Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and I'm sorry for the wait on this one. I've taken on a really busy schedule this year, and I've barely had time; any time I do have I spend trying to catch up on sorely missed sleep. That said, I absolutely do not intend to drop writing this.
Youtoumii: thanks again, and I'm sorry the update took so long you thought I decided to drop writing it.
Andy the willow tree: Thanks for telling me! I've fixed the mistake.
RabbitDuncan: Thank you! This doesn't qualify as 'soon' but I hope you haven't given up on waiting for it. If it helps make up for the wait at all, it is over 10,000 words.
Ravenna Frost: I'm so glad you agree with my portrayal of Slytherin. It's actually always bothered me a little that people don't seem to appreciate Slytherin for its own merits even though its traits are in my humble opinion incredible.
Giddy Girl: Remus really goes through a rough time around now, but he's blessed with great friends :).
CeCdancer: You don't understand how much it means to me to hear that. Thanks!
This chapter is the catalyst for a lot that's to come, and I hope I did it justice. Enjoy and review!
Disclaimer: this world and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Sirius threw down the letter in his hands, giving it the darkest, most chilling look Remus had ever seen him direct at anything. Normally in possession of a voracious appetite, Sirius hadn't given his eggs a single glance since they'd come down to breakfast.
Eyeing him warily, Remus hazarded a question. "What is it?"
"News," Sirius answered grimly, glancing up. "The pureblood social circles are in political turmoil. This zealot Bella's joined up with is amassing more and more followers, and he's causing division in our class."
James looked up at that as well, wearing a blacker expression than Sirius. "Father says he's earned notice from the Ministry now. He's a radical and a blood supremacist. Dunno what division he could possibly be causing in your circles. They likely applaud him for classism."
Sirius wore the sort of expression he did when he wanted to roll his eyes but reverted back to his upbringing, deeming that sort of response too common. "My family doesn't approve of him," he said tightly. "Father thinks Bella ought not to have gotten involved."
James raised a brow. "Oh?"
"He's a bit of an enigma. They don't know much of his background, but he's not a society figure, so they think he's just a demagogue with aspirations that overreach his standing. Ambitious, which they respect, but just stirring up trouble."
James frowned. "I've heard rumours. Those who disagree think he's got the right ideas, and whatever standing he didn't have he's got the mind to get it. Dangerous, but effective. He could bring about the sort of political change elitists would favour."
"Or, as our side of the family believes, he could simply drag down those stupid enough to follow him with him. He's a mysterious figure, and he remains that way although anyone like him would know it's causing him harm with prospective followers."
Peter was glancing between them with interest, looking much more relaxed now that the darkness in Sirius and James' expressions had been alleviated a little. "Do you think the Slytherins know more about it?"
Sirius looked at him sharply. "What?"
"They seem to be in political turmoil too, don't they?" Peter asked. Surprisingly, the murmur of agreement came from Remus, who had a faraway look in his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought.
"But why just the Slytherins? Plenty of pureblood families have children in the other Houses."
"But Slytherin has always gotten the students with stronger political views," said James seriously. "They're the ones who want change, the ones who have been taught they deserve the best and learn to take it. And ever since its founding, Slytherins have viewed muggleborns differently from everyone else."
"But you think they've gotten caught up in it to cause division in Slytherin House?" Sirius asked. "This is political, and it's starting to become a big deal. As you said—it's receiving Ministry attention. And at the end of the day, the Slytherins are just students."
"The other day, when you hexed Snape," said Peter, and Remus closed his eyes as James's expression immediately blackened again. Peter winced slightly, catching his mistake too late but deciding he might as well continue. "Nobody tried to help him, and there were Slytherins all around."
Sirius was watching the Slytherin table. "They seem pretty normal to me."
It was true—on the surface they looked no different. There was sneering and challenging stares and what looked like conversational chess (which was how Slytherins debated), but that was all very normal. The students at that table always seemed to be trying to trip each other. Peter thought it must be rather tiring.
Looking closer, however, there was an underlying tension between them that usually wasn't there. There was something wary in the way certain people were looking at each other, the way they leaned away or towards one another. And there was no laughter—it always seemed to be at someone's expense, but the Slytherin table was usually never devoid of laughter. The galling smirks had been replaced by something more predatory.
It made Peter wonder what sort of conversation usually went on at the Slytherin table. Was their usual apparent ribbing the sort between companions, and was this what it looked like when the words were charged, the moves led by hostility?
No, Peter thought, and he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until the other three looked at him. Swallowing, he explained, "It's real now."
"Stop trying to sound intelligent and say it straight," Sirius snapped.
Peter flushed, subsiding under the derisive gaze levelled at him. He wasn't sure what he was trying to say, and it wasn't something he cared enough about to try to figure it out under Sirius's venomous stare. "Never mind," he muttered.
The damage had been done. The topic of the Slytherins—and the day by the lake—had been raised, and James was glowering at his plate while Sirius narrowed his eyes at the Slytherin table. He was watching his brother, Remus realized.
Regulus Black was surrounded by the Slytherin team, Julian Diaval, and the usual suspects, but occasionally his gaze would flicker over to his left, where Snape, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, and others of that lot were. He seemed to be watching Snape in particular. His face was impassive, but Julian Diaval was directing an intense stare at him that seemed to speak volumes.
Exactly what it said, Remus wasn't sure.
"Slytherins," Sirius suddenly spat. "They're corrosive—they destroy everything." He was now staring at Snape, too—evidently, he had noticed the object of his brother's attentions. "Snivellus needs to be taught a lesson."
The words didn't make much sense, but Remus understood that Sirius worried a lot more for his brother than he let on. It wasn't often that he let himself think about his family, but when he did, a lot of it was directed towards his brother and the idea that perhaps he could still be protected from his family's poisonous views.
From what Remus knew, Regulus Black was someone who could more than take care of himself. He was perceptive and aloof, the perfect display of Slytherin control. Whether it was his family, his House, or both that had instilled it in him, he possessed certain Machiavellian tendencies that would serve him exceedingly well. And he was blessed with a brilliant mind he put to use.
But Sirius knew him better than Remus could discern from a few conversations, and from what little Sirius talked of his brother, Regulus Black was someone who was blindly loyal to his family and was more a follower than a leader. Clever, perhaps, but he used it the way his family taught him to, and that made him nothing more than another Black sheep.
"He's not strong enough to handle it," Sirius had said once, quietly. "He—he's always cared too much. He's sentimental, the sort who feels too much, and that's bad in a family like mine. They'll eat him alive. And all he wants is to please them, impress them, so he'll do whatever they say, even if he doesn't like it. I just—I wish I could spare him that, you know? He's a good kid at heart."
It was the last time Remus had ever heard him talk about his brother that extensively.
Regulus was barely the tip of Sirius's hostility towards Snape, however. James had been in a foul mood ever since Lily had yelled at him that day, and any trace of good humour from Sirius had slowly disintegrated because of it.
Talking to the two of them lately had been like walking around a mine field. Remus never knew what might cause them to blow up in his face, and he and Peter had been walking on eggshells around them.
"Ah—I left my Transfiguration textbook upstairs," Peter suddenly said, standing up hastily. Remus glanced at him for a moment before standing as well, glad for an excuse to leave the table.
"I'll come with you," he said, and they walked quickly out of the Great Hall. Remus had expected to be able to relax fully after O.W.L.s, because even though technically they were still required to attend ending classes on extra material not tested by the O.W.L.s, everyone knew it was just a formality while the other years took their final exams.
He was hardly relaxing now. "Hang on," he said suddenly. "You've got your textbook in your bag."
Peter avoided his gaze, and after a moment Remus let out a sigh. "I know," he muttered, and they continued walking away from the Great Hall.
"Remus!" someone called, and he turned towards the voice. Krish was striding towards him purposefully, his prefect's badge gleaming opposite the blue-and-bronze Ravenclaw crest. "You've got a free period now, haven't you?"
"Yes," Remus said, giving Krish a quizzical look.
Krish clapped him on the shoulder. "Perfect. Apparently Filch complained that a few wayward students had messed up the filing in his office, and instead of handing it off to them for detention, because it was people in detention who had messed it all up in the first place, he wanted someone responsible to do it. Benjy asked me."
Remus frowned. "Thanks for that, Fenwick," he muttered. He did not particularly feel like sorting out files at the moment. "Let's go, then. Wormtail, you're on your own."
As always, Peter scoffed at the nickname before giving Remus a short salute and heading off the other way. Ten minutes later, Remus was staring at the vast collection of files in front of him with. Filch had withdrawn a particularly fat stack from a cabinet and set it directly in Remus's line of sight not a minute earlier with an especially pleased expression. Remus got the feeling that Filch didn't really like him for some unfathomable reason.
"I could be relaxing in my common room right now," Remus complained.
Krish gave him an unreadable look before asking, "What's it like?"
"What, the common room? I reckon we got the luckiest, as far as common rooms go. Better than the Slytherin dungeons, at any rate. It's scarlet and gold themed, if you couldn't guess, and it's really comfortable. We've always got a roaring fire going in the winter and we sit around the armchairs or tables or on the carpet and study and drink butterbeer. But in the summer, it's always cool—we get a good breeze with the windows open. What's yours like?"
Krish grinned broadly. "Believe me when I say you don't have the best common room. We have a small fire, but our common room is mainly heated by these brilliant heating charms that Slytherin also uses. At night, we charm the ceiling to show us the night sky, so we fall asleep looking at the stars. And we've got a stunning view, of course. There are also thousands of books—"
"Let me guess: they're meticulously organized in alphabetical order and by subject," Remus joked.
Krish laughed. "Not at all. We're probably the messiest House of the lot. There's not a surface uncovered—we've got parchment and quills and stacks of books about every subject imaginable stacked on tables and chairs and even on the floor. It's really spacious, and always well-lit because we have so many windows, so it's not stuffy by any means. But students don't just sit at the windowseats—which are velvet and plush and wonderful, but the way—or the tables by the windows or the armchairs.
"Our carpet is really think and soft—you could sleep on it if you wanted to. I have before. It's dark blue, of course—our theme is bronze, dark blue, and white. We've got a million candles going in the evenings, so it always smells good—like parchment and ink and lightly scented oils. And there's always music playing—it's never quiet. Some play classical, some play Muggle music, but it's all great. We have a lot of art around, too. It's perfect."
"It sounds amazing," Remus admitted, closing a drawer as he finished sorting through the first years' files. Gryffindor, it seemed, and shockingly Ravenclaw were the two highest offenders in first year. "Krish, how come Ravenclaw has got so many detentions? I'd have pegged the top two rule-breaking Houses as Gryffindor and Slytherin."
"Take a guess," said Krish. He spread his arms out. "Look at me. What have I told you—and what have you noticed about me that would answer that question?"
"Why can't you just answer the question?" Remus muttered.
"Because you know the answer. Why are you in such an awful mood today?"
Remus drew back in surprise before leaning forward again, surveying Krish from his gelled black hair to his intent look. And then he stopped and thought of everything about Ravenclaw he had learned, separating stereotypes from the truth.
You can't take us as a whole and expect to be able to accurately apply the same attributes to us all. You'll be wrong. But we have the same innate character, though our personalities differ vastly, Krish had said.
"You tend to be analytical. You value perception—which is why you're making me answer this question on my own. And you value knowledge. So these detentions must be for practicing magic in the corridors or even skipping class for self-study."
Krish grinned. "Exactly."
"Because first year classes are so low-level, right?"
"Er—no. A lot of our muggleborns get angry that they have to stop learning muggle subjects like their history and science and mathematics. Our library involves those topics expressly for this purpose."
"Wow," Remus mused. "I doubt any other House bothers to learn all that."
"Actually," said Krish, "I know for a fact that the Slytherin library includes muggle economic theory, mathematics, and business. They don't bother with subjects like science and history because it's irrelevant to them, but apparently not making use of resources available to them would be considered a crime."
Remus thought of Regulus Black quoting Shakespeare. "What about Muggle literature?"
Krish shrugged. "Literature is literature. We Ravenclaws usually don't have a problem with it, even the blood supremacist ones."
Remus arched an eyebrow at the idea of blood supremacist Ravenclaws. Somehow, he'd never pictured the idea. Unsurprisingly, Krish noticed the eyebrow. "I think you often tend to misunderstand the nature of blood supremacy. Its origins and to certain extent even its modern ideology have logical basis."
At Remus's sharp look, he added hastily, "I don't condone it. I just don't think you understand it. Something I've learned from reading and observing people is that you've got to look at people from multiple angles. Often in books it's the villainous characters who are the most interesting, because they have background. They have intelligence and motive and very complex, wonderful characters, as opposed to the slightly boring hero. No offense."
"Oh, none taken," Remus said sarcastically.
"Yes, well think about when the Founders lived. It was the Dark Ages, when muggles were very into one of those religions of theirs, and that made them closedminded. Witches were burned at the stake—hunted down, persecuted, and not allowed to live peacefully at all.
"This was the start of the separation between our world and the muggle world. The magical community learned to live in secret, and the world was such that half-bloods didn't really exist back then. There were purebloods, and there were muggleborns.
"Naturally, Salazar Slytherin was wary of them. All four of the Founders had been raised to never, ever be discovered by a muggle. Slytherin's naturally cautious nature made him the most distrustful of muggles. He and Gryffindor were best mates, remember? He wasn't in any way a bad person."
"And he wanted to what, just let all the muggleborns be burnt at the stake while his kind lived in relative safety?"
Krish shrugged. "These are questions better directed at a Slytherin. I believe that's what the Order of Merlin was for, though—to properly devise a way to protect our world while simultaneously guarding wizards of muggle parentage. Merlin was one of Slytherin's favorite students."
"That's impossible. Merlin lived in the Age of Camelot under King Arthur, who reigned in the sixth century."
"According to Muggle historians," Krish countered. "Those records were written in the tenth or eleventh century, I believe, and Hogwarts was founded in the tenth. Wizarding Arthurian legend places Merlin through the tenth and eleventh centuries."
"But Merlin was a halfblood."
"Yes, and attended Hogwarts because of his father's connections to the wizarding world. Again, Slytherin was cautious, not a blood supremacist."
Remus shook his head. "It's beside the point. Maybe Slytherin himself wasn't evil, but his House is hardly a paradigm of good today." He dragged a depressingly fat sheaf of complaints towards him, cursing the people who had managed to get enough detention to warrant a folder to themselves—and then he saw the names scrawled on the files:
James Potter and Sirius Black. Two thinner (though regrettably still substantial) files occupied the rest of the folder's volume. Remus winced as he brushed his fingers over his name, ignoring Krish's raised eyebrow.
Remus set aside the Marauder's folder, and they worked in silence for the remainder of the time. When Remus had finally finished with the rest of the files, he read the Marauder's folder as quickly as he could before putting it away, taking note of its exact location.
Krish directed an unreadable stare, which Remus returned with an innocent look. "I'll see you at patrol," Remus said amiably, stepping through the door. The pranks and schemes of the Marauders' last five years at Hogwarts ran through his mind as he walked, frowning slightly.
Their greatest feat as wizards was the Animagus transformation, and it wasn't even documented. Their legacy at Hogwarts so far was simply that of particularly troublesome rulebreakers. Remus believed in the rules, but he also thought intelligence like James and Sirius's deserved better recognition than larger-than-average detention records.
In their next two years at Hogwarts, the Marauders were going to create something that would last—something that would cement their positions as the greatest mischief-makers in Hogwarts history.
"Sorry," Peter said reflexively, extending a hand to help up the fourth year he had knocked to the ground moments before. The boy stood, righted a pair of specs on the bridge of his nose, brushed off blue-lined robes that were hanging off his small frame, and finally glanced up at Peter.
"Pettigrew," said the boy. He shook his head. "It's all right."
Peter started a little at the sound of his name. This boy knew him? "Don't be surprised," said the Ravenclaw. "Of course I know who you are."
Peter tamped down his pleasure. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to the book the kid was holding. The title had caught his eye: A Foray Into the Mind.
"It's a book on psychology. My friend lent it to me," answered the boy. "It synthesizes the theories of Blythe and Carte's hypotheses—"
"About competitive advantage?" Peter asked. "Interesting combination."
The boy smiled widely. "Blythe's famous chess example from The Master's Game and Carte's philosophies on how military strategy relates to biology."
Carte had done famous research in the field of psychology, drawing revolutionary hypotheses centering on a parallelism between, as the Ravenclaw standing in front of him had just said, military strategy and biology.
"If you want to borrow it, it's really interesting," offered the boy. "I'm Matt Anders, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," Peter said politely, his eyes on the book.
"You guessed the theory I was referencing," Anders explained. "I thought you were interested—"
In truth, Peter didn't really care all that much about psychology or what he could learn from that book. He was not in the business of dealing with people, and he didn't particularly need to learn to live like a strategist.
He had only known the name Carte by fluke, anyway. A life of being on the sidelines had gifted him with powers of perception that had once prompted someone to comment, "That observation would have done Carte proud." And so Peter had learned of Carte's hypotheses—but did not actively read up on the subject.
It seemed the book had sunk in, because the boy somehow noticed this. "Oh. That's all right. I'll just—"
"Anders!" called a voice, and Peter's eyes fell on the Slytherin crest before he dragged his gaze up to the boy who had just stopped in front of Anders. The newcomer stared at Peter before turning to Anders.
"Why are you late?" he demanded. "What are you doing?"
"Talking." Anders shrugged. "I was just bringing this back, anyway." He waved the book.
The Slytherin smiled. "Wasn't it good?"
"Very educating," Anders approved. "Really interesting. Let's go, then."
Peter glanced between them. Perhaps it was that perception of his, but something made him open his mouth and say quickly, "Wait!" They turned to look at him. He swallowed. "Where are you going?"
The Slytherin looked at Peter incredulously, but Anders answered. "We're going to study together."
I'm stupid, thought Peter, but he asked, "Can I come?"
"Absolutely not," said the Slytherin coldly.
Anders gave him a searching look. "I thought you weren't the educational type."
Peter decided to be honest. "I'm just not really interested in psychology. I only knew Carte because someone told me about him a long time ago."
"That's how anyone learns anything," Anders said.
Peter kept his voice firm. "I want to study with you."
There was another pause.
"Why not?" Anders asked. The Slytherin directed the incredulous stare at Anders, who held his gaze. "Malik," said Anders, "it's just a study group."
A study group. The inkling suspicion that had driven Peter to speak revealed itself to his conscious self, and he almost gasped in surprise. Malik's dark eyes suddenly bored into his, and Peter found it easier to stare at the smooth, golden-brown skin of Malik's forehead instead.
"Fine," Malik conceded, and Peter's startled gaze found his again. Looking at him again, Malik didn't look as particularly malicious or dangerous as Peter tended to think all Slytherins to be. He seemed quite mild, actually. "Then allons-y."
As they turned and Peter fell into step behind Malik and Anders, he found a smile making its way onto his face, and his eyes returned to the book in Anders's hand. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to read it after all.
This was a horrible idea, Peter reflected as he stood awkwardly before the numerous students all watching him. He was the only one standing—they were in a well-decorated room, and everyone else was making good use of the comfortable furniture with the negligent laziness bred from familiarity.
"So why exactly did Iskandar bring you here?" asked Evan Rosier finally. He was lounging in the chair nearest to Peter.
"Who?" Peter asked, and then immediately flushed when the Rosier gave him a condescending look.
"The Indian boy," he explained with exaggerated patience, "who brought you here."
Peter cursed himself. "Right, Malik. Ah—I asked to be brought here."
"Really," said Nott. "Interesting. Why did you ask to be brought here?"
"To study," Peter said steadily. "This is a study group, isn't it?"
"Well," said a too-familiar voice, and Peter turned with dread to meet the piercing grey stare of Regulus Black, who was getting to his feet. "Let's get started, then."
Surprisingly, it really was just a study session—a highly effective one. Peter was in the middle of casting the arresting curse, which he had never quite managed to grasp before, when he turned to Anders and asked, "So why do you have a secret room like this unconnected from the Slytherin common room but in the dungeons?"
It was Malik who answered. "We're Slytherin," he said. "Our alumni usually go on to become influential, powerful, wealthy—we get donations."
"Of course you do," muttered Peter. He looked at Anders again. "So why are you here? I thought Ravenclaws don't care about their actual marks as opposed to knowledge."
"No sentence that begins with 'Ravenclaws don't' will ever be accurate," said Malik. "You can't generalize any group of people and expect to be 100% correct."
"Besides, Slytherin hasn't got a monopoly on ambition," Anders added. "I care about my future. I want success. And at any rate, I learn plenty here."
"You learn exactly what you need to excel in school." Peter shook his head. "So what are your ambitions anyway, Anders?"
"I just want to become a defensive strategies research specialists. There are loads of those, but it's a highly skilled career so I need to be excellent at DADA. Iskandar has an uncle in that field, so he was able to give me some advice on what to become good at. I know it isn't a particularly impressive ambition, but it's respectable . . ."
"Size only correlates to worth with money," Malik said. "More wall wisdom—ambition is too precious to lose value because it's small."
"Wall wisdom?" Peter asked.
"In Slytherin we have a wall of quotes from centuries of alumni. Most of us take it to heart because it's full of advice from people who would understand what drives us—people who stood in our places years ago. It's almost sacred."
"I thought nothing was sacred to you lot," said Peter, and then turned red when he realized whom he was talking to. "Sorry."
Malik shrugged, looking unconcerned with Peter's assessment of his character. Peter shifted awkwardly and nearly jumped when a hand clapped his shoulder with just enough force to feel antagonistic. "So tell us, Pettigrew," said someone whose name Peter thought was Adrian. "Why exactly are you so interesting in studying with us? Don't your friends have something to say about this?"
And because Peter knew he was standing in front of a group of people who valued those with the drive to do what they needed to achieve what they wanted as an individual, he said, "My friends aren't here. I am because I have goals too." He caught the looks of approval that received. "And you're the only people who are still getting top scores."
"Because we have actual brains, Pettigrew," sneered Avery.
"If we needed brains to learn this magic, you'd fail out of Defense, Avery," Regulus Black said coolly, and Peter stared at him in shock, startled that he had bothered to come to Peter's defense. Grey eyes met his again, and Peter felt pinned under a stare that was uncomfortably similar to Sirius's.
"I'm not betraying my friends by being here," something compelled him to say—perhaps the weight of Sirius's eyes on him.
Rosier looked irritated. "Doing what's in your best interest even if it diverges with your friends' plans isn't betrayal, something you Gryffindors don't seem to understand every time you call us disloyal. Following after whatever your friends do—it's stupid. You don't have to say it to make it clear that you hold with the rest of your House's views on us, but you'll have to drop those prejudices, because—"
"If you really want to get good at this, Pettigrew, you'll have to spend a lot of time around us," Nott agreed. "Can the Gryffindor in you handle that?"
Peter swallowed. "The Gryffindor in me is what made me brave enough to come here."
Regulus raised his eyebrows. "That's right—several people in this room have probably made your life miserable with some of the same curses you've come here to learn. More motivation, perhaps?"
Peter stayed silent, and Regulus leaned back. "Do you know what the bravery to do things you don't want to get what you do is called? Drive, Pettigrew."
"If you're trying to get me to have some sort of respect for the same people who bullied me, you're failing," said Peter, dimly aware of the fact that this was a very stupid thing to say to a group of the most dangerous people at Hogwarts.
"I'm trying," Regulus said impatiently, "to get you to see that you share qualities with us. Don't think yourself morally above us, Pettigrew. We commend your coming here alone regardless of your friends a sign of independent thinking. We were not congratulating you on some lack of loyalty to your friends."
He's not Sirius, Peter thought again, wishing Regulus Black had been born with blue eyes or black eyes, anything but those striking grey eyes.
After several moments of silence, Rosier spoke. "Anyway, we're done here." He gave Peter a long, calculating look, which Peter forced himself to meet. At last, Rosier let one side of his mouth curve into a challenging smirk.
"Perhaps we'll see you next time, Pettigrew."
"Where were you two?" James demanded as Remus and Peter entered the classroom from different directions and dropped into the seats behind James and Sirius.
"Prefect stuff," said Remus, and Peter shrugged, feeling uncomfortably hot under the stare Sirius was directing at him. It was no less intense than his brother's.
He looked away and found himself instead faced with Snape and his clear dislike. With Regulus Black in the room, Peter hadn't even noticed Snape there, but he knew Snape was a part of the Slytherin study ring, and he knew he couldn't be happy with Peter's presence there.
Peter turned his gaze to his desk, studiously avoiding catching the eye of anyone else he didn't particularly want to face. He hardly concentrated on the lesson, and when it was over, Remus had to shake his shoulder before he stood with a start.
"What's going on with you?" Remus asked. He looked paler than he had that morning—the effects of the full moon the next night were already starting to show. Unlike before, though, he didn't look gaunt—just tired.
"Just thinking about tomorrow night," said Peter as they turned the corner—only to stop just short of knocking into someone. "Sorry—" The words cut off when he found himself looking at Snape.
"Pettigrew," Snape said, curling his lip.
"Is there a problem, Snape?" someone interrupted, and Peter found himself being rescued by Regulus Black for the second time that day.
Regulus wasn't looking at him. Instead, his gaze was directed at Snape, as impassive as usual but with something more to it. There was a sort of tension between the two of them, in the way Regulus's unforgiving stare was almost searing in its intensity and in the tightening of Snape's mouth.
"One would think," Snape murmured tersely, "that after all this time, you would have learned to keep your nose away from places it doesn't belong."
"One would think," Regulus repeated coolly, "that after all this time, you'd learn some discretion. You should know not to let your private feelings affect Slytherin." His voice was laced with scathing condescension. "We wouldn't want to lose points because your obsession with the Gryffindors led to you doing something stupid, now would we?"
Snape didn't even glance at Peter before he spun on his heel, robes billowing out behind him as he stalked away. Regulus spared Peter an unreadable glance before turning and joining his friends, who were waiting for him down the corridor.
". . .what," said Remus finally, "the hell was that?"
"Yes, tell us, Peter," Sirius agreed, and Peter turned to find Sirius behind him. "What was that?"
Sirius was looking even more unpleasant than he had that morning, now that he had had a run-in with both his brother and Snape at once. Luckily, James spared Peter from answering. "Why does Snape seem to hate your brother almost as much as he hates you, Padfoot?"
"I told you," James said. "There's something going on with the Slytherins. They used to never confront each other in public like that. And the politics is affecting your brother and Snape, too. You don't suppose they're somehow getting involved with—"
"Don't be ridiculous," Sirius snapped. "They're students. What does he want with students?"
James laughed uneasily. "You're right," he decided, and they continued walking as if nothing had happened. But not one of them uttered a single word as they returned to the common room, and while James and Sirius's black moods had returned, Peter and Remus had perturbed frowns to match.
"Sev, what's going on with you?" Lily demanded. "You've been preoccupied since you disappeared yesterday, and we barely talk to each other these days as it is. If you don't want to study—"
But his attention was somewhere else, on the chubby blond boy clad in scarlet-lined robes who was attempting to reach a book off the top shelf in the defensive spells section.
"Hang on a second, Lily," Severus interrupted, and he swept up from the table, leaving a slightly offended Lily behind.
"But it's almost curfew!" she called after him. He didn't turn.
Pettigrew had just managed to knock the book down when he turned to find Snape leaning against the opposite bookshelf, arms folded over his chest and an expression of intense distaste adorning his face.
Peter swallowed nervously, wondering if Regulus Black was going to pop out of a bookshelf somewhere and drive Snape off with those cool, deadly words of his. But Regulus Black was too dignified to pop out of anywhere, and he did not care about Peter nearly enough to watch out for his back.
But spending time with the Slytherins would help. Peter would learn to handle them the way Regulus Black could handle them. He did not need anyone else to save him. He was a Gryffindor.
Unfortunately, when he opened his mouth, what came out was bravado.
"Are you following me, Snape?" Peter asked. "Black was right—you're obsessed." Shut up, he told himself frantically. You're channeling the wrong Black brother. But he couldn't stop talking now. "Sorry. I don't give out autographs." Where was this coming from? Did the arrogant smirk suit him even half as well as it suited Sirius?
It didn't. Snape's sneer intensified tenfold. "What are you up to?" he asked, stepping forward. Peter forced himself not to step back. "What's the real reason behind . . . what you're doing?"
"I've become concerned with my academic standing," Peter said carelessly, enjoying watching Snape's left eyebrow twitch up and down as if he were struggling to control it. That's right. Now you've got the right Black. "I do care about my future. To quote Regulus Black, I've got drive."
"Stop diverting my attention," Snape snapped. "You're too stupid to know what you're talking about, Pettigrew. Black has nothing to do with this."
He stepped closer again, and Peter involuntarily took a step back. Catching the triumph in Snape's expression, he quipped, "I just don't feel the same way. Sorry."
Snape flexed a fist. "I know," he snarled, "that you are up to something. Does it have anything to do with tonight?"
Peter's breathing faltered. "What?"
The flash of triumph returned. "I knew it. I've seen you sneaking out sometimes, you know. And tomorrow, I'm going to catch you at it. You're going to wish—"
"Problem?" a low voice interrupted, and for a second Peter thought Regulus Black really had stepped into the aisle. Then he blinked and realized it was Sirius, and he looked furious.
He advanced on Snape. "We're going to wish what, Snivellus?" He let out a harsh laugh. "You're really daring enough to threaten us? You want to know so badly what we do at night?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Fine. There's a knot on the underside of one of the roots of the Whomping Willow. If you hit it, the tree freezes. That is what we do at night."
Peter stared at Sirius in horror. He had never seen him like this—there was an almost crazed look in his eyes, and his mouth was twisted into a vindictive snarl. He looked like his cousin Bellatrix. He looked—he looked like his mother, Peter realized suddenly.
"Sirius, what are you doing?"
Sirius turned to look at him. "As if Snivellus is brave enough to step foot outside," he laughed. He glanced out the window, where the sky had turned dark and the moon was partially visible behind a cloud.
Inhaling sharply, Peter sent a terrified look towards Sirius before sprinting out of the library. The corridors were almost deserted now.
He caught James with the invisibility cloak by the common room. "Wormtail! Where's Padfoot? Moony's already gone down to the—"
"We have to stop him," Peter gasped out, leaning forward to catch his breath.
"What?"
"Sirius told Snape how to get past the willow," Peter said quickly, struggling to get the words out. "James, we have to—"
James didn't ask questions. He was halfway down the staircase before Peter finished speaking. Sirius caught up to Peter moments after James had raced out after Snape.
"Sirius, what did you do? Moony's in there!" Peter shouted, his voice shaking.
Sirius shrugged. "So? Maybe he'll do us all a favor and—"
"You're talking about murder!" Peter had never confronted Sirius like this before, but he had never thought Sirius capable of murder before. It was a frightening realization. "Remus will never forgive you."
And then Sirius's face paled, as if he was just now realizing what he had done. "Oh no," he whispered hoarsely, and then he was off after James. Peter closed his eyes for a moment before taking a breath and following.
When they got to the willow, James had disarmed Snape and knocked him to the ground before running into the willow. They heard a howl and the sounds of scuffing and something shattering from inside. Sirius moved to help James, but Snape snatched his wand back up and pointed it at him.
"Lupin—he's—he's a werewolf," Snape spluttered, his voice filled with disgust.
Sirius stared back coldly, his wand pointed back at Snape. Peter cautiously drew his as well, but neither of the two boys looked at him. "You tried to kill me," Snape screamed. "YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!"
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but before anything else could happen, James came out of the willow. "Peter," he said, not looking at either Sirius or Snape, "go get Dumbledore."
Peter didn't argue, running off immediately. James turned his attention towards Snape. "Snape, you can't tell anyone," he said seriously. "Remus's life depends on—"
"His life?" Snape asked incredulously. "He nearly killed me!"
"There's not a scratch on you," James said sharply. There was no trace of humor in his expression now, no trace of mischief. He looked a little like his father.
"If you think for a moment that I—"
"Mr. Snape," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice grave and his expression stormy. "I believe this is a conversation for my office."
It could not have been worse if Dumbledore had yelled. James wouldn't look at him, and Professor McGonagall was looking at him with an expression he had never seen on her before. Professor Slughorn looked, for the first time, like a proper Slytherin—his expression was as cold and forbidding as one Sirius's father would give.
"You understand," said Dumbledore, "not only did you deliberately endanger the life of another student, you endangered the life of your friend. You would have forced Mr. Lupin to bear the weight of either forcing his condition upon another or taking someone's life."
Sirius didn't speak.
"We cannot harbor murderers at this school, Mr. Black," said Dumbledore. "At this point, we must seriously consider expulsion. We will have to write to your family, of course—"
At that, Sirius's head snapped up. "No!"
Professor Dumbledore fixed him with a look. "It was only the brave actions of Mr. Potter that saved both Mr. Lupin and Mr. Snape from the consequences of your actions. Had he not acted thus, you would be sentenced to Azkaban for murder. I believe you owe Mr. Snape and Mr. Lupin both an apology and Mr. Potter your thanks."
Sirius turned to look at James. A muscle feathered in his jaw, but he gave no indication otherwise that he even registered Sirius's presence. "I would take a hundred points from Gryffindor for your callous actions today, Mr. Black—but I do believe Mr. Potter would have more than earned them back."
Snape made a noise of disbelief. "You won't even take points—?!"
"As for you," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape. "You must never let your knowledge of Mr. Lupin's condition escape this room, and you must not make him miserable for it. He has no fault in any of this. Am I understood?"
Snape gave him a stubborn look.
"If the truth about Mr. Lupin's condition is ever discovered, I will know who is to blame, and you will be expelled. Your word, Mr. Snape."
Snape directed a dirty look towards James, Sirius, and Peter before spitting out, "Fine. I promise."
Dumbledore looked satisfied. "Good. Now, one more matter—I don't know how long you've known about Mr. Lupin, but I am glad to see that none of you have abandoned him for it. However, it was very reckless to run after a werewolf with no protection. I must also have your word that you will not attempt such a thing again."
"I promise, Professor," James said seriously. When Sirius echoed his words, he grit his teeth, but Dumbledore leant back.
"You will all serve detention for being out after curfew. I'll leave it to your Heads of House to bestow the proper punishment. If that is all, I believe it is time you got to bed. Good night."
Sirius was taller than James, but he struggled to keep up as James forged ahead at a furious pace. "James!" But James still refused to look at him. He dashed in front of James, skidding to a stop in front him. "James—please—"
James looked at him coldly. "I wasn't really trying to kill him," Sirius tried to explain. "I just—I wanted him to be scared. I wanted to do something to him he'd never forget—"
"Mission accomplished, then," James said coolly. "You did the job quite thoroughly. Get out of my way, Black." Sirius flinched at the name.
"James—" He moved past Sirius, ignoring him. "It was a mistake!"
James turned around at that, his eyes bright with fury. "Nearly killing someone because you don't like them, that was a mistake? That's disgusting. It's one of the biggest things you've ever done, and there is nothing Gryffindor about it."
"It was rash—I didn't think—"
"But isn't that the problem?" asked Peter quietly, although he knew he should just stay silent. "You didn't even think before entrusting someone you don't like with a friend's greatest secret, one that could get both people involved killed. It suited you, so you did it."
Sirius never took his eyes of James. "James," he said again, almost pleading. It was the most effected, the most desperate Peter had ever seen him. "Prongs, I didn't—"
James whirled around again, grabbed Sirius by the collar, and slammed him into the corridor war. "You didn't what?" he hissed. "Why doesn't it faze you that you just tried to kill a boy?"
"I didn't try," Sirius repeated. "I wanted to scare him, I told you—it's not like you haven't done horrible things to Snape before."
"Yeah," James agreed, laughing. "I've done horrible things to him in our five years at Hogwarts—humiliating him, harassing him—but I have never, nor would I ever, considered permanently injuring him. I'm not a murderer, and I don't think it's all right to get rid of someone at the expense of someone who is my friend and has done nothing but keep my secrets and stand by me. All this time, I never thought there was anything dark in you, Sirius. But you know whom your reminded me of tonight? Your—"
"Shut up—shut up—"
"You're a hypocrite," James finished in a low voice. "You are exactly like the rest of your family." He released Sirius with a violent shove and turned on his heel stalking away, leaving a pale-faced Sirius staring after him.
It was as if someone had set his insides on fire. Remus couldn't remember the last time he had woken up in as much pain as he was currently experiencing, but it had been before the animagus transformations. It was, he thought, almost as bad as his first transformations.
He tried to sit up and was immediately assaulted by such searing pain that he lay immobilized as tears stung their way down his face. They could not have burned more had they been made of acid. "Shh," said Madam Pomfrey, and her face came into view. There were tears in her eyes, too.
"You've had a rough night, love. Try not to move."
He moaned a little, and she lifted a cup to his lips. Almost immediately after swallowing, a soothing sensation passed through his body until the fire was a dull burn. She had numbed the pain for him. "Friends," he croaked, not attempting to sit up again.
She hesitated for a moment before smoothing back his hair and stepping outside momentarily. Several seconds later, Remus saw James and Peter hovering over him.
They looked worse than he'd ever seen him. James's eyes were rimmed with red from sleep deprivation and exhaustion, and his lip had split. There was something awful in his expression that Remus had never seen before, and there was no vestige of the characteristic grin he had come to expect.
And Peter . . . for once, Peter appeared to be more certain of himself than James did. There was a certain set to his shoulders that conveyed determination, and he did not look to be even bruised.
Remus's heart clenched. "What happened?"
James ran a hand through his hair, something he'd clearly been doing a lot of in the past twenty-four hours. "There was an accident."
Remus jerked back, letting out an involuntary moan. "What?" His voice came out an octave higher than usual. "James—"
"Wait," James said quickly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that." He cursed himself silently for sending Remus into his current state of panic and then sat down on the bed, leaning forward intently. "Listen to me. I swore to you I'd never let you hurt someone, that I'd be careful. I keep my promises, Moony. No one was injured."
"What happened? Who was involved?"
"Snape," said Peter. "Just him and us."
Remus swore. "He's going to—"
"What happened last night is between us, Snape, and Dumbledore," James said firmly. "Nobody will ever learn of what happened last night. And something like this will never be repeated again."
"But you still haven't told me—exactly what is it we won't repeat?"
James and Peter glanced at each other, and Remus watched them apprehensively. "Where's Sirius?" he asked when neither spoke.
James's gaze hardened. "He should tell you." He stood, striding quickly out of the room, only to almost collide with Sirius, who had evidently been listening at the door. James carefully avoided touching him. "Go on, then," he snapped. "He deserves to hear it from you."
Sirius's face was white, his hands fisted tightly at his side and his breathing ragged. As he approached Remus, Peter stepped hastily away from the bed. Remus stared in confusion, noting the tension between James and Sirius.
"Remus . . . it was my fault," Sirius managed to get out.
"I got out of control, didn't I? I got out of control and attacked the first person we ran into, who just so happened to be Snape. And you couldn't stop me? That's not your fault—it's mine. Am I going to be expelled?"
"No," Sirius said, his voice stronger this time. "Because it wasn't your fault and it wasn't an accident." Remus face slackened. "We were in the library last night and Snape was taunting Peter. I got angry and I told him how to get past the willow—"
"What?" Remus stared at him. His voice dropped, becoming low, furious. "What did you say?"
Sirius flinched back. "I wanted to hurt him," he said miserably, "and I—"
"Used me to do it," Remus finished, sounding angrier than any of his friends had ever seen him. Remus was as mild-mannered as they came—he got annoyed, he got frustrated, and he could be downright cutting, but they had never seen in him the sort of deadly rage that was beginning to show itself.
"I didn't think of it that way—"
"Because for all your empty words, you don't think of me as human." Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Remus cut him off. "No, don't try to justify yourself. You might see me as a person every other night of the month, which is a step up from most people, but even on the nights I do transform you don't realize that I might have my own mind but I am a sentient, living creature. I'm living, Sirius, not a tool or a means to your ends."
"Remus, I'm sorry—James stopped it! I know it was wrong, but nothing happened and I won't ever put you in that position again. I'm sorry, can't you see that? And I've never been sorry for anything I've done before in my life." Sirius looked desperate.
Remus had been growing steadily tenser since waking up, and now he exploded. "CAN'T YOU SEE THAT IT DOESN'T MATTER?" he bellowed. "It doesn't matter! Because the fact that it even occurred you to set me on Snape, the fact even if you were all right with hurting Snape you didn't care that it was my greatest fear—that is what counts. You swore to me you'd never let it happen, and out of the three of you, you're the only one who's broken that promise."
Sirius had nothing more to say. He stared wretchedly as Remus tried to collect himself. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and toneless. "It doesn't matter whether or not I can forgive you. After everything, I trusted you, and I can't do that anymore."
"Because a made a mistake?" Sirius asked. "An awful one, but a mistake? I've learned from it, Moony—I won't ever break a promise to you again."
Remus gave him a hard look. "Don't you get it, still?" He sat up slowly, ignoring the blood seeping through his bandages.
"I would have forgiven anything," he said, "but not this. You did the same thing Fenrir Greyback did to me years ago. You used me to get revenge and risked destroying my life irrevocably." He looked for a moment as though he might say more, but instead he leaned back again and sighed.
"Get out," he muttered, and Sirius didn't try to argue this time. Casting one look at his friends, he turned his back on them and walked out.
"Where did you learn to do that?" James asked Peter in amazement. Peter flushed as Professor McGonagall awarded Gryffindor five points for his spell. It wasn't a spell he had practiced—but at the study meetings, he had learned that there was a certain way of thinking about magic that made it easier.
"Not everyone can immediately get everything," Henry, a Hufflepuff in the year below his, had explained to him. "You have to practice it. But that's what we're here for."
"If you're not getting it now, try changing the way you think of it," suggested Anders. "Mind over matter, Peter."
"It isn't just a physical transformation. You're changing the essence of it," Rosier explained, to Peter's surprise. The study group focused very heavily on Defense, and he hadn't thought they would indulge a question of his, especially one unrelated to the topic at hand. "You've been thinking of it as changing one thing to another on the outside. But you have to try to understand what connects them—if you can do that, you'll understand Transfiguration, and that kind of understanding . . ."
He glanced around at the group. "Well, it isn't useless."
Peter smiled slightly at the recollection and shook his head at James. "I've learned to understand it differently," he said.
James looked amused, but it didn't seem to be at Peter's expense this time. "Right," he said as class ended. "Come on, then. We've got a bit of free time. Fancy taking our brooms for a spin?"
Remus looked outside. It was perfect outside—the sun was out, but it wasn't overwhelmingly hot, and the skies were clear. "Let's do it," he decided, and they walked out.
As he fell into step beside James, Remus found himself thinking of Sirius yet again. They hadn't spoken in weeks, and the year was almost at an end. All they had left to take were final exams, which weren't particularly concerning for their year anyway because they had studied the material quite a bit in preparation for O.W.L.s. Finals were a thing for other years.
He would never have wanted for James to have to choose between him and Sirius. He felt guilty for even thinking about it in that way at all. But he couldn't help the feeling of pleasure at the fact that James had chosen his company over Sirius's when Sirius had always meant more to him than just a brother.
He found himself missing Sirius's company, but he also couldn't see past what Sirius had done. He was haunted by nightmares of killing Snape, and he woke up every morning with a start, earlier than anyone else in the dormitory with the exception of Sirius.
Those moments were always horrible. He would wake to find Sirius watching him with an unreadable expression, and then Sirius would quickly leave the room before either of them could speak.
Other people had noticed that Sirius had somehow fallen out with the other Marauders. There was speculation from everyone, and some of the rumors that had arisen his too close to the mark. Remus wished they would all shut up.
"Moony," James said softly, glancing over at him. Remus's head snapped up.
"What?"
James frowned at him. "Stop," he said, and he turned his gaze straight ahead as if that concluded the conversation. Adopting James's habit and ruffling his hair, Remus dropped his bag on the ground and followed James onto the pitch.
Sirius tried not to watch them go, but he couldn't help it. He knew it was his fault—he had severed the friendship between himself and Remus, and in doing so had forced James and Peter to stand with Remus because the nature of their split wasn't light.
But it still hurt. He hadn't ever really realized it, but the three of them were his only real friends at the school. For all his popularity, Sirius didn't have anyone else he could turn to, and for the first time in his life, he was lonely.
Even at home, he never felt truly alone. Before Hogwarts, he had had Regulus, and after Hogwarts, he had had his friends. He hadn't needed their physical presence. The knowledge that they were there was enough.
Now, he had none of that.
"Finally reaping what you've sown, eh, Black?" a nasty voice sneered from behind him, and Sirius stiffened before turning to face Snape.
"What do you want?" he asked furiously.
"It's just a bit ironic that Potter is once again deemed a hero for 'saving' me while you, the Black, are rejected even by the friends who were oh so loyal to you," Snape commented mildly.
"James did save you," Sirius snarled. "It must be difficult for you to accept, but neither James nor Remus deserves your hatred."
"And you think you do?" Snape's eyes gleamed with dislike. "You tried to kill me, Black. And you're so obsessed with honor and loyalty, but you haven't realized that you pushed away the only people who would truly be loyal to you, no matter what you did, as long as you were one of them."
"I have realized," Sirius snapped. "I certainly don't need a lesson in loyalty from you."
"Because we're so disloyal." Snape scoffed. "I wasn't referring to your friends, Black. I was referring to your family, whom you also turned your back on. A turncoat all around, eh? What exactly is it that gives you such high moral ground over your family? At least they'd never betray one another."
"I'm deeply hurt," Sirius drawled. "I can't believe you like my family more than you like me."
"Oh, I don't like your family, either. Your brother isn't that much better than you. But at least he's got some admirable qualities. What exactly is it your friends saw in you?"
Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Should you really be asking that question, considering the only true friend you ever had realized what a scumbag you are and stopped speaking to you?"
Snape's sneer grew more pronounced, and his gaze went over Sirius's shoulder, to where Avery was approaching him. "I'm not the one who's being left behind," Snape countered as he nodded to Avery. "Tell me again, Black: If you're not loyal to your friends and you're not loyal to your family . . .?"
Avery reached them and glanced between the two of them before asking Snape, "Are you coming?"
Snape gave Sirius one last look before turning away and walking off.
Clenching his jaw, Sirius glanced out the window only to find James, Remus, and Peter walking towards the pitch and laughing. Arrested, he watched them for several moments before wrenching his gaze away. Snape was wrong. He wasn't a turncoat.
And he swore to himself that he would never again betray his friends. They were his family, and no matter what happened, even if they never spoke to him again, he would not give them up for anything. His years with them had changed him—he was not just a typical Black, regardless of what he had done. He was more than the product of his childhood.
So even if he did not have his friends' support, he wouldn't turn to his family's beliefs. He would continue to choose the path of defiance regardless of who stood with him on it.
There would never be a question of his loyalties again.