Chapter Three

So… how we all doing? I'm writing these first few chapters in quick succession, but we might have a few breaks on the uploading side (I like to have a buffer). Thank you to everyone reading and following, it's a massive confidence boost.

We're going to Azkaban with Sirius for a bit, so CW from this chapter on for… well, everything. Disordered eating, self-harm, violence, sexual assault, suicide, mental health, abuse. This is the same Sirius from my one-shots and canonical story, so he's not exactly had an easy life. Remus, equally, is not having a good time and some of his memories are going to be massively unpleasant too.

I promise we will get to some happier bits soon. And, you know, maybe some actual WolfStar! Anyway, here we go, please feel free to R&R, I love any kind of feedback, and take care out there!

Thursday 26th November 1971

Sirius was working hard. From the count in his head he had maybe twenty-five more minutes before the Dementors flowed back through the corridors of the prison and he couldn't work anymore. Twenty-five more minutes to cut and apply what he definitely shouldn't be calling ink.

The nail had been the hardest work. Pried from the metal bed frame and ground against the stone walls of his cell until it was wicked sharp. The lampblack from the torches and mixed with his own piss was easy after that.

His hands shook, and he couldn't stop them. Nicotine withdrawal, he told himself, ignoring all the other possible reasons. The lines he cut, digging the nail through his skin were ragged, the runes wobbling in a way none of his tattoos had for years. A Latin upsilon for unity, binding the others together blossomed in blood just above his right bicep. It was joined by the aurochs – Ur, and not his first one, he called on the strength rune regularly, not to mention the lesser known association of savagery in combat.

Sirius closed his eyes, listening to the rush of his blood in his ears, and the crash of the North Sea against the fortress walls below. He opened his eyes and pulled the next rune out of his skin. Laguz – water, but also dreams and psychic energy. He'd be dammed if he wouldn't wrestle some control over his sleep. What little he got. Icy nothing filled his chest and he forced himself to concentrate.

The last was hardest to summon his dwindling magic to. Gods, oak and ash trees mingled together in the form of Ansuz. He tried to focus on a memory, any memory, of the ash tree in the Hogwarts ground. It towered over the edge of the lake, far on the other side to the castle. They had laid under it many times, the dappled shade cool on his skin. Sirius made the cuts, three sharp lines.

The nail dropped from his twitching fingers.

Sirius tried to reach for the little bowl of ink he had made, but even that seemed like too much effort. He was so tired, so cold. He opened his eyes blearily, wondering if he had somehow managed to cut something life threateningly important in his arm, but the blood was oozing lightly, drying at the edges, nothing poured or gushed.

He heard a scream from further down the corridor and realised. The Dementors were coming back.

Desperation spurred him on, coating his fingers with the black stuff he pushed it into the wounds. No time to layer the magic now, he had to make sure the tattoo remained. His hand clamped down on his arm and the mist started to form at the edges of his vision.

'… you disgusting little beast! Crucio!'

'No.' Sirius growled, 'Not today. Fuck off.' His breath was already ragged from the effort of keeping his mind clear. Not letting the Dementors win.

'You are just like your father, always rolling in the filth…'

He pressed harder on the open wound, his stomach twisting at the pain, but it was better than listening to – reliving – that old bitch tormenting him.

'You can do better than this, I love that day!' He bared his teeth at the Dementor through the bars, even knowing it couldn't see him, 'That's the day they threw me out, worst memory? Ha!' He barked a laugh, 'De me a fucking favour.'

It might be the rest of his life, but that didn't mean he wasn't going down fighting.

Remus had managed to get a job. Yes, it was part time, and yes it was in the Muggle newsagents on the corner by St. Mungo's. But it was covering the hostel and he still couldn't bring himself to move any further from James and Lily. Dorcas had offered her sofa to him, but he had declined. He knew Benji had moved in, after the attack that had lost her the use of her arm, and cost Benji his sight. There was no need to add himself to the mix.

She had also told the other Healers to let him onto the ward now, and he sat for an hour or two in between his shifts, alternating between Lily's bed and James'. To James he read the Quidditch pages of the Prophet, and to Lily he read The Hobbit. It didn't take long, and soon he had to start bringing her copy of The Lord of the Rings, his own still in his father's cottage in Wales.

Sometimes other people where there when he arrived. Everyone knew he and James had been close at Hogwarts, people made room to let him sit at their sides. Sometimes people came after he arrived. Mostly people where kept out, the well-wishers and such. The Potters were patients, Dorcas had said firmly, not a tourist attraction.

It had been Fabian Prewet that had told him about the Longbottoms. He and Gideon had been the Aurors on scene after the attack. Fabian looked as though he wanted to hug Remus, so Remus had turned away. He couldn't bear the sympathy he saw in the rest of the Orders' eyes. Not just because Lily and James hadn't woken. Not just because Harry was gone, taken to Lily's Muggle sister. Not just because Peter was dead. Not even because Sirius had betrayed them. But because, after everything, they still remembered when he and Sirius – Black, he forced himself to think, because of the history between him and Black.

Everyday it hung on him. But then, wasn't that why he had left? They hadn't trusted each other anymore. He had suspicions about Sir – Black! – for some time. Turns out they were right.

Being right hadn't tempered the wolf any. Remus was still coughing the occasional fleck of blood into his hankie even now, at the new moon. The wolf had howled until its throat had very literally shredded. Then it had nearly escaped.

The wolf always tried to escape, years of relative freedom with the Marauders, then spying on Greyback's pack meant the wolf hated being cooped up again. But this time was different. The cellar of the cottage he used in the moors had partially collapsed in his attempts to break free. It would take Remus days he couldn't afford to rebuild and strengthen it again.

And still the wolf paced inside, the tug on his chest was still there as he remembered Sirius. The sounds pouring from the man he had called a friend when the Dementors dragged him in, the blood on his mouth when he stopped fighting. Worse, the panicked pleading that had come in between.

The wolf growled and Remus gave it a mental shove. Black was just trying to save his own skin, nothing more. He meant nothing. Just a fucking traitor, Death Eating scum.

It was the 11th of December. Sirius knew that. He knew that because the moon was full. Not that he could see it through the bars of his cell window. Not that he was going anywhere near them. He sat on the cot, all his limbs curled in tight. You couldn't risk touching the metal of the bars, or the bed with bare skin. It was easily fifteen of twenty degrees below freezing, and that would burn. Even the chill of the Dementors seemed lessoned but given the pile of snow coming through the open bars of his cell, that was surprising.

No, Sirius' knew it was the full moon because the full alchemical lunar clock tattooed on his outer thigh told him so. As it ticked and turned through the seasons and phases under his skin. Even now, even when Remus had left and they had both blamed each other for being the spy, it was still one of Sirius' most treasured tattoos. They had designed it together. The layers of ink and magic required for the ever-moving design.

Of course, these thoughts were what drove today's living nightmare of memories. The Dementors didn't need to be close to him now. Sirius lived in his worst moments even without their direct influence. He just had to close his eyes to see…

He was throwing up. Again. The combination of alcohol, LSD and magic effectively emptying his stomach for him. Fifteen and completely fucked, Sirius thought with a smirk, in more ways than one.

He was still buzzing and sitting against the tiled wall of the boys' bathroom was agonising. Lube hadn't even been an option, even before objects and fists had been. He relished it, hoarding the pain like a miser. There was cum in his hair. He could smell it, and that alone made his stomach turn over again. He leant sideways, bringing up nothing but stomach acid into the toilet bowl. He spat again, there was a little blood in it now, from the retching, but he didn't care.

That's what he had to keep telling himself. He didn't care.

Sirius patted his pockets, but his tobacco was in his bag, over by the sink. His wand too.

He swore lightly, and waved a hand, the wandless magic making his head swim and more retching. But the bag landed neatly next to his leg.

He had just finished rolling when the bathroom door opened.

He lazily looked up.

Remus, in his striped pyjamas that were far to short in the leg now, was glaring at him. He slipped around the door, shutting it silently behind him.

'It's… it's all silenced Moony.' Sirius slurred, 'Oh, sorry, my bad. Lupin. Right? That's what we are doing now yeah?'

Remus' prefect badge was pinned to the deep scarlet cardigan he had pulled on over his pyjamas. James' mum had got it for him.

'You're out of bed Black, after curfew. And I can smell the booze from here.'

Sirius flicked the match with his nail, setting it to the end of his cigarette. He inhaled, waiting.

'And now you are smoking? In front of prefect?'

'Yes. Next question?' Sirius could hear how fucked up he was.

Remus crossed the tiled floor towards him and stopped short. His nostrils flaring. 'Is that blood Black?'

'You tell me.' Sirius smirked icily, 'Your senses were always better than mine.'

He knew he should not be doing it like this. Remus had not spoken to him in three weeks. Not since the prank.

Glancing down, he saw Remus had the prototype map in his hands. That must have been how he found him.

Following Sirius' gaze, Remus shoved it into his pocket.

'Worrying about me?' Sirius crooned.

'Are you fucking trying to get expelled?' Remus said, ignoring the drunken Sirius' question.

'Would it matter?'

'Of course, it…' Remus shook his head and reached out to grab Sirius' arm, dragging him upright, 'You are coming back to Gryffindor. No more sleeping in fucking hidden corridors.'

'You don't give a shit Lupin.'

Remus let go of his arm and spun to stare at him, 'No. You're right. I really fucking don't. And this pathetic attempt to make us pity you isn't helping either.' His lip curled, 'You're a disgrace Sirius. But it's tearing James apart. You are tearing James apart with your selfish fucking bullshit. So, come the fuck back.'

With this Remus grabbed him again and dragged the wasted Sirius step by step back to Gryffindor tower. Without another word.