The summer was black.

(In every sense of the word.)

Sirius left Grimmauld Place multiple times for extended, week-long vacations at the Potters', who lived on the other side of London- only just far enough. If not for the imposition on his friend's smaller living space he wouldn't even bother coming back (though James' parents seemed to like him well enough). Whenever he did, it was insufferable- he spent all his days wandering the streets, getting into trouble with Muggles- he could enter a room and receive nothing from it but empty stares, incurious or even hostile- doors closed in his face and the house-elf whispered, and in every way Sirius knew he was Not Welcome Here.

(An invasive thought: why did they still keep him? He would later remember thinking this, and feel nauseous.)

A week before the school year was set to begin again, however, there came a surprise.

(a change- the downturn- perhaps, the reveal. Apocalypse. Sirius would know it as such in the years that followed, and wonder what would have been different, had he simply chosen not to go downstairs...)

It was evening, and a knock sounded on Sirius' bedroom door, and he only heard it because he was in the middle of changing his record over. Sirius hesitated for a long moment, wondering if he had imagined the sound, but when it came again (dull and final and terribly real) he went cautiously over to the door and opened it.

Orion stood on the other side.

Sirius stared at his father, who stared hollowly back, and realized he had not looked at this man straight-on in months- possibly, not even in years. His once perfectly black beard held within it lines of gray, and his face was sinking in ways Sirius did not recall. His hands were folded behind his back, not showing his fists, which was strange- but perhaps Sirius was too much a man now for that.

"What?" Sirius asked bluntly.

"Come down to dinner," Orion replied. "There are guests. And put on something more…appropriate."

Then, as strangely as he had come, he was gone. Delivering only commands and leaving only stale air. Sirius stood in the doorway a moment more, perplexed- since when had he been a feature for 'guests', was it not the opposite?- and then, looking down once at his torn jeans and rumpled Quidditch sweatshirt, he ran a hand through his unbrushed shoulder-length hair and headed downstairs.

The dining room, where he had similarly not set foot in months (he had his meals alone, often not here, late at night and stolen from Muggle restaurants- dogs were the experts of dine-and-dash) was decked out- the cursed crystals had been polished and some of the dust that semi-permanently settled on the surfaces had been wiped away. It seemed the guests had already arrived, for the table was full save one seat, and every face in the room turned to Sirius, fixing him where he stood.

But he was not afraid of these things any more. Their power over him had long faded. Sirius raised his eyebrows at them, smirking, and then sat in the empty seat; shameless. They had asked for this, after all.

The guests, Sirius looked at but did not really recognize. They were three in total: a man and a woman near Sirius' parents' age, and to his own disgust he could tell they were not very wealthy by the clothes they wore- though, they wanted to look it. There was with them a young girl, twelve or thirteen perhaps, whose unsmiling mouth and wide eyes gave her face an impression of stark, suppressed terror.

"As I was saying," Orion began, and as he did so Kreacher emerged from some corner, floating plates of roasted guinea-fowl in a black sauce and cups of dark red wine to every plate (even the child's). The meal looked suspicious to Sirius- unwholesome, vaguely dangerous- like everything in this slow-decaying house. "...pure-blood marriages have always been of the greatest importance to the Noble House of Black."

Sirius put his elbows on the table, barely listening, and looked over at Regulus, who sat at Orion's side- the glance was not returned, and seemingly quite deliberately. Of course, he was in the seat of honour- that of the chosen son. Sirius got to sit across from the girl. Why was he here, anyway? No one was eating, Orion and the other man were talking, and if it was going to be this dull Sirius would prefer to go back upstairs…

"Sirius," said Orion, imperiously drawing Sirius' attention back to the matter at hand. He gestured to the girl, who turned hastily down to her plate, and continued: "This is Rowena Rowle. Her family is quite respectable…when you are both of age, it will be suitable for you to marry."

The silence following this declaration was as heavy as lead.

Sirius stared back at his father, oblivious to the unhappy shuffling sounds the girl made before him, and he felt rising within him something strange- anger, of course, but this was different from his usual anger, different from the way he normally felt when his family tried to declare something about his life for him. No, this anger was almost like panic, a rising fear and borderline revulsion, as breathless and horrified as an animal who had just suddenly realized he was stepping into a hunter's trap.

"The fuck," Sirius snapped, his voice harsh in his throat, and the girl- Rowena- startled. Well, he knew why he was here, now, at least there was that- but the frigid bile rising in his throat did not abate. He felt quite suddenly like he was being crushed by something- something much heavier and stronger than Orion on his own, than his entire family combined…something as strong, perhaps, as the entire world.

(Atlas- but his burden he had given himself.)

"That's why you brought me here- to meet my 'bride'?"

The words sounded wild- anger, he needed it, he needed to feel like he had some power, like he hadn't just been tossed underwater…he didn't know why this was affecting him so. Was it the tears forming in Rowena's child-eyes? Was it the unconcealed glare in his mother's? Where had all the pressure in the air come from?

"Your blood is Black," Orion said, his voice booming over the table. "It is your duty to continue the line- you should feel lucky we have made any arrangements for you at all-"

"No," Sirius snarled, and the word sounded like a bark. "No fucking way. Spare me- hell, spare her."

Sirius gestured to Rowena, who looked very thoroughly like she wished to be anywhere else in the world, and stood, uncaring and indeed unhearing if his chair scraped dents into the floor. Blood throbbed in his ears, drowning out the room. He didn't wait for them to stop him, he stormed out, back up to his sleeping quarters- there, it was a matter of a moment to pack his bag, he had memorized the spell that pulled all of the essentials together, the magic was practiced from having done precisely this so many times before…

Sirius ensured that his feet clamoured on the staircase as he went back down, bag hung over one shoulder, and slammed the front door very loudly as he left.

Rowle- a low-tier pure blood family. What he deserved. Funny- in their minds, this was an insult. They wouldn't want such a base match for Regulus.

Your duty to continue the line…Rowena, bride…continue the line...

(Images of virility, of a place where the seed could grow, of a wedding dress and a nuptial bed.)

Outside, Sirius suddenly shouted, the sound exploding from him unbidden, and he kicked hard at a beer can that had been abandoned on the sidewalk. His entire body felt itchy, the bile in his throat had not gone away. This was worse than his family's usual antics. This felt like Orion had reached into his soul and put something rotting there, something fetid and slimy, and what was it other than an eye that looked down upon him- judging and expecting and reminding him, in his father's stern voice, that what he wanted wasn't an option…that what he had did not count…

"Fuck!" Sirius bellowed, loud enough to scare away the rats in the alleyway where he had wandered, and he threw his pack down, pausing to catch his breath.

It didn't matter, he told himself- there was only a week to go. Late summer nights were still warm for a dog. He didn't have to see them again until next year, and surely once outside of that house, what had just happened could not affect him any more…surely.

He sat down and lay his head back against the stone wall, eyes squeezed shut- and there, for the first time, he wondered if what had just happened was a test.

Well. He had probably failed, then.

(Shouldn't that be good?)

Sirius' greeting to Remus after summer break ended was to push him up against the sink in the ever-abandoned bathroom and fuck him. Yes, Sirius had well learned the meaning of that word, and here it surely applied…Sirius fucked him until they were both weak from it, and if Remus was surprised he did not really comment- not that Sirius left him any room for words.

When it was over, though, Remus seemed content and Sirius clung to him, thinking bitter thoughts about the summer and the eye that had appeared in his chest, and the itching feeling of being judged that crawled over his spine…

"Is everything alright?" Remus asked, running his fingers through Sirius' hair, and he merely replied:

"My family."

"Well, they aren't here," Remus told him, soft lips pressing to his temple. "It's just me, Padfoot."

…and Sirius melted completely, just like he always did.

One night, a few weeks after classes began, Remus was called aside by Professor MacGonnagal- everyone was surprised, Remus even looked frightened, there could only be one reason why- and as he went with her he looked anxiously over his shoulder at Sirius, who swore in his head to do absolutely anything for him if something went wrong.

But, nothing was wrong. Remus returned to their dorm that night wearing pink on his cheeks and a very small, shy, surprised smile- he said he had been made a Prefect on account of his good behaviour and grades, though even with this explanation ready he didn't really seem to understand why.

(Remus never understood why.)

"It's true though- have you ever been in detention?" James asked, tossing a crumpled piece of parchment at his head in jest. "You never seem to get caught…"

"Once," Remus replied with a shrug. "I also don't get into as much trouble as you."

"Oh yeah?" Sirius called, and he pulled out the Map, spreading it out on Peter's bed. "Let me see here, whose name is this? Moony…"

"Using the bathroom will be nice," Peter said wistfully, tapping a few of the stately Prefect's bathrooms as they were visible on the Map. "So much space…"

Sirius grinned and Remus turned remarkably pink, and they set about planning their next expedition with no dissonance whatsoever. A party had to be planned, after all, to celebrate Remus' achievement…and what was a good party without a little theft?

Sirius strove not to think of what had happened over the summer. It was a great effort at times- his mind always wandered, backwards and forwards, and any notion of either (the poisoned past or the impenetrable future) made the dirty thing inside him squirm.

He focused on tests, and pranks, and Quidditch games, and full moons- and like this, at least, he could pretend nothing was wrong.

The full moon was the best night of the month, as far as Sirius was concerned- he loved being the dog and the dog loved being with the wolf, and the oneiric freedom of escaping into the Forest or the hills beyond Hogsmeade was unmatched by anything that could be done on any other night. Did the people fear them? Did they tell stories? Sirius had certainly heard some about that place the denizens of the town now called the Shrieking Shack, surely haunted by the most violent of ghosts…but ghosts, of course, were unable to match the liberated violence of teenage boys.

On the path ahead, the wolf play-crouched for the stag, his tail lifted and wagging faintly- he had learned to wag his tail, just as Sirius had learned to howl. The stag kicked his hooves and pranced and Sirius barrelled in to join them, overcome with a feeling of joy and love that burst through his entire body- a feeling he only ever truly experienced like this, for human hearts were seemingly incapable of it.

And there was no fear and there was no shame and there was no thought of the future, for Sirius was only happy.

"Not now," Remus murmured, pushing Sirius' prying hands away from his collar. "I want to do well on this…I have to, you know…"

"This paper?" Sirius asked, and he flicked the page, undeterred, mouthing at the soft skin under Remus' ear. "Come on, Moony, you'll be fine…you had the best O.W.Ls out of all of us- save Potions…"

Remus sighed through his nose, a sound that Sirius knew meant he had won, and so he lifted one of Remus' pale hands to his lips, brushing over his knuckles…knuckles that were never bloody or bruised, not anymore. No, Remus did not come back from the moon with injuries, not anymore…

"You should study some," Remus whispered to him between lazy kisses. "If you want to get a good job…"

But Sirius didn't care to be reminded of things so far away, things that made the bitter part of his heart throb- so he bit down on a tender spot of Remus' neck, the spot he had memorized (take that for studying) and worried it until he was wordless and pliant and sweet.

(No, Sirius didn't need to think of the future.)

Sirius stood in the Owlery, his breath fogging before his face in the winter chill, fingers just barely numb. He had responses in his hand- letter after letter that he had written, some drunkenly, others in hate- but he was beginning to feel that he shouldn't send any of them.

Christmas morning, he had received for the first time in years a present from his family: a letter containing legal papers, one that divorced him entirely from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Disownment.

That last summer night, when he had met the Rowle girl, it really had been a test, and he had overwhelmingly failed. In their eyes, he had been failing for years, and he hadn't grown out of it- hadn't moved past his 'rebellious stage'- he was too much of a man now, too set in his ways.

A lost cause. Every time this thought came to him, Sirius laughed.

It was almost a delusional sound, and he couldn't stand that. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel so breathless? Wasn't this what he had obviously wanted- what he had been working towards all this time?

The ties between them had truly been severed at long last- and yet Sirius felt unsteady on his legs, like a bird tossed too early from the nest, almost shocked. The victory he should have felt was uncertain. Perhaps, he had never actually expected this to happen.

Sirius took several deep, slow breaths, looking out across the ground of Hogwarts, their snowy surface turning pink with the rising sun. He had stayed up all night thinking of this. The dark had made his mind restless and unsteady.

But the sight of the sun, somehow, reminded him of his courage- red and gold- and it fortified him in a way it usually didn't.

He was a man now- his future was his to decide. His name was his own to make. These were only good things.

(So why did he still feel like he was being watched?)

In a show of self-sustainment, Sirius chose not to send any of his poorly crafted letters. To the leg of the school owl he attached only the documents that had been sent to him- signed and signified. His acceptance of the terms. He was no longer Black- he could make no claim to any inheritance, unless everyone else in the family were to die…and surely that would not happen. Regulus would make many pretty children with some proper, pure-blooded wife, Sirius had no doubts about that.

And as for himself…well, he thought helplessly, that was a matter for another time.

"I can't believe you've never done this before," Remus told him, lacing the skates on Sirius' feet with a spell. He was smiling, pale face pink with cold- too pretty. It was the last day of the break, the castle would be flooded with students again soon- Sirius still hadn't told anyone about his disownment, not even Moony. The words seemed stuck in his chest like balls of taffy, clinging to his windpipe, refusing to be let loose. To say it- especially, to say it to Remus- would mean revealing something he somehow could not bear to reveal…something poisonous, about the girl (or girls, in general) and the world beyond Hogwarts and the very thought of 'marriage'. That was impossible. If he said anything it would surely eat him alive.

"It's a Muggle activity," Sirius explained bitterly, as Remus pulled him up onto unsteady feet. "My family would never debase themselves to- woah-!"

Remus let him go and laughed, folding his own arms behind his back as Sirius' pinwheeled in the chill air. The Great Lake, which Sirius instinctively knew descended to obscene depths below, surely couldn't be frozen enough to support them…but Remus seemed confident, and it was he who moved with such grace across the ice, his sliding steps practiced and uniform.

"Don't be afraid," Remus called, and Sirius scoffed for show.

"Me- afraid? I'm a Gryffindor…"

He set out, wobbling and uncertain- how did Muggles do this without magic? It was walking on blades- but before long his strokes became more even, and he felt less like he was going to tumble into the abyss, and it was alright, just like Remus had said it would be.

"You're doing well," Remus told him, spinning around Sirius' clumsier motions with ease, and Sirius had a sudden, vivid memory: one of them doing precisely this, four-legged, a silver-furred Remus darting lightly across the snow while Sirius, with his heavy body, struggled to catch up…he grinned in spite of himself.

"You say that like you weren't expecting it," he called, and Remus laughed again, his eyes bright- and Sirius had a thought so sudden and violent and all-consuming it almost knocked him off his feet right then:

I love you.

He stumbled but caught himself, and something must have shown in his eyes because Remus said:

"You alright?"

"Yeah," Sirius replied, and he looked away, across the snow and up to the castle. Beyond. "Yeah, it was nothing."

"Sirius! Sirius!"

The Great Hall was crowded with students on their way to class; Sirius had all his friends around him- they were headed to Transfiguration- and as such, no explanation for the voice that was calling after him; he turned, and there…and there was Regulus.

"Sirius, wait," he said, he looked breathless, almost anguished- and the sight of his face (the face he hadn't seen since the summer, since that terrible dinner) lit again the fire in Sirius' chest, the absurd, irrational rage…what was this? Why would he come now? They hadn't spoken as brothers in so long- not since Regulus had been put in Sirius' place and Sirius had been shunted to the side.

(Kicked out onto the street- like a misbehaving dog.)

"What?" Sirius snapped. "I don't have time for this, Slytherin."

"I didn't know," Regulus told him; his soft voice, so like a baby, was difficult to hear over the din in the Hall; somehow, this only pissed Sirius off even more. "I swear, I didn't realize that they were actually-"

"Fuck off," Sirius told him, and Regulus looked almost shocked- though he shouldn't. He should have expected this in its entirety. "I don't care. You're not my brother anymore, remember?"

The vitriol felt entirely real to Sirius- like the poison was pouring from that festering spot in his heart, that weeping wound that had been there since birth, that Orion had torn so violently open again over the summer…Regulus closed his mouth, his eyes huge, and Sirius turned away, silencing any questions from his friends with a comment about their oncoming class, shutting down the subject entirely.

He found he didn't regret it- Regulus wasn't a baby anymore, not really. And what he had said was true- Regulus certainly wasn't his brother. The matter was closed now.

(So why couldn't he tell his friends?)

He felt like something had begun to rot inside of him.

Regulus took to following him around after that, which was unbearable. Sirius saw him continually in the corners of his eyes, at the entrance to the Banquet Hall, scanning…Sirius used all his skills as a Marauder and ensured he was never caught. He didn't have anything he wanted to say to Regulus. More importantly, he didn't understand at all why Regulus wanted to speak to him- what could he possibly want to say? It was over now, the threads were cut…Regulus had won, he was the superior brother in their family's eyes, and for everything Sirius knew of him he thought Regulus would be happy with this.

But more than confusing, it was irritating. Sirius didn't like reminders- not of the past nor the future. He had to live in the moment, otherwise his thoughts started to spiral- started to head down tracks he could not permit.

(He hadn't been like this before. What had changed? Was it adulthood?)

Worse, Regulus wasn't the only Slytherin Sirius was seeing too much of. There was that greasy little git- Severus, Snivellus, Snape. Always on the outskirts, that one, always watching too closely in corridors and shared Potions classes, eyes glittering like malignant beetles from under lank black hair…hadn't he had enough? Hadn't he learned his lesson yet? There was no point in trying to overpower the Marauders, he might as well give up…

(The next time Sirius saw Snape, he was reminded of a memory: the day had been bright, the sunlight yellow-orange, when was this- the late spring of last year. To the crowd's adulation he and James had strung Snivellus- oh, ever so aptly named- up from a tree, trousers fixed to his knees and robe hanging down, baring it all…revolting. Laughter. Slytherins were all so weak, Sirius had thought- still thought- and what he had felt- still felt- was both satisfaction and disgust. There wasn't any doubting about whether he deserved it- like this, half nude and trembling, he was a perversion- a man displayed in ways a man shouldn't ever be- and hadn't Sirius conquered him? Hadn't Sirius conquered the shame in his own heart, pushed it out and purged it-?)

(The look Sirius had seen in Remus' pale eyes was what truly made the memory stand out- it was this that made it worthy of recollection, not the commonplace bout of torture. How strange it had been- how hollow he had looked- uncertain, as though on the inside he had been at war, a fight between human decency and a predator's satisfaction. The wolf and the man. Sirius knew which one he chose- which one he would always choose.)

(On that day, he had chosen to imagine that Remus was enjoying it as much as he, and so he had continued.)

"Fuck the Slytherins," Sirius declared, and James lifted his own glass to cheer to that; they were in an empty tower room, well hidden, the half-moon sky gleaming in on them and turning their booze from bronze to gold. "Dumbledore should just get rid of the house entirely- it's hardly doing anything good."

"Expel anyone who gets Sorted there," Peter said with a giggle. "Snap their wands…"

"Damn straight," Sirius agreed, and he swallowed his shot in one burning gulp; the fire that sank into his belly did not bring him the comfort and clarity it usually did. He felt itchy with anger tonight, restless, as though his blood was moving too fast- he had seen a pair of graduating Slytherins on their way down to Hogsmeade, a boy and a girl, a man and a woman, hand in hand…he had thought the alcohol would clear this abhorrent feeling, but it was only making it worse.

"That would take down those 'pure-blood' families pretty quick," Sirius continued, musing, trying to find pleasure in this imagined future, in which everything he so despised was ground down into the dirt…it was there, but it was fleeting- not fleeting, no, unsatisfactory. Sirius had a sudden desire to take hold of Remus, who looked on the verge of falling asleep over there, head propped up in one thin hand and body folded lazily over the couch- take him and pull him onto his lap…seek that satisfaction perhaps. But he couldn't do that here, and so he looked away, and the itch in his bones only became greater.

"Have you noticed that Snape is following us around more than usual?" James asked- Snape, he said, and Sirius had no doubt he'd noticed Regulus as well, but he didn't mention that, why not-

"Bet he wants to get us in real trouble before we graduate," Peter said, small hands helping himself to more of the liquor. "You know, he's wanted us expelled for years."

"If he keeps it up, I'll give him something to really whine about," Sirius muttered darkly. "Just you wait and see…"

Remus opened his eyes, the light striking them at just the perfect angle to make them glow, and he watched them all continue to grouse in silence.

When was the last time Sirius had seen him like that- faintly separate, present but distant, as though sitting behind the very finest of glass walls? He couldn't even remember- it must have been years.

"Did you really mean what you said last night?" Remus asked him softly. They were alone, the sunlight warm on the dusty blankets they had used, their legs cramped from the small space and the intensity of the activity…Sirius looked at him without any thought but for how damn beautiful he was, how unimaginably attractive, seductive without even trying- and only slowly did his words trickle through to Sirius' mind.

"What did I say last night?" he asked, for the matter was hazy; Saturday nights usually were. Remus shrugged one sharp, bare shoulder and Sirius' insides spasmed with desire.

"About Slytherin House," Remus murmured. "And, that guy…y'know, Snape."

"Oh, yeah," Sirius replied off-hand, far too distracted by the golden lines in Remus' hair to think of anything less pleasant. "Yeah, why not? Don't tell me you feel any sympathy…"

This notion occurred to him unbidden- a discomfort he had not asked for, and so it was swiftly followed by irritation. These things didn't belong here, why was he feeling them? The thought of any sympathy for the vile Other was obscene.

"I am a Prefect now," Remus told him in a vaguely plaintive tone of voice. "And it is unfair-"

"You're a Gryffindor Prefect," Sirius growled, and he wrapped an arm about Remus' waist, hiding his own face in the patchwork patterns of Remus' fair chest. "Don't talk about this."

Remus sighed, but he said nothing more; then, he was in agreement. Sirius refused to let himself believe anything else.

The chill air of early spring whipped through Sirius' hair as he kicked off from the frozen ground, his nose filling with the scent of unmelted snow and wet wood. There was no Quidditch practice today, James had lent them some brooms; Sirius did a few loops about the pitch at high speed, and he wondered to himself if he felt freer like this or as a dog…the latter, surely.

"Catch!" James called, and a Quaffle came spinning Sirius' way; he grabbed it, a little clumsy (this wasn't his sport) and bounced it in his hands once, twice, looking for a target- Peter raised his own hands over his head, waving, far more unsteady on his broom, but Sirius obliged, sending the ball his way- and as he did so something flickering in his peripheral vision, something dark in the stands, but he blinked and saw it no more.

Peter did manage to catch the Quaffle, surprisingly, and he took off towards the hoops where Remus was playing Keeper, his own broom-stance graceful, if slightly uncomfortable…Sirius knew he didn't especially like flying, and had privately wondered if perhaps the wolf found the whole affair unnatural.

Sirius started to fly towards the hoops himself (to correct any mistake of Peter's), but before he made it his broom spasmed under his hands. The gesture shocked his gut and he stopped, looking down at it- innocent and expressionless wood. This was not exactly a new model, though, the twigs in the tail certainly showed its age- nonplussed he continued, but then the broom spasmed again, stopping in the air and dropping him a few feet. Tension. His back broke out in sweat, and under his skin he felt yellow lightning, that fear that came from not understanding, and from losing control.

"Everything alright, Padfoot-?" James called, swooping in closer- Sirius opened his mouth to reply, and then he felt it: the magic in the broom vanished completely.

The power that was holding it up was gone, and now it was nothing more than a household appliance…and Sirius was meters up with nothing to hold him but air.

He didn't really have a chance to scream. There was the sensation of falling, and then a very brief flash of pain, and then dark.

Sirius opened his eyes after what felt like only a moment; but the dull gray sky did not greet him, he was impossibly indoors, Apparated to a room with tall windows and a high ceiling…Sirius could smell antiseptic, and realized then that he was in the Hospital Wing. He tried to move, and realized he couldn't.

"Sirius…"

Sirius turned his head and his eyes focused a little better, and he found Remus at his side; a sight that prescribed, somehow, incredible comfort. He was still wearing his jacket and gloves from outside, his Gryffindor scarf, slightly splattered with mud…his cheeks were very white but his eyes were pink, and he looked so worried it was sweet.

"Hey," Sirius said, and he could speak (a good sign), though his voice was harsh in his throat. "How're you doing..?"

Flirtation? Remus' eyes widened a little, but he didn't quite smile, which probably meant the matter was serious. Sirius, haha. Sirius didn't feel any pain- just a sense of being bound, a certain numbness…he could tell the sheets had rucked up under his back. He licked his lips and found them dry, and Remus reached for a glass of water, holding it up to his lips.

(Something secret- men couldn't do that to each other, couldn't act like that. Surely, he only did it because they were alone.)

"Your broom was jinxed," Remus explained as he did this, voice calm and soft and unhappy. "You fell from over ten metres…a lot of your bones were broken. Madam Pomfrey says you'll be okay, but…"

"Mm, don't care for Madam Pomfrey," Sirius said when he could, and he realized that he must be under some spell or potion's influence, he felt vaguely drunk. His body was very warm and his words came out unbidden, distant, without thought. "I'm fine, I'll be fine."

Remus did smile this time, but it was a sad smile. Sirius would do anything to make him look happier. He had sworn this so many times.

"You'll have to stay here for tonight," Remus whispered. "You can't move. You need time to heal."

One of his cold hands rested atop Sirius' own, he felt it, and the sensation was so distracting he didn't remember what was meant by that for several moments…but then, the realization that struck him felt worse than the actual impact had, worse because this was panic, this was a promise that couldn't be broken-

"No," Sirius moaned. "Tonight- it's the moon-"

"I know," Remus murmured, and his face had become unclear, like a memory…fading, pulling away, his words spoken from behind an impenetrable fortress of glass. "I'll manage on my own…just rest…"

Perhaps he dreamt these last words, that fragile whisper in Remus' voice:

"It's alright, Padfoot…I love you."

When Sirius opened his eyes again the world had cleared but the light in the room had changed; Remus was gone. Sirius' fingers, which were attached limply to an arm that would not move, stretched out, reaching for him…but even his scent did not linger. This was painful. Sirius blinked once, twice, recollecting himself, and as soon as there was enough air in his lungs he tried to lift himself- pushing back against the bed, against his own numbness, desperate- he couldn't bear the feeling of this guilt, this longing, he couldn't bear to be so still. The sun that came through the windows was orange; it would be starting soon. He couldn't be here, he couldn't...Moony needed him-

"Sirius," a voice whispered, and Sirius turned his head to the other side of the bed (the only part he could move) thinking for a moment that he was absolved; but that was not Remus' whisper. By his bedside was Regulus, his face lit strangely by the setting sun, his pale skin set aflame, the shadows in his cheeks and eye sockets made too dark and too deep, his visage the counterfeit of a burning skull. Sirius had a revelation he did not remember: if James was the sun and Remus was the moon, Regulus was certainly a sunset.

(And where did he fit in? Well, he was a star, of course.)

"Sirius, I'm so sorry," Regulus continued, his voice stark and stinging on Sirius' ears. "I had to talk to you, and you kept avoiding me- I didn't think it would be this bad-"

Sirius didn't understand at first, and so stayed silent; Regulus had to reiterate these statements a few times before their meaning trickled in, water through the desolate caves of his mind, and as they did his rage was reborn anew.

"You," he hissed- he didn't sound threatening, and though he tried to say more (to spit hateful words, to call out this attack, that which had taken the most important thing from him) the words were caught in his throat, barricaded by his drugged state and his anger both.

"You have to listen to me, Sirius," Regulus continued, undeterred and indeed more greatly determined now it was clear he had Sirius' attention. "Things are happening at home- terrible things, Sirius- and this won't be confined to just our family for long. Everything's going to change, I know it- we have to do something-"

"We?" Sirius' voice sounded unnatural in this fierce light, but he spoke from a very deep, very honest pit in his heart. The word was an apple seed, poison, the sum of everything that had been wrong between them these last long years. "What 'we', Regulus?"

Regulus stopped, his brow furrowing, he didn't deserve that look of shock- had he slept through everything that had happened? Didn't he see the chasm that had formed between them? He had cursed Sirius' broom and left him bedridden here, for Heaven's sake-

-though he couldn't know what this night meant to Sirius, that didn't matter in the burning depths of Sirius' heart-

-Sirius couldn't guess what kind of reconciliation he was expecting. Everything that needed to be said already had been: they were not brothers, not anymore.

"Please," Regulus murmured, and he made an aborted motion, as though to take Sirius' hand, but failing to reach all of the way. "I can't do this on my own."

"Well, you'll have to," Sirius told him- immediately, and coldly, and without another thought. "You're a man now, aren't you?"

There came a silence between them.

"Alright then," Regulus said softly. "I will."

(Last words.)

And then he drew his cloak up around himself and was gone in a handful of lazy blinks; Sirius' mind grew fuzzy once again, and he could not say if what had just happened was a dream, indeed, later he would not even remember it well enough to tell anyone what Regulus had done…time became oil in the stream, and slipped uncertainly by.

Sirius realized after some time that he was not alone once more- a shadow had joined him in the room, and at first he thought it was Regulus again but when he focused his eyes the features that appeared were wrong; for a moment, he didn't recognize this person at all. This was someone for whom Sirius had no celestial paradigm- save, perhaps, that of a black hole. Greasy black hair, hooked nose, sallow skin. Snake, snide, snipe.

"Fuck do you want," Sirius growled at him (this thing that could have been a mirage). Black eyes seemed to startle; what was he doing, voyeur, thinking that Sirius was asleep and he would not be caught… "Still trying to get me in trouble?"

The Other frowned deeply, Sirius saw that as clear as day, and then he moved to leave, saying nothing- Sirius saw then by the colours in the room that the sun had set. Students out of bed, students in the corridors. Whatever reason he had for being here, Sirius could not fathom.

The moon would be at its zenith sooner or later.

(If he keeps it up, I'll give him something to really whine about, just you wait and see.)

"Come back," Sirius called, and the words flowed from him like sigils of demonic possession…cursed things that floated through the air, as alive as any animal, as full of potential to touch and snatch and tear. "I know something that will interest you…"

Hate. In that moment, all Sirius felt was hate.

(But what he told was the truth.)

When Sirius woke again it was noon the following day, and he felt as though he had slept a long and fitful night, stuffed with strange and uncomfortable dreams in which he did things deserving of shame. But still, he felt remarkably improved; he found his head was clear and at long last he was able to sit up, to flex his loose and trembling limbs, and he felt what was less like pain and more a kind of uncertainty, deep within his marrow.

Madam Pomfrey, matronly in the daylight, gave him a rich breakfast and when he was finished examined him closely and with a brusque kind of concern. In the end she concluded he was better enough to be discharged.

"Whoever cursed your broom will be expelled when they're found out," she said pertly as he left. "You could have broken your neck, and there's nothing I can do for that…"

(Sirius found her care rather repulsive; she treated him as though he had such value, like his wounds were an injustice…she did not do this for Remus. No, Moony had to tend to his wounds alone.)

…and it was thoughts of Remus that set Sirius off on his path- he had not forgotten what he had missed, and he still missed it sorely, relief at having mended bones or not. The only remedy for the longing in his chest was Remus, his scent and his skin and his gaze…Sirius had to be with him now, had to know everything that had happened the night before- had the wolf missed him? Had sweet Moony sniffed the floors of the shack, looking for his canine companion? Had he been unsatisfied with just the friendship of the deer and the rat, prey animals both, those who could not fully understand him and his desires-

-prey.

Sirius remembered then, suddenly and in a great flash, what he had said last night and who he had said it to; the thought was strange, not an unpleasant surprise, and it almost made him laugh. He had certainly kept his unkind little promise, hadn't he- had Snape actually gone through with it? Imagine his face if he had…what a terror he would feel, surely what a shame, faced with the wolf's fierce and predatory beauty…Sirius imagined him shitting himself, as a cowardly Slytherin was wont to do, and set out for the Gryffindor common room with renewed curiosity fueling his step.

And there, just through the Portrait Hole, he found precisely who he was looking for, yes, victory, there were his friends sitting in their usual seats by the unlit fire…Sirius raised a hand, expecting to be welcome, to be regaled…

He met James' eyes first and found them strangely dark…and then Peter's, who looked down and away.

Sirius looked at Remus, and his eyes, still pale yellow with the aftereffects of the moon, were filled with unshed tears.

Remus turned away and fled up the stairs to the dormitory, saying nothing; when Sirius tried to follow him James rushed to the doorway, one hand held up to stop him.

(Antlers out; a blockade.)

Sirius realized then- and only then- that he had done something wrong.

Remus did not want to speak to him. He closed the curtains around his four-poster, a feeble wall that should have been breakable by anything so casual as the sweep of an arm…but in Sirius' mind they might as well have been solid stone. James explained what had happened-

-the Slytherin had gone under the tree, gone to find the Moon, why, what was that, bravery? Sirius tried to say he hadn't thought he'd really do it, how could he have guessed, he thought they were all cowards, and this one especially-

-James had realized before it was too late, had stopped him and sent him back. A kindness, surely. Wasn't it? They were all expecting bad news. Professor MacGonnagal would storm in at any moment, ready to snatch up the troublemakers…James said Snape had seen only him, not Peter or the moon-trembling Remus, but still the staff all surely knew what that location under the tree meant…a sense of doom had fallen over the Marauders, all the worst cases raising their heads, and James and Peter parroted to him all the heirs of his actions:

(Parroted; Sirius knew it was Remus who had thought of all this.)

"If nothing else, James is in trouble again for being out of bounds- you know, one more strike and they might bump him off the Quidditch team-"

"If they find out that we've all been going, we could get expelled-"

"We're illegal Animagi, I don't know if Wizarding law makes an exception for minors, at best it's a fine- and again, expulsion- at worst it's a stint in Azkaban-"

"Remus will be the worst off."

"If he doesn't finish at Hogwarts, he'll never find work."

"If they think he's too dangerous, he might be locked up-"

"Enough," said Sirius, but the silence that fell was of no help: their words kickstarted whirlwinds inside Sirius' own head, and then nothing was quiet, and all he could imagine was the worst of futures, and it was almost funny…this pain was the one he had always feared the most.

This raucous silence stretched on for days.

Remus did not look at him once.

After a week, the tension became too much, but nothing had happened- Sirius realized that Snape, impossibly, could not have reported them to anyone. There didn't seem to be any reason why. What deal could the shadows have struck with him, when he faced down the stag in that tunnel-between-worlds? Why had he given up on his ambition to see them destroyed? Sirius couldn't even ask, for to do that might break the tranquility, might make him change his mind. Everything felt unstable, like skates on a lake of ice that was too thin.

Sirius couldn't bear it anymore.

He cornered Remus leaving the shower in the morning, before the others were even awake- déjà vu, what was this- closing the door and pushing him back; it felt cruel, but he didn't know how else to be. Remus was both what he wanted more than anything and what was stopping him from getting what he wanted. The contradiction was impossible to reconcile.

"Look, I'm sorry," Sirius snapped. "I wasn't thinking- I was all high on Pomfrey's shit, okay- I didn't consider all the trouble we might get into, didn't examine every possible outcome. But we're not- we haven't- like always, Moony, look, we got away with it…you don't need to keep punishing me like this-"

He was holding Remus by bare, scarred shoulders; Remus looked at him at last, at long bloody last, but his expression…it was like he didn't recognize Sirius at all.

"You wanted me to kill someone," Remus whispered, and whatever else Sirius had been intending to say died in his throat, and the corpses curled in his windpipe alongside all the rest of the poison.

Remus seemed to be searching him, looking further inside than Sirius realized he had even wanted him to, and whatever he found there…the sight of his eyes closing off, of the wall coming back up in full, it broke Sirius' heart more thoroughly than anything else could have.

(Shame. Sudden, core-deep, ice-cold shame.)

"...I believe you thought of that," Remus finished, and then he was gone, Sirius having let him go without intending to.

The room felt dingy and cramped now that he was alone.

(Because, after all-)

Sirius sat back and wrapped his arms around himself, and wondered…all this time, spent so sure of himself, of his nature and identity…thinking he was alone, a star situated far from his family's choked constellation, nothing like they were at all…

(-it was true.)

Sirius sat alone in the abandoned third-floor bathroom, looking down at his own hands. Another week had passed; he found himself doing this often, wandering to familiar haunts by himself, disjointed in time, separate from the rest.

(Like he was the one behind the wall.)

He hadn't kissed Moony since before the incident- normally, this would have filled him with ardour and need, but now all he felt was nauseous. There was a kind of politesse that had developed between them, impersonal and melancholic, and so suddenly too, overnight, over just one night…

"Where's the werewolf?" said a voice, and Sirius was so startled by it he jumped hard enough to make his joints ache. The speaker, he saw as his heart rate settled, was a girl- or rather, the ghost of a girl, translucent and pearly, peeking out from the toilet bowl in the stall across from where Sirius sat. It was difficult to make out her features, given her position, but it was clear that she had dark hair and glasses, a sad face-

-Sirius was sick of sad faces-

-but her voice, rather than unhappy, sounded mischievous.

"Who are you?" Sirius grumbled, and the ghost's mouth opened wide, her face contorting into an intense expression of mock-anguish.

"You don't know who I am? You've been using my bathroom for years and you don't even know who I am-"

"I've never seen you before," Sirius interrupted. He felt too tired to be amused, and so he was irritated. "How is it your bathroom?"

"It's mine, because…" the girl said this with deep tragedy, pausing for dramatic effect before releasing her anguished cry: "I died here!"

When Sirius said nothing to this- strange, normally this would have interested him, secrets always did- the ghost girl folded her arms on the rim of the toilet, resting her chin upon the backs of her palms, and continued quite plainly:

"But I've never shown myself because I was just too scandalized. Boys hanging around in my bathroom- and then, well…it became pretty clear that you wanted privacy, if you know what I mean."

The girl smiled a coy, lecherous little smile- voyeuse- and Sirius glared at her, remembering now everything that had been done here- how many secret plans had been discussed in hushed voices, how many kisses (and more, and worse), and then those early days, when Remus had been so alone…when Sirius had been the only one to heal his wounds, and they had done it here-

"That's disgusting," Sirius told her coldly. The complete emotional truth.

"I'm not the one who was doing it," she replied with a pout. "Anyway, is he alright? Your boyfriend?"

The word was so surreal Sirius didn't even understand it until it punched him in the gut- in the heart, even- and he was breathless and possibly bleeding out inside, the case for his organs swelling up with blood and toxins, and the goddamn ghost didn't even look like she had understood the real meaning of what she had said. So casual, that word, like it wasn't an utter impossibility…

"I did something wrong," Sirius told her, his voice distant and echoey, taken from his mouth by something or someone else. The ghost let out a long, dramatic sigh, like a beleaguered poet or écrivaine, not knowing what he really meant- having no idea what he really meant- and as such, not feeling any of the weight of the feelings Sirius had pressing down on his chest.

"Well, you should make up," she said, though Sirius was no longer listening. "You two are so cute together."

On the train back from Hogwarts Sirius sat in one compartment with James. Peter and Remus were in another, though Sirius privately guessed Peter would rather have joined them instead- his world was surely too simple to understand what their division meant. Sirius wondered if he too was too simple, or if not too simple too weak- the rupture of his heart hadn't healed. His insides were leaking together even now. He could only guess at how long it would take before it killed him.

"My parents won't mind having you at all," James told him. "You're the only one who uses that spare bedroom, anyway..."

Sirius agreed to all of this, but it was hard to be excited in the way that he should. He wasn't going back to Grimmauld Place, look, he had done it, he would spend the summer in glory with his closest friend- his dear friend the deer, who surely loved Lily Evans, who was a girl and therefore reachable. Girlfriend. Wife. Those words were legal within the heart.

"He'll get over it, you know," James continued- 'he', illegal, it was obvious who. "So stop looking like such a kicked puppy. He's just sensitive, you know that. Honestly, we didn't get in trouble at all…I don't even think it was that big of a deal…"

(Because you turned him away, Sirius thought. Because you didn't send him there.)

("You wanted me to kill someone.")

Sirius agreed to this too and sat up and ate more sweets and tried to act like himself, as though if he tried very hard or pretended so thoroughly he could change the way he felt inside, get rid of all the damage by willpower alone- well, why not, why not, why not, this was what he had always done before…

'Kicked puppy'? Was that really him? To Remus, he had surely become something much less innocent- something like the Grim.

(One year to go.)