challenge he was more than willing to undertake.

Sirius strummed the guitar once, twice, finding his rhythm before adjusting one of the classroom microphones and beginning to play. And goddamn was he good.

Just as James had suspected, he played Don’t Stop Me Now , and he sang it like he might have been the second coming of Freddie Mercury himself. He performed with confidence and swagger, voice effortlessly slamming the lower notes and skating over the high ones with ease. But even more captivating than his raw talent—if that was even possible—was his showmanship. If anyone had ever been born to be the frontman of a band, it was Sirius Orion Black. 

When he was done, Lupin turned to James once more, eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly. “You had a point.” Though he’d only actually known the boy for no longer than an hour, James immediately got the feeling that this was a rather glowing compliment.

Sirius took a deep breath, running a hand through his gelled curls, mussing them up in a way that somehow seemed artful. “Was that alright?”

James shook his head in surprise. Idiots . Two bloody brilliant musicians, and they both asked if they were halfway decent? “Sirius, mate.” He stood up, clapping a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “That was fantastic . You know it was, so don’t pretend otherwise.”

A grin started to spread across Sirius’ face, his eyes sparkling. “So…we getting the band together?”

“Hell yeah, we are.”

And that moment, though they didn’t yet know it, was the beginning of history being made. 

Chapter Text

At James’ request, they started practicing immediately, and to his joy, their own respective sounds married near perfectly. However, he—and the rest of the boys for that matter—realized soon that they had another problem: they had no idea what they were going to perform.

“We are not doing Stacy’s Mom , Pete,” sighed James for probably the fourth time that afternoon. 

Stacy’s Mom wouldn’t cut it, not if they wanted to be some of the only fourth years in Hogwarts history to win the talent show. 

Peter leaned over his drum set, blonde brows furrowing. “I don’t see why not—I mean, no one else has any suggestions!”

That was true, James knew, but he was pretty sure that he was the only one paying attention to this conversation in the first place. Remus was leaned against one of the shelves, scribbling in an old, well-worn notebook, and Sirius was seated on the bench by one of the spare music room’s massive windows, absent-mindedly strumming his favorite silver guitar as he stared out into the late afternoon sky. 

“We can do better than that, though!” James argued back, running a hand through his already-disastrous dark hair. By the window, Sirius’ distracted strumming began to morph into the beginning of Suffragette City and then somehow smoothly transitioned into American Idiot . What was going on in his friend's head to create that combination, James had no idea, but in a strange way, it worked.

“What if we played a medley?”

James turned around so fast, he practically gave himself whiplash. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

Sirius halted his playing. He was still facing the window, but James knew his interest had been piqued based on the way his shoulders stiffened.

“You know, a medley.” Remus looked up from his notebook at James, then over to Sirius. “Black, how high can you sing?”

Sirius cocked his head to the side, pursing his lips. “Pretty damn high, I’d say. ’Specially for a guy. Only gift my darling mother ever gave me.”

Remus looked almost as though he were going to say something about that, but then seemed to think better of it and simply carried on with his plan. “Okay, so what if we start real slow, with the opening of Live and Let Die . Sing the beginning and all, but right before the big beat drop, we transition into the first verse of Dream On . And then, right after the ‘sing with me’ bit but before it actually says ‘dream on’, we take those alternating chords, draw them out, add a guitar solo/instrumental bit and then transition into the last section of Bohemian Rhapsody and do that through to the end.... Does that even make sense?”

“Remus Lupin,” Sirius drawled, and James mentally braced himself for whatever was going to come out of his mouth. Personally, he thought the idea was fantastic, but one never knew what Sirius was thinking. Turned out, though, that he didn’t need to worry. “That is the most abso-fucking-lutely genius idea I’ve ever heard.” He started picking out a melody on the strings of that guitar of his, dark eyebrows tightly knitted in concentration. “Something like this, for the first connection?”

Remus nodded vehemently, grabbing the well-loved bass he always used from its perch behind him and starting to play an underlying bassline to Sirius’ melody. “Exactly! And then we could take the tempo, pick it up a bit, kinda like—“

“Like this?” Sirius added a bit more speed to his playing, making it just a bit more dramatic.

“God, that’s fucking perfect!”

James had only known Remus Lupin for a little over a week, but he felt like he already had a good scope of the boy’s personality, and this was more animated than he’d ever seen him. He and Sirius bounced ideas back and forth like a tennis match, going faster and faster until James could barely keep up. Frankly, it was brilliant—it was unlike anything James had ever seen from his friend, even with him. 

He grabbed his guitar too, playing off of their planning, and soon, Peter had joined in with a drum fill to match. Was it perfect? No. But by a few hours later, when the sun had set and they had finally realized exactly what they needed to do. Those hours were magical for the band—they figured out what to play, how to play it, and how to play together.

Those hours were the true beginning of the Marauders.

After that, the four weeks leading up to the talent show seemed to fly by. Every spare moment found James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter in the old spare music room down the corridor and around the corner from McGonagall’s classroom, sometimes playing long into the night. They’d sprint into the room laughing all the way as the sun shone brightly in the mid-afternoon sky, and would only emerge, with tired eyes but sparkling smiles when the moon had been hung in her bed of stars. 

They spent all of their free time practicing, and even some of their not-so-free time as well. James found himself daydreaming about the fingerings for a particularly difficult bit of their transition between Dream On and Bohemian Rhapsody , and more than once had he glanced over to see Peter tapping out his drum fill with a pair of pencils on the edge of his desk. He didn’t see Remus on the daily, so he couldn’t speak to whether the boy had caught the same musical fever, but James thought he might have seen Sirius mouthing some of the words to Live and Let Die from across the history classroom. It was music and magic and madness, and James wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Their music got better and better and better, until James found himself leaving the practice room thinking that they didn’t just sound like some kids who weren’t half-bad at playing their instruments—they sounded like a real band. It was a thrilling thought, a magical one. They were doing this. They were actually doing this! Frankly, James didn’t know if he’d ever been so excited in his life. They could be real-life rock stars if this worked, and then maybe, just maybe, Lily Evans would agree to go on a date with him.

Oh, Lily Evans .

James was pretty sure she was the prettiest girl she had ever seen in his whole life. She had sparkly green eyes and dark red hair and freckles like constellations. He was fairly certain he’d been in love with her since the first time he’d ever seen her, and had told her that. Repeatedly.

She never gave him the time of day.

Sirius had just laughed when Peter told him he’d come on too strong, but James had meant it, he really had. There was just something so wonderful about her kind eyes and fiery temper that he couldn’t get over. Sirius loved to tease him about her—though James thought it was rather a case of a pot and kettle, considering his long string of girlfriends—but he knew it was meant to be. He was rather miffed that Sirius and Remus wouldn’t help him out with this, considering that they were each either friends with Lily’s best friend or, in Remus’ case, with Lily herself, but it didn’t matter. It would happen, James knew it!

Someday.

Maybe. 

But yeah, she had to say yes first.

That wasn’t really a problem for the band, though. Their last real problem came when they were filling out the sheet for performance time slots, and realized that their band didn’t have a name. It shouldn’t have been hard, it really shouldn’t’ve. And yet, it was.

In the end, it was Professor McGonagall who gave them the perfect idea. They’d practically run from their final classes of the day, sprinting down the hallways toward their room. Peter and James had come from the same class, with Remus and Sirius joining them alarmingly fast, laughing all the while. There was such energy and mischief in the air that it was practically infectious. They dashed down the mostly empty corridor, blazing past classrooms when—

“What do you boys think you’re doing?” McGonagall was standing in the doorway of her classroom, arms crossed over her chest. “Marauding around like a bunch of ne’er-do-wells?”

Sirius and Remus stopped dead in their tracks, Remus turning toward the professor with wide eyes. “That’s it.”

Peter cocked his head to the side, pale blonde hair falling over his forehead. “What’s it?”

Remus looked stunned, a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips. “Our band name.”

James and Sirius grinned, catching his drift. “The Marauders,” Sirius replied, nodding his head.

“It’s perfect!” God, it really was. James could barely contain his excitement. That was proper punk rock, as Sirius would say, and absolutely perfect for the four of them. It was fierce and bold and a touch dramatic, just like any good band name should be. 

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, reminding them of her presence. “I am still here, you know. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Remus turned toward her, expression contrite in a way only he could pull off. “Apologies, professor. Do you happen to have the talent show sign-up sheet? I think we’ve settled on a name, and are therefore ready to sign.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but motioned for them to follow her into the classroom. It was as neat as always, everything on her desk perfectly organized. There was no rifling around for the sheet; no, she simply opened a drawer and there it was. McGonagall was like James’ mum in that way—Euphemia always knew exactly where everything was because everything had its own place. James had not inherited that skill. 

Personally, he blamed his dad.

“Here you boys go,” she said, turning around to hand the sheet to Remus, who promptly handed it to James.

“You got the band together,” he explained. “Makes sense that you should be the one to officially sign us up.”

James took the clipboard from the boy with a smile, quickly scrawling “The Marauders” on the first open slot. It was thrilling, to be able to write that, to have that out in the universe. This was real , it was real . Frankly, he was this close to pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Glancing up and grinning at his friends with irrepressible joy, he handed the sheet back to the professor.

“The Marauders,” she said, the words rolling out in her light Scottish accent. She narrowed her eyes at the four boys, the smallest of smirks playing at her typically-stern lips. “How fitting.”

Peter fidgeted with his hands, eyes darting to the door. “Anything else we can do for you, ma’am?”

McGonagall stared at them over her glasses. “Don’t cause too many problems.”

“We’ll do our best,” Sirius replied with a cheeky wink, “but I can’t make any promises.”

“And boys?” She called out as they headed to the door of her office. “Do Gryffindor Hall proud, will you?”

James turned back to her with a wide grin stretched across his face. “It’d be our pleasure!”

She nodded once, then turned back to her desk. “Good.”

God, he really hoped they wouldn’t let her down.

After that, the time until the show seemed to fly by. James could barely focus on his work, and neither could his friends—they were all consumed by the prospect of their upcoming performance. They polished their music until it was practically perfect, and then ran around like madmen a mere two days before the show, trying to figure out what they were going to wear. It shouldn’t’ve been that big of a deal, but they had to look the part. Sirius claimed he wasn’t worried about it, but James thought he had to be, at least secretly. If even James, who didn’t put all that much thought into his appearance, was stressed about it, then Sirius, who at least used to take quite a bit of pride in the version of himself he put out into the world, had to be losing his mind.

Probably.

Unless he knew something James didn’t, which he might’ve. He certainly was acting as though he knew something James didn’t, but that was normal for Sirius. James couldn’t dwell on that, though, because he did need his best friend’s advice on what to wear—actually, all three of the rest of them did.

“No, James, you cannot wear that,” Sirius sighed for probably the fifth time that evening. “That is lame, and also a crime.”

He winced. “You don’t have to be mean about it!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You asked for my advice, I’m giving it. You wanna look proper punk rock, yeah?”

James nodded.

“Then ditch the fit.” Frankly, his voice left no room for argument. Still, James couldn’t help but protest.

He grinned at his friend, narrowing his eyes as Remus looked on with an expression of mild entertainment. “You say that as though you already have something prepared, which I know for a fact that you don’t, because otherwise you’d be talking my ear off about it! So unless you have something to wear and are keeping it from us—something I would be extremely surprised to hear—you can stop being quite so rude.”

“Oh, but darling,” Sirius drawled, “I do have something. Been getting it together for quite a bit now, actually. So actually, I don’t want to hear it. Anyways, try that oddly shaped shirt—that one band shirt your dad had in the 70s that’s kinda short?” James held up a shirt after digging through his drawer for a moment. “Yeah, that one. Now pair it with those baggy jeans with the lower waist—yep, those. Try it on, maybe with that belt from your uncle—the really thick one?”

James hoped this worked. He darted into the bathroom, throwing on the clothes Sirius had picked out. It was just an old, slightly cropped shirt and a massive pair of jeans, nothing special. He wasn’t exactly sure how this fit the vision of ‘proper punk rock’, but then he glanced in the mirror.

Damn.

He couldn’t help but grin at his reflection. Okay, so maybe Sirius did know what he was talking about, at least a little. The outfit worked in a way James hadn’t thought possible, and when he stepped out to show the group, a smile spread across Sirius’ face.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” He snapped, nodding his head. “That’s perfect, literally perfect. Evans will be drooling. Maybe. Or not. And Peter and Remus, I already handled you two, so I think we’re good!”

“D’you really think Lily’ll like it?”

Remus sighed, rolling his eyes fondly. “James, do you do anything without thinking about what Lily will think?”

He thought for a moment. “I do, yeah. But not if it’s something that matters.”

The slightly taller boy snorted. “You do know that Lily doesn’t really bother herself with what you lot do, yeah? She cares a bit more about what’s going on with Mary and Marlene than what we’re up to.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “But I can’t just not try, y’know? She’s magical, and I want her to know that.”

Sirius coughed. “So just to be clear, we aren’t doing this just so you can get in Evans’ pants?”

James whirled on his best friend, face flushing. “I didn’t—absolutely not—I’d never—you filthy dog, Sirius!” The boy in question threw his head back, howling with laughter. “You know that’s not it! I am not—she is not a conquest , idiot, I really like her!”

At this point, Sirius was literally shaking with laughter, and Peter wasn’t far behind. Even Remus was snickering a bit, and though James knew it was at his own expense, he couldn’t suppress his own good humor. 

“Glad to know you all find this funny,” he said, trying to keep a smile off of his face. “I certainly don’t.”

Sirius managed to narrow his eyes through his laughter, shaking his head. “Liar. Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

That was it. The phrase was so objectively childish that James too burst into a fit of giggles, and for a few blissful minutes, nothing mattered but the shrieks of laughter spilling out of the typically-unused music room at the end of the hall.

Chapter Text

The night of the talent show seemed to come all too soon, and James felt like a disaster. Sure, he was wearing the outfit Sirius had picked out, but his hair was far too messy. Or maybe it wasn’t messy enough? And besides that, what if he messed up? What if he played the wrong note?

God, it was not like him to be this stressed.

He took a deep breath. They would be fine, he told himself, running a hand through his already disheveled hair as he took another breath. They had sounded fantastic in practice, they looked fantastic, and—

“James,” came a voice from behind him, interrupting his calming thoughts, “have you seen Sirius?” Peter looked far more nervous than James felt, which to be perfectly frank, was not that usual. He was in general a rather nervous boy, and he had been for as long as James had known him. “He’s not here, and he said he’d be here by now!” 

Remus sighed, running a hand through his sandy brown curls. “It’s Sirius, Pete. You know he’s got a flair for the dramatic. He’s probably going to show up in a swirl of glitter at the moment when he’s most needed—“

At that moment, the door to the dressing room they’d commandeered banged open, revealing a silhouette lit from behind. “Anyone looking for a singer?”

“Speak of the devil,” Remus drawled, grinning at Peter before glancing back at the figure in the doorway. “Nice of you to join us.”

Sirius laughed, still completely in shadow. “Sorry, I had a few last-minute tweaks to my outfit. What do you guys think?”

And then he stepped into the light, and his three bandmates were momentarily stunned.

Looking at him, all James could think was that this was the real Sirius Black.

He’d released his shirt-collar length curls from the confines of the gel that Walburga had always championed, and had even cut soft bangs that curled away from his forehead in a way he’d always been fixated on whenever he saw it in magazines. And his outfit? His mother would have thrown a fit, but it was quite possibly the most Sirius Black outfit James had ever seen. He’d somehow procured a short, boxy sweater vest that he wore over an equally short button-down with the sleeves rolled all the way to his elbows, exposing almost his entire torso, and he’d paired it with a ridiculously short pleated skirt, combat boots, and netted sock thingies (James wasn’t sure what they were actually called) that ended just below his knees.

And dear god, the accessories. Rings, properly punk fingerless gloves, a choker and chain. Black earrings in piercings that had never been there. Silver and black eyeshadow paired with eyeliner with wings sharp as a knife at the outer corners and that spiked inward like that of a lioness at the inside. Silver rhinestones lining the underside of his eyes.

Sirius had been right. It was bloody brilliant.

For some reason, though, his friend looked quite nervous, and James belatedly realized that he, Peter, and Remus had all been uncharacteristically silent for several moments. “Uh, guys?” Sirius’ voice was more timid than James had ever heard. “Is everything alright?”

James was the first to unfreeze, not noticing the wide-eyed stare Remus had directed at the Black heir. “Mate,” he said, clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulders. “You look absolutely fantastic. Proper punk rock.”

At the sound of his favorite catchphrase, Sirius cracked a grin. “You really think so?”

Remus nodded, taking a step towards the pair with a small smile on his scarred face. “It’s quite the look, Black.” He then cocked his head to the side, sending his light brown curls spilling over his forehead. “If you don’t mind me asking, though, how did you manage to pull this off?”

“With a little help,” came a cheerful voice from the doorway, and a group of people walked into the dressing room. Marlene McKinnon came in first, running a hand through her choppy, dark brown hair—hair she’d been talking about bleaching for a bit now. “You didn’t think he could make all this happen on his own, did you?” And then—

“Sirius,” Peter muttered, eyes flitting to the people who followed her in. “Why are there a group of Slytherins walking into our dressing room?”

Sirius let out a sigh. “You do know that I had to stay in Slytherin Hall this year, yeah?” It had been a result of his mother’s blowup over the summer, James knew. She’d gotten so upset at him that in addition to forbidding everything that he enjoyed, she’d called the school, made a small donation, and had him moved from Gryffindor Hall—James and Peter’s dorm hall—to Slytherin. “Well, it’s not like I was able to make much contact with you guys or Marls, so I had to form acquaintanceships with… others.”

“Like us!” The dry laughter came from none other than Barty Crouch Jr, famed smart-aleck, parental disappointment, and overall menace to society. 

Sirius tilted his chin in agreement. “Formed quiet friendships with some of Reg’s friends ‘cause hell knows the solitary life isn’t one for me. Worked out in the end though—Cas helped with my hair, Evan pitched in with the makeup, and Barty did the jewelry. And the piercings. Skirt and sweater came courtesy of my darling Marls.”

Peter latched onto Sirius’ shoulder, eyes wide. “You’re friends with Crouch now? And Rosier? But they’re Slytherins— actual Slytherins. How can you trust them?”

Next to Barty, Evan rolled his eyes—eyes that, James noticed for the first time, were two completely different colors. One a warm brown, one an icy blue. “You are aware that we can hear you, yeah?” He examined his nails, which were painted black to match Barty’s. “You aren’t subtle, Pettigrew.”

Barty snorted, ring-laden hands carding through his dark hair. “I hope to hell that you never think of becoming a spy, Pettigrew. You can’t keep your mouth shut for shit .”

Peter flushed red, and James stepped forward to defend his friend. So they may have had a point about him not being able to keep his mouth shut, and he was kind of renowned for his nervousness and love for gossip, but that didn’t mean they got to be rude to him for no real reason at all! Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, actually, as it prevented him from throwing a punch and/or getting detention—Mary MacDonald chose that exact minute to pop into their dressing room with a clipboard in hand, telling them to get ready to head backstage. 

James thanked her for the warning, wishing a bit that it had been Lily who had been sent instead. She and Mary were both a part of the SGA, who put on the event, and as some of the younger members, they had been tasked with finding the acts and making sure that they were all where they needed to be. He’d had his fingers crossed that Lily would be the one to fetch them because maybe she’d see them all and wish them good luck, and maybe she’d think they were at least a tiny bit cool, and maybe, just maybe, she’d have smiled at James and then he would have died right there on the spot.

Actually, thinking about it like that, it was probably a good thing that Mary had been sent instead. Otherwise, the band might not have made it onto the stage in the first place.

Mary chatted with Sirius as they made their way toward the backstage area, something or other about his eye makeup, James wasn’t entirely sure. He was far too preoccupied with stilling Peter’s nerves, which were currently through the roof. He really needed the boy to calm down, though—if he didn’t, his drums might not be on time, and then they’d mess up, and then Peter would beat himself up for being the reason they didn’t win. James wouldn’t stand for that, not from one of his best friends. He already hadn’t protected Sirius enough, he wouldn’t make the same mistake with Peter. 

Somehow, the walk felt like both a second and an eternity, but before James knew it, they were striding into the backstage area, where they were greeted by none other than a headset-wearing, clipboard-bearing Lily Evans. “The Marauders?” she asked, not looking up from her sheet. 

“That’d be us,” Remus replied dryly, causing Lily to look up sharply.

“Remus,” she smiled, green eyes twinkling. The expression dimmed a bit when she took in the rest of them, but the smile didn’t drop entirely. “Pettigrew, Black. Potter.” She nodded at each of them in greeting, voice clipped, but not mean. 

It was something.

“Evans,” Sirius nodded right back, eyes tracking the bustling movement of the other people backstage. “Doin’ well?”

She quirked an odd sort of half-grin towards him. “Always. You?”

“Could say the same.” He grabbed his guitar case from where it was resting next to a shelf—SGA had requested all materials be checked before the show, probably as a result of the illegal fireworks that had been smuggled in a ventriloquist puppet a few years back. 

James followed suit, grabbing his own guitar. It was a pretty thing, shiny and violently red. It was a bit more of a statement that Remus’ beloved and battered black bass, but he adored it, and swore he played better on it than any other guitar he’d tried.

Lily glanced back down at her clipboard, tapping her pen on the edge. “Okay guys, you’re on in five.” And then she looked up for a moment more, the smallest of smiles gracing her gorgeous face as she met James’ eyes.  “Good luck guys—you’re gonna kill it.”

As she walked away, red waves bouncing against her back, James turned to Sirius with a dazed smile. “Mate?”

Sirius sighed. “Yes, my love?”

“Will you pinch me?” Even to him, his voice seemed like it had a dreamlike quality to it. “I think I might be dreami—bloody hell , mate, that really hurt!”

Next to a widely grinning Sirius, Remus snorted. “You asked for it, James.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“If it’s any consolation, though,” Sirius teased, nudging him, “it means she really did just smile at you and wish you good luck.”

Peter tapped them on the shoulders. “Not to ruin the moment or anything, because I know this is a big deal, but I think we’re supposed to be going on in just a sec!”

They could do this. They were the Marauders, and they were going to be fantastic. Peter stepped forward toward the drum set, taking his seat. Remus adjusted his bass, steeling his nerves. Sirius ran a hand through his loose curls, taking a deep breath. James took his position, stretching a wide grin atop his face.

They could do this.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Headmaster Dumbledore’s voice rang out as Sirius adjusted his mic. “May I present Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin, James Potter, and Sirius Black—the Marauders!”

The crowd roared.

The curtain lifted.

Showtime.

Next to James, Sirius cradled the mic in his hand, grinning out at the crowd. “Good evening, everyone!”

“Good evening,” the crowd chanted in response.

He laughed, and James took another steadying breath. Sirius had been studying Freddie Mercury’s stage mannerisms on Live Killers for weeks now to prepare for being the frontman—he would be fine. “Now,” he continued, oblivious to James’ current mess of thoughts, “I think we’ve got a pretty fun little set for you guys, but I’m gonna let you decide that! Now, are you all ready?”

The audience cheered.

Sirius turned to wink at James. “Alright then, let’s do this!”

At his cue, they began the opening bars of Live and Let Die . They’d decided weeks ago to try to emulate more of the Guns ’N’ Roses style than the Paul McCartney one, even though they weren’t even going to get into the really fun guitar bit. Still, it was sharp and haunting, and Sirius’ voice echoed with a sort of longing through a silenced hall, everyone watching his every move. 

You were young and your heart was an open book

You used to say live and let live

On Sirius’ other side, Remus sighed the backing vocals, voice soft and low and haunting.

(You know you did, you know you did, you know you did)

James played with just a touch more fervor, preparing himself for the transition. Just a few more lines, just a few more lines—

But if this ever-changing world in which we live in

Sirius grinned around the words, voice strengthening, building—

Makes you give in and cry

James played the iconic three-note progression to lead into the drop, heart pounding in his ears.

The crowd waited with bated breath for Sirius to howl the titular line—

Adrenaline pulsing through his veins, James began the transition they’d come up with into the legendary alternating notes that opened Dream On , and the crowd lost it. He reveled in the roar of the audience, the hundreds of shocked and grinning faces looking back at him, the music he could feel in his very bones. In that moment, everything was brilliant, perfect, magical—he wanted to do this forever. 

The air was electric as Sirius began to croon the lyrics to the Aerosmith hit. His voice sliced through the notes like a knife. He’d told them when practicing that he’d never be able to truly imitate Steven Tyler’s voice, so he’d chosen to perform it just a touch differently. His voice was a little sharper, a little more pensive, almost as though he were reflecting on the ghosts of lives past and gone. 

Every time that I look in the mirror

All these lines on my face getting clearer

The past is gone

Oh, it went by like dusk to dawn

He was only fourteen—there was no reason for him to sound as painfully world-weary as he did. And yet, every note that left his mouth echoed with the knowledge that the world he knew and life he lived was slipping by with every moment that passed. Frankly, James thought as his fingers slipped over the strings like he’d practiced so many times before, it was rather impressive.

Isn't that the way?

Everybody's got their dues in life to pay, oh, oh, oh

I know nobody knows

Where it comes and where it goes

I know it's everybody's sin

You got to lose to know how to win

James wanted to build to the chorus so badly, but it wasn’t time yet—they still had another whole verse before he could do so. And so he remained patient, or as patient as one could be while playing for hundreds of students, music pulsing through the bloodstream, momentarily immortal.

Half my life's in books' written pages

Storing facts learned from fools and from sages

You view the earth

Oh, sing with me, this mournful dub

The crowd murmured the lyrics along with Sirius’ haunting voice, the words and notes seeming to swirl through the air like some ancient magical connection between them all.

Almost time, almost time—

Sing with me, sing for a year

Sing for the laughter, and sing for the tear

Sing with me, if it's just for today

Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away

Reaching out towards the crowd, Sirius grasped at something just out of reach. His other hand gripped the microphone in front of him, as though it were the only thing tying him to this reality. Just watching him, James knew this wouldn’t be their last performance together. No, they could do this, they really could.

Oh, sing with me, sing for the year

Sing for the laughter, and sing for the tear

Sing it with me, if it's just for today

Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away

And it was finally time.

Exchanging a grin with Remus, James’ playing intensified, swiftly becoming the guitar solo they had worked together to write as a transition. The crowd went wild, hollering and cheering as he paced across the stage, fingers flying over the strings. Sirius cheered just as loud, eyes shining. “Ladies and gentlemen, our phenomenal guitarist James Potter!” Remus’ playing strengthened through the transition as well, and Sirius shot him a smile so dazzling, it looked as though it had been lit by the stars themselves. “And our beloved bassist, Remus Lupin!”

Distantly, James thought he’d never seen a smile quite like that from Sirius Black.

They softened their playing slightly as Peter’s drumming grew more powerful and confident, beating a rhythm in sync with their heartbeats. “Not to mention our fantastic drummer, Peter Pettigrew! Give it up!” 

The audience roared, and if James could bottle the feeling that stirred within him at the sound, he may well have had the secret to infinite happiness. 

James softened further, giving Sirius the room to transition into the intense guitar bit that precluded the final portion of Bohemian Rhapsody . He threw himself into it, storming across the stage as though it had belonged to him all along. If Peter was the soft one and Remus was the mysterious one and James was the charming one, then Sirius was the striking one, smoky and edgy and toeing the line between star and idol to the point where you weren’t quite sure if he was real.

That, right there, was James’ very best friend.

He’d never been quite so proud.

They all joined together, playing with enough energy that James rather thought the ceiling might blow off. The audience screamed and hollered along, their cheers providing extra fuel for the performers. Remus leaned towards his own microphone, screaming the background vocals as Sirius lunged towards the crowd, raven curls spilling through the air.

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?

His voice was sharp, daring.

So you think you can love me and leave me to die?

Every word that left Sirius’ mouth was a challenge. It was a callout to anyone and everyone who had ever hurt him, and James wanted nothing more than to call them out with him.

Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby

Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

James played his heart out, the music pouring out of his fingers as easily as breathing. The music was intense, intense, intense—and then softer now, fading into the outro. Behind him, Peter slowed his playing, and Remus’ voice lurked under Sirius’ like a haunting echo.

Nothing really matters, anyone can see

Nothing really matters

Nothing really matters to me

Their playing slowed to a complete stop, and the crowd waited with breath held tight.

And then, Sirius leaned towards his microphone, the ghost of a smile crossing his face as he whispered the final words.

Any way the wind blows

The crowd went wild . 

Cheers and hollers and screams erupted from the audience, filling the room with the thunderous percussion of applause. The room practically shook with the force of their enthusiasm, and James could barely repress the exhilarated laughter that bubbled in his chest. They had done it. They had actually done it. They’d played every note to perfection, the crowd loved them, and they’d had the time of their lives.

Staring out at the faces looking back at him, screaming his name, James had never felt more alive. Peter waved at the crowd, and James followed suit, laughing as he did so. Remus’ eyes were sparkling in a way quite unusual for him, and Sirius swept into a dramatic bow that had the audience howling for more.

“Thank you all,” he hollered, smile so bright it was practically incandescent. “Thank you very much!”

The curtain swept forward, obscuring the audience, and the Marauders stumbled backstage, laughing and cheering all the while. The next half hour passed in a blur of joy and giggles and adrenaline, a sort of disbelieving excitement that they’d actually done it. Looking back, James wouldn’t remember the exact words they had said to each other, or the particular details of their shouted, interruption-laden recap of the performance, but he would remember the racing of his heartbeat as they were called back on stage. He would remember the small smile on Peter’s face, the determined tilt of Remus’ chin, the glimmer of wonder in Sirius’ eyes. He would remember the roar of his pulse as Professor McGonagall pulled out four trophies. He would remember the rush of exhilaration as the crowd chanted their names in an echoing unison. And he would remember the boom of Headmaster Dumbledore’s voice as he proclaimed that, by the largest margin ever, the student body had voted the Marauders the youngest-ever winners of the Hogwarts talent show. 

After that, his world would never be the same.

Chapter Text

Remus

Summer was always long. 

In the boiling heat, it was easy to think that perhaps the school year had simply been a far-off dream. As he threw himself into work day after day, he always began to believe that perhaps he had imagined it all, that it was simply a delicate portrait painted by a longing mind. This year, though, it felt even more of an illusion.

The end of the school year had been a blur. Exams had consumed each of his waking moments—and even some of the ones he spent dreaming—and before that, he had been consumed by the band and the talent show. He rather thought that was why this past school year in particular felt so unreal. He’d been a part of something he’d never dreamed of. He’d felt, even for a few sparkling seconds, like he belonged. That wasn’t a feeling Remus Lupin was very used to, and so of course the sense of wonder and joy of friendship would be the first to fade into a glimmering mirage in the distance. 

See, Remus didn’t do friends. When he was younger, he had tried, and it hadn’t worked. Now, it was easier to just avoid the trouble altogether. Kids didn’t like the thought of trying to get along with the tall, scarred boy who preferred books to people, and he couldn’t bring himself to care—at least not anymore. Once upon a time, every snub had ached like one of his wounds, but now, that pain had faded into simply a memory of hurt, not unlike his scars. 

The closest thing he had to a friend was Lily Evans, but he wasn’t exactly sure if she counted. Back in the beginning of second year, James had been annoying her about partners, and she had gotten so fed up that she’d told him he couldn’t possibly be her partner because she was already working with Remus. That had not been decided in advance. But she hung around, and they worked together rather nicely. He wasn’t sure if she really counted as a friend, though, or if she was just an acquaintance who made conversation with him on occasion.

He kept to himself, no matter what he did. He didn’t go to the cinema with friends in the summer. He didn’t talk to the kids studying in the library, instead simply sitting silently in the shadows near the stacks. He didn’t even sit with a partner in any of his classes other than that one-off with Lily, something his teachers had stopped questioning sometime in his third year. It wasn’t necessarily that he wanted to be alone—he just had little desire for the alternative. 

And then James Potter had waltzed into his life, dragging Peter Pettigrew with him. And Sirius Black. 

They were an unholy trinity, he’d always thought. They were mischievous and magical, and beloved by almost all. If you didn’t love them, you wanted to be them. And Remus? He’d simply watched them from afar, wondering what it would be like to be a part of a group as close-knit as them. He didn’t want their spotlight, and he didn’t need to be their friend, but sometimes late at night, when old injuries ached in a hollow, haunting sort of way, he wondered what that kind of friendship was like.

Well.

He’d certainly learned now, hadn’t he?

Friendship like that was a sort of madness. Whenever you needed help, you could simply look to the person beside you. That person knew you inside and out, to the point where a conversation with them was almost like breathing. You never had to sit alone, because there was always a person to sit with. You could never hide, because they would shine their light upon you with the power of a thousand stars. You could laugh with them. You could lean on them. You could rely on them.

Remus hadn’t relied on anyone other than himself in a very long time.

He’d always felt a bit other compared to them. He didn’t add any colors or details to their already-brilliant portrait—he just lurked quietly off to the side like a wraith of the shadows. James and Sirius were the sun and the stars, shining brilliantly for all the world to see. Remus was the moon, only able to give off even the softest glow when their beams were directed toward him. His time with them, as a Marauder, was wonderful, but he’d known it wouldn’t last forever. No, come the beginning of the school year, he would fade back into the background like the memory of detail in a sepia photograph.

That didn’t stop him from thinking about them the whole ride back to school, though. He never thought too much about school during the summer—he was so busy, he didn’t really have time to. He spent every spare moment in the bookstore where he worked, forever prolonging the time until he went back to the orphanage that was most certainly Not His Home, and he kept his mind as distracted as possible through it all. It was nicer to wait anyways, to shove all the thoughts of school into a box in the back of his mind, because when he finally let himself dwell on the memories, they felt almost like presents.

He stared out the window at the blur of countryside as the train rattled its way toward Hogwarts, David Bowie’s voice pouring out of Remus’ old, beaten earbuds. It was a long ride, but preferable to one in the old, frankly untrustworthy van that the orphanage kept on retainer. For one thing, he had his own compartment where he wouldn’t be bothered or even expected to talk to anyone, which was lovely. For another, the seats were comfortable, and there was food served every now and then. He never got much, but it was always nice to have the option. 

Eyes tracing over the mass of greenery, his mind flitted to the letter he’d received from school alongside his materials list. He’d have a new roommate this year, it had said, because his previous one had “elected not to return to the school for the upcoming year.” Frankly, Remus figured he’d been kicked out. There wasn’t really any love lost between the two of them—they’d each done their own separate things, coexisting quietly without any expectation of friendship. He didn’t care that the boy was gone, but he wasn’t sure what to expect now. Would his new roommate expect friendship? Would he hate Remus on sight? Would he be loud? Annoying? Judgmental?

At least Jake had been the devil he knew. A new roommate would be one he didn’t.

Sometime in the afternoon, the train roared to a stop at Hogsmeade station, and all of the kids who weren’t quite fortunate enough to have a luxury car or chauffeured limousine ride to school poured out, grabbing their bags and making their way to the school. He’d always been a light packer, something he was exceedingly grateful for as he watched other students struggle to haul what looked like thousands of bags and suitcases towards the dorms. He just had a large suitcase, a smaller carryon, and a backpack. It looked a bit sad, in comparison, but it was useful. Very useful.

He dragged his few belongings up to the fourth floor of Gryffindor Hall, down the hallway he knew so well, and into the room that had been his since first year. It didn’t take long to unpack—the most he had to do was shelve all of his books, put up his two posters, and set up the picture frame that held his one photo from Before. 

Tracing a finger over the faded frame, Remus sighed softly. What would they think if they could see him now? Would they be proud of him? Would they support him? Would they even recognize him at all? Dwelling on it wouldn’t be of any use, though. Lyall and Hope were long gone, and he bore the scars to prove it. He’d never know what they would think of him because they weren’t around to see it, and they never would be again. The sooner he got that into his foolish mind, the better.

One would think he would have by now, considering that it had been six years, but he had no such luck.

Suddenly exhausted for no good reason, he flopped over onto his bed—a bed that had no right to be so comfortable, considering it was just a Hogwarts dorm bed, but he digressed—feeling a sort of heaviness sink down over him. Maybe he should sleep, he thought distantly. He always slept better here anyways. It was quieter, softer. Less likelihood of waking up screaming from nightmares. He could let himself drift off, he could.

A knock at the door prevented that.

He dragged himself off the bed and towards the door, limbs aching with every move. With a tired, sore scowl, Remus swung open the door, bleary-eyed, only to find—

Not what he expected.

“Remus?” A wide-eyed look of confusion.

Shit .

“Sirius?”

The universe was laughing at the joke that was Remus Lupin’s life. There was no possible way that Jake, loner stoner and idiot extraordinaire, had been replaced by the striking, mercurial creature that was Sirius Black. It couldn’t be real. And yet, there he was, standing in the hallway surrounded by bags of various sizes and looking rather out of place in it all.

The boy blinked his starlight eyes, long lashes sweeping down like clouds over the moon. He cocked his head to the side, sending a waterfall of curls spilling over his shoulder. “Who let you get taller?” The question was laced with that ironic blade that pervaded nearly every phrase that fell from his silver tongue.

Remus blanched. He wasn’t that tall, and he certainly wasn’t tall enough to warrant that tone of dry derision. Although Sirius was clearly taller than he had been at the end of the year, and yet was still several inches shorter than Remus.

Hm. Maybe Remus was taller than he thought.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he narrowed his own eyes at the boy by the doorframe, drinking in his appearance as though he would never see it again. “Who let you out of the house like that? Certainly not your mother.” He’d meant it as a joke, because it was the only way his mind could process the glorious vision in front of him. 

Gone was the boy who had buttoned himself perfectly into his uniform last year for fear of his mother’s wrath, or who had gelled his dark curls to conform with her desire for impeccable composure. Instead, he’d been replaced with a wild, dangerous young man painted in mischief and smoke and starlight. His curls rippled down past his shoulder blades, the night-colored locks shimmering like a raven’s wing. He’d added more adornments to his ears over the summer as well, the piercings lining the curve of his ears with hoops and blades that made him appear like some wicked elven prince. He’d pierced bits of his face, too—a small stud sparkled on his nose, and two hoops curled over his full bottom lip like vampire fangs forged of werewolf’s bane. Even his eyes had changed slightly, lined in dark ink that seemed to capture Remus’ gaze and trap it in the fathomless quicksilver depths. He belonged in the sky, the stars, on stage with Brian May and Steven Tyler and Ozzy Osbourne and Slash, not in front of Remus’ doorframe.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Sirius seemed to shut down at the words, though, shoulders tensing sharply. “Not much she can say about it, can she, considering I don’t see her anymore.” He looked back up at Remus, something lost in his expression. “Can I just—can I just bring my stuff in? I don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

Who the hell was Remus to say no to that? So he motioned for Sirius to bring his bags in, helping shoulder one or two while shutting the door behind them. The other boy was uncharacteristically quiet as he unpacked, and Remus didn’t want to disturb him—he’d clearly already done damage, and didn’t trust himself not to cause any more. 

“For what it’s worth,” he finally muttered a few minutes later, as Sirius tacked up a David Bowie poster, “it suits you.”

Sirius whipped around, eyes wide. “What do you mean?” 

Remus let his eyes trace over his new roommate’s form, all lean angles and sharp edges. A deadly butterfly decorated in beauty and elegance to warn you not to touch.

Remus would not touch.

“You look like Sirius Black,” he said after a moment, gesturing to him in his entirety. “Not who Walburga Black wants him to be.”

A small smile crossed Sirius’ face, the new piercings shining in the light with even the slightest of movements. “You mean it?”

Rolling his eyes, Remus had to fight a smile of his own. “Yeah, Black, I mean it. Don’t make me regret saying it.”

Finished with his unpacking, Sirius hopped onto his bed, looking oddly small atop the expanse of scarlet blanket. “I’m sorry for this, by the way.” He’d drawn into himself, tucking his knees up to his chest like a child.

“Sorry for what?” Remus hoisted himself onto his own bed, running a hand through his sandy brown curls.

“All of this.” Sirius gestured to himself and his surroundings. “If I’m the reason your old roommate is gone or something, or if I bother you because let’s be so for real, I know I can be a lot to deal with, then I’m so so sorry, and if you want me to try and leave or change rooms I totally can—

“What the fuck are you on?” Okay, Remus knew he hadn’t wanted a new roommate. He knew he didn’t like people. Hell, he knew that no matter how well he pretended they got on, he really knew very little about the real Sirius Black, not the way James did. But still. “Look, Jake was a fucking asshole sometimes. Best thing about him was that he left me alone. I’m not gonna fight you out of this goddamn dorm room, Sirius. That would be a waste of my time, and seeing as to how many things I have to do on the daily, I’m not keen on spending my time on anything unnecessary. So yeah, welcome to your new dorm, and welcome back to Gryffindor Hall, I guess.”

That elicited a slight laugh from Sirius. “It’s good to be back here.” He relaxed a bit, his shoulders slipping away from his ears. “Besides, I think you’ll be a more interesting roommate than the last.”

Remus, more interesting? To the mercurial and ever-changing Sirius Black?

Yeah, he doubted it.

Chapter Text

At the rate things were going, Remus would have an absolutely infinite amount of examples to support the hypothesis that his life was apparently the most hysterical thing the universe had ever witnessed.

Case in point: class schedules.

Before coming back to school, he’d resolved to distance himself from the Marauders. With the talent show over, he knew they had no reason to spend time with him, and it would be easier to just have a clean break. They’d needed a bassist, not a new friend, and he was a fool if he thought that they would want to keep him around afterward. No one ever wanted to keep him around. In any case, he’d wanted to separate immediately, rather than prolong the pain, and instead, the universe seemed desperate to fuck him over. First, his new roommate was Sirius fucking Black, so there was literally no avoiding him. And now, he had music with all of the Marauders and at least half of his other classes with Sirius.

Sirius, for some reason, was thrilled. He’d waved his schedule about, bouncing eagerly around the room like an overexcited puppy. “D’you see this?” He’d bounded towards Remus, silvery eyes sparkling. “Look, Remus, we’ve got all of these together!”

In response, Remus had just made a noncommittal noise, a half-smile on his face. “I suppose we do.” What else was he supposed to say? Damn you, Sirius Black, for making my life so much harder than it needs to be? Damn you, Sirius Black, for making it so much harder to separate myself? Damn you, Sirius Black, for acting as though we’re actual friends? Somehow, he didn’t think any of that would quite work in the situation, and so he kept his mouth shut.

Was he regretting that on the first day of classes, when he walked into English and found himself seated next to his roommate? Yes, absolutely. He needed to move—spending a whole year sitting with Sirius would only make everything more miserable. He glanced left, right, trying to see if there were any more empty seats, but Professor Darling started class before he could move, meaning one thing and one thing only: he was stuck.

However, Professor Darling easily distracted him from his conundrum. He’d never had her before—she was fairly new, and only taught fifth through seventh years. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t her . 

“Good morning everyone, and welcome back!” Her voice was sharp and a bit dry, like a woman more accustomed to the art of deadpan than honesty. He knew the tone well, considering how often it fell from his own lips. “Welcome to my class.” She grinned, and somehow, it reminded Remus of Sirius. She strode across the front of the classroom, heels clicking against the floor like the beat of a drum. 

Her eyes traced across the classroom, surveying her students, and Remus sat a bit higher in his seat under her gaze. “I don’t know how your previous classes have been run, but I can tell you right now that they were not like mine.” Kids began to mutter, but quite frankly, Remus was intrigued. “I’m not in the business of asking you what happened—I’m here to ask you why . I want you not just to read the words in front of you, but to understand their limitless depths.”

Fucking hell , she made English class sound like a spy operation.

A glance over to his side told Remus that Sirius, despite everyone else’s murmurs, was just as fascinated as him.

“We’ll begin each class with a warmup, of sorts. You’ll pick apart a poem or song—one per week—to truly work into the layers of language and meaning. Now, you might be sitting here listening to me and thinking ‘what the hell is this woman on? I don’t want to be an author, so why do I need this?’ Excellent questions, truly.” She scanned the class, a small smile curling up her lips. “Some of you do want to be authors. Some of you want to be journalists. Some of you want to be lawyers, or politicians. And some of you want to be songwriters.”

Was she looking at Remus and Sirius? Yes, she was.

“You need to understand words and their depths no matter what your plan is.” Even from his seat, Remus could see the twinkle in Professor Darling’s eyes. “ And you need to be able to cooperate and collaborate.” Cooperate and collaborate? Was she saying—? “Which means that you each need to find a partner that you’ll be able to work with for the rest of the year.”

Excited murmuring filled the room as people began to choose their partners, and Remus barely surpassed a groan. He was actually going to fucking kill himself if he was stuck working with someone he hated and who hated him, which, knowing his luck and the universe’s view of his existence, was extremely likely.

“Partners?”

Remus turned towards Sirius, furrowing his brows. “That’s what she said, yeah.” He’d thought she was pretty obvious about her meaning, but maybe Sirius hadn’t understood?

A small smile overtook Sirius’ face. “No, I mean—do you want to be partners?”

Remus just stared at him, not comprehending.

Two small patches of pale pink bloomed on Sirius’ high cheekbones as he waited for Remus to reply. Finally, he ducked his head, raven curls sliding over his shoulders. “I mean, you can obviously say no,” he continued, reminding Remus of when James had asked him to join the band. “I just really liked working with you in the spring when we were putting together our medley—you made my head clearer, if that makes sense? I don’t know if it does. Anyway, you seemed to get me, and the way you think is just so cool, and I just figured that if I had to work with anyone in here, you’d be my first choice.” He paused, silver eyes wide. “But yeah, don’t feel obligated to say yes.”

Remus blinked once, twice. Sirius’ eyes were faerie rings—look into their mercurial depths for too long, and you may never resurface. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” Sirius’ musical voice was quiet and surprisingly genuine.

Running a hand through his own unruly hair, Remus let out a soft sigh. “Then yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I’ll be your partner.”

Judging by the way his expression lit up, you would have thought Remus had just given Sirius the moon. Or maybe a time machine and tickets to see Queen or David Bowie in concert. Maybe both. In any case, it didn’t seem at all like an appropriate response. He’d just agreed to be Sirius’ partner—there was no reason to be so excited.

Sirius cocked his head to the side, sending curls spilling like a waterfall over his collarbones. “Why do you seem so surprised?”

Why did he want to know? Why did he care ? Remus shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “No one ever wants to be my partner.”

Damn. That was more honest than he had meant. 

The shock on Sirius’ face was frankly laughable. “What the fuck? Why?”

“They just don’t.” Really, Sirius was making this a bigger deal than it should be.

His seatmate—partner?—scowled. “They’re missing out,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Clearly they’re idiots, to not see that one of the cleverest, most brilliant, and lowkey iconic people I’ve ever met was sitting in front of them. Sucks to be them, honestly—I get you instead. Their loss.”

Cleverest? Most brilliant? Lowkey iconic? The universe was laughing hysterically, pointing at Remus and howling with humor until it couldn’t breathe any more. They were a singular day into classes, and Remus already could barely handle this. How would he survive the entire year?

But he wasn’t alone anymore, so there was that.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way, filled with James’ sun-like cheer, Peter’s quiet warmth, and Sirius’ starlight smile. Remus wasn’t quite sure what to do with it all. He’d been so prepared for them to leave him behind, and yet they were dragging him kicking and screaming into something that felt dangerously like a path to real friendship. He should have fought against it, should have isolated himself like he had planned, and yet all he could do was wait for the other shoe to drop.

When he got back to the dorm after his final class of the day, Sirius was already there. He was curled up on his bed, already in sweatpants and an AC/DC shirt, scribbling in a little black notepad. He barely seemed to notice Remus’ entrance, mumbling the lyrics to Moonage Daydream under his breath, likely along with the music playing through the earbuds sitting in his earring-studded ears. Remus hummed along—how could he not? It was Bowie, after all—but that may have been a mistake, considering the way Sirius jolted at the sound.

“Remus!” He pulled out an earbud, looking oddly embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” He shut his notebook, setting it down on the bedside table. 

Remus hung up his bag and kicked his shoes off before sitting down on his own bed. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sirius drew his knees up to his chest as he leaned against the wall next to his bed. “I swear the beds in Gryffindor Hall are more comfortable than the Slytherin ones.”

“Really?” Remus couldn’t suppress a snort. He’d been planning to read, but frankly, entertaining Sirius’ rambling seemed like it may be a bit of fun.

Sirius grinned. “Oh, absolutely . Granted, I’ve always loved Gryffindor and hated Slytherin, so there may be a tiny bit of bias. But not much. And I’m not wrong.”

“Of course you’re not.” Setting the book he’d picked up next to the lamp, he furrowed his brows at the boy across the room. “How’d you end up in here anyways?”

Knife-sharp eyebrows shot up, an expression of untold danger formed of the fear and fury of a caged animal flashing across his blade-hewn features. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and Sirius was left looking rather like a stray puppy that had just been kicked. Feral and beaten and oh-so-forlorn. He let out a dry laugh. “You know, I used to be in Gryffindor Hall,” he began, and Remus nodded. James had said as much last year, and Remus had his own memories of seeing the two boys laughing and joking in the common room on the rare occasion that he himself had been there. “Mummy dearest and I had a fun little spat last year, though, and she pulled a few strings to get me into Slytherin. Not fun, let me tell you.”

He choked out another laugh, but it was a gunshot instead of a guitar strum. Sirius Black’s laughter should never have to sound like that. “But after what—just after,” he cut himself off, and there was something raw in his voice that told Remus not to press, “Mrs Potter—Effie—wouldn’t let me go back there. So she told the school in no uncertain terms that if they kept me there, they would be enabling and furthering child abuse, and that was a lawsuit waiting to happen. So they listened.”

“Damn.” Remus let out a long, low whistle. “And I thought the orphanage was shit.”

Sirius blinked. “Remus, what?”

“It’s nothing.” Nothing, just a violent car accident. Nothing, just a map of vicious scars. Nothing, just aching pains in his limbs that never went away. Nothing, just a broken boy left without his parents. Nothing, just a shattered boy left alone. “What’s after?”

Sirius’ expression shuttered. “It’s nothing.”

Somehow, he felt like their ‘nothings’ ment something vastly different, and yet painfully similar. And so, before he quite knew what he was doing, Remus hauled himself to his feet and motioned to his roommate. 

“What are you doing?”

Remus sighed. “We’re going to the music room.”

Chapter Text

The drumbeat of footsteps filled the hallways as Remus Lupin and Sirius Black dashed toward the music room. Why was he doing this? Why had Remus Lupin, professional loner and odd one out, suggested the shining star of their year come with him to—to what, exactly? Let feelings out? He was not qualified for this. This should be James, not Remus. James knew how to talk to people. James knew why Sirius was back in Gryffindor Hall. James was Sirius’ friend . Remus was just the roommate.

What the actual hell was he thinking? Yes, playing the bass helped calm him down. The feeling of the guitar strings under his fingers and the low notes swirling through the air with a magic of their own always created a sense of comfort that permeated even the deepest depths of his heart. When all else failed, it was the perfect outlet for all of the feelings he kept buried beneath the surface. 

But would Sirius think that was stupid? Foolish? Would he laugh and shake his head disdainfully, knife-hewn features etched with scorn?

He led his roommate into the empty music room, grabbing the battered bass he always used from the closet. It was a bit shabby and old, and had certainly seen better days, but it still worked. When properly taken care of, it produced a sound unique to itself, low and powerful and altogether right in a way he hadn’t felt with any of the other basses he’d tried. 

Sirius followed suit, grabbing his striking silver guitar and sitting down on the stool by the window. He perched there, completely silent, for a few moments before looking at Remus with those striking eyes of his. “What are we gonna play?”

Remus shrugged. “How do you feel?”

“Pissed.” It took barely a second for Sirius to reply. “Pissed, and angry, and fucking disappointed.”

“Use that, then.” It was what McGonagall had told him when she first taught him to play. It had helped then; he hoped it was the right advice now. 

Sirius screwed up his face in concentration, then began to play. It was maybe the least confident Remus had ever seen him—the other boy typically looked and acted as though he owned wherever he was, and everyone else played along. His fingers twitched over the strings of his guitar as he figured out the notes to whatever song he was working on, a song Remus didn’t recognize until he murmured the opening lyrics.

You suck my blood like a leech

You break the law and you breach

“ Death on Two Legs ,” Remus mumbled, and adjusted his own playing to match. Sirius nodded once, eyebrows furrowed in thought. 

Screw my brain till it hurts

You've taken all my money - you still want more

His voice was bitter in a way it had never been during the spring. It worked with the song— Death on Two Legs was sharp and angry, and Sirius fit the criteria perfectly. Distantly, Remus wondered what had happened to him that he carried such an edge. The song clearly hit home, and a quiet part of him wanted to know why.

Not that it mattered.

Misguided old mule

With your pigheaded rules

With your narrow - minded cronies who are fools of the first division-

Remus joined in with the backing vocals, unable to resist. He didn’t think he had the greatest voice ever, but there was something raw in the feeling of letting his emotions four out quietly through his voice that he loved, deep down. Sirius shot him a smile as he did so, his own voice growing stronger as they harmonized into the chorus.

Death on two legs

You’re tearing me apart

Death on two legs

You never had a heart of your own

It was angry, sharp, blades in every word. Remus let his own fury pervade his voice, echoing his own resentment towards the orphanage, his situation, himself. If he had the money to see a therapist, they’d probably say he had some sort of survivor’s guilt, but he didn’t have money, and therefore he didn’t have a therapist, which meant he didn’t have to worry about it. All he had to do was sing along and let the emotions pour out with every single lyric. And he did.

Kill joy, Bad guy,

Big talking, Small fry

You're just an old barrow - boy

Have you found a new toy to replace me,

Can you face me -

The daggers in Sirius’s voice were deadly and aimed to kill in a way no other line had been. Something about this verse was different to him, clearly—maybe this was his way of tackling his own After.

For Remus, it had always been a way of running from his own After. After hurt, it burned, it sliced with the vengeance of a thousand burning swords. Every moment spent in the After was a reminder that Before was slipping away, pouring out like water from between his fingers. Before was an aching scar dragged across his face, sliced across his back, raised around his heart, forever reminding him that it was gone, that they were gone.

The next verses were even more violent, pulsing dangerously with a fury so evident that it was almost a heartbeat. The room shook with the force of their hurt, the two of them coiled and angry and rattling before the strike.

They practically hollered the final verse in perfect harmony, voices rough and broken, manic smiles on their faces.

Insane you should be put inside,

You're a sewer - rat decaying in a cesspool of pride

Should be made unemployed

Then make yourself null - and - void,

Make me feel good

I feel good.

When they finally stopped, Remus had to fight to catch his breath, and when he glanced over to his companion, he saw that Sirius was doing the same. His chest heaved, as though he’d poured every ounce of energy into their performance. Everything about it had ached, stabbed, burned, and yet he felt a bit better. There was a stillness in the room now, a soft silence of warmth and mutual understanding. For a moment, there was maybe no one in the world but Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, and for a moment, he thought that maybe, just maybe, they existed not as strangers or acquaintances or roommates, but friends.

Sirius looked at him, faerie-ring eyes open wide. His porcelain cheekbones were flushed with exertion, raven curls wild and untamed, spilling over his heaving shoulders. He was maybe unreal—in the aftermath of that wild performance, Remus wasn’t sure if Sirius was a real boy, or just an ethereal hallucination. 

At the moment, he was leaning toward the hallucination theory.

“Remus,” Sirius murmured, and the silence turned to listen. 

The boy in question blinked. “What?”

They just looked at each other, hands still on the strings of their respective guitars. They were disheveled and disastrous, marvelous and magical, on the brink of death and momentarily ascended to the stars. In the aftermath, they were furious, hurting, pained gods among men, united in scars both seen and unseen.

And then they were boys again, laughing in the silence.

Despite his better instincts, Remus wanted this to be real.

After that, they sort of fell into each other’s orbit. Or rather, Remus tumbled into the star-like gravity of Sirius, despite his every instinct screaming at him to stay away.

Yeah, the universe was laughing its ass off. 

In the mornings, they spent minute after minute analyzing literature with bright eyes, sharp wits grown sharper in each other’s presence. Professor Darling would stop by their shared desk every now and then, a small smile on her painted lips as she glanced over their work with a slight air of approval. In the afternoons, they spent music class with James and Peter, playing music together as effortlessly as if they had been doing it since the day they were born. In the evenings, Sirius would head to the common room to hang out with James and Peter, and always tried to drag Remus along. Remus always tried to say no. He usually ended up saying yes.

Hanging out with them, it was almost easy to believe they were friends. Even if he spent a great deal of his time sitting by the ever-burning fireplace with his book, he was still roped into their loud conversations and shrieks of laughter. He’d be constantly interrupted with a ‘ Remuuuusss , tell him he’s wrong,’ and a ‘ Remuuuuuuss , isn’t pranking the Slytherins a great idea?’ and ‘ Remuuuuuuuuuusss , come join us!’ Sometimes, he’d scowl or roll his eyes or pretend he didn’t care. Most times, though, he’d end up carefully bookmarking his novel, still rolling his eyes, but fondly this time. He’d card a hand through his disastrous curls and turn to listen to the brilliant fools, who were always talking and laughing and scheming and dreaming.

Eventually, he grew more comfortable. Peter started roping him into chess games, once the boy realized that Remus was far more patient than both Sirius and James combined, and was therefore more than content to stare at strategically placed pieces for sometimes hours on end. ames liked to talk to him about football and music and classwork and Lily Evans, asking unending questions with an unthinkably bright grin. Remus humored him when he could, unable to quite turn fully away from his joyful and honest nature. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen James in anything other than a good mood. He was always pleasant to be around, as warm as a beam of sunshine, no matter how tired or worried or stressed he was. Remus had asked him about it one night, and the other boy had just shrugged, a small smile on his face. “I don’t like being angry or upset,” he’d said, amber skin flushing slightly. “It doesn’t make me feel good, it doesn’t help the situation, and it hurts people.” He’d said that last part as though it held all the weight in the world. Maybe it did. “I don’t like to hurt people.”

Remus had noticed.

Somehow, despite growing closer to them all, Sirius still remained a bit of a shining enigma. Remus wasn’t sure how it was possible for the boy to be so loud and bright and yet such a mystery to him. They never talked about that night in the music room—he wasn’t even sure it had really happened. It was unthinkable. It was sacred. It was a nightmare. It was a dream. Sirius never mentioned it, the way they’d bared their scars and hearts for just a few minutes, and then sat in the serene silence that was so still, it felt like the world was holding its breath. Remus never mentioned it either—if he didn’t talk about it, maybe he’d believe it hadn’t happened. 

Days like this turned into weeks, and if Remus wasn’t careful, he’d slip away into the warmth of an implied embrace of friendship. He couldn’t afford to slip and fall, and yet he didn’t want to keep struggling and clawing and fighting to keep ahold of his loneliness. It was exhausting, fighting to stay separated and detached all of the time, and yet he didn’t trust anyone to not let him go. He wanted to, though.

The aching sense of wanting only worsened as the leaves began to fall and people started asking the Marauders to play at parties. People were all over them, talking about their performance at the talent show and saying it was brilliant, iconic, legendary. Everyone wanted a piece of them now, and Remus wasn’t sure how to deal with it. He belonged in the shadows of the stacks in the library, not onstage in the spotlight. And yet, when James and Sirius and Peter had turned to him to ask if he would play with them again, he couldn’t say no. And so they ended up at practice and parties, playing their music for all the students to see. James and Sirius shined. Peter thrived. And Remus played his bass and sang into his microphone and pretended he belonged.

It was the most parties he’d been to in—ever, actually. He’d never really been a partier, and he hadn’t exactly had friends who would invite him. And now he was being looked at like he was some sort of ‘hot commodity’ like James or Sirius, people passing him from person to person and conversation to conversation like a half-used blunt. It was overstimulating and yet intoxicating in a way he couldn’t comprehend between the exhaustion and euphoria of performance. His life had turned into an endless mess of homework and class and parties and practice with an eternal soundtrack of drumbeats and Sirius’ echoing voice in the background.`

Nights formerly spent in the common room were now spent in the old abandoned music room where they had planned their talent show performance, practicing and perfecting their arts. Sometimes they worked on covers, sometimes they created mashups like the one they’d performed in the spring, and sometimes, late in the night, they would bend their heads together and try to breathe life into a song of their own. Sometimes they were at it for so long that even James and Peter fell asleep or trudged back to their own room, leaving Remus and Sirius with the notebook and feverish glints in their eyes.

Working with Sirius on songs was… thrilling, perhaps. That wasn’t the right word for it, but Remus wasn’t sure what the right word was. All he knew was that there was something special about working with him that made the world feel a little more right. He could think a little clearer when he was scribbling into that beaten notebook, bouncing ideas off of that relentlessly energetic boy.  It made him feel just a bit less broken, and to be perfectly honest, he had no idea what to do with that. Did that make them friends? He wasn’t sure. Hell, he didn’t even know how to ask.

As it turned out, though, he didn’t have to.

Late one night, as they sat on the floor of the music room, Sirius had let out a long sigh of frustration and turned his gaze up to the ceiling as though he could somehow see the stars. 

“What?” Remus asked, unable to keep the bite of exhaustion from his voice. He didn’t understand Sirius enough to know his tells or what they meant, not in the way that James did.

Sirius raked a hand through his curls, turning his head to face Remus. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”

Shoulders tensing sharply, Remus blanched. “Why?”

At his reaction, Sirius rushed to explain himself. “Neither of us is very honest, I don’t think, but I think it’ll maybe help us with writing? The best music is born of vulnerability, and I don’t think we’re very good at that so maybe practicing when it was just us would be helpful?” 

“I was born in Wales.” There, a truth. Not a major one, but a truth nonetheless. “Don’t live there anymore—“ he hadn’t since Before became After, but that was besides the point— “but I used to. When I was younger.”

Sirius looked like he wanted to ask a question, and Remus braced himself for the inevitable prying that would result. But to his surprise, none came.

Sirius just sat quietly for a moment, a rare occurrence for him. Remus didn’t think he’d say anything—maybe it had just been a ploy to get Remus to say something. But why would he care? They weren’t—they weren’t—

“I was lonely last year.”

The boy’s voice was so small, Remus could barely hear it. 

“I know, I know, it sounds stupid even when I say it.” It’s not stupid , Remus wanted to say, even though just moments before, he had been momentarily surprised by the statement. Sirius Black was the most charming, effervescent person Remus had ever met, and he was always surrounded by throngs of people who wanted to stand in his starlight for even just a moment. How could he have been lonely? And yet Remus knew firsthand how easy it was to feel alone even when surrounded by people.

Sirius started absent-mindedly braiding one of his curls. “I mean, obviously I had friends—Reg and Barty and Evan and Dorcas and Pandora took me in, y’know? And they were wonderful, they really were. But still.” He took a deep breath, and Remus was quietly surprised to hear how it rattled in his chest. “They’ve all been through shit, and it forged them together. They were made for each other, y’know? Like pieces of a puzzle forged into one. And I was just… the companion, I guess. Like I was a part of them, but not one of them. You didn’t need me to understand the whole picture.” A dry laugh slipped from his full lips. “God, that sounds so, so stupid when I say it out loud. You’ve gotta think I’m pathetic.”

Remus shook his head minutely, then again with more force. “It’s not pathetic.” Should he say it? Should he not? Should he? “It’s how I feel with you.”

Sirius practically whirled towards him, silver eyes flashing. “Listen to me, Remus Lupin.” His voice was determined, but not angry. Remus didn’t know what it meant. “You played with us in the spring. You continue to play with us now. You are quieter than we are, and you think more, and you are not as irrationally foolish at times, but you are one of us. There are no Marauders without Remus Lupin—there is no way to understand our puzzle without you.” He leaned closer, raven curls slipping over his shoulders and framing his face like a painting that Remus wanted to commit to memory forever. “You are stuck with us, Remus. No going back.”

He said that as though it was a dangerous thing, a wild thing, and it was.

But maybe, just maybe, it felt like a sort of home.

Chapter Text

Barty

He firmly stood by the statement that getting ready was the best part of a party. 

Parties were loud and energizing and sweaty and inevitably, you’d end up making out with someone you didn’t really know and it was fun and wild and exhausting and you’d tumble into bed next to your best friend and wish you’d spent the night with them instead. But getting ready? That meant Pandora sitting on the floor, weaving beads and charms into her and Dorcas’ hair with a soft smile and a warm laugh. It meant Regulus waging war on his own dark locks, trying to get them to lay in an artfully messy yet dignified way that he was never quite satisfied with. It meant himself digging through his jewelry, affixing chains and studs and rings to every possible surface. And it meant Evan, shrugging into cropped shirts that exposed what had to be his entire abdomen with a bright grin and a sparkle in his eyes.

At the party, he had to drink and smile and laugh and kiss and be bold and bright and brash and beautiful and not-at-all broken (or maybe too broken? he didn’t know for sure). He’d hold onto his glass or bottle or maybe the girl who’d been flirting all night and pretend he couldn’t feel the ache of the scars through his shirt. He’d dance and sing along to the too-loud music and feel the beat pumping through his bloodstream like a drug he hated but couldn’t let go of. He’d pretend to like people. He’d openly hate people. He’d have the time of his life. He’d hate every minute. He’d laugh. He’d want to cry. He’d live. He’d want to die. And then he would stumble back to the dorm and see Evan and maybe the universe would stop shattering around him for just a moment. A moment was all he was asking for.

But right now, there were no flashing lights or pounding music or people pressing in around him. Right now, there was just him and his best friends and the soft voices of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham in the background. It was Pandora’s record, a well-loved copy of The Dance she’d found in a secondhand book and record store a few years ago. Barty had lost count of the amount of times they’d played it in here. Actually, he’d never counted to begin with. When he was younger, he hadn’t been the biggest fan of Fleetwood Mac, but now it felt like home. 

At the vanity, Evan was fighting with his white-blond twists, trying to pull them up. Barty could help—he’d done it before. He always did. And so he offered and his best friend agreed. Evan always did. The black of his nail polish stood out against the pale, wavy twists he was weaving into a messy knot, and he smiled a little at the sight. Evan had painted them—he always did. They were matching, just like always.

Barty wasn’t sure when the ritual had started, but it became their thing. Apparently, best friends had Things they shared. He hadn’t known that when he started at Hogwarts. Actually, he hadn’t known about best friends when he started at Hogwarts. Evan had changed that. Regulus too.

Across the room, Regulus growled at his reflection, and Barty snorted, entertained enough to look up from the obviously very important task at hand. “Something bothering you, Reg?”

Reg turned to him, expression deadpan in the way only he had ever truly mastered. “No, Barty. Absolutely nothing is bothering me. I am perfectly fine, and everything is going exactly as planned. One could even say I was chipper.”

Evan’s shit-eating grin was evident even without seeing it. “Yes, Reg, that is the very first word every person who ever meets you thinks when they see you. Chipper .” He gave a little half-laugh that shouldn’t have sounded as cute as it did. “But seriously, it looks fine. Good, even.”

“I do not need your sympathy, Evan Rosier.” The words were biting, but Barty knew his friend well enough to hear the underlying fondness in his tone.

Barty tapped Evan on the shoulder, a momentary and age-old way to tell him that his hair was done. The blonde turned around to face him, smile bright against his deep amber skin. “Thanks, Stinger.”

Barty has had a lot of names. Some of them he hated with a fury. Some of them he tolerated. Some of them simply were . But Stinger belonged to him. It’d been Evan’s name for him since the beginning of second year—he’d called him Barty, then Bee, then Stinger. When Barty had asked him why, he’d said it was because bumblebees had stingers, and he thought it made sense. It had stuck. But it wasn’t like Barty was the only one with a nickname—Evan was Rosie. Maybe not to everyone, but at least to him. He thought it made sense, and so it stuck.

Regulus gave up on his hair and started working on his eyeliner, something he did with enough precision to make Barty jealous. Honestly, it was like watching a serial killer or something, the way he effortlessly drew the sharp lines without a flaw in sight. “Remind me why we are going to this again?”

From the floor, Pandora let out a soft, musical sigh. “Your brother invited us,” she said, voice warm as ever. Her voice was kinder than Evan’s, and a bit sweeter. “You said yourself that you wanted to make sure he was alright after this summer, and that if that meant going to a Gryffindor Hall party, then so be it. Are you having second thoughts?”

Regulus frowned. “Of course not.”

“It’s okay if you are, though.” Evan stood up and made his way to his own dresser, picking out his rings for the night. “I know this summer was a lot, and even if you think you did the right thing, you can still feel not okay. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

Barty carded a hand through his messy hair. He’d been thinking about dying it—maybe he should do that. His father would kill him for it, but it would be worth it. “We all get it, Reg.” Broken pieces fit together. Maybe it was why they worked. “You went through a shit show. Hell, you’re still going through a shit show. If you aren’t ready—if you don’t want to go tonight—“ Not going tonight meant no electrifying pulse. It meant no euphoric high. It meant no crash of self-loathing. It meant no press of bodies and hands and lips and drinks and emotion emotion emotion— “You don’t have to be fine.”

Jumper-laden shoulders steadied. “I am fine. I will be fine. We will go to this party, and I will make sure my brother is fine, because if he is not—“

Reg didn’t need to finish the sentence. They all knew about what happened to Sirius, how Reg had spirited him away to the Potters’ place, how he’d done everything he could to get his brother out of the house and then stayed behind to pick up the broken pieces. He was broken too, but Barty knew that underneath Reg’s cool exterior, he would do anything to make sure his brother was not hurt again.

Dorcas hoisted herself up from the floor, dark braids swinging elegantly as she did so. “Then we’ll go.” Her tone was firm and reassuring. “We’ll go, and make sure nothing happens.” She left no room for argument—she never did. Dorcas Meadowes was strong and poised and steady, immovable in her loyalties. Barty respected it. Her words made the room seem lighter somehow. With someone as steadfast as Dorcas standing with them, how could anything go wrong?

It was mostly smiles in the dorm room as they all finished getting ready. To Barty, it felt like a montage in a film. Flashes of bright colors, a snapshot of a laugh, a cheeky wink, quick frames of eyeliner and jewelry and joy, records spinning music that felt like home as the score. If life were more perfect, he’d stay here forever. He’d stay with his friends, where he could be a little softer but still crazy and no one would fear him or look at him like a rabid dog or ask him why he wasn’t more like his father.

The thought brought a broad, dangerous smile to his face. If there was anything he was proud of, it was that he was absolutely nothing like his father, and there was nothing the man could do about it.

The world fragmented as they walked into the party. Colors and lights and music spiraled like shards of a prism in all directions, pulsing and electric and blinding. Dorcas disappeared almost immediately—he thought he saw her with a girl with choppy blonde hair and piercings that glinted in the flashing lights, but he wasn’t sure. Pandora made her way to the dance floor, ethereal as a fairy. Barty though, he stayed with Evan, flanking Regulus as their friend tried to find his brother. In the end, it was Sirius who found them.

Reg’s older brother practically tackled him in a hug, curls spilling every which way. After a moment, he pulled back oh-so-slightly, taking in the younger boy’s face. “Reg,” he said, and his voice cracked slightly on the word. “It’s so good to see you.”

Regulus tugged himself away. “You are squashing me, Sirius.” He straightened the sleeves of his jumper, ducking his head slightly. “Clearly, nothing has changed. You are evidently fine.”

Barty narrowed his eyes at Sirius, watching something flash over his expression. He looked different now that he was out from under Walburga’s thumb. It worked for him, he thought. 

The older boy raked a hand through his curls, something fierce in his eyes. It wasn’t a quiet shadow like Regulus sometimes had. No, it was a dangerous glint that Barty had sometimes seen in his own mirror. “Reg,” he said again, and his voice was softer, insistent. “Come back to the Potters’ house with me.”

To anyone else, the shift would have been imperceptible, but Barty knew his friend well enough to see Regulus’ blanch. “What do you mean, Sirius?”

Sirius leaned forward, imploring. “Christmas holidays, Reg. Come back with me, please . The Potters would love to have you—James, Effie, and Monty told me themselves. There’s more than enough room for you, and they’ll make sure you’re comfortable and safe and—“

“Sirius—“

He took no heed of Regulus’ interruption. “Or even if you don’t want to do that, then stay here, where it’s safe. Just don’t—don’t go back there, please. Because I know—I know —they have to have taken it all out on you after the summer, and I can’t let you just walk into that, you know I can’t—“

“ Sirius .” This time, he listened. Regulus sighed softly, barely audible over the pulsing pounding heartbeat of the music. “I will not come with you, and I will not stay at school.” He held up a finger to silence his brother once more. “However, if it makes you feel any better, I am not planning to go back to our house over Christmas. I have been invited to spend the holidays with the Rosiers in France, and mother and father have already granted their permission. If you are worried about my wellbeing, you need not be—I am perfectly fine, and I will continue to be fine. Worry about yourself, instead.”

Christmas was better at the Rosiers’. Christmas was happier at the Rosiers’. There wasn’t screaming or bruises or cigarette burns or colors flashing flashing flashing. People didn’t swing hips to music you could feel in your bones and girls didn’t weave their hands through your hair so tightly it hurt but you could sit on the roof with your best friend and watch the snow fall around you and wonder if magic was real after all. 

Christmas at the Rosiers’ was an eternity away.

Barty turned towards the rest of the night, lost in the glittering, pounding, screaming euphoria. He could feel the bass in his bloodstream and bones. He could feel the rush of adrenaline and exhilaration and pure, undiluted lightning in every vein of his body. He itched to dance and shriek and shatter into a million unrecognizable pieces, and so he did.

The alcohol burned, but he didn’t mind. The music pounded, but he didn’t care. Every nerve in his body was aching and scarred and alive alive alive and maybe it wasn’t right but at least he wasn’t dead, not yet. He didn’t know where Regulus went, maybe he was talking to James. He certainly liked to, even if he didn’t. Or maybe he was dead in a ditch. Either worked. Either was plausible maybe. Pandora had fallen off the map—that seemed like something she’d want to do. He scanned the room, searching searching searching… where—?

The hands twined around his wrists were foreign, but it didn’t matter. She was there and she wanted it and so did he and that was all that mattered. Her lips were sticky—strawberry maybe? Too sweet. Could have tasted worse, he supposed. Her breath was warm and her hips were pressed into his hands and her nails were sharp as they tangled in his hair and maybe it wasn’t perfect but it was what he wanted —

Her hands didn’t belong there.

He pulled some distance between them as she tried to slip a hand under his shirt. Hands didn’t belong there, not on the tattered rag doll skin. Not on the skin so torn and stitched and woven that he looked less like Frankenstein and more like his monster. Only Evan’s hands belonged there, tracing the lacerations with a soothing salve and careful touch.

Evan—where was Evan?

He was dancing, hips swinging, the picture of power and grace and precision and everything that Barty was not. Maybe he was a modern god. Maybe he was a hallucination. Made sense—every beautiful thing in Barty’s life turned out to be a dream, so why not Evan too? His eyes were shut, lost in the moment, and then—open. Wide open. One eye icy and blue and freezing to the touch. One eye the softest amber, with untold warmth in its depths. Two eyes trained on Barty. Two eyes holding his stare over the girl’s shoulders, shoulders that were still trying to wrap around him.

Fuck, he didn’t even know her name .

He tugged away, world sparking, blazing at the edges. He needed the euphoria. He needed the numbness. He needed the music in his blood. He needed to fall over. He needed to cry. He needed everything to stop burning. He needed the world to feel like fire. He needed it all to just stop. He needed his dorm. He needed his bed. He needed—

“Barty.” A hand clapped onto his shoulder. Warm hand. Cigarette burns on the knuckles from a father in name only. What was with them and deadbeat dads? Were they all cursed? Seemed likely. All of their issues were family affairs. He laughed at the humor of it all. “I need you to breathe.”

I am breathing . He thought he was. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. It was possible he wasn’t, except that hell didn’t look right. Maybe he was drowning? Only he couldn’t feel the water. He was choking under the pressure, the world was caving in. He wasn’t sparkling anymore, the world wasn’t a prism. It was all just too much and he was going to scream .

And then it was all gone, and he wasn’t sure how, but he welcomed the change.

Stumbling, falling, numb, brilliant. Warmth around his hand. Blissful quiet. Peace. Maybe he was dreaming after all. That was the only time the anger ever went away. That was the only time everything stopped hurting. That was the only time that he could be alive and not mad. Did he mean furious, or insane? Maybe he was both.

“You’re not crazy.” The voice shook him out of his stupor. Evan. The warmth was Evan. He’d somehow gotten Barty back to their dorm. The dorm was warm too, which was unusual, because Barty was always cold. He’d never say it, but he was. It was annoying. Evan leaned closer, his presence steadying. “But, Stinger, I need you to breathe for me, okay?”

“Anything for you, Rosie.” He meant for it to come out as outrageously flirtatious as usual. The humor fell flat though, the words holding more weight than they should have. He took a deep breath, then another. He wanted to sleep. He was calmer than normal, happy maybe. It was easy to be happy when Evan was around—that was the cool thing about best friends.

It was even easier to be happy when Regulus and Pandora and Dorcas came back, bouncing and cheery and a little drunk, just like Barty. His world was prismatic and colorful, but not blinding, as Regulus slid on sweatpants and pretended to be bored and Pandora danced around the room and Dorcas flipped out about the girl she’d met at the party. She said she hated the ‘bratty, talkative, cocky, too-hot-to-ignore striker that needs to be taken down a peg or two,’ but honestly it just sounded like she was into the girl. Why else would she care so much? It was funny to listen to, and he was grinning even as he started to slip into oblivion much later in the night, tangled in Evan’s arms.

The world was quiet here.

Chapter Text

Sirius

“I think I’m going to get a tattoo.”

He said it matter-of-factly—it was true, he had been thinking about it for some time now. Sure, he liked saying things that startled people, but this time, he wasn’t just verbalizing whatever random thought was crossing his mind. He glanced at his wrists, imagining them decorated in whorls of ink. The thought brought a smile to his face. Walburga would hate it, but she wasn’t in any place to judge him anymore.

James leaned over the common room sofa, nearly knocking his glasses off of his face with his speed and enthusiasm. “Wait, really?” At Sirius’ nod, he grinned broadly. “That’s sick—what are you thinking of getting?”

In the chair by the fireplace, Remus rolled his eyes. They were an interesting shade of brown, more of a soft, honeyed amber than a typical brown. Sirius liked to look at them, even though they seemed to be so rarely directed towards his own. That was alright, though—It just made catching a glimpse seem even more of a triumph. “James,” he said, in that dry, sardonic tone of his, “it’s Sirius. Do you really think he has a plan?”

It would have been an insult if Sirius didn’t know Remus well enough to hear the lacing of humor in his voice. “I take deep offense to that!” He gasped, clutching a hand to his chest. The soft firelight of the common room caught on his silver rings, sending dancing spots of light onto the walls. “Of course I have a plan!”

Remus arched one eyebrow. He was infuriatingly good at it, lips curving up in a sly smirk and dark eyebrow lifting and pulling at one of his scars in a way that Sirius would find incredibly sexy were he into men. “Do you really?”

He did. He absolutely did. Actually, he and Marlene had been talking about it earlier that day while he was helping her touch up her now-bleached hair. “I do,” he said, but a bit more hesitantly now. He thought it was a good idea, but it was a bit more sentimental than he was known to be. Remus waved a hand, motioning to carry on, and James watched him with a smile, awaiting his answer. “Yeah, so I was thinking of maybe an ‘R.A.B.’ on my chest, above my heart?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, but it did anyway.

“That’s really sweet, actually!” James’ smile was as bright as the sun. It was warm like one, too, with the sort of friendship and joy in its beams that made you feel seen in a way like no other. Sirius had never seen a smile like that until he’d met James. And then, he’d been even more shocked at the Potters’ house this summer, when he realized that Effie and Monty shared that same easy, heartwarming grin. Walburga and Orion—he refused to refer to them as his parents—never smiled, and Regulus’ smiles were always shy and small, as though he were afraid of them being stolen. His smiles were secrets he kept guarded close to his chest, and while Sirius was probably the best at earning them, they were forever hard-won. “I got to talk to Regulus the other night, actually—it was pretty nice.”

From his position on the floor next to the fireplace, Peter cocked his head to the side, a rather puzzled look on his face. It wasn’t exactly an unusual expression for him to wear, to be perfectly honest. He was always just a step or two behind, but he was sweet, so Sirius wouldn’t judge. Mostly. “When did you see Regulus?”

“Marlene’s party the other night. They were all there, actually.”

Sirius had heard. He’d known Barty and Evan were there, because they’d been flanking his brother when he’d practically begged for him to come back to James’ house for Christmas holidays. He hadn’t been surprised to see them there, either. Where Regulus went, they went—they took care of him in a way that made Sirius feel infinitely better about being separated from his younger brother. He hadn’t seen Pandora, but he’d assumed she was there. And, even though he hadn’t seen her himself, he knew far too much about what Dorcas Meadowes had done at the party.

To him, Dorcas was a pretty cool girl, but that was about it. She was kind and sharp and steadfast, with a quick wit and a slow smile. Regulus trusted her, Sirius liked her, and that was that. However, to hear Marlene talk—as he had while helping with her hair this morning—you would think she’d hung the moon. It was all about ‘effortlessly long legs’ and charms in her braids that made her look like a goddess come to life and ‘Sirius, her eyes!’ She’d wax poetic about Dorcas’ wit and voice and sheer presence, and then turn around and say ‘oh, she’s infuriating.’

He did not get it.

But it wasn’t his place to tell her that, so instead he nodded and listened and laughed as she regaled him with tales of her only-really-secret-to-herself crush. Inevitably, she’d ask him about his own, and he’d just shrug and laugh. He’d had girlfriends—he liked girls, and girls liked him, and so they dated. But did he have his eye on anyone right now? No, Marlene, he did not. He wasn’t going to swoon and sigh over the first pretty girl to catch his eye, and besides, he was a little bored of dating. Flirting was fun, sure, but with the amount of practices the band was having recently, there was just no time to throw a girlfriend into the mix. He’d learned that the hard way; the last girl he’d snogged had thought they were dating (they weren’t) and then had gotten pissed whenever he couldn’t hang out because he had other priorities. 

Needless to say, they hadn’t snogged too much.

James’ words finally registered with Sirius and he whipped towards his friend, curls slapping his face. “Why were you talking to my brother?”

His reaction elicited a bright laugh from James. “Actually, he was the one talking to me.” That was even more unheard of, and Sirius said so. In response, James held up his hand in a gesture of innocence, eyes somehow even softer than usual. “He was telling me to keep you safe, Sirius. He told me in no uncertain terms that he had risked everything to make sure you were in a place where you were safe and loved, and that if I did not do everything in my power to make sure you stayed that way, he would personally hunt me down and murder me slowly, painfully, and in a way that would go down in history as being legendary, horrific, and unsolved.”

“He said that?” Sirius carded his hands through his curls, mind spinning dangerously. Regulus had risked the violence of Walburga and Orion’s wrath by getting Sirius out of that house, and he’d just left him there. He’d left him there in that time-haunted manor to face their vengeance while he’d—what, laid around and felt loved for the first time? He was the worst brother ever. Regulus couldn’t go back there—he couldn’t let Regulus go back there! “James, I have to go back and get him out!”

James’ face grew somber, eyes narrowing seriously. “Sirius,” he said, but Sirius didn’t acknowledge him. “Sirius.” His tone was heavy and imploring. “You cannot go back there.” Sirius opened his mouth to interrupt, but James cut him off before he could do so. “I won’t let you go back there, and my parents won’t either. You barely made it back last time—I can’t let you go back there and know that this time, you might not make it back at all. And besides, I promised your brother that I’d keep you safe, and I intend to keep that promise.”

Sirius was acutely aware of the way Remus’ keen amber eyes traced their conversation. He could practically hear the whisper of curiosity that seemed to fill the stifling silence between them, and he couldn’t figure out how to address it. Remus didn’t know about the summer. Hell, nobody knew about this summer, not except for James and his family, and even they didn’t know the details from Sirius. He hadn’t told anyone—he couldn’t tell anyone. How were you supposed to tell anyone, anyway?

Instead of saying anything like that, though, Sirius held up his hands in surrender, the farce of an easy smile on his face. “Okay, okay,” he drawled, because it was easier to act unbothered than to say the his pulse was pounding in his throat. “No need to get all protective—obviously I’m not actually going to go back.” He wasn’t going back. Not really. Unless Regulus needed him to. And then, without a doubt, he would.

He was fine. It was fine.

“So about that tattoo—“ James’ voice was bright again, as though it would make up for the abrupt change in topic. For his friend’s sake, Sirius pretended not to notice. “How’re you gonna get it?”

Sirius shrugged. “I could wait to be legal, I guess.”

“You guess?” Peter’s voice was light and curious.

A grin overtook Sirius’ face, pulling slightly at the piercings that curved over his bottom lip. “Or,” he drew out the word, mentally laughing at the idea of their reactions, “I could just have Barty or Evan do it!”

Remus blinked once, twice, eyelashes sweeping over those warm eyes like the curtains of night. “You would let Barty Crouch,” he enunciated, disbelief embroidered in each clipped word, “take a needle to your chest?” He arched his eyebrow again, damn him. “In what world is that a good idea?”

“This one!” More curls slipped over his shoulders, and he grabbed a pen to twist them away from his face. “He and Evan have been practicing—I think they’re planning to do matching ones eventually. And you know Barty’s actually a pretty good artist?”

“Speaking of those two,” James interrupted, leaning forward conspiratorially, “are they—you know?”

“You know what?” Again, one could always trust Peter to be a little confused. It was endearing, though. Mostly.

James waved his hands around for emphasis, casting shadows dancing across the wall. “You know. A thing?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, you mean, like, together?”

Remus wasn’t even pretending to read anymore. He cocked his head to the side, sending  sandy-brown curls tumbling towards his eyes. “Yes, Peter, like together.”

“Okay, but you guys know what I mean, right?” James turned to Remus for support, moving so fast that he nearly knocked his glasses off of his face. Sirius stifled a laugh. “Like, they’re always together. Practically joined at the hip. Plus, they’ve got the whole matching-nail-polish, matching-nicknames, hands-joined-for-support thing going on. They’ve got to be dating. There’s literally no other explanation.”

“So, about that.” Sirius leaned forward a bit, relishing the way they watched him with eager eyes. “They’re actually not dating.”

James blanched, Peter’s mouth fell into an O, and Remus’ eyebrows lifted ever-so-slightly. It was a subtle shift, but Sirius could see the surprise laced into every line of his face. “They’re not?” The shock in James’ voice was comical.

Sirius shook his head, grinning at his friends. “Nope. Not officially, at least. We’re all pretty sure they don’t even know they seem like a thing.” He’d seen them, tangled in each others’ limbs when something reminded them of home. He’d seen the way Barty’s eyes softened whenever Evan entered the room, and he’d seen the way Evan’s gaze traced Barty’s figure everywhere he went. There was clearly something between them—it was a running gag between their friends, arguing over which one would realize their feelings first. Personally, Sirius thought Barty would realize his feelings first, but Evan would be the one to make the first move. Reg and Dorcas disagreed—they thought Evan would realize first because he was more emotionally intelligent—but only time would tell. Hell, maybe they’d just go their entire lives without even considering it.

He hoped not.

James shook his head too, clearly in a state of amused disbelief. A small smile curled across Remus’ lips, as though he thought James’ reaction was just as funny as Sirius did. He liked the thought of that—he liked having things in common with Remus. He already had so many things in common with James that it honestly felt like they were siblings, but it was harder to figure Remus out. They told each other things every now and then, but it wasn’t as though information just fell out. No, telling Remus something was like baring his heart in the dark of night, letting quiet pieces of himself see the stars or the moon for the first time. And when Remus told him something, it felt like he’d just been trusted to handle a fragile, secret piece of the world that no one had ever seen before. These exchanges were hushed and shrouded, only ever happening after a quiet “tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.” He’d not thought it would turn into a thing the first time he’d said it on that fateful night in the music room that they never talked about. And yet, somehow, it had. It wasn’t used frequently, but when it was, the truths that they released were painful and sharp and so violently beautiful in their secrecy. But it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

They continued to gossip until they couldn’t anymore, and then stumbled back to their rooms, delirious with exhaustion and happiness. It was nice, Sirius thought distantly, to be so often filled with this kind of warmth. He hadn’t been used to that when he was younger. Hell, he still wasn’t quite used to it. He sometimes felt like he was standing on unstable ground, just waiting for it to tip out from under him. He was constantly on edge, expecting the other shoe to drop. He knew it wouldn’t, knew James would never do that to him, but you couldn’t live the way he did for so long without a few scars, both emotional and otherwise.

When they were back in the dorm, Remus and Sirius changed quickly and climbed into their beds, but Sirius knew sleep wouldn’t come easily, not after the conversation about his brother. Maybe music would help—it usually did, he hoped it would now. Thoughts spinning, he slipped his earbuds in, letting the voice of Freddie Mercury wash over him. There was something magical about music, the way it soothed his emotions and wrapped around him like an embrace. He pulled out his battered notebook, scribbling lines as they fluttered like butterflies through his mind.They weren’t perfect, not yet, but maybe Remus could help him with that later. Right now, though, he just needed these feelings to be let out. He needed them gone. 

“Leaving Home Ain’t Easy?” Sirius glanced up and turned towards Remus, who was looking at the lit screen of Sirius’ phone on the nightstand. “Little melancholy, no?”

Sirius shrugged. “Felt appropriate.” It had. The song put vocals to the feelings swirling inside, pulling at his chest, preventing his breathing. He made to turn back to his writing, but there was something in Remus’ gaze that gave him pause. “What?”

Remus blinked, something flashing in his eyes. After a moment, he sank down onto his own bed, exhaustion written in every line of his face. “Earlier,” he said finally, the word punctuated by a sigh. “What was that all about?”

Sirius stared at his roommate with wide eyes as the song switched to Work Song. He would rather listen to Hozier than have this conversation, but he pulled his earbuds out nonetheless. “It was—“ he broke off, chest tightening violently. “Remus—I--“

“Were you going to tell me about anything?” Somehow, Remus’ voice was even softer than usual. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know something happened this summer—I know you have your own After.” Sirius could practically hear the capital. “But were you ever going to tell me?”

He was choking. He was drowning. He was screaming. “Remus.” His voice was hoarse. Why was his voice hoarse? He hadn’t even practiced tonight. He tried again. “Remus, I—I was going to—I wanted to—“ He raked his hands through his hair. He wanted to tell Remus, he really did. But how did you go about telling someone this? How could you let the words slip out?”

Remus seemed to understand his predicament. “Sirius,” he murmured, almost shyly. Why was he being so gentle? “Can you—will you—Sirius,” he said again, taking a breath as though he were trying to steady his own nerves. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”

There it was.

“My mother tried to kill me this summer.”

There. He’d said it. No, it had poured out like a waterfall, rushed and violent as it crashed over him.

Remus stared at him.

“That’s why I’m living with James now,” he rushed to explain, feeling a desperate need to fill the silence. He was numb and everything was too bright, but he was smiling reassuringly. Or at least, he thought he was. Maybe it was more of a grimace, though. “She found out about the talent show—saw a film of it, actually. Did small things for weeks, just the normal bruising and small cuts and the like, and I thought maybe I’d gotten away with it and then—“ he broke off again, trying to explain. Remus was still just looking at him, inscrutable as ever. “I don’t actually remember clearly what happened. There was a cane, and a knife, and it hurt, and then it went black and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a bed in the Potters’ home, and I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Turns out, Reg had smuggled me out, and I’d been knocked out for days. When Effie found out, she refused to let me go back, and I loved her all the more for it. But yeah. Walburga dearest tried to kill me. That’s the big secret.” 

He made sure he kept his voice light and airy, detached. Distantly, it reminded him of the scene when Azula talked about how her mother thought she was a monster. James had made him watch Avatar: The Last Airbender over the summer; it was his favorite show, and he’d been shocked and immensely disappointed that Sirius had never seen it. Sirius had enjoyed it more than he’d thought—it was oddly funny and comforting, even if Zuko and Azula’s relationship with their parents hit a little too close to home, but it wasn’t like that mattered.

Something slid down his cheek, and he belatedly realized he was crying. Shit. Why was he crying? He’d already come to terms with it. He was fine, everything was fine, and he was happy to be gone forever from that house, so why the fuck was he crying?

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, taking a hesitant step towards him. He looked gentle but cautious, as though he were taking a step toward a caged dog instead of a crying boy. “I’m not…I’m not good at this.” He took a breath, and Sirius looked at him through tear-studded lashes. “But do you need—?” He opened his arms as though he didn’t know what he was doing, and Sirius didn’t need any more invitation. He launched himself into Remus’ arms, burying himself in their warmth, distantly calmed by how well they fit together. Remus seemed surprised by the reaction, unused to such familiarity, but not entirely unhappy. Eventually, his arms softened around Sirius, pulling him in tight, and that was how they stayed for what felt like an eternity. Soft. Warm. Comforting. So entangled in each other that neither noticed when the earbuds disconnected and Sirius’ music started softly permeating the air. The song had changed during the conversation, but it curled around their moment, softening further.

You're talking in your sleep, out of time

Well, you still make sense to me, your mess is mine

Chapter Text

They didn’t talk about it.

It was like that night in the music room; it was never spoken of, but it had made an unquestionable impact on their relationship. It felt like a weight Sirius hadn’t even known was there had been lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe for the first time. He was fighting to catch his breath now that he could truly inhale, and Remus was right there next to him to catch him if he passed out. Something delicate had shifted, some gate had opened, and there was something new between them—a deeper tie of friendship than had been there before. 

Now, evenings in the common room were a little closer, as though Remus weren’t quite as wary of him. Nights in the dorm were warmer too, filled with laughter and stories and arguments over which song on The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars was better. Sirius argued for Suffragette City and Starman. Remus made a solid case for Lady Stardust and Moonage Daydream. Honestly, his argument for Moonage Daydream was good enough that Sirius almost fell for it, but he snapped out of it when he realized something absolutely ridiculous.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he snorted, holding his hands up for effect. “You’re telling me that your favorite is Moonage Daydream, you zone out at the moon when you’re thinking, and your name is literally Wolf Wolf?” He fell into peals of giggles. “Could this be any more cliche?”

Two patches of pink started to bloom on Remus’ cheekbones, and he buried his face in his hands. “Sirius, you are a terrible person, and I do not like you.”

“I’m very sorry,” he said, voice apologetic before his lips curled into a mischievous grin, “Moony.” 

Remus’ head shot up, eyes wide. “Sirius, what the fuck?” He raked a hand through his curls, shaking his head in disbelief. “Moony? Is this going to be a thing? If you make this a fucking thing, Sirius Black, I swear to god—“

Sirius doubled over, chest heaving with laughter. “Too late!” Oh, James was going to love this. Remus looked positively mortified, but he couldn’t restrain his own snort. “I think you’re stuck with this now!”

He was definitely stuck with it, actually.

Fortunately for him, though, he ended up not being the only one with a ridiculous nickname. James was the next, earning his when he recounted a tale of sticking a fork’s prongs into an electrical outlet “just to see what would happen.” Sirius, Remus, and Peter had just about died laughing, and Remus had been so stuck on it that he’d referred to James as Prongs whenever he wanted to tease him, and it had turned into his official nickname. Peter had earned his when talking about rats, going on about the weirdness of their “worm tails.”

“Peter,” James had said, stifling a laugh, “what the hell is a worm tail?”

Peter had snorted, waving his hands around for emphasis. “Their tails are weird as hell, James! They look like weird freaky worms!”

“Who the fuck,” Remus laughed, tipping his head back, “calls them fucking worm tails?”

Peter buried his head in his hands, shaking with the force of his own laughter. “I do, okay? They’re fuckin’ weird as heck! Who thought they should look like that? Not me, that’s who!”

“Definitely not, Wormtail.” James looked like he was trying to maintain a farce of seriousness, but he quickly fell back into howls of laughter, and was joined almost immediately by the rest of the group. To Peter’s good-natured dismay, the name had stuck, and he was forever Wormtail. 

Sirius was the last, earning his own thanks to his quiet, ballet-trained footsteps. Remus and James had tried to sneak up on him in the way he so often did to them, but he’d whirled around on them before they could, laughing all the while. “You know,” he’d said, grinning broadly at his friends, “that really works better if you’re actually quiet.”

Remus had scowled at him and James, rolling his eyes. “I’m well aware,” he’d bit, but Sirius knew him well enough to hear the lacing of humor in his low voice. It had fully dropped over the summer, and Sirius had been shocked to hear it. It was deep and rough and sonorous—he was sure that any girl who heard it would find it incredibly sexy. “It’s not my fault that we don’t all have pad feet like you, Sirius.”

James snorted, distracting Sirius from Remus’ voice, which was probably a good thing. “Sirius has pad feet.”

Remus grinned, amber eyes sparkling dangerously. “Sirius ‘Padfoot’ Black, huh?”

Sirius blinked at his friend. “Moons?”

James practically beamed. “Oooh, Padfoot! I like that!”

So there they were, the Marauders. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Musicians, best friends, and universal bringers of mischief. In a little over a year, that would be the title of their first EP, the EP that would put them on the map. But they didn’t know about that now; all they knew now was that something magical was happening.

They did also know that in early October, they finished their first song. It was called Troublemakers, and was a hit when they performed it for the first time at a party. They’d mostly performed covers—that night, their set list had been filled with everything from Hammer to Fall to Smells Like Teen Spirit, which had been a crowd favorite. However, close to the end of their performance, Sirius announced that they had a little treat for the audience. “An original,” he’d told the crowd, grinning into the microphone, “so be nice, would you?” The crowd had cheered, and they’d launched into their first ever performance of an original song. The audience had loved it, and what a rush that was. It was one thing to have people love your performance of something they already knew. It was another thing entirely to have people love something that you’d poured your entire soul into. Sirius was drunk on the feeling—he wanted to feel like this forever.

Troublemakers seemed to usher in a new era for the Marauders—or at least, that was how Sirius saw it. They started playing it at every party, and by a few in, people started singing along. It was insane. All Sirius could do was stare out at the throng of people screaming along to words he had helped to write, wondering if this was even a fraction of what it felt like to be a star. 

At Mary’s suggestion, they got on social media. Covers went up on YouTube, gaining thousands of views in just a few days. Their Instagram handle boomed; no, it was going viral. Sirius wasn’t sure what to do with his own excitement. It seemed like every day, his social media was blowing up with new likes and comments and followers, all begging for more. He grinned when he saw that—more was absolutely something they could do.

If anything, it gave them new fervor. Within a week, they’d finished their second song, Cherry Sunset. It infused Remus’ poignant lyrics with James’ bright emotions, Sirius’ vocals, and Peter’s hard-hitting beat. It was a fun, energetic ode to James’ crush on Lily, how he loved her bright hair and fiery personality, the way he’d risk it all for just one chance. The students loved it, and soon, every request for a party performance was laden with a request to add Cherry Sunset to their set list. Even Lily could be found nodding her head along to the ridiculously catchy beat, something that made James beam like a maniac. Their followers loved it too, and people flooded their comments begging for a recorded release on streaming services, rather than just the videos of their performances. That had lit a new fire under them—who were they to deny their fans?

McGonagall helped them with recording, giving them access to the studio that was usually only accessible to sixth and seventh years unless given express permission. Suddenly, the nights that had previously been spent working on just finishing the songs were spent in the studio making sure that everything sounded perfect. It was exhausting—the nights were long and late, and far too often Sirius found himself staggering into bed at unholy hours, but he was dizzy with joy and excitement. It was happening. It was really happening. This was even more brilliant than the feeling of performing onstage for the first time. This was a buzzing, electrifying feeling that lit his veins from the inside out, skyrocketing him toward the stars. They were going to take the world by storm, just watch them. They were going to be amazing, iconic, legendary, he just knew it.

That didn’t stop the exhaustion though, and with the exhaustion came the nightmares. Sirius was used to nightmares—you didn’t escape an upbringing in Number 12 Grimmauld Place without them. He liked to think he’d gotten better at hiding them, though; he didn’t wake up screaming anymore. Or, at least, he didn’t think he did. He was still haunted by dreams where he was trapped, chained, bleeding out, tormented by a violent demon in the shape of his mother. He woke up shaking and shattered, dragging his nails across the scars that traced his chest and back to remind himself that it was over, that he’d survived. He wasn’t sure if that helped, though.

They’d been particularly awful over the summer, once he’d finally come to. He’d apparently been comatose for a few days, but he had no recollection of that; all he knew was that one moment, he’d been dying on the floor of the ancestral Black family manor, and the next, he was waking up in the heaven that was James Potter’s house. After that, though, he had been terrified to close his eyes. He knew the horrors would come to play, and when he finally could keep his eyes open no longer, they came and hunted him down. He’d been woken by James more times than he could count, blinking pained sleep out of his eyes to see his best friend staring worriedly down at him, concern etched into every line of his face. Sirius hadn’t had an episode like that in ages, though, and he wasn’t planning to anytime soon. He could usually force himself to wake up now, and it became more and more necessary as time waned on.

In the mornings, he pretended it never happened. Remus said nothing, and he said nothing either. In return, he said nothing about the way Remus lived his life with perpetual eye bags and woke up gripping his limbs, as though he were terrified of what he would see behind his eyelids. That was their standard, he supposed—they knew things about each other that no one else did, and yet they never spoke about it. It worked, though. It was a rippling undercurrent of their friendship, a tide created by secrets and warmth that never touched the light.

But one night, under the cover of the darkness, Sirius finally broached the subject.

He didn’t speak about it, not really. And yet it was still a tiny, yet oddly monumental shift in the peculiar tie that was Remus and Sirius. He woke up in the middle of the night, feeling haunted and hunted, yet with no memory of whatever horror had plagued his dreams. All he knew was he had to wake up, snap himself out of it, and so he did. He glanced over at Remus as he so often did when he woke up, shaking, in the middle of the night. He couldn’t exactly say why; maybe it was just oddly reassuring to see the taller boy resting for once. But tonight, it wasn’t soothing. Remus wasn’t curled up peacefully. No, he was thrashing violently, small whimpers escaping his clenched teeth.

Sirius could go back to sleep. He should go back to sleep. Instead, he found himself slipping out of his bed and paddling softly toward Remus’. “Remus,’ he whispered, gently shaking his friend. “Remus. Moons. Wake up.” He shook slightly harder, and Remus’ eyes fluttered open. Even awake, he was shivering, eyes bleary and confused. 

“What happened?” Remus’ voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper. 

Sirius, possessed by some unholy demon of exhaustion and empathy, brushed a stray curl from Remus’ forehead. It was silky soft, he realized distantly, resisting the desire to run his hands through more of them. “You were having a nightmare.” He sat down on the edge of Remus’ bed, trying to blink the sleep out of his own eyes.

“Oh.” Remus sounded small and lost in a way that Sirius had never heard before, and in another—or maybe simply a prolonged—fit of possession, wrapped his arms tightly around his roommate, fighting to keep himself from simply falling over onto the blankets beside him. After a moment, he stifled a yawn and glanced at where Remus was cradled in his arms. 

“I can go back to my bed now,” he said softly. He didn’t really want to have to drag his sleep-weighted body back across the room, but he would. He probably should.

“Mmph,” Remus sighed. He lifted his head just enough to make barely-awake eye contact with Sirius. “Stay.” He dropped his head back down, and after a moment of silent awe, Sirius did the same. 

It was the best he’d slept in ages.

Chapter Text

Sirius had quickly realized that freedom was his own sort of drug. For the first time in his life, he could simply exist without fear, and it was like living with wings for the first time. He wasn’t bound by the laws of gravity that his mother set for him; he could soar through the skies wherever he wanted without being tied down. If he wanted to, he could wear eyeliner, so he did. If he wanted to, he could hang out with James whenever he felt so inclined, which he did. If he wanted to, he could take his first dance class in years, purely for the fun of it, so he did.

It had surprised him, at first, how much he enjoyed it. Walburga had made sure her sons were classically trained in numerous arts. Regulus had learned to sing, to paint, to play violin. Sirius had learned to sing, to play the piano, and to dance ballet. He’d enjoyed it, once upon a time, just like he had piano. But now, while he couldn’t stand even the smallest glance upon the black and white keys, he found himself falling in love with dance all over again. 

It probably helped that he wasn’t screamed at whenever he slipped, or harassed whenever his leg was not perfectly angled, or forced to keep going when blood started to soak through his slippers. It was so different now; he went to class in sweatpants and boxy tops instead of the fitted dance wear his old instructors had mandated, and got to experiment with different styles rather than just ballet. He’d realized, rather to his surprise, that he was oddly apt at both lyrical and hip hop, and had more fun experimenting with those styles than he ever would have thought. He also got to dance with people other than himself; Evan was easily his favorite person in the class. On the rare occasion that they were both free, they’d meet in the dance classroom and just experiment with choreography. It wasn’t for class practice or to ensure perfection. No, it was just for fun.

Sirius was quickly finding out that doing things just for fun was rather brilliant. Staying up late and playing music—that was fun. Dancing with Evan—that was fun. Arguing with Remus over books—that was fun. Goofing off and talking with James—that was fun. He was learning to live without fear, and it was wonderful. Walburga would hate to see him now, and the thought brought a smile to his face. 

The amount he got to see James now was actually fantastic. Sneaking around all year last year had been miserable—he swore he had gone through best friend withdrawals. He’d been terrified of it getting back to his mother that he was hanging out with James, and based on what had happened over summer break, he’d been right to worry. That fear didn’t make the sneaking around any easier, though—all he’d wanted was to sit next to his best friend in class or hang out with him in the common room and talk until it was far too late. He hadn’t realized just how used to spending time with James he’d become until he couldn’t do it in the open anymore, and it had hit him like a truck. That was the best thing about not living with Walburga and Orion anymore—he could see James whenever the fuck he wanted (he literally lived with him now!) and there was nothing they could do about it.

That meant that they were back to their nights watching South Park, Phineas and Ferb, and Drive to Survive on James’ laptop in the common room, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. James was laughter and sunshine and football and Lily Evans and ‘oh my god, that new riff we wrote tonight was absolutely amazing’ and a quiet ‘dude, are you sure you’re okay?’ that warmed Sirius to his very bones. Hanging out with him was effortless—it was like being with the other half of himself. He understood everything about Sirius without being told, and Sirius was the same for him. They were two sides of the same coin, and sometimes, he thought he knew James better than he knew himself.

What he didn’t know, however, was that James had planned a rather elaborate surprise party for his birthday.

Birthdays weren’t really a thing at Grimmauld Place. Walburga and Orion frowned upon any celebration that wasn’t for the purpose of putting up a posh, fancy facade, and hell knew they weren’t going to celebrate either of their sons, especially not the rebellious hellspawn that was their oldest. Now, that hadn’t ever stopped Sirius from celebrating Regulus’—he’d sneak into the kitchen late at night and bake a tiny cake, and use the little share of money that Uncle Alphard gave him every time he visited to buy a little present. It was always something tiny—one year he’d bought Reg a tiny stuffed cat that he’d carried around until Walburga and Orion burned it, and another year, he’d bought a small silver ring that he hoped Reg still wore. 

He wouldn’t fault his brother if he didn’t, though.

In any case, by now, he didn’t expect a party or gifts or cake or anything, really. James and Peter always celebrated some, and somehow, it always caught him by surprise. But this year? This year was a whole other level.

On November 3, Sirius walked into the common room on his floor of Gryffindor Hall as he did almost every night, expecting to find James bent over an essay for some class or another that he had tried not to procrastinate but was doing the night before it was due anyway, while Peter and Remus talked shit about idiots in their chemistry class over a game of chess. The fire would be flickering gently, sending warm reflections dancing on the wall. He’d walk in and dramatically fling himself on the couch just like always, and would probably start loudly complaining about something annoying that had happened that day. James would look up immediately, face brightening as he joined the conversation, leaving the essay half-forgotten on the table he was using. 

That was not what happened.

Instead, as he walked into the common room, he was greeted by the sight of red and gold streamers and balloons, hanging stars, and all of his best friends waiting with broad grins on their faces. They were cheering for him, there were shouts of happy birthday and ‘one year older, Pads!’ and his heart had never felt so full. There were Mary and Lily, grinning brightly from where they stood next to Marlene, who was shaking her head fondly at his stunned response. There were Evan and Barty, smiling mischievously, hands entwined like always. There was Pandora, eyes shining, and Dorcas, waving energetically. There was Peter cheering and James tackling him in a hug and Remus laughing like an angel. And there was Regulus, watching with soft eyes and an even softer smile as he mouthed a quiet ‘happy birthday.’

Oh, he realized distantly as a storm of light and butterflies swirled through his body. This was what having a family felt like.

If he thought the chaos would end there, he was wrong. Someone had brought cupcakes—they were pretty and delicious, and maybe one or two of them were thrown. Shocking, truly. But everyone was having fun and James was practically dying with laughter as he wiped the frosting from his face. Then James pulled out a karaoke machine and a few cases of soda, and all hell broke loose.

Marlene howled Bad Reputation, and out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Dorcas watching her with something deep hidden in her dark eyes. After she was done, Lily and Mary joined her for a brilliant rendition of Celebrity Skin that had everyone singing along. Once they were done, James looked at Sirius with a smile and a question in his bright hazel eyes, and Sirius grinned back. 

“I suppose,” he muttered, tone laced with good humor as he let his best friend drag him to the front of the room. They grabbed the microphones, and James scrolled through the phone they were using to queue up songs.

“Under Pressure?” The grin on James’ face was infectious, and Sirius found himself mirroring it.

“I’ll take Mercury,” Sirius replied conspiratorially, and before he knew it, the music was starting.

They’d bonded over the song years ago—to date, he couldn’t think of Under Pressure without thinking of his best friend. Walburga and Orion had frowned over listening to anything other than perfectly respectable classical music, so Sirius had harbored his love for rock music quietly and secretly. He’d never really spoken to anyone about it when he first came to Hogwarts, and then James Potter had stumbled in on him listening to that song. Out of habit, Sirius had tried to hide his screen, but it was too late. However, instead of the judgement he’d been expecting, James had beamed at him with sparkling eyes and said, “Dude, I love that song!”

They’d been friends ever since.

All of Sirius’ friends cheered as he and James harmonized through the chorus—James with Bowie’s lower notes, and Sirius with Mercury’s higher ones. It worked oddly well, and honestly, it was one of Sirius’ favorite performances to date. Standing up in front of all of his favorite people, singing one of his favorite songs with his best friend in the whole world, was a magical experience he’d never forget. If he could put this feeling in a bottle, he would, just to keep it for every single time that reality sank in.

When they finished, everyone cheered and applauded raucously, and Sirius swept into a dramatic bow. He was truly, incandescently happy—if only there was a way to stay in the moment forever. 

After they sat down, Barty coerced Regulus and Evan into a rendition of Welcome to the Black Parade. Regulus was clearly reticent, but once they started, he was positively unstoppable. Something bloomed a little in Sirius’ chest at the sight of his younger brother looking so positively alive. Reg was cold and closed-off most of the time, not because he was an uncaring person, but because it was easier to protect himself. It had been his coping mechanism at Grimmauld Place—if he acted like he didn’t care, everything would hurt less. At times, Sirius wished he had done the same; instead, he was pretty sure he felt everything too much. But in this moment, Regulus was practically glowing as he performed with his best friends, voice ringing out into the room. He looked happy, or as close to it as Regulus Black could get, and Sirius felt so ridiculously proud.

Once their song was over, Evan dragged Sirius to the front once more with a mockingly pleading expression. “Sirius,” he said, voice a parody of imploring, “will you please do something with me?”

Sirius arched an eyebrow. Evan only acted this innocent when he was up to something, which frankly, Sirius respected. “What do you want me to do with you, Ev?”

Evan grinned. “Barty’s being an asshole and won’t do ABBA with me.”

Inwardly, Sirius groaned. Actually, scratch that. He let out an actual groan. “There is exactly one ABBA song I will sing. If you can guess it, I’ll do it. If you don’t, you’re screwed.”

“Hmmm,” Evan cocked his head to the side, pretending to think, but Sirius could see the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)?”

Damn. Evan was good. Sirius grinned, carding a hand through his curls. “I suppose,” he drawled, taking the microphone his friend proffered. “Harmony?”

Evan pursed his lips. “You on high, me on low?”

Sirius nodded. “You can take first verse, I’ll take second.” So he took karaoke seriously. Sue him.

“Perfect,” Evan grinned, and the music started. 

For all that Sirius disliked ABBA in general, he had to admit that Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) was an absolute banger. He smiled broadly through the into, swinging his hips to the beat. Beside him, Evan swayed too, his lean dancer’s form curving gracefully with every movement. Sirius didn’t miss the way Barty’s eyes traced Evan’s every move, the way they followed the curve of his torso as the hem of his crop top rose up. Of course Barty was staring—he’d figure it out someday. Maybe. Sirius hoped.

And then the singing started, and that was where the real fun began. He and Evan harmonized perfectly through the opening line, and then Sirius left his friend to his own devices for the first verse.

And I'm watchin' the late show in my flat, all alone

How I hate to spend the evening on my own

Autumn winds

Blowin' outside the window as I look around the room

And it makes me so depressed to see the gloom

He grinned as he joined in.

There’s not a soul out there

Barty stared at Evan as his voice hit a crescendo.

No one to hear my prayer

Finally, the chorus. In Sirius’ mind, the most fun part of the song.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Won’t somebody help me chase the shadows away

As his friends sang along, Sirius made eye contact with Remus, who was watching from the back of the room. He wasn’t singing, but there was a small smile playing on his lips that would be devastating if he was into that kind of thing. Which he wasn’t, by the way. He just thought it was important.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

Knowing Remus’ eyes were on him, Sirius threw himself into the next verse with a new fervor. He let his voice soar over the notes as he swirled across the makeshift stage, feeling the music wash over him and electrify his veins from the inside out. 

Movie stars

Find the end of the rainbow with a fortune to win

It's so different from the world I'm livin' in

Tired of TV

I open the window and I gaze into the night

But there's nothing there to see, no one in sight

He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him, but he was performing like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Won’t somebody help me chase the shadows away

He and Evan fanned their hands fervently with every “gimme,” swaying to the beat. He didn’t need a man after midnight—he didn’t need anyone after midnight. Midnights were spent curled in his bed, staving off nightmares, or in Remus’, helping soothe them both. That was all he needed at night, nothing more. 

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

As the instrumental break began, they danced their way across the floor, twirling and sweeping like nothing else mattered. Their friends were clapping and dancing along, laughing and watching with a sense of joy that felt more like magic than anything else. James, Peter, Lily, Mary, and Marlene were fully feeling the beat, moving with an enthusiasm that almost rivaled Sirius’ own. Dorcas and Regulus were swaying gently, Dorcas with a bit more energy as she eyed Marlene’s swinging hips and twisting wrists. Barty was sidestepping one way and the other, gaze locked on Evan the whole time. And Remus was clapping along to the beat, a small, beautiful, dangerous smile curled on his lips. Any girl would want to be the target of that smile, Sirius thought with spiteful good humor, but instead, it was directed at him.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away?

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away?

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight

Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

They finished with a dramatic flourish, and were met with cheers, hollers, and violent, ear-shattering applause. They bowed, and Sirius’ grin felt so broad, he thought his face might burst. He practically floated off their makeshift stage, feeling as though for once, nothing could possibly go wrong in his life. 

And then it was time for presents.

He wasn’t really expecting anything—actually, scratch that. He hadn’t expected anything at all. He definitely wasn’t anticipating the earrings, nail polish, and eye makeup from Barty and Evan, or the new rings and rhinestone makeup from Dorcas. He wasn’t anticipating the eyeliner from Marlene or the new boots from Mary and Lily. More than anything, though, he was shocked by the record player that James, Peter, and Remus had all pitched in to buy for him. He’d wanted one since forever, and now he had one, thanks to his very best friends in the whole world. He practically tackled all of his friends in a massive hug, relishing in the fact that this was his life now. These were his people now. He was going to be okay.

The party went on longer, extending into the night in a blur of light and colors and confetti and laughter, but it was the end that meant more than anything.

His friends piled out of the common room, hugging him and wishing him happy birthday, leaving only Regulus in the doorway. Regulus, clad in a dark sweater and darker pants, but with a soft sort of warmth in his typically icy eyes. “I didn’t give you a present,” he said, voice clipped as always.

“That’s okay,” Sirius rushed to assure him. “You didn’t—“

Regulus held up a finger to silence him. “I did not want to give it to you in front of everyone.” He ducked his head almost sheepishly, eyes darting toward the floor. “It does not look like much—it is not much.” He looked up once more, suddenly defiant. “But despite that, I wanted you to have it.” Without further ado, he pulled a small, delicate-looking parcel from his pocket and silently handed it to Sirius.

Intrigued, he ripped through the perfect wrapping, and let out a small gasp when he saw what lay inside. There was a small, daintily beaded choker necklace, clearly made with Regulus’ own hands. Various stars and moons were woven into the pattern, but the real showstopper was the sparkling star pendant in the middle. “Reg,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off of it. “It’s beautiful.”

“Open it.” At Sirius’ look of confusion, Regulus clarified. “The star,” he said. “Open it.”

So he did.

Inside the star lay a stunning portrait, magnificent in its detailing, of Sirius and his friends when they won the talent show. They were hugging and laughing, the joy evident even on their minutely rendered faces. It was obviously Regulus’ own handiwork, and he looked back up at his brother, fighting the tears that were threatening to swell in his eyes. “It’s lovely,” he said, hoping his brother understood just how much it meant to him. “Only, it’s missing something.”

For the first time in the conversation, Reg looked well and truly alarmed. “What do you mean? What did I miss?”

Sirius smiled fondly. “A picture of you.”