"The darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life."
-via Winter Trees; 'Three Women (A poem for three voices)' by Sylvia Path

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Godric's Hollow, June 1982

Remus kept his attention on Harry playing within the tall grass, chasing bugs and blowing speckles of spit onto ripe dandelions. The child laughed, toppling over into dirt piles. Patches of brown and streaks of green decorated the denim, and a dollop of mustard punctuated Harry's youth. Though, he didn't notice. Under normal circumstances, Lily would have a cow that Harry had ruined his new overalls. But these weren't normal circumstances. Still, Harry didn't know that and remained content in his world beyond the yew deck, veiled in the swaying blades of dying grass.

Uncontrolled glares burned the back of Remus's head. No one had uttered a word since Lily and James's argument in the study just before lunch; Remus and Regulus could hear the couple beyond the drywall and stone from the deck. They were waiting for his communication, for Remus to start a frivolous conversation so that they may distract themselves from the elephant in the room. At least one of them; there had to have been more buried beneath their robes. He was sure there were a handful more among the lot of them without him around, and he was committed to keeping it that way.

"You haven't touched your sandwich," James mentioned, making some move behind Remus.

Remus considered turning around, eating, and chatting with them in problematic and artificial euphoria in hopes that he could forget the turn of events. His typical "ignore it until it goes away" tactic appeared tantalizingly easy and familiar; the accustomed feeling of removing his conscience from the task at hand—running on auto-pilot—was slipping into arm's reach. It was much easier than dealing with all of this at once, without an ounce of knowledge or help to make it all make any sense.

But that had been the problem. Nothing made sense. Remus's family and the life around him had been an amalgamation of odd memories and feelings strung together in a semblance of normalcy. The moments he could distinguish from vacant tasking were foggy and scattered, hardly important at all. It felt like highlights from a television program—all situational and scarce in the grand scheme of things. This was no way to live—relying on the memories and convenience of others when he wanted to know what the hell was going on. It was worse than the days and nights at St. Mungo's.

"I don't have much of an appetite," Remus muttered, training his eyes on the boy in the grass.

"No, I don't think any of us do," Regulus sighed, stretching out underneath the sun.

Lily scoffed, an edge to her voice when she asked, "Then why did you come and waste my food?"

Remus had heard that tone before; it dared Regulus to challenge her, to make a mockery of himself. She was offended by the lot of them. Remus could tell by the intonation in her words and the disgusted sneer plastered on her fragile features. The few words she uttered were clarifications rather than questions; rhetorical, not literal. Yet, none of them appeared to be in the mood for clashing. Remus half expected Regulus to explode, given earlier attitude. It wouldn't be much of a surprise; pressure was high given their situation.

By situation, Remus meant the looming reveal of the consequences for their lie. No, James's lie. There was irony in that; even though Remus had been innocent, he was roped into the drama all the same. Fleamont used to call James's escapades "collateral damage," and it took six years for Remus to understand the meaning behind all of it. A guttural warmth was spreading through his bones, and it made dulled the sting of his nails sinking into the callouses of his palms.

"Because," Regulus chirped, "your husband asked me to."

Remus didn't miss the triumph in the boy's voice, the intentional dig at Lily.

"I'm sure he did," she spat, not forgetting to throw a glare in James's direction. "Remus, eat your food."

Something tightened in his chest, a knot already tied four times. He forced himself to relax, willing deep breaths down his throat despite the stinging sensation in the pit of his stomach. His pulse quickened, thumping hard within his chest as a surge of adrenaline scattered through his body. A nippy retort was forming on his lips, one not created from his own heart instead an animal buried deep down. The frustration he had earlier swallowed rose like bile, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"I said I'm not hungry, Lily," he managed through gritted teeth.

"You need to eat," James urged, ignoring the snickering coming from Regulus's side of the table.

"You hear that, Remus," Regulus chided. "The Potter's have decided you need to eat. Better do it."

"Would you shut up," Lily said. "He probably hasn't eaten all day! I'm only looking out for him."

"He's a grown man, Lily," Regulus said. "He doesn't need you nagging him on like a child. You've already got one eating dirt three feet away from us."

"Moony, just eat the sandwich," James grunted. "And Regulus, stop instigating things."

Remus screwed his eyes shut, finding not a single memory or face on the eyelids to soothe the festering irritation in his chest. The warmth lingered. In the background, he could hear them nattering away about one thing or another—silly things he wasn't concerned about. Yet their piercing voices remained, annoying and shrill. Demanding and accusatory. Condescending and righteous. The more they argued, the more prominent the tick in Remus's clenched jaw became, the more sweat glistened on his forehead, and the more he begged to see something good behind closed eyes.

Nothing came. Upon opening his eyes, Remus was blinded by the sun. White, striking light engulfed his vision, leaving him only with their bickering. And something snapped.

He turned on his heel, eyes narrowed at the trio.

"If I don't want to eat the bloody sandwich, I don't have to," he hissed. "It isn't as if your kitchen or bank account is going to miss two slices of bread and some deli meat!"

Conversation hushed, and their mouths sat ajar at his outburst. Well, Lily and James sat in absolute disbelief while Regulus seemed content with this reaction.

"Remus, I didn't—"

Remus swiftly interrupted Lily as she attempted damage control, rising from his seat, "You know what? No. I'm not done speaking." Lily clamped her jaw shut, looking down at her half-eaten sandwich. "I-I thought I could go along with all of this because it made you all happy, but I'm tired. I'm so tired of pretending that all of this is normal!"

James stood, cautiously approaching his friend, "No one ever said it was normal, Moony."

James had reached up to touch his friend with gentle hands, but Remus struck it down with finality. A red mark throbbed on James's dark skin.

"Don't you fucking patronize me, James," Remus said. "Half of this is your fault."

James appeared puzzled, "My fault? How is this my fault?"

The Wolf roused within his stomach—the source of spreading embers ignited even more.

"You lied," Remus shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "If it isn't to Lily, then to Regulus, and if not the both of them, then to me! I couldn't even begin to imagine what the fuck your intentions were when you took me to Grimmauld Place, and I won't put in the effort to try. But you took advantage of me and my memory, regardless of the end goal!"

"But it's for Sirius," James cried, clearly hurt.

Remus paused, if only for a fraction of a second, and considered this. Why hadn't James just told him the plan, to begin with, let him in on the big secret? Why all the secrecy and deceit? If it was for Sirius, wouldn't Remus have agreed anyway?

"I don't care who it was for," Remus finally said. "You took advantage of my naivety for your cause."

"I-I don't," James sputtered, his eyes searching for the answer his lips failed to provide. "I wasn't thinking. I don't know why I lied! I just knew Lily wouldn't go for it."

"Yes, James! You are correct," Remus said. "You do not think about anyone or anything. You don't think ahead or concerning our feelings because you hope the damage will be forgiven with the goal. Which, by the way, isn't guaranteed!"

Lily crossed her arms over her chest and smiled, "As I told him when he first—"

"Would you cut your self-righteous bullshit, Lils," Remus groaned, genuinely put out with the act. "You're just as bad when it comes to telling me the truth."

She gasped, "Remus. I have never lied to you."

Remus's stomach knotted, a clawing feeling becoming more prominent against his ribs.

"Oh, yes, you do. You keep things from me," he reminded Lily. "Like Julienne."

"Don't bring her into this," she glowered, a dark look taking over the softened expression of faux guilt.

"It's true. You make choices for me that are not in your right. Has it ever occurred to you that I am a grown man with authentic desires and passions, and maybe the choices you make for me inhibit me from pursuing what I truly want? So, you keep things from me because you've decided it's best for me."

"Because I know what's best for you," Lily defended her actions, blind to the pain it had caused him. In a way, it hurt him that she couldn't swallow her pride to see that her submission to the Order and James had broken him in fashions no one should imagine. In others, it angered him.

And anger had always been easier to dawn than sorrow.

"It is not up to you to decide what's fucking best for me," Remus screamed, voice cracking wildly.

His words bounced off of the sides of houses, falling away in the distant image of suburbia. It disrupted a few families nearby, curious eyes peering in their direction. Remus felt lucky rows of picket fences obstructed his body. Lily fell back, not flinching at the volume rather the meaning of his words. Deep down, Remus knew he hadn't gotten through to her; the same expression of shameless ignorance remained, moved only by the offense he'd caused her.

Still, there was always hope in his heart.

"Then who will," she shot back. "James?"

"Don't fucking insult me because someone finally called you what you are," he spat, face and eyes red.

"And what is that," she asked.

"A control freak," Regulus contributed gracefully, head perked towards the heat of the sun. His eyes never gazed upon them, blissfully shut as if intent on pretending they weren't there.

Lily stretched around the glare at the boy, "What the hell are you still doing in my house?"

"Technically," Regulus smirked, "I'm not inside your house."

Remus heaved a great sigh, throwing his hands in the air with a sunny smile, "I'm done."

With swiftness, he gathered the very few things he'd brought with him. He threw his jacket, warm from laying over the handrail in the sun, over his shoulder and fished his car keys out of his pocket. There were protests as he faded into the darkness of the Potter's home, and Remus nearly paused as footsteps quickly followed him. But they stopped, unlike his, near the threshold of the backdoor. He even sat in his car for a moment longer than usual, hoping that something or someone would spur movement near the door. He was hoping that they cared about his frustration.

Yet, no one emerged, and no voices called out for him anymore.

The afternoon was still young, and there were errands to run before the week started. Remus had plenty to do. Grocery shopping seemed a bit too mundane for his pleasure, and the regular reading spot at the café would be all too boring for his mood. Remus needed to snap out of this stupor, but he would need help. Luckily, it was about time for Remus's annual heart-to-heart with his father. Without another glance or hope for the Potter's or Regulus, Remus started the drive to Lupin Cottage.

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The North Sea, June 1982

He had done it. Sirius Orion Black had finally done it.

His trembling finger, bloodied from the splintered fingernails, lowered from the stone wall and fell in his lap. It had taken weeks to finish his list of names, but they were there. Some looked fresh and clean, as they were carved with errant rocks found within his cell. Others were uneven and tinted red, written with whatever nail left on the bed of his finger. It didn't matter much to Sirius, however, because they were legible.

Remus
James
Lily
Harry
Regulus

These were the ones he wanted to remember. It had been two years since his arrival at Azkaban to serve his life sentence, and Sirius had already forgotten the voices of some. It hadn't been the memories he'd prayed would fade that fled him either, such as the echoed screams of his mother; the good ones, the ones that stirred a passion within him, were dulling with each grim day. Despite being a pain in the ass, Sirius missed hearing Moody's stern voice or Minnie's jarring reprimanding. His mind could replicate their faces, the expressions unforgettable, but it couldn't fabricate their voices, which had been all the fun.

Determined to remember the important ones, he wrote their names on the wall nearest to his mattress. It was hidden from prying eyes, or rather gape-faced hooded figures that liked to breathe heavily as they glided through corridors.

'Creeps,' Sirius thought to himself, his attention returning to the piece before him.

The cell walls were packed thick with mildew, or they had the imprints of past cell holders: a Hippogriff, a family name smothered in fungus, a tally mark table, and a little smile, presumably created by an already-dead-and-insane inmate. He studied all of them, even his own. Sirius wondered how many people had died in here before him and how many would die after him.

Curled in a ball, he remained silent. Sirius's appearance had deteriorated rapidly upon his arrival to this shithole. What little meat he'd had on his bones had withered into wrinkled, taut skin around his bones, shadows and dips prevalent all over him. The purple and yellow bruises powdered underneath his eyes were darkened by the veil of long, matted hair that fell from his scalp in clumps. Some strands were crusty with mud and whatever disease ran rampant in this filthy room, and his once beautiful curls were limp and pathetic.

Sirius was thankful this place lacked mirrors; if he were to see his condition, he might have just cried. He adjusted his position and heard his shackles rattling around his leg. Silver, he noted, and he had observed a lot in here. One thing was almost inevitable. This was much worse than he had envisioned, even lightly, during his Hogwarts years. If he could turn back time, one thing he wouldn't hesitate to do is smack the little brat that had complained about life before.

"No," someone cried. "No, no! Please, don't! No."

Screaming was typical in his corridor. This was where the worst of their kind went to die. Murderers, terrorists, rapists, dark wizards—the whole lot of them. The Ministry demanded the most horrendous treatment for those serving life sentences so that they may vacate the premises via suicide or starvation just a tad bit sooner. The wait-list for this corridor was growing by the day; some cells were beginning to double up. Putting people like them together in an enclosed space seemed slightly counterproductive, but Sirius wasn't an expert.

Some nights he had pleasant dreams picturing his days in the fresh air, having transformed into Padfoot and walking blissfully in the dark forest with a deer, a wolf, and a rat—the fucking rat. In his delusions, Peter was the same stupid, forgettable character that he was. Invisible and annoying when acknowledged. He wasn't a threat as a fat little boy. Yet, he was out in the real world somewhere with the world's most dangerous wizard. He was free. And Sirius was on the brink of insanity in prison.

Who was he to judge? A marred finger danced over the letters of Remus's name, tracing the pattern delicately over and over as if to memorize it just how it was. Remus was the first thing Sirius thought of when he was bashed awake from a restless sleep and the last thing to dash across his eyelids before the kiss of sleep surrounded him. It was what kept him grounded when the Dementors threatened his sanity. Remus was the only good thing Sirius experienced anymore, forever immortalized in his mind.

He paused momentarily, his breath wavering from all the sensations, both sweet and painful, no. Both beautiful and horrible. His opinion of the word 'horrible' had adjusted slightly since he was charged with the mass slaughter of wizards two years ago, along with the assault of several noblemen and women, including Cissy. Worst yet, he was wrongfully accused of being espionage for Your Darkness or Noseless, as well as murdering his own family.

With that, he knew he should have felt anger or resentment, bitterness at best. There should've been white-hot rage firing through his bloodstreams, and he should've been working harder to find a way out of this man-made hell. Nevertheless, Sirius felt unmoved. Nothing turned over in his stomach or clawed at his throat. Nothing was coursing through his veins, leaving him frigid and still. The scars that covered his body were merely cosmetic, not a single emotion threatening his resolve as the memory danced in his mind.

When he dropped the sharpened rock, slick with blood, he found only his blemished palms and slender fingers. These hands had done so much in the years leading up to this moment; they had caused so much. Pain, pleasure, and everything in between. But so much pain had been dealt by them. Perhaps he deserved to be in this place with the rest of these perverted brutes? He wasn't a killer or a terrorist, but Sirius felt like he'd become a monster of another kind. One without conscience or feeling. He was left feeling hollow and vast, deep without an end.

The sounds of Dementors approached their groaning as agitating as ever, with the cries of prisoners following soon after. Sirius learned not to get too invested in the begging of these men, as their screams were quickly hushed after with the sounds of choking or exasperated breathing. At least they didn't suffer. Going insane in a place such as this was not an option, and Sirius remained determined to keep his wits until someone saved him from this wretched prison. Avoidance was necessary.

Thinking of nothing, Sirius blended with the dank surroundings—the mold and mud. He allowed his pulse to slow and still the recollection of any memory that might disturb the Dementors and their rounds. If he became nothing, they would leave him be. Though the pressing urge of tears threatened his resolve, Sirius regained his composure. His soul muted, dimming just enough for the Dementors to take no notice of his persons.

What had he become?

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Hello, everyone! I hope you all are well. I just wanted you to know. This is where we begin to repair! I'm glad we got to see Sirius, and aren't you just so happy he hasn't lost his marbles yet! What do you think about the Lily and James argument earlier? What do you think of the Potter's dynamic with Regulus? And what about Remus? He stuck up for himself finally, and I'm proud. Anyways, I'm in the writing mood, so I'm going to start the next chapter. (Hopefully) See you soon!

Until the very end,

Nic.