18 December 1975

Sirius looked up from his parchment as Peter groaned loudly.

"I'm tired of this," whined Peter, flicking a piece of lint off of his cloak and rolling over onto his back to stare up at the dormitory's high ceilings. "McGonagall's gone mad, assigning us all of these essays right before the holidays."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "It's O.W.L. year, Wormtail, what did you expect?" he scoffed, flinging down his own quill and stretching backwards onto his mattress. "Besides, they're on the properties of Animagi. Should be pretty easy for you, now, don't you think?"

After more than a year of unsuccessful attempts, Sirius, Peter, and James had finally all mastered the Animagus transformation in September.

Peter wrinkled his nose. "They're still essays," he complained. He paused, biting lip, and gazed across the room towards where Remus was tucked under the covers of his four-poster bed, reading quietly. "Moony—"

"No," Remus interrupted shortly.

"But—"

"No."

"But I—"

"No, I will not write your bloody essay for you, Wormtail, so don't bother."

Peter stuck out his lower lip, but he fell tactfully silent. Sirius, taking pity on him, began in a placating voice, "Moony, he didn't mean to—"

But that was as far as Sirius got, for the very next instant, Remus vaulted out of his bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. A few moments later, Sirius heard the muffled sounds of his friend retching over the toilet bowl.

"Poor bloke," sighed Sirius, and Peter nodded fervently.

"We've got to take him down to the Hospital Wing," Peter said, frowning at the closed bathroom door. "The moon'll be up soon."

Before Sirius could answer, the dormitory door swung open and James stepped inside, sporting a very grim expression. Tossing his cloak onto his bed, he stalked up to Sirius and held up a rumpled copy of the Evening Prophet.

FIFTEEN MUGGLES MURDERED IN SOUTH WEST ENGLAND MASSACRE

Sirius swore loudly, sitting up and snatching the paper away from his friend. Heart beating violently in his chest, Sirius cleared his throat and began to read the article aloud.

"This afternoon, the Ministry of Magic received word that the Dark Mark had been cast over a Muggle primary school in Bristol. The bodies of thirteen children and two teachers were later recovered by a group of Aurors, of which included the esteemed head of office, Alastor Moody…"

"That's horrible," breathed Peter, eyes wide, as he gazed up at a very somber-looking James.

"My uncle must be going mental at the Ministry," explained James, shaking his head. "The Law Enforcement office is being sent loads of threats from all over the country."

"…Memory-modifying charms were performed on all Muggle witnesses, but not before they were interrogated by the group of Aurors. Mr. Moody declined to comment on any leads, but his second-in-command, Rufus Scrimgeour, consented to saying a few words…"

"Your uncle's getting threats?" squeaked Peter, plainly appalled by the very prospect. "Why would people—?"

"They're scared, Wormtail," James said impatiently. "Fifteen people were just murdered—at a school!" He paused. "We're at a school!"

"B-but this is Hogwarts!" cried Peter, chin trembling. "And we've got Dumbledore!"

James's expression softened slightly. "Yeah…yeah, I suppose…"

"'…All fifteen bodies showed unmistakable signs of Dark Magic,' Mr. Scrimgeour said. 'This is undoubtedly the work of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers, or as they've come to be known, Death Eaters…'"

"Where's Moony?" James asked suddenly, glancing around the bedroom. "He ought to be heading over to the Hospital Wing."

"Bathroom," Peter said glumly, sinking backwards onto his pillows. "He's been in there for a while, now. Should we check on him?"

"Leave him," sighed James tiredly. "He always gets ill before the moon."

"…The identities of the involved Death Eaters were not disclosed by the Auror Office, but all evidence uncovered by the Prophet to date appears to point to a recurring group of unknown individuals. On the behalf of the Ministry, Mr. Scrimgeour urges the Wizarding community to take all possible safety precautions during these trying times. Exclusive photographs from the crime scene have been included on page thirteen," finished Sirius at last. Frowning down at the newspaper in his hands, Sirius flipped through the pages until he reached page thirteen. He smoothed it out.

"There you are," said James, sounding relieved, as the bathroom door finally swung open, admitting a pale-faced Remus Lupin. "Are you all right?"

"Never better," said Remus feebly, stumbling back towards his bed. Immediately, James stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"We're taking you to the Hospital Wing," he told Remus firmly. "You can't stay holed up in here any longer."

"'S'only nine," Remus mumbled, swaying slightly; James threw out an arm to steady him. "I haven't—my essays—"

"I don't think McGonagall will mind if you submit them late," Peter piped up, climbing to his feet, and James nodded.

With a jerky, noncommittal shrug, Remus followed James—who had already extracted his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk—and Peter towards the dormitory stairs. At the door, James glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, frowning. "Aren't you coming?" he asked.

But Sirius wasn't listening. His eyes were transfixed by the large, chaotic photograph before him. In it, Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour were deep in conversation by the playground of the Muggle primary school, surrounded by a gaggle of Healers and fellow-Aurors, all of whom were rushing about, tending to severely wounded victims and modifying memories. The Dark Mark was glowing luminously in the sky above them.

"Padfoot?"

Sirius jumped, looking up. James, Remus, and Peter were standing side-by-side near the dormitory entrance, all sporting looks of mingled concern and confusion.

"Oh—yeah, I'm coming," he said numbly, and his voice sounded oddly far away, even to himself.

With one last look at the photograph, Sirius quickly folded up the Prophet and set it aside. Then, he hopped to his feet and followed his friends out of the dormitory, his heart hammering against his chest.

Severus Snape looked up from his nearly-completed Transfiguration essay, his expression sour. Achilles Wilkes and Jasper Avery were both slumped stupidly across their respective beds. Avery had begun to snore loudly, and an unattractive dollop of drool was dangling from the edge of Wilkes's mouth. Severus gazed at it for a moment, wrinkling his nose. Then, with a disparaging sigh, he rolled his eyes and turned back to his essay.

It had been a long, difficult day of classes, and to top it off, James Potter had received the top mark in their most recent Transfiguration practical. Professor McGonagall had announced the rankings to the Slytherins at the end of their lesson; Severus's lip curled at the memory.

Of course, Potter had lost all of the points and gained a detention later that evening, for attempting a Stinging Hex on Severus in the Entrance Hall before dinner. But the idea of Potter—Potter, of all people—achieving higher marks than Severus on a practical was still far too embarrassing a reality. Severus was determined to fare better on the essays that McGonagall had assigned them.

"What's the matter with you?"

Severus jumped, glancing towards the door of the dormitory. His third roommate, Ignus Mulciber, had just entered the room, holding a broomstick under one arm and a copy of the Evening Prophet in the other. His Prefect badge glittered on his robes.

"What are you talking about?" Severus asked stiffly.

"You were glaring at your essay," Mulciber informed him, smirking slightly as he threw his broomstick under his bed. "It's because Potter beat you in Transfiguration again, isn't it?"

Severus scowled. "By half a percent," he snapped, turning back to his essay. "And he tried to hex me in the Entrance Hall before dinner, not that you were around to do anything about it."

Mulciber snorted. "You're nearly sixteen years old," he said, shaking his head. "Grow a backbone, will you?"

Severus's temper flared, but he forced himself to bite back the nasty retort that had sprung to his lips. Privately, he had always liked Mulciber least out of his three roommates, for obvious reasons. Mulciber often slyly challenged Severus's loyalty to Slytherin house, disapproving heavily and openly of Severus's friendship with Lily Evans, a Muggle-born Gryffindor.

But unfortunately, Mulciber was the unspoken leader of their fifth year Slytherin posse; Wilkes and Avery generally consented to his schemes without question. And Severus had realized, quite early on, that it made far more sense to remain on friendly terms with his three roommates than to not.

Now, Mulciber seemed to realize that he had offended Severus, for he rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Snape," he said bracingly. "We'll get him back for it. Filthy blood traitors, the Potters are," he added in great distaste. "My grandfather always says that Fleamont Potter is a foolish, little imbecile." He paused, gray eyes flashing. "Clearly, his son takes after him."

Severus snickered, and Mulciber puffed out his chest, looking pleased with himself. "Besides," Mulciber continued knowledgeably, "Teachers always favor the Gryffindors, don't they? I mean, when was the last time Dumbledore picked a Slytherin for Head Boy? Not since Rodolphus Lestrange, himself, and that was seven years ago."

Severus nodded. Mulciber was absolutely right.

"Speaking of the Lestranges," Mulciber grinned suddenly. "Have you seen the front page of this?" He held up the copy of the Prophet.

Severus shook his head, frowning, and Mulciber tossed the paper to him.

"Wow," Severus breathed, looking up and meeting Mulciber's gaze, several moments later. "He's getting stronger every day."

"Of course he is," Mulciber said with an arrogant smile. "My father was among the very first Death Eaters before he died, you know. And the Lestranges are old friends of the family—they're the Dark Lord's favorites, apparently. They were responsible for the job in Bristol today."

There was a lingering pause, as both Severus and Mulciber gazed intently at each other. Then, heart racing, Severus turned back down to stare at the front page of the Prophet, feeling a pang of longing.

Suddenly— "I've been writing to Lucius Malfoy," Mulciber said quietly.

Severus sat bolt upright; a thrill of excitement raced down the nape of his neck. Lucius Malfoy had been a Prefect during Severus's first two years of Hogwarts, and he had always been good to Severus. But what was more, Severus knew for a fact that Lucius had intended to join the Dark Lord upon graduation. Had he succeeded?

"You've been what?" Severus whispered, eyes wide.

"I've been in touch with Lucius," Mulciber nodded importantly. "He told me…" Mulciber hesitated, cocking his head to the side—as though contemplating whether or not Severus was worthy of the knowledge that he was about to unveil. Eventually deeming him worthy, apparently, Mulciber cleared his throat pointedly, and revealed, "He told me that the Dark Lord is still recruiting."

Severus's mouth went dry; he sat up even straighter. "And what did you tell him?" he asked hoarsely. "What did you tell Lucius?"

Mulciber smirked, plainly enjoying himself. "I told him," he said calmly, "that there are four Slytherin fifth years at Hogwarts who are as well-versed in the Dark Arts as can be, and who have sympathized with the Dark Lord's regime since they were children. I told him that it would be nothing short of the greatest honor to begin serving the Dark Lord upon graduation."

Severus stared at Mulciber, his heart pounding. Then, his face split into a broad grin, which Mulciber returned.

"Lucius awaits your owl," Mulciber told him.

"All right, I'm going inside," Remus said faintly, clutching the brass doorknob of the Hospital Wing. His face was very pale. "I'll be at the shack in twenty minutes. Stay under the cloak, don't be seen on the grounds, and make sure that you—"

"Moony, we know," James interrupted, rolling his eyes at Remus. He turned and looked at Sirius in amusement. "Honestly, you'd think this was our first time, the way he's talking."

Sirius gave him a small smile. James frowned at him; his best friend had been oddly quiet on the entire trek down to the third floor from Gryffindor Tower.

"This is only your fourth time," Remus reminded, gazing seriously at James. "And as I've said a million times, you're risking your lives by doing this. This doesn't suddenly make you all experts—"

"Moony, shut up and go inside," James said firmly. "We're not going to let you spend the full moons alone ever again—I thought we'd made that clear in September."

Remus opened and closed his mouth several times, his eyes wide. Then, at long last, he gave a slightly twitchy nod. "Thanks," he mumbled, before opening the door and slipping inside.

James shook his head, grinning, before he turned and faced Peter and Sirius. "Ready?" he asked them, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out from within his robes and shaking it out. Peter gave an eager grin, while Sirius simply nodded. James gazed at him.

"Padfoot, are you—?"

"I'm fine, James," Sirius said curtly, avoiding James's eyes. "Let's get going."

James stared at him for another moment. Then, slowly, he pulled the cloak up and draped it over the three of them, and they set off down the corridor and towards the marble staircase in silence. They were on the second floor landing, when, suddenly, Sirius gasped and swore under his breath. James glanced over his shoulder.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"It's my wand," Sirius hissed back. "I've left it in the dorm."

Peter's eyes widened. "Are you sure—?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Sirius said impatiently. "I've got to go back and get it."

James bit his lip. "It's nearly curfew. I think we should all go under the cloak—"

"No," Sirius said quickly, and James frowned. "I—I'll go by myself. Wait for me in the Entrance Hall."

"But—Padfoot, if you're caught—"

"I won't be caught," Sirius said firmly. Then, without another word, he ducked out of the cloak and began hurrying down the corridor, away from his friends.

James looked at Peter, eyebrows raised. Peter shrugged, frowning after Sirius's retreating figure.

Sirius stumbled up the Owlery staircase, his stomach churning. He hadn't actually left his wand in Gryffindor Tower. He hated lying to his friends—it wasn't something that he did often—but at the moment, even if just for a few minutes, he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

Fifteen Muggles had been murdered in broad daylight. The headline was repulsive, despicable, utterly horrific. And yet, it was something that Sirius's parents—and grandparents, and aunts, and uncles, and cousins, and even brother—had probably rejoiced in seeing in the paper. Fear bubbled in the pit of Sirius's stomach. Voldemort's supporters were eerily anonymous—and Sirius couldn't help but wonder whether his family was, somewhow, involved in the cause. After all, wasn't this pure-blood mania precisely what his parents had been preaching to Sirius and his brother for the last decade-and-a-half?

Soundlessly, Sirius slipped into the dome-shaped Owlery, careful to avoid stepping on the skeletons of long-forgotten rodents as he did so. It was five minutes until curfew and Sirius knew—from experience, of course—that Argus Filch had a particular fondness for haunting the Owlery at night.

"Lumos," Sirius whispered, and his wand-tip flared, filling the expanse with warm, white light.

He found his gray screech owl perched on a bale of hay in the far left corner of the circular tower, gnawing on a dead rat. Upon spotting him, Felix let out an excited hoot and soared off of his perch to land on Sirius's shoulder.

"Hi, Felix," Sirius said quietly, stroking the owl's feathers.

Felix gave a soft hoot and gently nibbled Sirius's ear.

Sighing heavily, Sirius walked to a nearby window and stared down at the grounds. Was it really possible? Was his family so despicable that they would consort with the likes of Voldemort? Sirius didn't want to believe it possible, but—

"You!"

Sirius whirled around. Felix gave a startled hoot and fluttered off of Sirius's shoulder.

Severus Snape was standing in the Owlery door frame, holding an envelope and sporting a murderous expression.

Sirius scowled. "Writing to your mummy?" he asked nastily. "Begging for a fresh set of underpants, are you, Snivelly? You must've soiled all of yours, by now."

Snape's sallow cheeks flushed with color. Immediately, he plunged his hand into his robes and drew his wand, leveling it with Sirius's chest.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Are you going to curse me in the middle of the Owlery?" he asked scathingly.

Snape's hand twitched on his wand. "I could," he spat, glaring at Sirius. "You've got no idea what I'm capable of."

Sirius snorted derisively. "Well, as much as I'd love to stay and find out, I've got better things to do." Shaking his head, he stalked around Snape, towards the Owlery entrance.

He had his hand around the doorknob when Snape spoke again.

"I read all about your cousin's achievements in the paper today, Black," Snape said smoothly. "You must be so proud."

Sirius froze. Then, very, very slowly, he turned back around. There was a satisfied gleam in Snape's eyes.

"What did you just say?" Sirius asked in a low voice, stepping towards him.

"You know, for someone who claims to hate the Dark Arts as much as you do, your family seems to be quite—ah—involved in their use," Snape continued silkily.

Sirius glared at Snape. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Snape raised his eyebrows, lips twisting into an amused smile. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Sirius growled, his anger rising dangerously.

Snape's smirk became postively infuriating. "Your dear old cousin and her husband attacked a Muggle school today," he drawled.

Sirius's stomach dropped like a stone. His cousin…there was only one person to whom Snape could be referring, and the very thought sent a chill down Sirius's spine. Surely, it wasn't true…surely, Snape was simply stirring trouble…

"You're lying," Sirius hissed, narrowing his eyes.

Snape leered, his eyes glittering madly. "I'm not lying, Black. I happen to be well-informed."

Sirius's hands curled into fists. "You can't wait to join, can you?" he snarled, taking a menacing step towards Snape. "You and your stupid little Slytherin gang. I heard about what Mulciber tried to do to Mary Macdonald last week. That was a nasty trick to play."

Snape merely shrugged, as he attached his envelope to a school owl. Then, he turned back around to face Sirius. "Best hope it's not you next, Black," he sneered, eyes glinting.

Blood rushed to Sirius's head. He gripped his wand tightly, quite ready to slash it through the air and hex Severus Snape into the next century. But then, suddenly, he caught sight of the silhouette of the moon in the window over Snape's shoulder, and he froze.

The idea struck him like lightning.

Sirius cleared his throat pointedly, nodding in the direction of the moon. "It's a full moon tonight," he said casually.

Snape's beady black eyes latched onto Sirius's. He had suddenly tensed, like a dog on a scent. "What?"

"It's the full moon," Sirius repeated conversationally. "I can see it behind the Whomping Willow." He paused, forcing his expression into one of innocent contemplation. "You know, I've always wondered where you'd end up if you touched that small knot near the base of the Whomping Willow and climbed in through the secret tunnel near the roots…" he trailed off, pretending to frown thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose some things are better left undiscovered."

Snape's entire body had gone rigid. Eyes as wide as saucers, he staggered past Sirius, flung open the door to the Owlery, and sprinted down the staircase.

"Goodnight, Snivellus," Sirius called loftily after him.

He waited for Snape's footsteps to disappear completely before he turned back around to face the Owlery. Hastening to where Felix was resting on the windowsill, Sirius yanked out a spare scrap of parchment from his robes, as well as an inkpot and an old quill. Hunching over the parchment, Sirius dipped his quill in ink.

Did you see the article in the Evening Prophet about the Bristol massacre?
I heard a rumor your sister was involved.
—S

Sirius read through the letter multiple times, ensuring that it was as vague as it could possibly be. Then, quietly, Sirius beckoned Felix down from his perch and found a spare piece of twine. Deftly tying the letter to Felix's ankle, he whispered, "Take this to Meda. If anyone tries to intercept you, forget the letter and come straight back to me. Got it?"

Felix hooted understandingly, nipping at Sirius's fingers before turning and soaring out of the tower with a whoosh. Sirius watched him for a long while, until he was nothing but a grayish speck in the distance. Then, swallowing heavily, Sirius backed away from the window.

"Nox."

Author's Note:

The most recent updates to this story have been done to distribute the story across several chapters and change a few points. Nothing dramatic, plotwise. Enjoy!

Ari