Disclaimer: The world of the Marauders is not mine, but JK Rowling's.

A/N: A lot of people have been asking me how far this story will be going time-wise. Just to tell you, it will end as the Marauders finish their seventh year.

Moonsign x

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black

(Paint It Black - Rolling Stones)

SIRIUS:

Sirius felt awful. He felt like all he had been doing since the others rescued him from the cellar was betraying or hurting Remus. It happened over and over again and he couldn't seem to stop it. First it was his promise not to drink. Then it was his inability to pay attention to Remus's need for physical affection when Sirius knew the werewolf so rarely asked for it, yet so desperately needed it. He knew that Remus was tearing himself up inside (and over the full moon on the outside) in his worry over Sirius's condition. And now he had hurt Remus again, going to far as to actually call him a traitor.

Sirius took another gulp from the bottle of cooking sherry he held in his hand. The irony of the fact he was sitting in a room he had selfishly kept secret from Remus, doing the very thing he had promised he wouldn't, wasn't lost on him.

Sirius pressed his face into the red and gold brocaded fabric covering the beanbag he was lying on and gave a miserable hiccough. Red and gold. Gryffindor colours. He didn't feel very brave right now.

Remus was alone in the Hospital Wing, shivering and spasming as his muscles and tendons stretched and prepared for his transformation which was only a short time away. Sirius knew that if he ran now, he could see him before he left for the Whomping Willow, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't decide whether it would make things better – he could apologise and show Remus how sorry he was – or whether it would make things worse – he was drunk, after all, and Remus had ordered Sirius not to follow him.

Why had he started drinking tonight, anyway? He vaguely remembered running from the library, guilt crouching malevolently in his stomach and tugging on every one of his internal organs. He remembered his own thoughts spitting bitter truths at him over and over again about how he didn't deserve Remus, and how Remus shouldn't be forced into the position of having to forgive him yet again.

He had found himself in the kitchen without even realising it, and the house-elves – always desperate to please – pressed a bottle of sherry into his hands without him having to ask. He hadn't been able to resist the lure of the blissful thoughtlessness that came from being incredibly drunk.

He looked down at the bottle in his hand and suddenly felt nauseous. It was the alcohol's fault, he realised. Everything had started with alcohol. It had started when he ordered the house elf to bring him his father's finest fire whiskey to his bedroom. From there is had been the posters on the wall that he had never had any intention of really sticking up. Then it had been the cellar and the barrels of wine and the shadows-demons that grew and mutated at the edge of every darkened space.

And of course, the promise to Remus. The broken promise.

It was all alcohol's fault.

He stared down at the bottle in his hand and leaned over the edge of the beanbag to vomit violently onto the floor. Sitting up again, he flung the bottle against the wall with his archetypal Sirius Black flair for the dramatics. It hit the wall with a satisfying crash, and glass shards were flung in every direction, glittering in the iridescent light of a hundred floating candles.

He needed to see Madame Pomfrey, he realised. She would be able to help him, and he knew she would be discrete. He could probably even persuade her not to mention this to Dumbledore or McGonagall. Or even worse, to the Potters or the Anders.

He sat for a few moments, watching the glittering amber river of sherry flow slowly away from the wall and along the cracks of the white-stone floor. The colour reminded him of Remus's eyes – a sappy thought that he would never have had if he hadn't been this drunk, he assured himself.

Then he pushed himself roughly to his feet, pulling his wand from his pocket and casting a quick tempus charm. It was a lot later than he had realised. The moon had already risen and Remus would be safely ensconced in the Shrieking Shack. He needed to go see Madame Pomfrey now, before he lost his nerve.

He couldn't wait to tell Remus.

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It wasn't until he was actually walking down the corridor and the movement of his limbs caused the alcohol to rush through his veins that he realised quite how drunk he was. He couldn't seem to walk in a straight line, and he kept having to resist the urge to giggle at the thought of Remus's delighted face when he told him about his plan to get himself cured.

His thoughts were getting fuzzier and he took a wrong turn on the way to the Hospital Wing and found himself in the main corridor, just outside the Great Hall and the main doors. Damn! Concentrate, Sirius!

He frowned, forcing his brain to remember the quickest route back on course. Yes, to the left, then through the tapestry of the lady with the unicorn. He turned – only to come face to nose with Snape of all people.

The nose wrinkled in disgust. It was such a prominent nose that the disgust literally radiated from it. Sirius repressed another urge to giggle.

"Good God, Black!" Snape snapped. "What the hell have you been drinking? You smell like an old pub carpet." In spite of his brave words, Sirius was sure he'd seen an odd flash of fear in Snape's eyes when he breathed in the distinctive fumes of second-hand alcohol. It reminded Sirius disturbingly of the look in Remus's eyes when he discovered the fire whiskey in the draw of the hospital wing cabinet.

"My father used to drink this stuff…"

"Oh, bugger off, Snivellus." Sirius snapped. He wasn't in the mood for a fight with the Slytherin. Besides, he'd felt a nauseating stab of pity when he saw that flash of fear. Unfortunately, he was more than a little drunk, and what actually came out sounded more like, "B'groff, Sniv'lis."

Snape looked maliciously delighted. "Ooh, you're properly smashed, aren't you, Black? Tell me, what would you do if McGonagall found out? Or your precious Professor Dumbledore? He thinks the sun shines out your arse, doesn't he? The Slytherin turned Gryffindor. The one who had the strength to resist the snakes' House."

Sirius struggled to focus his mind. He silently cursed himself for being drunk. Had he been sober, he would have hexed Snape and left him to rot in a puddle of his own grease. But if he hadn't been drinking, he wouldn't be in this position at all, would he?

"Don'you dare tell'em," he snapped at Snape, when he finally made sense of the Slytherin's words. The threatening tone was ruined by his slurring.

"Or what?" Snape laughed. "You'll puke on me?" He leant his bony frame against the wall. Sirius guessed he was aiming for a nonchalant lounge, but what he really achieved was the distinct impression of a vulture hanging on a coat hook by the scruff of its neck.

Sirius opened his mouth, trying to think of a smart reply.

"Is this a secret of yours, Black?" Snape asked cruelly. "You're a closet alcoholic? I'll bet you have a lot of secrets, don't you?"

Sirius stared at him blankly.

"I know all about secrets, you know," Snape continued. "And I know just how damaging they can be." His lips stretched into an expression that might be taken for a smile – if one was short sighted, confunded and mildly drunk on firewhiskey. "For instance, I know all about Lupin."

That short sentence hit Sirius like a bucket of cold water. Bloody Snivellus knew about Remus's lyncanthropy! OhGODohGODohGOD! Merlin help me! What on earth will happen to Remus if he tells? Oh GOD – the Ministry…the werewolf reservations…silver whips … And then it finally dawned on his shocked, alcohol-ridden mind. He's going to blackmail me. And there's nothing I can do. I have to do whatever he says. For Moony.

"Wha'do you want?" Sirius whispered weakly. "In exchange f'not telling?" Merlin, he wished he was sober. He needed to think.

Snape smirked. "I'm impressed, Black. Even when you're drunk as a skunk you've managed to catch on pretty quickly."

Sirius swayed and put out a hand to catch himself against the wall. Snape chuckled.

"I'm meeting someone in Hogsmeade tonight. Some of my friends are introducing me to him. It's a Slytherin thing, you understand." He sneered as his eyes passed mockingly over Sirius. "Or not, in your case. I doubt you're able to understand anything much right now, beyond the fact I'm blackmailing you from here to Timbuktu. I was going to try sneak out the main entrance." He nodded to the giant, locked, double doors. "But, I know you and your little friends know secret passages to everywhere. Tell me a way to sneak out to Hogsmeade, or I'll tell the whole school."

Sirius's breath hitched. It wasn't a terrible thing Snape was asking him to do. Sneak out to Hogsmeade. Of course this wouldn't be it. Snape now had Moony's secret in his grasp. He could force Sirius or any of the other Marauders to do anything, anytime, from now until they graduated, and even after. Remus's life could be ruined forever by this.

There's nothing I can do, he realised. I have to tell him.

Well, there were three passages to Hogsmeade from here. The one behind the mirror. The one behind the hump-backed witch, and of course, the one to the Shrieking Shack. He couldn't tell Snape that one. Especially not tonight. It was full moon and Remus was…

Oh Merlin.

It was brilliant. A way out of this whole predicament. God, he was a genius, even when he was drunk. It would be the ultimate Marauder revenge. A Prank to top all other pranks. A way to prove that no one messes with the Marauders, and especially his Moony. They could get rid of Snape and his blackmail forever.

Oh the genius of it!

"Fine, Sniv'lis," he spat, trying to sound reluctant instead of victorious. "I'll tell y'where a bloody passage is. It's unner th'roots of the Whomping Willow. There's a door leading ou'side from th'corridor of the Hospital Wing. Y'need t'get a long stick and poke the knot in th'trunk by th'entrance. It'll stop th'branches. The passage leads to Hogsmeade."

Snape grinned triumphantly, and turned to stalk down the corridor. "You'd better be telling the truth, Black." He called over his shoulder. "If you're not I'll tell the whole school about you and Lupin and your peverted relationship!"

Sirius froze. WHAT?

And suddenly there was a second cold-bucket-of-water feeling. This one made him feel almost sober. He had the wrong secret. Snape knew about their relationship, not about Remus being a werewolf.

And then something else hit him. Oh God – I'm about to murder Snape. No, Moony is about to murder Snape. I'm turning my Remus into a killer. Oh God, there's no way that could ever be hidden from the Ministry

"What the hell have I done?"

He had to stop Snape. He took off down the corridor at a run, stumbling against walls as his woozy body tried to keep up. gottafindSnapegottaSTOPSnape .

There! A dark figure up ahead, hurrying through the shadowy corridor. "Snape! Stop!"

"Sirius?"

Sirius skidded to a halt. "James?"

"I've been looking everywhere for you! Do you know what time it is? I thought you might have done something stupid."

"Oh God, James, I have! I've done something terrible! You have to help me!" Sirius grabbed James's shoulders and shook him.

"What? What've you done?"

"I told Snape how to get through the Whomping Willow. He's going there now."

Even in the dim light, Sirius saw James's face drain of all colour. "Please tell me you're joking." Sirius gave a hiccoughing shake of his head. "And you're bloody drunk again. Oh hell, we have to stop him." Sirius nodded again, preparing to run. "No! You just…dammit! You just go tell Dumbledore. You're in no state to rescue Snape."

"But – "

"Just do as I damn well say!"

Sirius staggered backwards and nodded weakly. James turned and hurtled down the corridor after Snape.

What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

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Sirius was numb. There were no thoughts in his head, no emotions. His whole mind was just a gaping hollow of numb shock. It turned out that the quickest way to an oblivious, thoughtless state was not alcohol, but the irreparable betrayal of the person you loved most in the world.

He couldn't even remember how Dumbledore had reacted. He had vague, second-hand memories of stumbling up the stairs to Dumbledore's office and hammering on the door that led to his private chambers. He supposed he must have blurted out the whole story, because the next thing he knew he was being pressed roughly into a chair in the office, and Dumbledore was gone, still only dressed in his orange-and-purple striped pyjamas. Sirius wasn't positive, but he was pretty sure that Dumbledore hadn't even been wearing shoes.

The only sound in the office was the whir and click of the various odd-looking instruments that littered every surface of the room and the soft pop of the dying fire in the massive fireplace along the far wall.

Sirius had lost any sense of time. He could have been here minutes, hours, days…he had no idea. Was Snape dead?

His mind remained blank as his stomach rolled and pitched sending burning acid up his gullet to scald his throat.

And Moony? Had he ripped the Slytherin to shreds?

His stomach rolled again, and he leaned over the arm of his chair and retched. He didn't have anything except the last remnants of sherry in his stomach and after a few long minutes of violent retching, he only managed to bring up stomach acid and black bile. Every muscle in his abdomen ached and spasmed.

He ended up sprawled weakly over the arm of the chair, staring down at the meagre puddle of vomit below him, unable to move as he huffed and wheezed for breath.

Sirius didn't know how long he remained in that position. He wasn't aware of the moon setting, and only realised it was dawn when the first morning rays of sunlight hit his cheek. He retched again.

Where was Dumbledore? He must have been waiting here for hours.

As if in answer, there was the loud grinding sound of the gargoyles shifting and the moving staircase. The door opened a few seconds later and Sirius tried to raise his head. It felt as though it had been filled with concrete and he only managed to catch a glimpse of Dumbledore's ludicrously coloured pyjamas and the two hunched figures following him, before his head dropped back onto the wooden arm of his chair with a crack.

"Take a seat Mr Potter, Mr Snape."

Sirius watched numbly, blearily, as James and Snape moved to obey, shooting glances in his direction, their eyes flicking to the puddle on the floor and Sirius's blank-eyed, vomit-smeared face. Some very, very distant part of Sirius was on fire with relief at the sight of the Slytherin's hook-nosed, largely-undamaged face. Snape was cradling his right arm with a wince of pain, and James had a healing gash across one cheek and a bulky appearance to his shoulder that spoke of bandages beneath.

"We have a serious situation on our hands, gentlemen," Dumbledore said. His voice betrayed no emotion and his blue eyes twinkled, but Sirius got no impression of warmth from the expression. They twinkled in the same way a diamond did – cold, ancient and impersonal.

"Black should be expelled," Snape burst out. "He tried to kill me!"

"I assure you, Mr Snape," Dumbledore said firmly, "Mr Black will be dealt with very severely. However, as I am sure you were perfectly aware of at the time, Mr Black was not, and is still not, in the correct state of mind to have logically considered all the repercussions of his actions."

"I don't believe this!" Snape looked livid and helpless. "You're still sticking up for him? Just because he's one of your Gryffindor golden boys?" He spat the last three words as though they were a vile taste in his mouth.

Sirius knew he would normally react, probably angrily, but he still felt distant from his body and didn't even twitch as he watched Snape with blank eyes. He caught James's half-furious, half-worried gaze flickering in his direction and couldn't even conjure up a reassuring look.

"His House had nothing to do with – "

"Oh sure it doesn't!" Snape actually looked tearful. "Because if I had been the one to send Potter or Black to face certain death at the hands of a vicious werewolf, you would be letting me off too."

The shock of hearing Snape utter the word 'werewolf' was so strong that this time Sirius did move. His muscles gave an involuntary spasm and his breath hitched in his throat. Snape may not have known before what Remus was, but there was no mistaking his knowledge now. The last remnant of that hope shrivelled and died in Sirius's chest.

"I believe the actions of Mr Potter can be considered enough of a reason to leave him out of your accusations," Dumbledore said rather sharply. "He saved your life."

"After his best friend tried to take it in the first place!" Snape shot back, sending a hate-filled glare at James who sat beside him. "He was probably in on the whole plan to begin with and got cold feet at the last minute!"

That accusation jolted through Sirius even more strongly. He, himself, may have been a traitorous, stupid, dark-blooded fool, but to accuse James – who risked his life to save Snape's – of being part of it was just wrong. James was the only reason Remus wasn't being shipped to the Ministry right now as a murderer through no fault of his own.

Sirius lifted his concrete-filled head again and tried to glower at Snape. "No," he croaked, his throat rough and burned from a night of puking up stomach acid. "He wasn't – he didn't have anything to do with it. You know that, S-S-Sn…" He could not bring himself to give Snape the respect of using his real name, but his guilt wouldn't allow him to call the boy 'Snivellus'.

"Oh, shut up, you dirty, werewolf-loving pervert!" Snape answered, sneering at Sirius. "I know exactly what you are!"

"Enough!"

All three boys jumped. None of them had ever actually heard Dumbledore angry before. His silver-grey eyebrows were drawn together in a scowl that didn't look out of place on his face. Sirius suddenly remembered that Dumbledore had defeated the darkest wizard in three centuries single-handedly. He was the most powerful person in the Wizarding world right now, and Sirius's future lay in his long-fingered hands.

"Mr. Snape," Dumbledore continued, his eyes moving from one face to another. "From what I've gathered, you were by no means innocent in this whole saga. You were using knowledge of a very personal secret to blackmail Mr Black. Although, of course, this does not condone his actions, his actions also do not condone yours. You will be serving detention for a month, and you will be making me a promise not to breathe a word of Mr Lupin's condition or his relationship to Mr Black to anyone, or I will be informing certain authorities of exactly who you were planning on meeting in Hogsmeade last night, and why."

Snape went deathly pale, and Sirius felt a thread of interest try to break through his woolly shields of shock. James's head also jerked curiously in the Slytherin's direction.

"Mr Black," Dumbledore said, turning to him now. "You will be serving detention with your Head of House from now until Christmas. You will also be attending regular sessions with Madame Pomfrey to address the issue of your drinking which, Mr Potter tells us, is a problem that has been going on for a while."

That did break through his shields. The irony of it all. The fact that he had been on his way to Madame Pomfrey when this whole mess started. He remembered how determined he had felt – how brave. He remembered thinking about how proud Remus would be of him for facing his problem.

Now that was gone. Remus would never forgive him. James and Peter would never forgive him. Bellatrix was right – you can never escape the blood that runs in your very veins. The shadows; those wicked shadow-demons that crawled at the edges of his mind – they didn't come from the innocent darkness beneath a bed or behind a cupboard. He had every right to be afraid of them because they came from his family. From his blood. From himself. They weren't trying to get him. They were him. They made him evil and cruel. They made him a traitor and an enemy. He had argued his way out of Slytherin at the beginning of first year, but he could not argue the way out of his own blood. His own dirty blood.

He distantly realised he was laughing. Half-laughing, half-sobbing. It was as if the situation was so utterly ironic it was almost funny. The way he had been kidding himself all these years. Believing he was a bloody Gryffindor and worthy of James and Remus and Peter. Oh God, it really was just too funny.

Someone was shaking him, someone slapped his face. Someone yelled at him – something about him having no right to go crazy – not now, not after this. Then there was a potion vial at his lips and Sirius hoped it was poison of some kind. Something that would let him escape from this – his life, his blood. He drank eagerly and the world went black.

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Sirius woke to the sound of pitiful, childlike wails that sounded peculiar and wrong because they were voiced by someone who was clearly no longer a child. They were muffled through a wall of stone, but were still piercing and familiar enough to drag Sirius roughly from his potion-induced sleep by his heartstrings.

"Pad'foo! Pad'foo! Moony sorry, Moony sorry!"

In spite of being drugged and half-asleep, Sirius didn't need to ask what was going on. The events of the night before rushed back into his head like a bitter wave of stomach-acid and he felt himself curl up as it washed over him.

"Please! Please! Moony sorry…sorrysorrysorry."

Sirius's eyes cracked open and he found himself in the main ward of the Hospital Wing. Remus's cries, of course, came from his own private little room at the far end. Sirius couldn't prevent a deep moan of vicious emotion escaping from his throat as he pictured post-moon Remus sitting up in his bed, begging for him, believing he had done something to make Sirius angry enough not to come.

The voices of Madame Pomfrey and the other Marauders were low and muffled, struggling to calm and reassure the distressed werewolf.

Sirius longed to have the numbness back, but it seemed to have dissolved in his sleep, and the cement that had filled his head and made it empty and heavy had slipped down and now lay solidly on his heart. Everything about him ached.

He wished he could get out of bed and open that door. He wished he could watch Remus's amber eyes light up with relieved joy and feel him crawl inevitably into his lap, fingers twisting themselves into his clothing and that now oddly manlike voice murmuring, "PadsPadsPadfoot".

He knew he had no right to wish such things. He had given up that privilege now, but he couldn't help every part of him aching for it.

Sirius didn't make a sound. He didn't move, but he felt hot tears beginning to pour from his eyes as Remus's pleading continued. His throat clogged up and his nose streamed but he didn't move to dam the flow. He only lay there feeling heavy and ugly and useless as the wails turned to whimpers, which eventually began to disappear as well. Sirius guessed Remus had cried himself to sleep.

After a long silence from the other room, the door clicked open and a familiar figure moved out. Sirius's eyes were itchy and blurred with tears, but James's hair was impossible not to recognise even through those barriers.

He hesitated in the doorway, the white blur of his face turning in Sirius's direction and obviously seeing that his eyes were open. There was a long pause and then he moved up to the edge of Sirius's bed. Sirius stiffened, but otherwise didn't move. He was curled up on his side and couldn't bring himself to look up at his best friend's – his ex-best friend's – face. He didn't have enough emotion left to feel embarrassment about the fact the tears and snot were still running down his face and soaking into his hair and pillow.

"I made a promise to you last year," James said, the tone of his voice unreadable. "Do you remember?"

Sirius stared at the front of James's robes. They were dark blue and the patch that was level with Sirius's eyes had a smeared, chocolaty handprint on it, as if it had been grasped by frantic fingers.

"You made me promise," James said, as though trying to reassure himself. "You can't break promises, Sirius."

Sirius wondered if Remus had actually eaten the chocolate, or if one of the others had unwrapped it and given it to him in an attempt to calm him, and it had just melted in his hand.

"It was that day by the willow – not the Whomping one; the other one, by the lake. I told you to dump Remus because I didn't want you to hurt him or get hurt yourself. And you said you would never hurt him, and I said that sometimes you say stupid things without thinking and you don't mean them, but you might hurt him. Do you remember?"

Who had cleaned Remus up after he had gone to sleep? Sirius wondered. Who had done his job – carefully wiped each of his fingers as they curled up in sleep, cleaned around his half-open mouth that huffed chocolate-scented breath.

"You made me promise." James sounded agitated. "You made me promise that if you ever hurt him, no matter if you meant it or not, no matter what the circumstances, I had to choose him over you. Do you remember? You said it, Sirius. Him over you, every time."

How much would Remus remember of the night? Would he wake up thinking everything was fine. Would someone have to break it to him all over again? How would he react? Would he cry? Or worse, would he get that old, resigned look on his face that said 'of course. Of course Sirius betrayed me. I am a dark creature and a werewolf. I deserved it. It's not Sirius's fault'.

It would be terrible to be forgiven under those conditions. Sirius could never accept forgiveness that sprouted from Remus's own self-loathing, no matter how much he ached for it.

"So I can't be your friend," James said, and his voice, for the first time that Sirius could ever remember, sounded old. He sounded mature and tired and world-weary. "I can't be your friend until Remus forgives you."

The door to Remus's room opened and Peter moved up silently behind James.

"If he forgives you," James said, and instead of cruel, his voice was heavy with pity.

He and Peter turned and walked out of the hospital wing.

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No one informed Sirius of who, exactly, told Remus what had happened. It definitely wasn't him. He barely saw anything of the Marauders or any of his classmates over the next few days except in lessons.

He sat alone in these lessons, as far away from the others as he could get. He felt speculative eyes on him, and knew that everyone was wondering what he could have done that was terrible enough to tear apart the most infamously loyal gang of Marauders. Murder, he heard, among the many rumours – which wasn't actually that far from the truth. Deciding to choose his family over his House, was another. Having sex with Lily Evans on James's bed. Transfiguring all Remus's homework into nifflers to let loose in Dumbledore's office.

No one actually dared to ask one of the Marauders for the truth. Especially after James – JAMES POTTER – had hexed LILY EVANS'S robes lime green and two sizes smaller after she pestered him one too many times. If Lily Evans could not draw the truth from the Marauders, no one would.

Straight after lessons ended, he would slip to the kitchens to eat dinner. The first time he had done that, the elves presented him with a bottle of sherry and he had taken it and flung it against the wall before stalking out again. Seeing as he now regularly missed both breakfasts and lunches in the Great Hall, he was very hungry by the time he got to bed that night.

After dinner, he'd go to Professor McGonagall's office for detention. Sometimes it was lines, sometimes cleaning or polishing, sometimes sorting potions ingredients for Slughorn. Once it was filing the massive box of detention slips dating back almost ten years into chronological order. It was more of a torture than Professor McGonagall had ever anticipated seeing his own name alongside James's and Remus's and Peter's, as though it belonged there.

Four-and-a-quarter years worth of detentions; the four of them making up roughly two-thirds of the detentions served by Gryffindor house in the last five years on their own.

When McGonagall came back to check on him after two hours and found him a quarter of the way into his third year, clutching a detention slip tightly in his right hand, his eyes blank and glazed, she prized it from him with surprisingly gentle fingers and sent him to the Hospital Wing.

Because that was where he spent nights now – in the Hospital Wing with the shadows now living inside him so that no amount of external lighting could chase them away. He lay wide-eyed and unmoving on his bed as they coiled and shifted in his stomach and chest cavity and worked their way into his brain where they replayed his stupid, wicked actions over and over again, chuckling gleefully all the while.

Sometimes Madame Pomfrey gave him dreamless sleep potion which made him wake up with cramps in his stomach and aches in his head as his battered body protested to the strength of the ingredients.

Night after night, day after day. Lessons, kitchens, detention, hospital wing, night terrors…over and over and over again.

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Name (s): James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew

House: Gryffindor

Class: Third year, Herbology

Professor: Ponoma Sprout

Misdemeanour: Enchanting Professor Sprout's pink, fluffy earmuffs to stick to her head and repeatedly play 'I'm Too Sexy For My Earmuffs, Too Sexy For My Earmuffs, So Sexy It Hurts' over and over again until Professor Flitwick managed to remove charm. Then tried to escape punishment by saying, "You DID look very sexy and old Sluggy couldn't keep his eyes off you".

Detention: Re-potting all the mandrakes in Greenhouse 3 at lunch in full view of all students who care to watch while wearing pink fluffy earmuffs

Notes to Head of House: Minerva, please find out where the boys found that charm and confiscate the book. They're too clever by half, and allowing them access to such advanced spells is a recipe for disaster. I've never encountered such a close-knit group of troublemakers in all my time at Hogwarts - student and teacher. Many thanks, Ponoma.

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It was long past curfew and there was no one in the common room as Sirius crept through it dressed in his hospital-issue pyjamas. He was so thin by now that when he caught sight of his refection in the dark widow as he passed, he noticed that he strongly resembled a closed umbrella in the way that the over-sized shirt hung off his gaunt shoulders.

He crept up the stairs to the Marauders' dorm and gently, gently pushed the door open. Staying on tiptoe, he quietly snuck over to Remus's bed.

He just had to look at him. He wouldn't wake him up. He just wanted to see the familiar way Remus curled up wolf-like right at the head of his bed, making little canine snuffling snores as he slept; the way his tawny hair got all static and wispy and his fists flexed and clenched into his pillow with deceptive strength.

He peered through Remus's curtains and felt his heart stop. Remus wasn't there. Oh God! Had Snape told? Was Remus expelled without anyone telling him?

No, I saw him in class today, Sirius thought. He wouldn't look at me, but he was there. So where was he?

He glanced around the room and his eyes landed on his own bed. The curtains were drawn almost fully closed. He hesitated for a long moment. Surely he wouldn't ...

He went over and slipped through the small gap in the curtains. And there he was – just as Sirius had pictured him. Except he was curled around Sirius's pillow, not his own. And his slim body made a crescent-moon shape under Sirius's red-and-gold covers, not those of his own bed.

Sirius was frozen with a mixture of shock, hope and sadness. He had no idea how long he just stood there staring before the silence was suddenly broken.

"I know you're there, you stupid sod." Remus's voice was sleepy, but cold. "I'm a bloody werewolf. I know you're perfectly aware of that fact seeing as you used me as your murder weapon the other day, but perhaps my heightened senses have slipped your memory?"

Sirius flinched and took a step back.

"Sirius?" It was James's voice, sounding even thicker with sleep than Remus's. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Sirius took another step back, his heart hammering. He had not been prepared for this. He didn't want a confrontation. "I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered. "I'll just go." He turned towards the door.

"Wait. Lumos." Sirius's heart took control of his body and prevented him from leaving the room at Remus's command. He blinked in the sudden light of the werewolf's wand. Remus pulled back the curtains around the bed.

"What are you doing here?" Remus repeated James's question.

Sirius was aware of Peter sitting up in his bed as well, peering with sleepy curiosity through his curtains.

"I…I just wanted to check…" That you were still as wonderful as you always were. That you weren't suffering from all this as much as I am. That you still looked so darling when you sleep.

"Check what?" James said shortly.

"To check…to check…" he wrung his hands and took another step back towards the door. Then he stopped as his eyes fell on Remus who was sitting up in bed, his hair wild around his head, his expression screwed-up, though with what emotion Sirius couldn't tell.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, Moony!" Suddenly he couldn't hold himself back anymore. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please - I didn't mean to…I wasn't thinking…" he staggered forward and fell to the floor by his bed, reaching out for Remus's hands. Remus jerked them out of the way, his face closing up.

"Don't call me that!" Remus's breath hitched. "You have no right to call me that!"

Sirius pulled back his hands and clenched them in his lap as he knelt by the bed. "You're right, I don't, I know I don't." He took a deep breath and let it out again. "I don't want you to forgive me, Remus. I'm not asking you to. I just wanted to tell you exactly what happened between Snape and me. Just so you understand…no, not understand, there was nothing understandable about it…just so you… know."

"I don't want to know," Remus whispered. "I don't want to know any more about the whole thing."

Sirius sat back on the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his face against them.

"Moony," James said softly. "Maybe you should just hear him out. Don't you want to know exactly what you're angry at him for?"

"No!" Remus gave a shudder. "Because if he t-tells me, I will understand, and then I'll f-f-forgive him and I'm so tired of forgiving him the whole time. Forgiving and forgiving and forgiving."

Sirius didn't lift his head, but he did hear James getting out of his bed and moving over to Remus. He didn't look up to see the older boy – the unelected leader of their little pack – pull Remus into his arms when it should have been Sirius's job. Peter followed James as well and Sirius heard the bedsprings creak as all three of them huddled together on his bed.

"Moony?" James whispered.

"Fine," Remus said, his voice defeated. "Let him talk."

And that was all Sirius needed. He blurted out everything. It was like he was vomiting the words. The room of light opposite the tapestry of ballet-dancing trolls, the bottle of sherry thrown against the wall, meeting Snape and his threats and blackmail. The misunderstanding about secrets, the brilliantly stupid idea for the Ultimate Prank, the realisation…

He wasn't sure how clear he was. He kept backtracking and remembering things and forgetting things. He kept getting hung up on stupid details like Snape's hanging-vulture-pose against the wall, and forgetting more important ones so he had to go back and explain. He didn't look up the whole time, and only spoke to his knees.

None of the others interrupted him, and eventually he trailed off, waiting for a reaction, any reaction, from the three on the bed.

Eventually, Remus took a deep breath. Sirius felt his eyes dragged up to the other boy's face. Remus was wearing an expression he had never seen before. It was twisted and pained, and so full of anguish it almost rendered him ugly. Sirius had never thought that was possible.

"You were there the last time I spoke to my father," Remus said, and in contrast to his face, his voice was soft and level and sounded almost emotionless. "Do you remember what we said? You watched the whole thing through that glass window."

"Yes," Sirius whispered, unsure of where this was going.

"He spoke to me about price," Remus continued, and this time it was him who looked away from Sirius's face. "He said we have to pay a price. He said there is always a price you have to pay to belong to someone."

"You don't belong to me," Sirius said, feeling sick at the thought. He never thought of Remus as a belonging. A gift, yes, one he didn't deserve, but not a belonging. "You never belonged to me. You're your own person."

But Remus was shaking his head. "I gave myself to you. Everything I am, Sirius, and you took it, so I belonged to you. And you gave yourself to me in return. But there was always the price, Sirius – just like with my father. All the cruel pranks, all the worry, all the sleepless nights when I had to hold you and watch for your shadows. And I was happy to do that for you because I love you. But the thing is, I'm always having to forgive you. Forgive you for pulling pranks you know I wouldn't approve of, for getting me caught up in them and punished, even if I had nothing to do with them, for taking so much physical affection from me, and giving me nothing back when I needed it. Forgiving you for breaking your promises to me. And now you're asking for it again, Sirius. More forgiveness. And I know you have so much to forgive me for as well…my eccentricities, my nerdiness, my lycanthropy, but I'm just so tired. And now I have to forgive again."

It was the longest speech Sirius had ever heard Remus make all at once, and every word of it felt like one more physical blow to his chest. And the worse thing about it was that it was true. Everything Remus said about him was true.

"I wasn't asking you to forgive me," Sirius said eventually, his voice little more than a croak. "I told you I didn't want you to forgive me. I only wanted you to know what you're hating me for. The truth of it. And you're wrong about another things as well. I never had to forgive you for any of that stuff you said. They're not things I forgave you for. They are the very reasons I fell in love with you in the first place. They're what makes you Remus. They're what makes you our Moony. Or James's and Peter's Moony, now, I suppose."

Remus gave a hiccough and looked away. There was a long silence between them.

The tension was butter-thick and unbearable. Every second if it clawed at Sirius until he couldn't stand it anymore. "You know what? Just…Just…Forget it. I'm going now." He dragged himself to his feet and quickly staggered to the door.

"Sirius, wait!" Remus blurted after him.

But he kept going because this time he wouldn't survive the pain of turning round. Because he did remember Remus's last conversation with his father. He remembered every word of it. It was branded into his brain. And he remembered only too clearly what Remus had said to his father on that day.

"Is this the price of belonging to you? Because I don't think I'm willing to pay that price anymore."

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

He didn't go to back the Hospital Wing. He got as far as the corridor outside before he spotted the door leading outside. He opened it and stepped out. The late October air was icy and cut right through his thin hospital pyjamas and all the way to his bone marrow, but he still felt choked by the unbearable tension that had followed him down from the Gryffindor tower. He had lost Remus forever. He knew that for certain now. The knowledge of it was choking him.

He started running - sprinting wildly and breathlessly towards the distant lake, picking up speed on the downhill slope.

His mind was filled with terrible thoughts and images, ones he couldn't block out – not ever again. They were driving him crazy with guilt and self-loathing and hatred towards his family and his blood.

He wished he could take his magic and burn them away. Burn away the taint of shadows and the Dark Arts. Burn away the impurity of his mother's and father's pureblood genes and all he inherited along with them.

Burn it all away and just stop thinking altogether.

There was a deep burning beginning in his stomach. At first Sirius thought it was his imagination, or an effect of his erratic running. But he had grown up with magic all his life and it wasn't long before he recognised the heat of raw power. It gathered from his core deep inside him and built in his belly, shifting and growing.

He smiled. This was it. He was burning. Burning it all away. His thoughts, his blood, his wickedness, his love. Everything he was. It raced up from his stomach in rivers of fire that poured through his veins, filling him as it grew hotter and hotter. He ran faster and faster, careening down the hill as the fire filled him. This was it. What did they call it? Spontaneous combustion, wasn't it? When a person just caught fire and burned from the inside out. Blissful oblivion.

And then it exploded, filling him, expanding. He was knocked off his feet by the power of it, rolling head-over-heels down the hill, his eyes closed, his limbs jerking until he finally slowed to a stop on the banks of the lake.

He lay still for a long moment, huffing and snorting and trying to catch his breath. Was he still on fire? Why didn't it hurt?

Slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes.

The whole world had gone grey.