(minor) dh spoilers; i forgot to include that in my initial summary.

Looking at Remus, people usually just pass him off as a sickly boy, as weak. Nice and polite, but in need of care and silence. That's partially true—sort of. That's what I thought when he asked to join James and I in our compartment. He was a kid that looked nervous and sort of frightened and very hesitant to talk, something I didn't quite like but I couldn't really be mean to him over—unlike when I had met Snape, the oily know-it-all who did his best to try to impress the pretty redhead sitting with him.

I've learned over the years that if James and I are put in a small, enclosed space—or a large, enclosed space or a wide open space or any type of space for that matter—we have the ability to strike up a chat with anyone who happens to be in that space with us. McGonagall always said it was our "persistent need to be the center of the world" and our "inability to remember what I told you five minutes ago, Black and Potter."

Remus, I recall, was harder than most. He was just so determined to keep his answers as short as possible; I put it off then that he was ill, because he seemed very pale and weak. It must have been just after the full moon. However, over the course of the train ride, he managed to open up. He seemed bright enough—someone I can ask to copy off of, or to help me study for tests (back then, I thought I was actually going to study). He didn't seem to be particularly exciting, until that same night when we were settling into our dormitory and I was, admittedly, making an arse of myself. The look he gave me shut me up for the rest of the night and most of the next morning.

I don't know how it happened, but him, James, a kid named Peter and I just sort of congregated into our own little group within the first week. It wasn't just that we all shared a dormitory, because there were three others in there besides us. Peter was annoying at first, but he was an acquired taste and he grew on us. Remus had opened up a lot more than I suspect he ever had before, but he was still intriguing, like I wasn't getting the full story. James and I seemed to have the qualities people usually describe when referring to twins, in that we always were along the same trail of thought. The other blokes were good guys and we were friendly, but I never had the desire to group up with the others.

My thoughts about Remus being a werewolf started midway through first year. Contrary to what most people assumed at the time, I was smart enough to figure most things out if the process didn't bore me. The thoughts were fleeting, full of maybes and doubts: "My friend can't be one of those" and "there's got to be another explanation for this"—early life with my mother had left influence on me I have since shaken off—but growing up in my household, werewolves were lesser, feral, half-breed brutes.

Early in second year, James and I chose the same day to confess our thoughts to each other, which we a week later told Peter of. Remus suspected a change, apparent in his withdrawal and avoidance, but it was very hard to avoid the three boys he shared a room and all of his classes with. When we finally cornered him in an empty common room, he looked ready to flee, even as we told him that we wanted to help. I had reconciled with his lycanthropy, banishing the last vestiges of my upbringing.

After going through the difficult process of learning to become an Animagus (which did have its perks; McGonagall never did figure out the cause of the complete transformation of our Transfiguration grades), full moon was like a whole new life altogether. The Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack were like havens upon entering; the night, lit by the bright moon, always happened to be a perfect night for exploring. The four of us learned so much about Hogwarts, and for a few months in our fifth year we got so much joy out of being able to get across the entire school in under five minutes, confounding students and teachers alike on how we had done it.

I knew my family was ashamed at the company I kept (not that they know about Remus' furry little problem!), and the face I provide for my name. Regulus continues to be the good little boy, in Slytherin like everyone I'm related to, and since this past winter I don't think any Black gives a good damn about what I do anymore. I found a great way in disassociating myself, involving a few pairs of clothes stuffed in a bag and a new set of parents for Christmas.

It was a day in April, and we were in N.E.W.T. Potions. It was my sixth year. James and I were at a table, with Remus and Peter behind us. Lily was at a table with a girl with long, black hair—I couldn't remember her name, but I had kissed her on New Years. Snape was with one of his ugly little Death Eater friends, Avery, who had no real intelligence of his own but basically fed off of Snivellus.

Throughout the period, I had watched as both James and Snape sneaked looks at the back of Lily's head. I nudged James. He peered at me, correctly interpreting my expression and glancing back at Snape. The git was now staring avidly.

Lily had ditched hanging out with Snape at the end of last year, ever since he called her a Mudblood. Good riddance, too—at least we knew she had some sense, which we all had been doubting. She was quite pretty, and Snivellus just wanted to get in her pants, but she had been friends with him for some unfathomable reason. Well. If there was one thing she'd learned from being around James, it was that she wasn't going to take an insult without severe retribution to its giver. (I think she was still smarting over that time in first year when James and I put knots in her hair that took about three bottles of Sleakeazy's to get out.)

Snape was still pathetically trying to get her back in his side, probably out of sheer jealousy of James, whom Lily had smiled at (once). I had been sure that as soon as Snivellus was out of her life, Lily would have seen the light and seen what great a guy James actually was, but his own views of James seemed to still have held sway over her. Brainwashing, in my opinion. It took Lily about nine months to get to that smile after she had very noticeably started to avoid that piece of slime.

Suddenly, Snape's potion exploded.

Everyone screamed, and James and I dove out of the way of the potent liquid, landing solidly on the stone next to each other. I hoisted myself onto my elbows, quickly, and peered at James, who took advantage of the pandemonium to roll around the floor in laughter.

I smirked, glancing back at Snape and Avery, who each had gotten a face full of Calming Draft and were sitting lethargically on their bench. At this stage, the potion was so virile that it sizzled on hair and clothes and definitely getting it all over your face would have an effect.

Trying not to join James in his fits of hysteria, I stood up and nudged him with my foot, letting him know he needed to stop. He did; his face twitched magnificently as he tried to keep from laughing, watching as Snivellus fell sideways off the bench and appeared to not care at all.

We both fixed politely curious looks on our faces. I could feel Lily's green eyes on us, watching suspiciously as Professor Slughorn blubbered around, trying to find an Invigoration Draught.

As soon as Snape and Avery came to, Snivellus leaped off the floor, his hand going for his pocket. He was staring at James with an enraged, almost insane look on his face, automatically thinking that James had been the cause. In an instant, both James and I had our wands out and were pointing at Severus, whose own wand hand was only halfway up towards us.

"Boys!" Professor Slughorn said exasperatedly. "Wands away!"

I, for one, was very hesitant to put my own wand down while Snape had his pointed at me. James felt the same. No one moved.

Slughorn lumbered up to us, jerking our wand arms down by our side. Snape lowered his. The tension in the room only dissipated slightly as the three of us stared at each other.

"What did you do to my potion?" he hissed at James. I could practically see the spit flying out of his mouth. I felt a smile crawl across my face unpleasantly.

"It's my fault that you can't brew?" James asked. "I would have thought, what with Evans hanging out with you, she would have rubbed off on you—oh, wait..." Everyone's mind finished the phrase that James had deliberately left off—...she doesn't.

A blatant taunt. I reminded myself to remember to commend him for it later. I glanced at Lily; she was slowly getting redder in the face, and I could see her hands trembling in anger as she pretended to not notice the situation as she continued with her own potion. She could have used with some Calming Draught spilled on her.

Snape looked even more infuriated and humiliated than before.

"You think she may have let him cheat off her before?" I muttered to James, keeping it loud enough so the class was still able to hear. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her head shoot up. "Maybe that's why he's doing so badly now—"

"Won't you get back to work, Black?" her voice snapped. I pretended to be surprised that she was able to hear me, then raised my hands in a conciliatory gesture and turned back to my desk. The class, muttering, started to revert their attention back to their own potions. I heard James laugh quietly next to me.

"Everything's a game to you, Sirius," he commented airily. We grinned at each other.

"I'm not the one that lobbed a firework into Snivellus' Calming Draught."

"Touché."

The rest of the period was spent relatively normally—the only thing that caused another stir was when Remus had jumped to prevent Peter from adding Doxy legs into his potion. I didn't look around once at Snape to check to see whether he had unearthed the twisted remains of the firework. It didn't matter.

When the bell rang, the four of us quickly packed up and exited the classroom, and, laughing, James and I recounted what had happened.

"How hilarious," a voice behind us remarked, and I could almost hear the oil dripping from its owner. Wrinkling my nose, I turned around to face Snivellus. I could feel James do the same. Remus hung back, looking slightly awkward. I could tell he didn't want to have to deal with this: full moon was tonight, and he looked unusually pale and his robes hung loosely. I stepped forward, to block Remus from Snivellus' view. A look that I couldn't recognize but definitely didn't like had appeared on the Slytherin's greasy visage.

"Yeah, actually, it was," James said smoothly, raising an eyebrow down at the smaller boy. Snivellus didn't cower, which made my stomach leap in annoyance.

"Jealous you didn't think of it? As I recall, you seem to be jealous of James a lot..." I remarked. I loved throwing James' accomplishments into his face. Snape hated James, and therefore me also by association. Well. Probably not only by association. But I digress.

"Lily's hair looked nice today, don't you think?" James asked. He paused. "I didn't want you to make two great waxy spots in it by your prolonged staring."

I laughed.

"I'd wager he thought daddy would be proud of him if he managed to land a girl like her," I remarked. "Mind, the only thing he would be proud of."

Contrary to what I thought would have happened at the closing of that comment, Snape didn't draw his wand and give me an excuse to curse him so he ended up inside out and three feet shorter.

Unnervingly, he smiled at me. A very abhorrent smile, that spread across his face like a spilled can of motorcycle grease, and I instantly didn't want to know what he was thinking. I felt my hands get cold, and unconsciously my feet spread further apart so as to prepare my body for the blow he was about to deliver.

"You'd know the feeling well, wouldn't you, Black?" His voice was very soft, and his black eyes focused on my own. In the distance, James' derisive laughter. A pound on my shoulder, inviting me to join in on the fun. He didn't understand. Snape hadn't expected him to.

Back to my senses.

"Will you lot leave me alone with this puddle of slime?" I asked quietly. I heard James stop laughing, disconcerted. I could feel his stare on the side of my face, trying to figure me out. I didn't let him in, just kept my hard stare on Snivellus.

"Padfoot, what...?"

I shot him a look. He took a step away, raising his palms toward me defensively.

"Let's go," he told Remus and Peter, jerking his head for them to follow. Looking at me wonderingly, they turned heel. I waited until they rounded the corner.

"Touch a soft spot, Black?" he inquired.

I didn't answer his question, but instead said, "You don't know a thing about me, my family, or my life. Stop acting like you do." Later, I wouldn't know how my voice managed to stay so quiet and calm.

"I know quite a bit," he argued. "Regulus talks quite a lot about you." Knots in my stomach. Toy broomsticks on the floor. "He talks abuot when you used to try to cook breakfast. Tell me, did your mother and father enjoy that?"

Syrup on the wall. Kreacher cleaned it up.

"Enjoyed it a lot more than your mother enjoyed having you."

Which is to say, not much, said a voice in the back of my head. I strangled it back into its previous silence.

"The white sheep of the Black family..." His voice very deliberate, dripping in enjoyment. "You're just like them, still, did you know that? You say you're so different, but you're as arrogant, you still think you're as superior... And now the black sheep of Gryffindor tower... you try a lot to fit in, don't you? First with mummy and daddy, and now with your pathetic little friends."

I snorted. Ignored the daggers in his words.

"You're talking about the friends you try so very hard to imitate?"

"Imitate? Like Pettigrew? Or Lupin?" Fists at the name; a wave of protectiveness rushed over me, into me. "He seems to have a lot of pressing engagements each month, doesn't he?"

"Since you know a lot about those." My voice came out in a hiss. "Slug Club meeting tonight, weren't you invited?"

No.

"I heard Regulus was. Mummy and daddy are probably so proud of him. Their only son," he added, sighing. "Regulus said their first one died, did you know what happened to him?"

The smirk was wiped off his face as I hoisted him against the wall by the front of his robes. His feet dangling a foot above the corridor. A clatter. Books all over the floor under him.

"You want to know about where Remus goes every month?" I asked him, relaxing my grip a little just to slam him back against the wall. His head hit it with a satisfying bang. I watched his face, previously so smug, fill with pain and fear. It urged me on.

"How about tonight you find out? Stick your long nose into his business, isn't that what you want?" Bang. His hands clawed at my wrist, trying to get me to let him go.

"All you need to do is knock that knot on the Whomping Willow, Snivellus, that's all you need to do."

I let him go. He fell on the floor, on top of his books, and I heard the bindings tear. He was sprawled pathetically on the floor.

"Then you'll find him."

And so will he.

"Ready, Padfoot?"

I was sitting by the window in the Gryffindor Common Room. The grounds were plainly visibly below, well-lit by the full moon. I could see the Whomping Willow, its branches waving lazily. It almost seemed bored.

"I'm not going tonight."

There was silence on James' end. I could hear his footfalls on the lush rug as he approached me.

"Does this have something to do with what Snape said today?"

Yes. "No."

"Sirius, whatever that was about..." he started.

"I'm not bothered by it, all right?" I snapped, glaring at him. After a second, I turned my head back to watching the window. The Whomping Willow. It was still quiet. I wondered if Snape would try to disguise himself.

"What are you looking at?"

I didn't answer. I watched. A branch suddenly whipped. I didn't see anyone, but he must have been there. Somewhere.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I'm not."

He was at my shoulder now.

A branch whipped again, then the tree suddenly froze.

I could hear James' breath catch behind me. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, I could hear his pulse quicken. I couldn't feel it affect me. I don't know why.

"Sirius..." I could hear the growing realization in his voice. It grew in amplitude. It grew in disbelief.

He cursed loudly, saying a word I never heard him say anymore. I twisted my head to look at him, and in that precise moment his fist came out of nowhere and there was a sudden, sharp and throbbing pain under my eye.

Coming to, I vaguely recognized his form disappearing through the portrait, and the clatter of his footsteps on the stone. He was running. Quickly.

"Sirius?"

Peter's high-pitched voice floated into my ears. I peered at him. He looked confused, slightly scared. He must have witnessed what just happened. "Sirius, what was that?"

I turned back toward the window. I didn't answer him.

James and Peter were waiting for me when I got back from Dumbledore's office at around five in the morning. Remus hadn't transformed yet, and, when he did, he'd be in the hospital wing recovering for a few hours.

At my entrance, James looked up at me, and he seemed more furious than I had ever seen him before. I lingered by the doorway, feeling slightly awkward.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" James' voice was low, and deadly, as Dumbledore's had been, albeit the former's with more colorful terminology.

"I don't know." My voice sounded foreign to my own ears.

"Do you have any idea what could have happened there?" He demanded.

Yes. Snape could have died. I would have been a murderer. "Dumbledore already filled me in."

Anger seemed to form an embargo against James words. I would have been a murderer. My Uncle Cygnus was a murderer. Bellatrix was a murderer, possibly. Most likely.

"What about me?" He finally asked. He was very near to me, now, up in my face, looking close to hitting me again.

"What?"

"I didn't go in there transformed, Sirius," he snapped. "I could have been attacked as easily as Snape. Think of that? Murdering your best friend?"

I'd never murder James.

"I—you weren't going to be in there, I mean, supposed to be—"

"You'd have me stand there and watch, then?"

He was very close to yelling. I knew he was trying not to. He didn't want to wake up the rest of the House.

"Watch as Remus demolished some innocent kid?"

"Fuck, James, it's just Snivellus! He likes Lily, what the fuck does it matter—"

My voice had leaped to my own defense; I had never meant to say it, and I knew it was the wrong thing to say. Even if I didn't know, I would have, because James punched me in the face again. I slammed against the portrait behind me, the same eye smarting.

"Do you think I give a shite about who he likes? Who he is? Hell, Sirius, I hate Snape as much as the next man, but I'm not a fucking murderer!"

He started pacing, again. Murderer. Was I a murderer? At the time, I hadn't felt like it was going to be murder... I don't remember what I had felt, just anger and humiliation...

"What about Remus? Since you obviously don't care about the life of people you don't like, what about him?" he asked me. I looked up at him. Remus. Studious, bent over a book, perpetually exhausted. A werewolf once a month. Dangerous. "You claim you care about his secret, his problem, and then some prick pisses you off so you send him off to the Shack? What the hell about that?"

"Dammit, James, it was just a joke gone wrong, that's all."

I didn't know what my mouth was doing. I didn't remember thinking those words, they just popped out, like the words out of someone else's mouth. Did this mean I was crazy? Or tired? What was I? A murderer?

"A joke! Joke! Hear that Peter, isn't that hilarious? Turning our best friend into the monster he tries so hard to distance himself from! What would you have told Remus, that you had used his condition to murder someone? Would you have asked him if he thought it was funny, waking up in the hospital wing? Hey, guess what Remus, you tore Snape up to pieces last night, haha, lets share a laugh!" He spat at me. My eye was throbbing. My throat was tied up, and I was unable to speak, or get any words out. A good thing, because something stupid was longing to jump past my lips.

I remembered Bella, eleven years old, in our back yard. That day, there was a huge spiderweb and a spider was right in the middle of it. Bellatrix thought it was hilarious when she placed the butterfly she had caught right onto the web, watching as the spider bit it and wrapped its struggling body into a web. It had disturbed me. I tried to blink myself past that memory, but it was pasted onto my eyes, and eventually Bella's face was replaced with my own.

"You're just like them, did you know that?"

James was right up to me, again, saying more things that pierced me in the stomach (traitor, murderer, backstabber). A laugh barked out of my mouth, and I pushed him away, telling him to get off my back.

He glared at me, at my laughter, not believing what he was looking at. (I couldn't blame him; it seemed as if I had no more control over what I said or did, I felt like I was in a dream, fuck, what is this...)

"Everything's a game to you, isn't it?" James asked me, looking disgusted.

I suppose it is. I can't remember if I actually said it or not. I may have. I remember being exhausted; my limbs were heavy, my voice croaked, I felt as if my eyes were hollowing, I felt weak and thin and dirty, imprisoned for murder, despair pervading... my legs gave way, my knees collapsed.

Black.

What did I do? I tried to murder a classmate. How did I do it? By sending him to get slaughtered by a werewolf. When? Where? Shrieking Shack. The night of the twenty-fifth of April, 1975.

Why?

That's a trickier question. I told everyone I was just playing a joke and it got out of hand. In the end, I think I started to believe it as everyone else did. I never really thought of that night, through sheer force of will. But now... I possibly just loathed him. Loathed him, then loathed myself, then him even more. Loathed my family and my blood and how it all just came back to hit me. And he was just there.

My punishment was nightly detention for the rest of the year as well as all my friends being furious with me for a good two weeks.

A lot of people call that night a precursor to the real murder, the first sign of insanity, of malice. I realize now that I almost killed a kid that night, a kid who, at second thought, was little more than a petty little snot who deserved to be hated but wasn't someone who I should have wasted my time on trying to kill, no matter how much I had told myself then that that wasn't what I was after.

But a lot of people cite that date, shaking their heads, calling it the first of many. Because six years later, the Halloween night of 1981, I killed James and Lily Potter. Then Peter Pettigrew and a street full of Muggles. I had laughed at the irony of it, not caring that it wrecked the image of any sanity I may have had.

My punishment was imprisonment for the rest of my life in Azkaban and the whole world hating me, but this time for something I didn't do. I still have that first murder to use. This time, I'll use it wisely.

Funny how things work out.