Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Never has Harry Potter been mine. Mine is not Harry Potter. Harry Potter has never been mine as it is not now. Thank you.

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October's Tuesday was accompanied by chilling winds and sleets of rain. Hogwarts' castle grounds became patterns of blurred and graying colors when one glanced out the window. All the creatures had turned in for the day, except for perhaps the giant squid, who could be seen floating lazily in its pond. It was his kind of weather. The clouds nodded to him in greeting as they floated balefully overhead, and the sky reflected an ominous black. Black and ominous like Sirius' eyes the last time I saw them. We still weren't on speaking terms, seeing as he refused to come down from the attic and I refused to console him out of there. But even then, I found no peace. Sometimes my resolve to let him sulk to his heart's content would crumble slightly and I would find myself climbing up the dusty stairs to the attic. But each time I would be halted by the dull thud of something heavy forcefully hitting the attic walls. Despite being under isolation, Sirius made it very clear that his mood wasn't lifting as he tossed my old family possessions about. Nothing had changed this morning when I groggily stumbled out of bed to the soft clink of shattering porcelain. And then, there was still my first ever detention…

"-That's right. Should've thought twice before drawing your wand, eh?" Filch threw me a dirty look over his shoulder as we progressed down the dark hallway. The lantern swinging from his hand cast long, gloomy shadows over the suits of armor and the sleeping portraits hanging beside them.

"You featherbrained Gryffindors are always causing a commotion or breaking my valuables. Serves you right to be punished. I only wish the Headmaster would allow me the honor of hanging you by your ankles from the dungeon ceilings. I've kept those shackles well-oiled haven't I, Mrs. Norris?" The caretaker cooed to the fluffy creature at his feet.

I grimaced and looked away.

Several turns later, I found myself gazing with awe at the glittering walls of the trophy room.

"Wait here and don't touch anything." Filch hissed. "I've got to go fetch that Malfoy kid. Enjoying your detention so far, I hope."

He gave a sinister cackle before shutting the heavy oak doors firmly behind him.

Well, I thought, silver lining. Things could be worse, right? Malfoy could have been permanently hexed with his slimy appendages, I could have been expelled for criminal assault against another wizard. Yes, things weren't that bad. Nobody knew about my condition and I had remained safe and harmless for another month. Things will brighten up, I told myself with as much cheer as I could muster.

The heavy doors banged open and I turned, expecting to see Filch return with Lucius in tow. Instead, I was intruded unexpectedly upon by two boys.

"I'm telling you Pete," the taller of the two said heatedly, "I'm going to hunt him down if it's the last thing I do."

"But maybe it was just a mistake!" The one, which I presumed to be Pete, cried as he waddled after his companion.

"He knew where Filch's broom closet was! There's no mistake about it. No one knows where it is besides you, me, and Filch himself." The taller boy spun around to face Pete and grabbed the front of his robes. "Besides, he knows something about Sirius."

"Like I mentioned," Pete insisted, raising a fat finger, "he may have stumbled across it on his own. And I admit it was strange that he called himself Sirius, but don't you think you're overreacting, James?"

"Who in their right mind would go around impersonating a dead man?" James burst out, giving the front of Pete's robes a little shake. "Something is seriously wrong about this whole picture. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm not letting it go."

"Okay, okay." Pete whispered, "just drop the subject for now-" and here, he threw me a nervous look and frantically jabbed his finger in my direction. James followed his gaze and our eyes met. I was still standing frozen to the spot, unsure of what to do or say, rather like a deer caught in headlights. I quickly averted my eyes to the floor, unable to avoid the feeling that I'd interrupted a private moment. James, though, seemed not to mind much. He dislodged his fists from Pete's robes and strode to me, eyes bright with curiosity.

"Hello, there. Sorry you had to see us fight." James grinned, extending a hand. "I'm James Potter and that's my best mate, Peter Pettigrew. Glad to meet you."

I reached out and grasped his hand in a brief handshake. Timidly, I raised my eyes and stared up into his face. The wide smile plastered all over his features surprised me.

James Potter, with his head-full of untidy black hair and lively hazel eyes, was quite handsome. He had a thin face, long nose, and a lady-killer smile. Skinny as he was, he seemed strong. His friend, Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Short, a little heavy around the middle, beady eyes, and slightly protruding front teeth. His eyes flickered around uneasily underneath his neatly combed, mouse-brown hair. James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. They were in interesting pair with interesting names. Names that sounded oddly familiar though I was quite sure I'd never heard of them before.

"So what's your business here?" James inquired, sizing me up with keen interest.

"D-Detention." I muttered softly, once again averting my eyes in embarrassment.

"Excellent!" He exclaimed.

I stared at him, baffled.

"We're in the same boat, mate!" James chortled, slinging an arm across my shoulders.

I couldn't suppress a small grin of my own. Something told me that this James Potter was going to make detention a lot better than it originally sounded. Silver lining, indeed.

"So what's your crime?" I asked hesitantly.

"Peter and I broke Filch's full-length body mirror on the third floor." James replied, nonchalant. "What's yours?"

"I gave Lucius tentacles."

My response did a number of things: James' head whipped around to survey my face carefully and Peter let out a frightened squeak, the color draining from his face.

"You're not…Remus Lupin?" James wondered.

I gave a tiny nod, not understanding why my words had elicited such reactions. Seemingly negative reactions.

"You…" James growled, lunging at me.

I had the wind knocked out of my lungs as James slammed me roughly backwards against the glass case that held last year's School Cup. The corner of the case cut painfully into my lower back but I dared not move. James was towering over me, one arm placed across the area where my neck met my chest. Not high enough to do me serious harm, but more than enough to cause me discomfort, I noted. Looking up with utter bewilderment, I saw that James' face, which had beamed joyfully at me only moments before, was now twisted into uncontrollable rage.

"How did you know Sirius' spell?" His voice was low, deadly, and-I now recognized-identical to the one that had threatened me yesterday in the broom closet.

That's it-

And it all came flooding back to me. The Vanishing Cabinet, the mirror, Filch's abandoned broom closet…the two voices I had heard in there must have belonged to James and Peter. Then that means-

"Answer me!" James demanded, adding pressure to my chest.

I gave a small cough. "I-It's not what you think."

James gave me a long stare. "Do you know why that spell was called a trademark?"

I shook my head.

"That's because Sirius created it himself. I never recalled that he taught it to somebody else." James glared down at me dangerously.

"It's complicated." I attempted. "I came to know Sirius, but under very…different…circumstances. And in a way, he did sort of teach me the spell…recently."

I could tell that James was not convinced. If anything, he looked more agonized than before.

"He's gone."

I bit my lip.

"I don't know what game you're playing, Lupin," James ground out, "but it's sickening."

"It's not a game-"

"How twisted must your heart be to involve a dead man?" James cried, digging his arm into chest. "What did he ever owe you? Is it because he's a Black? Is that justification enough to torment us with his memory, however the hell you're doing it?"

I lifted my head, about to deliver another protest, when I was cut short by the look in James' eyes. The look of depthless anguish in his eyes. Anguish that was most likely masked by dazzling smiles on a daily basis. Anguish that was once masked by anger. But the anger was beginning to chip and fall away, revealing that anguish, those twin pools of fathomless anguish. Anguish that resembled-no, perfectly matched-the anguish I had observed in Sirius' eyes. He had confronted me with those eyes just as James did now, eyes filled with the pain of a loss that they should not have experienced; should not have known. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and fought to restrain the fresh guilt ripping through my heart.

"HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING OVER THERE!"

Filch had returned with several mops under his arm and Lucius following sullenly behind, carrying a bucket of rags. Upon seeing my predicament, he dropped the mops with a clatter and hurried forward, brandishing a fist while cursing loudly.

James dropped his arm and swiftly moved away, but never breaking eye contact with me. His message was clear: this wouldn't be the last that I'd see of him.

"POTTER! ARE YOU LOOKING FOR ANOTHER DETENTION?!" Filch bellowed, spit flying from his mouth as he flew at James. "EXPECT PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL TO HEAR ABOUT THIS, JUST YOU WAIT-"

But James was paying no heed to the infuriated caretaker; he simply kept his eyes trained on mine. I saw the anguish withdraw behind a carefully poised mask of cool calmness, now hidden but still remaining.

"-You hear me?! I want this entire room scrubbed spotless-trophies included! No magic, only elbow grease! Malfoy, Lupin, you're picking Rubella Fir behind Greenhouse three for Professor Sprout. Follow me."

I walked stiffly after Filch and through the castle's front doors, into the pouring rain. The wind bit through my robes and the water beat against my back like thousands of tiny icicles but I didn't care. I barely paid any attention to them as I squelched around in Professor Sprout's field behind the Greenhouse, constantly slipping in the soft earth. I worked in silence, yanking out tuft after tuft of the crimson plant and discarding them in a basket. With every bundle I unearthed, a splatter of bright red would explode from the severed roots of the plant, painting my hands like blood. Like the hands of a murderer; a monster that caused pain to those around me. Yet every time I raised them for close speculation, the heavy rainwater would dash the carmine liquid away and leave my hands clean again. Then when I reached for the next tuft, the cycle would repeat itself, over and over. Just like the endless cycle of the full moon. That day of every month the monster would appear, tearing and shrieking for freedom-for bloodlust. And every following morning I would awake collapsed in the confinement chamber, aching all over with my own blood decorating the furniture, decorating my hands, caked on my face, clinging along my torso. The gashes or the loneliness-I didn't know which hurt more.

And if that wasn't enough, now Sirius had joined in the parade. James too. They wore the same looks as Mum and Dad had on that first transformation: horror, shock, disgust, fury, and anguish. They tried to hide it, to adjust it, but now they were out of the country. When I watched them go for the last time, their faces had lost the shock and fury. The horror and disgust had dulled. But the anguish was written in every line of their features. I could never forget. And Sirius…he had donned that same appearance before escaping to the attic. And James…he was the same. Why did it always end this way? Why did I always cause people pain? No matter how hard I tried to be a good little boy as Mum had instructed before she left, no matter how much I tried to isolate myself, I somehow always managed to bring others sadness. I always made them feel anguish when they looked upon my face…always……

I heard my own strangled sob before I realized I had been crying. The ice-cold rain had chilled my skin so that I could not feel the tears but they were still there. They mingled with the frosty droplets that fell upon my face, cutting small paths in the streaks of mud smeared across my cheeks. I no longer bothered to try and quell the shaking of my limbs as tears, rain, mud, and the blood-red stains swirled, mixing together.

In the icy sleets, I allowed my pain to devour me.

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I slammed the window shut after the tawny owl took flight. Clutching the long, rectangular package, I trudged across the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch. Too exhausted to even roll back my sopping sleeves, I wiped my hands on a cushion and began tearing at the package. A note fell into my lap and I picked it up, squinting to make sense of the curvy letters.

"I was cleaning my office this morning and I found this. I thought it would make a nice gift of congratulations on becoming Prefect. –Albus Dumbledore"

Ripping away the rest of the paper, I pulled out what appeared to be a framed picture of a young man. He had fallen asleep on his desk and was snoring softly. I could only make out his dark hair and fancy green robes. Expect the Headmaster to send his students portraits of strange men, I sighed, standing up on the couch. I tugged down the framed scenery of a sunny field hanging over it, tossing it to the floor, and replacing its vacated spot with the Headmaster's congratulatory present.

I wobbled back and forth unsteadily as I tried to discern whether or not the portrait was straight. Every time I decided I was satisfied, I would lean away to check and realize with great annoyance that it was slightly off. Cursing impatiently, I untangled my wand from the pocket of my wet robes and muttered a clever straightening spell. The frame gave a rigid twitch to the right and settled there. I wiped my brow in content and moved to step off the couch before I ruined the furniture, eyes still fixed on the portrait.

Suddenly, the picture swayed to the left. I tilted my head in confusion, wondering if I hadn't performed the spell correctly. But I quickly realized that must not have been it as the portrait swung violently to the right, then wavered dangerously as if it were about to fall. I looked down and noticed with dull alarm that the portrait wasn't the only thing that was moving. The couch began to quiver and shake too. Soon, the vase and its stand joined in, shaking and twitching. Before I had the time to process what was going on, the couch gave a particularly fierce jump and bucked me off unexpectedly.

As I fell crashing down on the coffee table, I came to know with dull understanding that it wasn't the furniture that was moving. My vision began to blur and go out of focus as my eyes slid shut, too tired to object to the pain from the table.

Then everything went black.

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Heat. It seemed to be everywhere. It was enveloping me, wrapping around my body. I tried to complain but no sound came out. I rasped for breath but no air was traveling to my lungs. The unbearable heat was suffocating me. I reached out, searching for a way out, hoping that there was a way out of this tunnel of heat. But my hands found nothing except more scorching flames.

Slowly, I cracked my eyes open and blotches of color began to focus into proper images. I squinted, trying to make out what all the red around me was. Was I bleeding? But the full moon had only been a week ago…

And then the fire came. It roared and spread, engulfing me. It burned me with its flames. It licked my skin with soft hisses. I screamed and jerked about, trying to move away from it, escape from it. But there was no way out, no opening at all. Every which way I looked, all I could see were walls of burning, blazing flames.

"STOP!" I begged, trying to weep but no tears willing to come out. They were chased away by the fiery heat. My lips were dry and cracked, my throat parched. I tried to cry out for help but my weak croak was instantly drowned out by the blistering flames. "Somebody, please…it's too hot…it burns…"

A ripple of silver appeared for a moment in the wall of fire. I struggled to get closer to it, silently pleading for it to come back.

It appeared again, this time more solid. Slowly, it wavered and expanded until it formed a figure.

"It's okay, Remus." It whispered lovingly, reaching out to me with a silvery arm. "Take my hand."

I tried to raise myself but my arms felt as though they were made of lead. The figure came closer and I suddenly noticed that it was floating. Wherever it moved, a trail was cut through the raging fires.

"It's okay, Remus, my darling," It whispered ever so gently, "don't be afraid. I'm here."

The silver figure settled down beside me and raised me in its arms.

"Why is there so much heat? Where's this fire coming from?" I groaned. "Make it go away, please. Put it out. I can't bear it much longer…"

"Shhh, Remus. Everything will be okay. Don't give up now, just hold onto my hand."

I entwined my fingers with those of the silver being and pressed my cheek against its chest. The figure was cool. Its skin resembled water, smooth and silky, so utterly comforting.

"Don't leave me," I muttered. "Promise you'll stay."

"I promise." It smiled, laying gentle kisses on my forehead, across my cheeks, along my neck. "As long as you want me."

"You're the only thing I want." I moaned, shifting closer to the figure and slipping my arms around it.

The fire was beginning to die down. The flames sputtered helplessly and shriveled into nothingness.

"What should I call you?" I asked softly.

The silver figure only laughed.

"But you know me." It whispered sweetly. "Now go to sleep."

I nodded, lying comfortably in the figure's lap. I watched in awe as the being arched its back and a pair of gigantic, sliver wings exploded from its back. They curved around me in a protective shield.

I reached up, yearning to feel the feathered appendages but a silver hand gently caught mine in its own. It brought my hand to its lips and laid loving kisses on my fingertips.

"I never knew you could be so adorable." It whispered in a husky voice.

With what remaining strength I had left, I looked up and my eyes fell upon the face of an angel.

An angel named Sirius Black.

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The swallows were chirping happily outside the window. A shaft of sunlight peeked through the drawn curtains and caressed my cheek.

I groaned, feeling a dull ache ripple through my body. Rolling over, I brushed up against something cool and hard. I cracked one eye open and saw deep brown. I rolled onto my back and cracked the other eye open. Slowly but steadily, the ceiling swam into view.

Groggily, I pushed myself upright. I looked down and saw a blanket covering my legs. I yanked it back to see that I was dressed in pajama bottoms. I looked to my left and saw half of my old coffee table. I turned slowly to my right and found the remnants of what had to be the other half of the wooden furniture. I gazed around me and took in the indescribable mess.

Blankets and clothes lay scattered across the floor. Next to a pair of slippers lay a bucket of water with a washcloth hanging from its side. The vase had fallen off its stand and shattered into a million pieces. On the couch lay bottles of what appeared to be medicine. Cough medicine, fever pills, and an assortment of colored capsules…a glass of spilled water sat wedged between two cushions.

I spluttered. What in the world had happened here? And…why was the coffee table broken?

"Don't look so surprised." A small voice drawled from somewhere above me. I looked up to see the little figure in my newly acquired portrait lean lazily over its desk. "You broke it."

I stared and scratched my head.

"You fell on it, remember?" The little person reminded me impatiently.

I continued to stare.

The figure sighed. "I hope the fever hasn't made you a half-wit."

I made a sound somewhere between a groan and a snort. What was that little thing talking about?

"The boy will be disappointed."

What boy?

"He stayed with you the whole time, mopping you up and feeding you medicine. I told him it wasn't going to save you but did he listen? No. I told him this wasn't even his business and what did he do? He told me to burn in hell and threatened to put holes through my picture. That rude little brat. And now he'll know I was right. You were hopeless from the start. But what I am telling you this for? The fever has obviously made you too stupid to understand what I'm saying."

"How long…have I been out?" I croaked.

"It's Friday afternoon." The figure scoffed, mildly taken aback that I hadn't lost my marbles.

Two days.

I gasped. "I-I've got to get to school."

"Yes, get to school." The figure jeered. "And you're very welcome. If it weren't for me, the boy would have never been able to tell poison apart from cough medicine."

"Who's this boy you keep talking about?" I queried, searching for some socks. "I live alone."

"The one that skulks around in the attic."

I dropped the dirty pants I was holding. "You don't mean-"

"Oh, yes." The figure drawled. "That little ghost. I think he said his name was Sirius Black."

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I stood leaning against the dungeon wall, waiting for the end of Potions. I didn't bring my book bag. I wasn't even wearing clean robes. I never thought that I, Remus Lupin, would one day be standing outside the classroom while class was being conducted, waiting to do what clearly had to be the stupidest thing in my life; the most reckless thing in my life.

It's not like you're strong enough to attend class anyway, the little nagging voice in the back of my head countered.

I checked my watch: four minutes. four more grueling minutes before I did the unthinkable, the one thing I promised myself I would never do.

But you're doing what you believe to be right, the voice said lightly.

It doesn't matter if I think it's right. All I'm doing is conjuring up a whole lot of trouble. There's no guarantee that he'll accept the facts. If worse comes to worst…

You don't know that. Not yet, at least. You haven't tried so you can't draw any conclusions yet.

By the time I can, it will be far too late.

It's too late to go back now. You've only got a minute left.

My last chance.

Forty seconds.

I should have thought this out more.

You think too much but you never do anything. Thirty seconds.

It's good to be careful.

You're too careful. Twenty seconds.

You can never go wrong with being too careful.

And you also never get anything done. Ten seconds.

I get things done because I'm careful.

The brave may not live forever, but the cautious never live. Here he comes.

I turned to face the dungeon doors and felt my stomach do a nervous flop. The bell chimed loudly as the students poured from the room, chattering happily and eager to arrive at the Great Hall for dinner. I peeled my eyes for him until I saw a tousled shock of black hair come bobbing into view. There.

I pushed against the crowd, fighting to get to him. I shoved past a girl and reached out to grab his arm.

"James." I called.

He turned to look at me with genuine surprise.

"You wanted to know what game I was playing." I said calmly.

His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Now's your change to find out. Follow me."

I turned and swiftly strode down the hallway, past the laughing students, dodging the worn-out professors, away from the Great Hall where the delicious aromas of fried chicken and potatoes. I finally came to a halt before the door of Professor McGonagall's office.

"In here." I muttered, pushing open the door and entering the small room.

James walked inside, curious, followed by a timid Peter.

I didn't wait to explain as I crossed the room to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the glass jar sitting on top of the mantle. I quickly threw the traveling dust into the fireplace, immediately forming a wall of human-sized green flames.

"Where are we going?" James demanded.

I turned to regard his confused but wary expression. "Home."

The three of us squeezed into the fireplace and linked arms, just to be safe. Careful not to inhale any ashes, I shouted the address of my lonely house as I had done every day after classes ended. But unlike all those other times, I was bringing company.

A/N: Hello, guys! Miss me much, I dare hope. I decided to update a day early (since a certain somebody objected to the six-day wait. It's okay, I'm delighted to see so much enthusiasm and I wanted to give you all a surprise.) I think my muses have returned to me (woohoo!) and I personally found this chapter somewhat more enjoyable than the last one. Send me your opinions in a lovely review or you may never see James and Peter meet Sirius. Just kidding. Don't take me seriously on that.

Toodles,

Raenef