The Boy Who Killed God

by SeraMGrigori

Sirius Black has a secret. Well, no, that's not true. Sirius Black has many secrets. His wand is dying, his parents more or less want to kill him, and there's the small matter of the cursed TOUJOURS PUR tattoo right above his heart, that he's had since he turned eight years old. Sirius Black is no stranger to secrets. Then, Remus Lupin walks into his life.

2. Lionheart

CHAPTER TWO

Lionheart

Dear Andromeda,

How's Ted?

Reg and I got a new tutor, Mrs. Blanche Withers, and she's forcing us to keep up correspondence with our relatives, even though I'm off to Hogwarts (finally!) early next week. And, seeing as you're the only relative I can stand (other than Reg, of course), it's your lucky day. Let me dazzle you with my masterful prose and incendiary wit. (Incendiary—that's the right word, right? I think it is.)

How are Bella and Cissa?

(Ignore that. I don't really care. Mrs. Blanche Withers just made me write it because it's polite or some bullshit like that.)

How's the Ministry, these days? (Please do answer that one. I want to know.) What have they got you doing? Are you still in Public Relations?

Like I said, I'm off to Hogwarts next week. I've got my wand and my books and loads of Slytherin scarves and ties Mother insisted upon buying when were in Diagon Alley. I'm excited, truly, and not just because I'll finally be away from this house for a good portion of the year. Well, who am I kidding? It's mostly that.

I do have a question—(Sorry if the writing gets small or smeared. I'm trying to hide this bit from Mrs. Blanche Withers. She's quite a snoop, that one.)—at Hogwarts… How did you manage it with, well, the Black family brand, and all? One day in Diagon Alley almost did me in, and, if Mother's ramblings about the complete lack of blood purity at Hogwarts, then I imagine it's quite a task navigating the halls. Then, say, hypothetically—very, very hypothetically, mind you—I were to hypothetically befriend someone of a rather less-than-pure lineage—a blood traitor, for instance—how might I hypothetically embark on such a friendship, when I, as I am, can hardly stand to touch said hypothetical friend?

Anyway, I hope you're well and I hope this letter reaches you and doesn't get thrown into the fire. Regulus tried to write Uncle Alphard and ask him how long he thought it would take before the Ministry to arrest Rodolphus Lestrange and throw him in Azkaban for using Dark Magic. Apparently, since Bella's engagement was announced, Alphard's been taking bets. Mrs. Blanche Withers, ever the spoil-sport, tore Reg's letter to shreds and ordered him to go help Kreacher with the dishes. Frightful woman, that Mrs. Blanche Withers, and that's coming from someone raised by Walburga Black.

Love,

Sirius

Dear Sirius,

I'm so glad to hear from you!

In reference to your first question, I must now implore you to speak in a rather coded manner, as my nightmare of a younger sister has taken to reading my letters when I am not present to receive them. Henceforth, the subject of your question shall be referred to only as my new, adorable owl, Feathers. In answer to your question, Feathers is doing perfectly fine. He's enjoying his new employment at an apothecary shop in Hogsmeade—such a smart owl, that Feathers! We are also madly in love and I shall never love another owl as much as Feathers, no matter the arrangements my parents make.

I am doing well. Yes, I'm still in Public Relations, slowly working my way up, though it's a bit tedious. Feathers thinks my talents are being wasted and I should begin Auror training. Imagine that, huh? A Black, as an Auror! Mother and Father would have a fit. Perhaps I'll do it, then, eh?

I'm so sorry to hear of the passing of your old tutor—Auclair, was it? I know you weren't particularly fond of him either, but this Mrs. Blanche Withers sounds like a real nightmare. Poor Reg. He'll have to learn to tolerate her while you're off at Hogwarts. You better write your poor, dear brother often, Sirius Black, or I shall never invite you out for ice-cream with me and Feathers again.

You should be excited for Hogwarts, Sirius! I'm excited for you. There's so much more to the wizarding world than even the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black can ever prepare you for. I expect you'll love Charms, given how you seemed to have mastered that whole wandless magic thing. Everything at Hogwarts is utterly brilliant, Sirius. Be sure to stop by the gamekeeper's hut and tell Hagrid I said hello. Hagrid was a good friend of Feathers's and actually had quite a hand in putting us in contact. You should have him tell you the story.

I do feel it's fair to warn you—Not because you asked. I did ignore that question, as instructed.—that Narcissa will be starting her sixth year. Mother's told her that she's to look out for you, seeing as how you're the Black heir and all. Narcissa wasn't too keen, but she'll listen, for as long as she knows she's being watched. Wily little snake, that one, but the perfect little Slytherin. She's dating a fifth year, Lucius Malfoy. Mother and Father have entered into marriage negotiations with the Malfoys, for after Narcissa graduates Hogwarts. It would seem that they're to be a rather permanent fixture, Lucius and Narcissa, though I dare say he's a bit of a monster. You'd think the Blacks were horrid purists, Sirius, but you've never seen the likes of fanatical blood-allegiance until you've met with Lucius Malfoy. I say this only in warning: He's made prefect, it would seem. Cissa's been bragging about it all month. You won't get away with much, with Malfoy looming over you, but you're still the Black heir, so he's got to respect that, at least a little.

As for the Black family brand, yes. That does take some getting used to. It's a lot of dodging people in the hallways and learning to slip past other students without brushing against them. You'll figure it out. Every Black that's attended Hogwarts has so far. It might mean some random bouts of excruciating pain, but you're brave, Sirius. You'll figure it out. For making friends, everyone in the Slytherin house is relatively safe. A few half-bloods get in every year, but you'll learn who they are just by how they're ostracized. Everyone else in the house should be safe and shouldn't cause you any pain.

That being said, I want you to know that I couldn't care less who you choose to be friends with, hypothetical blood-traitor or no. Just look at me and Feathers, for Merlin's sake! If this hypothetical friend of yours really wants to be your hypothetical friend, then just tell him about the tattoo. If he's a good hypothetical friend, then he'll respect your boundaries without question, even if he does, hypothetically, seem to be particularly inclined towards physical affection. It took me forever to tell Feathers and it caused a lot of heartache. I don't particularly care to watch you go through the same thing.

On a completely unrelated side note, please tell James Potter he owes me ten Galleons. He'll know what it's in reference to. I met him when I was with Feathers in Diagon Alley last week (Feathers is a huge fan of Mr. Potter's Sleekeazy Hair Potion and now sells it in his shop) and James mentioned that he'd met you. We then entered into a little wager and it would seem that I've won.

Speaking of bets, please also tell Uncle Alphard to put me down for seven years, before Rodolphus is in Azkaban, and eight for Bella. The two of them are squirrelly, feisty little cretins. It's bound to take the Ministry at least that long to actually pin a crime on them, much to my great annoyance. I do hope they allow me to testify against them at their trial.

Love,

Andromeda

P.S. - I didn't tell James about your tattoo. That is your secret to tell, Sirius, if James is to, hypothetically, be your friend.

SEPTEMBER 1, 1971

Much to his dismay, Sirius found himself shrinking against his mother's side, as they stood in the middle of platform nine and three quarters. She gave him a nudge and a scowl, then a glare that so clearly said, Act like the Black heir, you ungrateful ingrate.

Sirius straightened up and put a few feet between himself and his mother. He was coming to the rather rapid realization that he did not care, at all, for crowds. There were too many people, too many trollies full of luggage taking up too much space on the platform. The young wizards and their parents resolutely avoided bumping into the imposing and sophisticated figures of Orion and Walburga Black, which, in essence, meant that they inevitably ran into Sirius. Try as he might, he kept brushing up against people, then jerking away at the burn, only to bump into someone else and send yet another lightening bolt of pain up his spine.

Sirius was already injured, for Merlin's sake. There were purple bruises up and down his sides. Last week, already anxious to get out of Grimmauld Place, Sirius had accidentally set Kreacher's potato-sack smock on fire. Sirius had actually been attempting to light a lamp with his wand, but the damned thing had backfired and hit Kreacher with the fire spell instead. His mother, naturally, had not believed him in the slightest. She'd ordered Kreacher to punish Sirius as if he were punishing himself for disobedience. Kreacher had taken great pleasure in that privilege, so much so that Sirius was fairly certain the stupid house-elf had cracked one of his ribs. A muttered healing spell fixed the break a day later, after he'd regained consciousness, but he didn't dare fixing the bruises, lest his mother or Kreacher think it necessary to renew them.

Someone bumped against him once more—this one Muggle-born, judging by the ferocity of the pain—and Sirius barely held back a scream.

Andromeda was wrong. She had to be. There was no way that Sirius could get used to this.

Part of him—that dark part that he'd spent the better part of the month desperately trying not to even acknowledge—wanted to curse these people for just touching him, and for the pain it caused him. Who were they to—

But he couldn't think like that. Couldn't think like his parents.

Still, Sirius felt the weight of his wand in the pocket of his robes, tucked against Andromeda's letter. He was itching to do something—anything, for Merlin's sake—just to take his mind off the near constant pain of constantly being shoved around in this crowd.

He gritted his teeth together, heaved a few breaths, then opened his eyes once more, only to see none other than James Potter strolling onto the platform. James wore a long, Gryffindor scarf and his hair was no more tamed than it had been that day in Diagon Alley. He was followed by his father and a beautiful, elegant older woman that Sirius assumed was James's mother. When James looked up and caught Sirius's eye, he gave Sirius a wide smile and a small wave. Glancing nervously back at his parents to ensure they hadn't noticed the Potters—they hadn't, thank Merlin—Sirius looked back at James, gave a slight shake of his head, then nodded towards the arriving train. Sirius prayed James got the message. Not now. We'll talk on the train.

James gave him a small smile and nodded. He walked away, in the other direction, followed by his parents.

Sirius let out a breath in relief and surveyed the platform. There was a tall boy—probably a first year, given his lack of any discernible house memorabilia—with curly, sandy-brown hair and amber eyes, standing next to a man who was undoubtedly his father. The boy looked between the train and his father, then all but flung his arms around his father's neck, yanking him into a tight hug.

Sirius winced, unable to keep from imagining receiving a hug from his own father. It was a terrifying thought, really, and one, Sirius had no doubt, that would be accompanied by a certain degree of pain, even if it weren't from his damned tattoo.

When the boy pulled away, the light on the platform caught just right on his face that Sirius was able to make out three pale scars that sliced parallel to each other across his face. Sirius gasped and was unable to hide the sound. His own parents, he understood well. If Sirius or Regulus stepped out of line, there was bound to be punishment. Whether that punishment was physical, in the form of Cruciatus or some equally painful curse entirely depended on the day.

What Sirius couldn't understand, however, was the sight before him. How could a father, with a son that so willingly hugged him like that, punish the boy in such a manner that would warrant such obvious scars?

More importantly, what, in Merlin's name, had that boy done to deserve such a severe and visible punishment?

"Sirius. Sirius!"

Sirius was suddenly very aware that his mother had been calling his name for the past thirty seconds. He turned, looking as innocent as possible, and said, "Yes, Mother?"

Walburga's lips formed a thin line and she scowled down at her son. "You're cousin is here."

Sirius looked around to see Narcissa Black stalking up to them, trailed by her mother, Aunt Druella. Much to his chagrin, Narcissa stood a great deal taller than Sirius. Her long, blonde hair—a trait she shared only with her mother—fanned out behind her and her sharp, blue eyes glared down at Sirius.

Sirius was fairly certain that he'd give his left arm for Andromeda to be here, greeting him, instead of her beast of a younger sister.

"Walburga, Orion," Aunt Druella said, greeting both his parents with kisses on the cheek. She looked Sirius up and down, a small, malicious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "With the way things are going, it's about time for the Black heir to be counted amongst the Slytherins, don't you think?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. The way things were going? What does that—

"Indeed," Orion said. "Sirius will do us all proud, I'm sure."

Sirius could hear the threat behind his father's words. "Of course," he said, meeting Aunt Druella's stare dead on.

"Glad to hear it," Aunt Druella said. She gestured towards her daughter. "Now, Narcissa will look out for you, Sirius, make sure you get settled all right. If you need anything, if any half-breed or Mudblood tries to give you trouble, let Narcissa know. Her boyfriend, Lucius Malfoy, is the Slytherin prefect. Oh, where'd that boy get off to? Lucius? Lucius!" she called.

A wiry boy with white-blonde hair turned and started towards them. He had what seemed to be a permanent sneer etched into his features. Sirius decided in an instant that he hated Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes, Mrs. Black," Lucius Malfoy said, with an air of arrogance about him. He stuck out his hand to Sirius. "Pleasure to meet you, Sirius."

"Same," Sirius said, suppressing an eye-roll. There was no pain when he shook Malfoy's hand. Malfoy was pure-blood, to his very core.

"You three should get on the train," Aunt Druella said. "The house-elves will handle your trunks."

"Yes, Mother," Narcissa said, then kissed Aunt Druella's cheek. She took Malfoy's hand.

Walburga held out her arms to Sirius. Obediently, not seeing any other option, Sirius stepped closer to his mother and she kissed him on both cheeks. Unlike the exchange between the boy with the scars and his father, Walburga's touch was cold, thin icing over a veiled threat. "You live up to your name and station, Sirius Black," she hissed in his ear. "Do you understand me?"

Sirius gave a slight nod and stepped away.

The train gave one last, long whistle.

"Come, Sirius," Narcissa said, her nose up in the air.

Begrudgingly, Sirius followed his cousin and her boyfriend onto the crowded train. The corridor of the train was frustratingly narrow and, though Malfoy led the way through the throngs of students, neither Sirius nor Narcissa could entirely avoid contact with these strangers. Sirius found himself flinching every few seconds, which greatly cut into his concentration on how he was going to hex Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa and Malfoy stopped, about halfway down the train, when a greasy-haired boy with sallow skin stumbled and fell right in front of them. Sirius pulled up short, to avoid running smack into Malfoy's back.

"Watch where you're going, firstie!" sneered Narcissa.

"Merlin, there's so much grease in that hair, it's no wonder he fell," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose and giving the boy a sharp kick.

"Half-blood, that one," Narcissa said with a hiss, as the greasy first year brushed against her. She stepped a good distance out of reach.

"Not fit for Slytherin, then, is he?" Malfoy taunted, giving the boy another kick.

Sirius disagreed. Half-blood or no, the slimy boy was exactly what he'd imagined a Slytherin would look like. Not particularly wanting to watch his cousin and her disgusting boyfriend torment another first year Sirius with whom could very well end sharing a dormitory, he took another step back, and occupied himself by looking intently at his cuticles, trying to appear as though he were not a part of the altercation in front of him.

A sharp pain shot up his spine as someone leaned close to him. Sirius almost flinched away, but then James Potter whispered in his ear, "What do you say we hex Malfoy while his back is turned?"

Sirius took half a step away from James, but grinned madly. "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Potter?" Sirius asked, reaching for his magic and twirling his fingers.

"I think, perhaps, that it's my turn to do the honors, Mr. Black," James said. He reached into the pocket of his robes. "Besides. This time I have a wand."

Sirius laughed and took a look at the wand. It was shorter than his own, maybe by an inch, but made of dark mahogany. The wand had intricate patterns and swirls etched into the handle. When he thought about it later, James's wand was undoubtably beautiful, but Sirius greatly preferred the simplicity of his own enchanted willow wand.

Sirius gestured at Malfoy. "All yours, then. Just don't hit my cousin, or I'll never hear the end of it."

James bit his lip, pointed his wand, muttered a spell that Sirius didn't quite catch, and then, suddenly, all of Lucius Malfoy's clothes disappeared. Or, rather, turned invisible, it would seem, as there was still a rush of fabric as Malfoy sputtered and felt his chest, dazed and confused.

Narcissa screamed.

Sirius howled in laughter, nearly collapsing in on himself.

James, with a wicked smirk plastered on his face, gave Malfoy a long, lingering glance, up and down his body. "My, my, Malfoy. White all over, aren't we?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed, and he flushed red, right down to his—

"Why, Narcissa," Sirius said, barely holding back another cackle. "Even with a horrid personalty like yours, I'd think you could do better than that." He gestured at Malfoy's junk. "How is a wormy thing like that s'posed to produce a child?"

James snorted a laugh and slapped Sirius on the shoulder. He winced, but mostly ignored it. "No, you see, Sirius," James said, quite reasonably, "given that blood-curdling scream she let out upon seeing his naughty bits, I'm not sure she wants that limp noodle anywhere near her. Looks like Malfoy's line will die with this pasty fellow we see before us."

Sirius laughed and leered at Malfoy.

"Why, you—" Malfoy fumbled with his invisible robes, searching desperately for his pocket and his wand.

Narcissa, however, beat him to it. She pointed her wand at them, and yelled, "Stupefy!"

James launched himself in front of Sirius, his wand raised, and deflected the curse. It backfired and hit the sniveling first year square in the chest. The boy's greasy head plopped to the floor as he lost consciousness.

For a second, all four of them froze. "Oops," muttered James.

Narcissa raised her wand again, but this time, Sirius was faster. He flicked his wrist, and the corridor beneath Malfoy and Narcissa turned to ice. When she stepped forward to cast the spell, her foot slipped and she fell backwards, on top of the greasy-haired first year.

Malfoy turned a deeper shade of red, clearly stuck between helping his now-sobbing girlfriend and cursing James and Sirius into oblivion.

Sirius wasn't going to wait to find out. He turned, threw a wink at James, and said, "Run."

Sirius and James took off in the opposite direction, tearing through the corridor, Malfoy hot on their heels. They kept shoving past loads of protesting students, and Sirius felt it every single time, but he was far more focused on escaping the wrath of Lucius Malfoy. He ignored the shouts and screams, the gasps of horror at the two first years pursued by a seemingly naked prefect.

When they were nearing the last car and desperately running out of places to hide, Sirius spun on his heel, then flicked his wrist once more. The corridor, again, was spontaneously covered in ice, this time lacing up the wall and sealing a few of the compartments shut. Three or four students fell flat on their faces, directly in Malfoy's path. He tried to jump over them, but ended up coming down on one boy's groin area, and was sent sprawling, as both Malfoy and the poor sod wailed in agony.

James grabbed the front of Sirius's robe and yanked him into the very last compartment on the train, and slammed the door behind him.

Sirius shoved James off him, with a strangled gasp, the second they were inside the compartment.

"Think he saw where we went?" James asked, brushing off his robes.

"Don't know," Sirius replied, glancing uneasily at the door. "Best not risk it, though." He flicked his wand and said, "Colloportus!"

With a soft click, the door sealed itself shut. Then, with his free hand, Sirius twirled his fingers at the lock, adding a wandless charm. "There," he said. "It won't open for anyone but me, unless they have a battering ram. Though, to be on the safe side, we should probably just wait until Hogwarts before we risk it."

"Agreed," James said. "Ruddy brilliant, that wandless magic you've got."

"What about the food trolly?" came a squeaky voice behind them.

Sirius and James exchanged a look, and together, they turned, only to find that the compartment was already occupied by two boys, sitting across from each other on the benches.

The boy who'd spoken, a short, plump, mousy little thing, stared up at James and Sirius with beady eyes. Stringy blonde hair hung down almost to his eyes, and he twirled his fingers together nervously.

The other boy, Sirius recognized immediately. He'd seen him on the platform, hugging his father goodbye. Up close, the boy's amber eyes were utterly brilliant, bright and intelligent. His face, though marred by those three, silvery scars, was covered in freckles. His curly hair flopped around a bit, as he inclined his head to get a better look at Sirius and James. On his lap, there was a satchel, with an embroidered buckle that read, R.J. Lupin.

The boy with the scars and the beautiful eyes looked between them, then met Sirius's gaze, dead on. "He's right. What about the trolley, then? You expect us to go hungry just because you lot are running from trouble?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't like chocolate much, anyway," he said.

All three of them stared at Sirius like he'd just proclaimed the Queen of England was, in fact, a singing kangaroo.

"You don't…" James started, "like chocolate?"

"Who the bloody hell doesn't like chocolate?" asked the boy with the scars, so indignant that it took Sirius a bit by surprise.

"I'll have you know, R.J. Lupin," Sirius said, strolling over and plopping down next to the boy with the scars, careful to keep a good amount of space between them, "that actually, I think I'm allergic."

"Allergic?" said R.J. Lupin, twisting a bit in his seat to look properly at Sirius. "To chocolate?"

Sirius nodded. He pulled one knee up to his chest, his foot resting on the bench between him and the Lupin boy, and leaned back against the window. "That's right," he said. "Makes me sick, every time."

"Well," said the mousy boy, budging over so James could sit directly across from Sirius. "What are the rest of us supposed to do? Starve to death?"

Sirius smirked and pointed his wand at the compartment door. "If any one of you blokes can open that door, I will march right up to Malfoy, surrender, and await expulsion."

"Oi! If you get expelled, so do I, Black!" James said, attempting to kick Sirius, who narrowly dodged the foot by smashing himself further against the window.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Challenge stands, boys."

The mousy boy let out a whine, but gave up. Lupin, however, seemed to consider it. He drew out his own wand.

Sirius hadn't really expected any of them to try it, but was delighted that this boy sitting next to him was up for a challenge. "Go on, then," he said to Lupin. "So you know, Alohomora won't do you any good. I added a special sticking charm. My own invention." He waved his fingers, showing them all the magic dancing between them in little sparks and flecks of color.

Lupin considered this, then conceded. "Alright, you win. We're all starve together. Can't have you expelled on the first day."

The mousy boy let out a long, distraught groan.

Lupin kicked him. "Cheer up, mate. There'll be a feast, once we're sorted." He turned back to Sirius. "What exactly did you do, to warrant an expulsion?"

Sirius ran his tongue over his teeth and threw a wink at Lupin, then counted off on his fingers. "We stopped a mad prefect from bullying a first year half-blood, made said prefect's clothes invisible, questioned his ability to procreate with his tiny little prick, whilst his betrothed looked on in horror, then Jamie here engaged in a minor duel, which, unfortunately left the sniveling greasy-haired first year fellow unconscious—"

"Oi!" James said. He gave Sirius a funny look and mouthed, Jamie?

Sirius just shrugged. "Then, I made the hallways turn to ice, and we ran for our lives, pursued by a rather vengeful, naked prefect. Which, incidentally, is about when we ran into you lot."

Lupin and the mousy boy blinked at him. Then, after a minute of what Sirius chose to call basking in his brilliance, the mousy boy said, "So what house are you two in, then?"

James and Sirius exchange a glance, ready to reply, but Lupin beat them to it. "They're first years, Pete. Just like us."

James and Sirius nodded.

"But…" the mousy boy—Pete—began. He pointed a shaky finger at Sirius. "He knows spells. He's invented spells, didn't you hear him? And you!" The finger moved to James. "You said he—" Back to Sirius. "—did wandless magic!"

A wicked grin spread across Sirius's face. "I've had loads of practice."

"P-practice?" Pete squeaked.

This time Sirius shrugged. "Orion and Walburga weren't going to send their oldest son to Hogwarts without knowing a fair bit of magic, now were they? They do so like to brag. Perks of coming from a pure-blood family, I guess."

Lupin narrowed his eyes. "How'd you get around the underage magic laws?"

He winked again. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black hardly ever plays by the rules, mate."

"I'm pure-blood and I had to obey the rules," Pete whined.

"Me too," James said, cocking an eyebrow at Sirius that clearly said, Explain, Black.

Sirius turned his attention to Lupin and waited.

"Don't look at me," Lupin said. "My mum is a Muggle. No special underage magic privileges here. Now out with it."

As subtly as he could manage, Sirius pressed himself back against the window just a bit more, now very keen in avoiding contact with Lupin. Lupin, however, seemed to notice and shot Sirius an appraising look.

"There are wards around Grimmauld Place—where I grew up," Sirius said, rather than allowing Lupin to formulate a question regarding why Sirius was trying to put more distance between them. "The wards keep even the Ministry in the dark, to the spells performed on the grounds of the house. Which means, while I'm there, I can use magic."

It also means, Sirius thought, rather savagely, that Dark Magic is undetectable and the Unforgivables go unnoticed.

"That is so bloody unfair!" James whined.

"That it is, mate," Sirius said.

Sirius caught Lupin watching him, his amber eyes taking in all of Sirius's little quirks and mannerisms. Sirius watched Lupin right back. His jumper was a bit rumpled and Sirius could see another long, silvery scar poking out from beneath his collar. Biting his lip and meeting Lupin's eye, Sirius said, "How'd you get your scars?"

James sputtered a bit. "Salazar's balls, Sirius!" he hissed. "You can't just ask a bloke that!"

Lupin, on the other hand, seemed to find it amusing. "It's alright," he said, absently tracing the marks on his face with his long fingers. He turned to Sirius. "I fell out of a tree, when I was young. Climbed right up to the very top, then the branch gave way. Scratched my face and arms up pretty bad on the way down, then felt like I broke every bone in my body when I landed. My dad was away on business, so my mum rushed me to the emergency room—"

"Emergency room?" Sirius interrupted. "Muggles have whole rooms for emergencies?"

James made a face, equally confused.

"No, it's…" Lupin laughed. "It's at the Muggle hospital—like St. Mungo's—but for the worst Muggle injuries."

"Oh," Sirius and James said together.

"Anyway," Lupin continued, "the Muggles fixed me up fine, but seeing as they had no magic, it ended up scarring pretty bad."

Lupin looked down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his jumper.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe Lupin's story for one sodding second. He recognized a nervous gesture when he saw one and he knew when someone was lying. Merlin knows, Sirius had done it enough himself: make polite excuses for the bruises—like the ones still currently gracing his ribs—or for the split lips or baggy eyes. He knew how to make excuses that were just plausible enough that people will accept it as the truth because they're too uncomfortable to press farther.

Sirius also knew that, no matter how desperately he wanted to know the truth, he wasn't going to force Lupin to give himself up, to reveal his secret—whatever that may be—to three strangers in this compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

Sirius Black knew how to pick his battles

He turned, instead, to Lupin and the mousy boy. "What are your proper names, then?" He quirked an eyebrow at Lupin. "Unless you actually go by R.J. Lupin?"

The mousy boy nearly jumped out of his seat in the process of extending his hand across the aisle to Sirius. "I'm Peter Pettigrew."

Sirius, a bit startled by the interruption and forwardness of Peter Pettigrew, managed a smile. "Sirius Black," he said, and he took the grubby hand. It neither hurt nor didn't hurt, shaking Peter's hand. It was an odd sensation, almost the precipice of pain, but Sirius was grateful for it.

Peter had said he was pure-blood, which had to be true, he supposed, though not from a blood traitor family, like James. Sirius didn't know if that was good or bad, or if he particularly wanted to associate with another pure-blood in good standing with other pure-bloods. It would make his mother—well, proud was the wrong word, but perhaps not in a rage—if he were to associate with other boys his age from a decently respectable lineage.

That thought alone made Sirius drop Peter's hand long before it was strictly polite, though the handshake itself caused Sirius almost no pain.

Sirius turned towards the scarred boy sitting next to him and looked him up and down. Lupin had a Muggle mother and, judging from the exchange on the platform, a wizard father. Sirius already had a sneaking suspicion that Lupin was onto him about the burning-pain-from-physical-contact-with-anyone-strictly-less-than-pure-blood thing, so, bracing himself for the agony of touching a half-blood, extended his hand. "Sirius Black," he said again.

Lupin raised an eyebrow at the offered hand. "Remus Lupin," he said, after a second, shook Sirius's hand.

Now, Sirius Black would say that he's quite accustomed to pain. Growing up in Grimmauld Place would do that to anyone. But, the moment Remus Lupin touched his hand, Sirius Black very nearly bit off the tip of his tongue to keep from screaming.

He yanked his hand away, barely a second later, clutching it close to his chest, and tasting blood in his mouth. Shaking hands with Ted Tonks had hurt, nearly as bad as the Cruciatus curse. But this…

This…

This was worse.

"Bloody hell, Lupin, you sure you're not Muggle-born?" Sirius blurted, before he could stop himself.

All three boys stopped and stared at him.

Sirius froze in horror, realizing what he said and what it implied. "I mean, just…" he stammered, inching closer to the window and farther away from Remus Lupin. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I swear I'm not a pure-blood fanatic. Ask James!"

Peter and Remus looked to James, who nodded and shrugged. "If he was, he'd never talk to me, either. The Potters—that's my family—are considered blood traitors to the Blacks."

"You had a firm handshake, is all," Sirius said, waving a dismissive hand between him and Remus. "It startled me. I don't shake hands very much, and I know Muggles do, so… Sorry."

Remus held his gaze for a long moment, then turned back to Peter and James, a soft smile on his face. Sirius let out a breath of relief. "So. Since we're all first years, how do you figure you'll all be sorted?"

James leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up across the aisle, resting them between Remus and Sirius. Sirius, for his part, scrunched himself up as far as he could go against the window, desperate to avoid any more contact after that handshake with Remus.

Remus gave him an odd look, but after a second, grabbed James's ankles and rested them on his lap instead of the bench, giving Sirius a little more room. Sirius avoided his eyes as he managed to relax a little.

James, on the other hand, noticed absolutely nothing of this exchange. "I'll be in Gryffindor, for sure," he said, twirling his wand. After a second, he pointed it at Sirius. "He'll be Slytherin. We're destined to have an ongoing prank war between our two houses, him and me, the likes of which Hogwarts has never seen before and shall never see again."

Sirius snorted.

Remus, however, gave Sirius a critical look, his brows pinching in such a way that the scars on his face crinkled a bit. "Slytherin?" he said to Sirius. "You don't seem like a Slytherin to me."

Sirius didn't know how to respond to that. "I'm a Black," he said, rather stupidly.

James swatted Remus with his foot. "'Course he's a Slytherin." He pulled his feet back, sitting up straight and rubbing his hands together. "Picture this, lads. Two houses, both alike in dignity, in fair—oh, Merlin. Where the bloody hell are we?"

"Scotland," Remus said.

James didn't miss a beat. "In fair Scotland, where we lay our scene."

Remus scoffed. "No one, in the history of English literature has ever called Scotland fair."

"Ol' Will Shakespeare is rolling in his grave," James conceded.

Sirius, rather feeling like he was missing something, squirmed a little in his seat. After a second, he became increasingly aware of Remus's gaze on him, reading every secret Sirius kept trying to hide.

"Do you want to be in Slytherin?" Remus asked, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

Sirius was fairly certain that his jaw dropped. No one had ever asked him that before. No one. Not Regulus, or Andromeda, or James Potter. Everyone had just assumed—hell, even Sirius had assumed—that he'd just end up in Slytherin. It was the way things were done, it was fucking natural for a Black to be in Slytherin.

For all he knew, it was written in the goddamned stars.

He proved it, the day he got his wand, from the moment he performed the Cruciatus curse and every bit of hope he had that he'd be something different—something better—than the monsters that filled his family tree slowly began to die.

"Well?" Remus prompted. "Do you want to be in Slytherin, Sirius?"

More than anything, no.

"I'm a Black," Sirius said, again, furious at how unfair it all was. "I'm afraid I don't have much choice. The Hat will put me in Slytherin and that'll be that. Bet it won't even be on my head for more than a second or two."

Remus reached out a comforting hand, but pulled it back in midair when he caught the flash of fear in Sirius's eyes. With his head bowed, and praying the two across the aisle didn't see, Sirius shot Remus a grateful look.

"What about you, then?" James said, placing his feet in Remus's lap once more.

Remus shrugged. "My dad was in Ravenclaw, when he was in school. He went on to work at the Ministry for a while before I…" He trailed off, and he opened and closed his mouth, almost as if he were trying to pull back some of his words. "Well, we moved around a lot. Dad got mostly Muggle jobs after that."

Oh, there was something else to that story, Sirius thought, his eyes narrowed.

"So it's Ravenclaw for you, then?" Sirius asked.

Remus smirked at him. "S'pose so. It's in my blood, after all. I'm not sure I have much of a choice."

Sirius frowned.

"What about you, Pete?" Remus asked, that smirk still tugging at his lips. "Is there some great family tradition dictating your fate as well?"

Sirius gaped at Remus Lupin, ninety percent sure that the other boy was making fun of him. It was a new experience, really. Few people ever tended to taunt the Black heir and, if they did, usually ended up facing the wrath of either Sirius or his parents. Sirius, however, found that he didn't mind so much, when Remus teased him, especially about his Sorting. He found, instead, that it stirred up something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Remus Lupin didn't believe he was going to be in Slytherin.

It didn't matter much, but it was a nice thought, he supposed.

"Well," Peter said, shifting a little in his seat. "Mum was in Slytherin. Dad was in Gryffindor, but he left when I was a baby, so I don't expect I take after him much. Mum doesn't think I'll be Slytherin. She says I'm not clever enough. She thinks I'll be Hufflepuff."

Sirius wanted to laugh, but then thought the better of it. His parents had a lot to say about pure-bloods that were sorted into Hufflepuff, but he didn't think any of his companions would take kindly to anyone voicing these ideas.

"Look at that," James said, clapping his hands together, a smirk dancing on his face. "All four houses represented in one compartment. What are the odds of that?"

They carried on like that for a good long while, as the train sped across the Scottish landscape. James and Remus bonded over this William Shakespeare fellow, a conversation to which Sirius took no interest whatsoever, and instead, mostly spent staring out the window, ever-cautious that the boy next to him didn't get too close.

At one point during their rather exuberant conversation, James heaved a full body laugh, nearly kicking Remus in the groin. Remus let out an indignant whine followed by a string of very rude French curses.

Sirius, who had been feeling a bit left out in his brooding, brightened up immediately, then proceeded to scold Remus for his fowl language in his own near-perfect French. After many similar reprimands from his string of French tutors over the years, Sirius was rather well-versed in the language. Remus, though at first stunned that he'd been understood, became rather animated as he replied. As it turns out, Remus's mother had been born in France, and both of his maternal grandparents still lived in the French countryside.

Eventually, James grew tired of the two blokes carrying on in French across from him. He gave Remus another light kick, this time deliberately aiming for less sensitive bits. James and Sirius struck up a conversation about Quidditch, as the Holyhead Harpies had made it to the World Cup again this year. Sirius's team—or rather, Regulus's—the Chudley Cannons had also done fairly well for themselves, though not, much to Sirius's dismay, as well as the Harpies. Sirius and James both tried and failed to suppress bouts of laughter when Peter voiced his support for the Caerphilly Catapults. Peter pouted and insisted that though the Catapults hadn't even been decent in nearly twenty years, they were due for a winning streak, despite their tremendous losses this past season.

Remus wasn't too familiar with Quidditch at all—he'd only heard vague mentions of it from his dad—so, upon discovering this, the three pure-bloods spent the rest of the train ride explaining the rules and strategies to Remus, so he wouldn't make a fool of himself during Ravenclaw's first match.

For the love of Merlin, Sirius found himself wishing he could sit next to Remus during that match. Remus would undoubtedly make a fool of himself as he pretended to know what was going on in the sky above him.

But, Sirius would be sitting with the Slytherins, under the watchful eye of his cousin and Lucius Malfoy.

It was a shame, really. Sirius, much to his own annoyance, found that he rather liked these boys. He knew, once he was sorted, he'd see very little of them. Peter, well, Sirius wasn't sure how he felt about Peter. He supposed Peter was decent enough, though a bit whiny. Sooner rather than later, though, he'd be sorted into Hufflepuff, branded useless and a blood traitor and Sirius would never see him again. Sirius supposed if he could keep the fact that Remus was a half-blood from getting back to his parents, he might get away with an acquaintanceship, if Remus was in Ravenclaw. At the very least, Remus wouldn't be Gryffindor and a fated rival, like James. He'd still see James, of course, which was a slight consolation. Sirius rather liked James Potter and not even the rather explicit threats from Walburga Black could keep him from James indefinitely. The fact of the matter, as James so helpfully pointed out twice now, they're destined to be rivals in opposite houses, apparent enemies to everyone in the school.

Outside, the world whizzed by and Sirius sank further into his seat against the window. The closer they got to Hogwarts, the more their inevitable fates made Sirius's skin crawl and his stomach twist into knots. He didn't want this—whatever was beginning in the compartment of the train—to be over. He didn't want to be forced to ignore Peter's very existence, to merely pass Remus in the halls with a nod and a small smile, nor maintain a cold distance from James Potter.

Sirius Black very much didn't want to be alone.

When the train finally rolled to a stop, Sirius tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He went to stand, wand out, ready to undo the charm and locking spell on the door, ready to face the Sorting Hat and his inevitable fate. However, much to his surprise, Remus beat him to it. Remus muttered a spell that Sirius didn't quite catch, flicked his wand, and the compartment door popped right open.

Remus turned back to face them, swinging his satchel over his shoulder, a smirk plastered on his scarred face.

"Why didn't you do that earlier, when the trolley was coming around?" Peter whined.

Sirius just gaped at Remus, opening and closing his mouth a few times in shock. No one—not his mother, not Kreacher, nor his father—undid his locking charms. Sirius prided himself on being quite good at them.

"How did you—?" Sirius began, but Remus just winked at him and walked out.

James, also rather flabbergasted at this development, pointed a threatening finger at Sirius. "We are not turning ourselves in to Malfoy. I did not agree to that nor will I be in trouble before I'm even properly sorted."

He then stood and followed Remus into the throng of students.

As it turned out, there was no need for Sirius and James to surrender themselves to Malfoy.

After the boat ride up to the castle—during which Peter vomited into the lake, despite insisting his stomach was decidedly empty before boarding —the four boys hardly had time to marvel at the great might that was Rubeus Hagrid (This was Andromeda's friend?! thought Sirius), before an angry, fat professor was storming out of the castle, mumbling, "Honestly, they get worse every year!"

James saw the professor too, as the fat man paused at the steps of the castle to take a few huge gulps of air. "That'll be Slughorn, then," James said. "My dad told me about him. They were in the same year."

Sirius briefly recalled Andromeda mentioning the Head of Slytherin once or twice, but given how infrequently he'd heard her mention ol' Slughorn, Sirius couldn't imagine Andromeda had taken a particular liking to him.

Sirius froze when Slughorn descended the steps, storming down to the incoming first years, tailed by none other than Lucius Malfoy—who, though now properly clothed, his robes were still somewhat transparent when he walked—the greasy-haired first year, and a short girl with unbelievable red hair.

"Oh, Merlin," Sirius muttered.

"JAMES POTTER!" roared Slughorn, his face turning beat red, as he wheezed a little bit when he finally reached the crowd of first years. "Which one of you is James Potter?"

"Uh," James said, intelligently, coming to a stop next to Sirius. Remus and Peter pulled up short behind them, Remus very carefully avoiding running smack into Sirius.

Lucius Malfoy pointed. "There, Professor."

"James Potter?" Slughorn asked, coming to a stop in front of the four of them.

"Uh," James said, again. "Yeah."

"Did you or did you not hex Severus Snape unconscious on the Hogwarts Express?" Slughorn demanded, gesturing to the greasy-haired first year. Severus Snape kept his long nose to the ground, but the girl behind him glared at Sirius and James with a fury that ran as red as her hair.

"What? No, I—" James began.

"Did you or did you not cause Mr. Snape to fall unconscious, then run traipsing through the corridor, causing all sorts of disorder and mayhem, as Mr. Malfoy tried to bring you to justice?"

James flushed red in anger, then gestured wildly at Sirius. "Oi! I wasn't alone!" James snapped. "Sirius was with me! Sirius, tell him!"

Sirius, for his part, mimicked Severus Snape and kept eyes focused on the ground. He had a rather sickening feeling that he knew exactly how this was going to play out. And, right now, he couldn't afford for this to get back to his parents.

Slughorn's eyes flicked to Sirius, just for a second, before he turned all his rage and fury back to James. "Yes or no, Mr. Potter," Slughorn growled. "Did you cause Mr. Snape to fall unconscious?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"That's enough, Mr. Potter!" Slughorn shouted and James snapped his mouth shut. "This type of bullying will not be tolerated at Hogwarts. I'll be writing your parents tonight." Then, mostly to himself, he muttered. "Detention before the Sorting ceremony. That's certainly a new one."

"What?!" James cried. "But I—"

"Detention, Mr. Potter," Slughorn snapped. "One week, starting tomorrow after class. You'll be with me, in the dungeons, scrubbing something unspeakable, I'd imagine. And twenty points from whatever bloody house you're sorted into."

"But, Professor—"

"Not another word, or I make it two weeks of detention." Slughorn paused, glaring at James and daring him to say something. James, with a furious look in his eye that rather reminded Sirius of his mother's murderous rage, kept his mouth shut. After a tense moment, Slughorn huffed, "Good," then marched back up to the castle, heaving as he chanced the stairs.

Snape and the red headed girl followed him, but only after the red head shoved two fingers in the air and stuck her tongue out at James.

"Learn your place, blood traitor," Malfoy snarled, before following Slughorn back towards the castle.

The second they were gone, James whirled on Sirius and shoved him backwards, right into Remus. Sirius, though stunned, bit his tongue to keep from crying out, once more tasting blood, but managed to maintain most his composure. He straightened quickly, stepping well out of Remus's space, should James shove him again.

"Why the bloody fuck am I in trouble and you're not?!" James growled. "You're the one who iced the corridors and caused a scene!"

Sirius looked down at his feet. "Ah," he said, sheepishly. "The Black heir is awarded certain privileges, I imagine, by the Head of Slytherin."

James did shove him again, but this time, Sirius kept his own footing. "You're just like them, then, aren't you, Black? Pure-blood fanatic that sets himself up on a pedestal to look down at the rest of us blood traitors and half-bloods."

That hurt far more than Sirius was expecting. James was his friend, for Merlin's sake. "James, no, I'm not like them, I swear!"

"Then go tell Slughorn that you were in on it too!"

That was the one thing Sirius couldn't do. If his parents got wind of what he'd done to Malfoy, there'd be hell to pay, and Sirius highly doubted the distance would be much of a deterrent. "I-I can't, James, I'm sorry," Sirius stammered.

"Then stay the fuck away from me." James went to shove him once more, but this Sirius flinched back. James stopped, mid-motioned, and sneered at him. "You can't even stand to touch me, can you? I'm just a goddamned filthy blood traitor after all, aren't I?"

"No, James, I—"

James tried to reach out for Sirius, just to touch him, but once more, Sirius flinched back on instinct. James huffed, having proved his point, then grabbed Peter's arm instead. "Come on, Pete. Let's go find us some better company."

Sirius felt rather like he'd had his heart pulled from his chest as he watched James strut towards the castle, with Peter in tow. James was his friend, goddamnit, the only one he'd be allowed to properly keep once he's sorted, even if it would be under the guise of mortal enemies. Now, though, well. Now, James was his enemy.

Remus stepped up next to Sirius, who stood there in a sort of daze. Remus, rather than nudging Sirius to get his attention, cleared his throat.

Sirius looked at him and saw something dangerously close to sympathy in those freaky amber eyes, but that couldn't be right. Blacks were hardly ever the recipients of something so menial as sympathy. "You should go after them," Sirius said.

"Why?" Remus asked, innocently.

Sirius gave him a look. "I'm a Slytherin. A pure-blood fanatic, just like my family. Didn't you hear?"

Remus shrugged. "I don't think you're meant to be Slytherin."

Sirius could have laughed. Remus, it seemed, was in something of a state of adamant denial. "Yeah? And how do you figure that? You don't know me, Lupin."

"You're not like other Slytherins." Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but Remus cut him off. "If you were, you wouldn't have pulled that prank in the first place, nor would you have spoken with me once you figured out my mum is a Muggle. James is just upset that he got caught. He'll get over it."

Given what he knew about James Potter, Sirius rather doubted it, but he was grateful to Remus all the same, even if he was dead wrong. He knew Remus would feel different once Sirius was sorted into Slytherin and Sirius would be forced to pretend they'd never met.

Remus, however, seemed to know exactly what he's thinking. "Let's go on up to the castle, then," he said, "so you can tell that old hat that it can go fuck itself."

Sirius blinked. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you don't want to be in Slytherin either."

James Potter hexed his robes, the second they entered the Great Hall, to make them far longer than they had been when Madam Malkin stitched them. Sirius fell flat on his face, right in front of everyone, and the Great Hall erupted in laughter. Sirius felt his face flush red, but he didn't retaliate. He may have deserved that.

Remus stopped next to him, though he didn't bend to help Sirius up, for which Sirius was quite grateful. "You alright?"

"Yes." Sirius stood, his face contorting a bit as the movement jostled the bruises on his ribcage. He brushed off his robes, then flicked his wrist so that his robes returned to their normal lengths.

From the other end of the crowd of first years, James Potter wore a wicked smirk. Peter looked quite amused, as well.

Sirius turned back to Remus. He gestured at James and Peter. "You sure you wouldn't rather be over there, then?"

Remus shrugged. "I'm sure."

Sirius didn't understand Remus Lupin. What kind of person—let alone a half-blood, for Merlin's sake—deliberately associated with a pure-blood, especially a pure-blood from a family like the Blacks?

Next to him, Remus stopped. "Christ," he said. "Sirius, look up!"

Already knowing what he was going to see, Sirius looked up. The ceiling sparkled, the galaxy streaked across the beams and supports. A comet shot past, overhead, and the half-moon hovered over the professors' table at the end of the hall.

Glancing at Remus, Sirius felt himself smiling, despite everything, at the look of sheer wonder plastered on Remus's scarred face. Sirius remembered Auclair's taunt, that the stars of Hogwarts castle were nothing more than parlor tricks to impress those of lesser breeding. Maybe it's true, maybe it wasn't. Sirius didn't particularly care, so long as that wonder never left Remus's eyes.

"First years, form a line. Come now!" said an older witch, in flowing, burgundy robes. McGonagall, Sirius guessed.

The first years hurried to comply, and formed a line in front of the four tables, all of them facing the professors. Remus and Sirius stayed towards the far end of the line, closest to the Slytherin table. James and Peter stood at the other end, nearest Gryffindor.

Sirius felt Narcissa's eyes on the back of his neck, but he didn't turn around. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

"Welcome, students!" boomed Albus Dumbledore, from the pedestal at the front of the Great Hall. "It is my immense pleasure to bid you all a fair welcome to another year at Hogwarts."

Sirius frowned. Dumbledore was nothing like he was expecting, nothing like the idea of this great and powerful wizard he'd formed after years of listening to his parents' angry mutterings. Dumbledore, to Sirius, seemed perfectly ordinary. Long, white beard, standard robes… There was about him that suggested he was the formidable wizard his parents claimed him to be. The Headmaster's eyes, beneath their half-moon glasses, sparkled just as much as the stars overhead.

"I'd like to welcome Professor Amelia Rattleburn as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a young professor, with blond, curly hair. She gave a short wave, but did not change her vacant expression otherwise. "Now, some ground rules, before the Sorting."

There was a chorus of annoyed groans, coming mostly from the Gryffindor end of the hall.

"I feel it necessary to remind all of you," Dumbledore said, eying the Gryffindors, "that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students, and with good reason. Second, for those of you eligible to go to Hogsmeade, it would seem that the shack at the edge of town has become rather haunted over the summer, by a string of malevolent spirits. Madam Rosmerta tells me they're now calling it the Shrieking Shack. For the safety of all students, no one is allowed anywhere near it."

Next to him, Remus visibly stiffened at the mention of the Shrieking Shack. Sirius gave him an odd look, and filed the reaction away for later.

"Finally," Dumbledore said, "there's a small matter of groundskeeping that needs to be addressed. It would seem that our dear groundskeeper, Hagrid, has acquired a rather special willow tree and has planted it on the edge of the grounds."

Sirius blinked at the Headmaster. Ollivander had told him that the tree from which Sirius's wand was made had been planted at Hogwarts. This had to be the tree.

"Hagrid tells me he's taken to calling this tree the Whomping Willow, as, thus far, it has taken swipes at everyone who draws near to it," Dumbledore said. "Hagrid's already had his fair share of nasty bruises, so I advise all of you to stay well out of range of this Whomping Willow."

Sirius frowned. That can't be right. Ollivander had also said that the enchanted willow was a guardian of a secret, not enchanted with a spell that left bruises on passerbys.

"Professor McGonagall, the Sorting Hat, if you please," Dumbledore said.

McGonagall stepped forward, holding a dusty old hat, and set it on the stool in front of Dumbledore's pedestal.

The Sorting Hat opened at the brim and belted out a song about the founders of Hogwarts and the houses. Sirius didn't pay much attention to it, and instead, had taken to fidgeting with the corners of his robes.

"You'll be fine," Remus whispered, when the song was over. He'd noticed Sirius's fidgeting. "I promise."

Sirius had no clue how Remus could promise such a thing, not when he had to know, even if he was in denial about it, that very soon, Sirius would be sitting next to Narcissa and Malfoy and that would be the end of their very brief friendship.

McGonagall began calling names from a parchment, in alphabetical order. There was a Ravenclaw, a few Hufflepuffs, but Sirius hardly paid attention, before McGonagall called out, "Black, Sirius!"

Maybe it was his imagination, but Sirius felt a chill pass over the crowd as he sat down on the stool. McGonagall lowered the Hat onto his head.

"SLYTHER—hmph."

The Hat cut off, mid-Sorting.

The crowd fell silent.

What?! Sirius thought, alarmed.

I don't think you belong in Slytherin, Mr. Black, said the disembodied voice of the Sorting Hat.

Why does everyone keep saying that? Sirius thought, in a bit of a huff. He wanted this over with. He wanted to get on with his fate, on with his destiny as the Black heir, and leave behind the memories of the pseudo-friends he'd made on the Hogwarts Express.

Out in the crowd, Sirius caught Remus's eye. There was a knowing smirk that danced between the scars on Remus's face.

I don't think you belong in Slytherin, the Hat repeated. Hm. I don't think you want to be in Slytherin.

I'm a Black.

Yes, and it appears one that would be best suited elsewhere.

No. Can't be right, Sirius thought, bitterly.

And why's that? The Hat, if Sirius didn't know better, sounded rather smug.

Because I'm a Black, Sirius repeated. Blacks belong in Slytherin.

Why else?

Sirius didn't dare reply to that.

Do you want to be in Slytherin, Mr. Black? the Sorting Hat asked.

Again, Sirius said nothing, though the Hat waited for a response.

Then, aloud, the Sorting Hat said, "Well, seeing as you have no opinion on the matter, whatsoever, I find it best in these circumstances to follow the family's tradition. Therefore, it would seem, that you, Sirius Black, are best suited for… SLYTH—"

Please, no.

Again, the Hat swallowed its words.

What was that, Mr. Black?

Sirius squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn't stand to look out over the crowd who were clearly not expecting a Black to take so long.

Please, no, Sirius thought, now desperate. He didn't want his family's predestined life for him. He didn't want to sit between Narcissa and Malfoy, sneering at people like Remus Lupin from across the Great Hall. He didn't want the Dark Magic, nor the mind games, nor the subversive quests for power.

He found, much to his surprise, that he didn't care what it cost him.

I don't want to be in fucking Slytherin, Sirius said, with all the conviction he possessed.

The Hat chuckled a bit. I thought not. Now, now. Where to place the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, if not in Slytherin? Hm. Gryffindor would do quite nicely, yes.

It was, apparently Sirius's turn to laugh. What? I can't be in Gryffindor.

And why not?

Because I'm not brave.

I beg to differ, Mr. Black.

Really? scoffed Sirius. Fine. Then I can't be in Gryffindor because I've used the Cruciatus curse.

Ah, yes, said the Hat, its voice suddenly grim. Your first spell with your unicorn hair wand, yes? Best be careful with that wand, now. It's dying, you know.

I know. He had known, at least in theory, but this confirmed it. Sirius felt his heart shatter. No Gryffindor would have used that curse. No Gryffindor would have killed their own wand.

What was the second spell?

What?

Answer, please, the Sorting Hat said. I do have other destinies to write, you know. After the Unforgivable curse, Mr. Black, what was the second spell you cast with that beautiful wand of yours?

Sirius cast his memories back to that night, after his father killed Auclair, after Regulus crawled into his bed.

Oh, Sirius thought. A healing spell. I cast a healing spell on Regulus.

Hmm, yes. Ah, young lionheart, you cast a healing spell, with a cursed wand, on someone so fiercely loved.

Sirius couldn't come up with anything he could possibly say to that.

Ah, but for that first spell. Hmm. An act of heroism, brought about by desperation, it seems, the Sorting Hat concluded

No, that's not—

It's not an excuse, Mr. Black, nor is it a defense for your actions. But you, Sirius Black, have a streak of bravery in you that rivals very few, even a good many that I've placed in Gryffindor over the years. I expect you'll have to find a new core for that wand of yours, though.

Sirius didn't say anything. He hadn't even been aware that was an option.

Is this truly something you want, to be made into a pariah by your family, to be tormented by your peers, to be judged by your name, until you prove the true intentions of your heart by your actions?

Sirius opened his eyes, bracing himself for the fallout. Yes.

"GRYFFINDOR!" roared the Hat.

Unlike the few students who'd been sorted before him, there was no applause when McGonagall lifted the Hat off Sirius's head. The crowd just stared, unblinking and silent, up at him. Even Dumbledore seemed rather astounded by this development.

Remus caught Sirius's eye and winked, an I-told-you-so written on his face. Sirius took three steps towards the Gryffindor table, before he stopped and almost went back to beg the Hat to put him into Slytherin.

James Potter looked positively murderous.

Nonetheless, Sirius slipped past James and sat at the end of the Gryffindor table. Everyone in Gryffindor stared at him, almost as though Sirius were a wild animal that had somehow found its way into their village.

After a tense moment, when nobody in the entire Hall dared to breathe a word, the Gryffindor prefect stood, walked to the end of the table, and offered his hand to Sirius. "Frank Longbottom," the prefect said.

Longbottom. Pure-blood, Sirius thought, and took the proffered hand without hesitating. It didn't hurt in the slightest. "Sirius Bla—" Sirius started.

"Yeah. I know who you are," Frank said, a rather shaky smile dancing on his lips."Welcome to Gryffindor, mate."

Frank was nervous, wary of the new addition, clearly aware of the major breech in tradition that had occurred moments ago. A Black in Gryffindor. Frank stared at him, oddity that he was, and Sirius saw the distrust that lingered just below the welcoming prefect exterior.

Whether it was all for show or not, the rest of Gryffindor took their cues from Frank and began a slow chorus of applause.

A part of Sirius breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had a place he belonged, a home, now, in Gryffindor.

Another part of him—the part more concerned with survival and self-preservation—didn't dare turn around to look at the Slytherin table.

With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore gestured at McGonagall to continue with the Sorting. Sirius only caught a few, between him and Remus. The red-headed girl—Lily Evans, it turned out—was immediately sorted into Gryffindor, though she didn't look particularly pleased about it. She stormed over to the table, pointedly ignored Sirius, and sat closest to the second years.

"Lupin, Remus," McGonagall called.

Despite himself, Sirius held his breath. At least, now that he was in Gryffindor, he'd be able to be proper friends with Remus in Ravenclaw. Sirius, admittedly, felt a little giddy at the thought. Whatever James's or his mother's fury might bring, Sirius felt confident that, for once in his life, he had a friend in Remus Lupin: one who'd stay by him, no matter what.

Well, maybe not no matter what. Remus knew nothing of Sirius's tattoo or his dying wand or the fact that he'd performed the Cruciatus curse, but those secrets would hold for the moment.

Right now, Sirius was just fucking glad he had a friend, especially considering the number of enemies he seemed to have acquired in the last hour alone.

As Remus sat down on the stool, McGonagall hovering the Hat over his shaggy-blonde hair, Remus caught Sirius's eye and winked.

The Hat hmmm'd loudly, then said, "Why, yes of course… GRYFFINDOR!"

Around him, the Gryffindor table erupted into loud, raucous applause. Sirius was fairly certain his jaw dropped.

Remus sauntered over and plopped down right across from Sirius. He smirked, then, loud enough for James and Peter to hear from where they still stood in the line of first years, Remus said, "See? I knew you didn't belong in Slytherin."

Sirius opened and closed his mouth. Leaning forward, he pointed a finger at Remus and narrowed his eyes. "But… You… You're in—"

"Gryffindor?" Remus supplied. "Looks like it. Guess you're stuck with me."

Finally, Sirius's brain seemed to comprehend what'd just happened. "Thank Merlin," Sirius breathed, before he could stop himself. Then, realizing what he said, he fidgeted a bit in his seat. "Er, I mean—"

Remus smiled at him. "It's okay, Sirius."

And, for a moment, Sirius believed him. There was still that darkness, that tiny inkling of terror creeping up his spine, waiting to make itself known. It was the kind of terror that was familiar with the consequences of crossing Walburga and Orion Black: the kind of white hot fear that dug its hands into the Sirius's insides, constricting until he couldn't breathe, couldn't stand. It was the very worst kind of terror, that knew his mother would tear all of Gryffindor to shreds if she thought it would get back at her son for the shame he'd caused her.

It was a damn, waiting to burst, but for now, Sirius shoved it aside and smiled back at Remus Lupin.

The sorting continued. A Marlene McKinnon and, right after her, a Dorcas Meadows, both of whom ignored Remus and Sirius, were sorted into Gryffindor and took their seats next to and across from Lily Evans.

When it came to Peter's turn, the Hat let out a long hmmmmm as it was placed on his head. The Hall waited for the verdict. Minutes ticked by.

"Merlin," muttered Remus, leaning across the table so only Sirius could hear him. "Pete's is taking nearly as long as yours did."

Sirius frowned. Despite his conversation and debate with the Sorting Hat, he hadn't exactly realized that it had taken that long.

Finally, the Hat said, "Fine, fine. Have it your way. GRYFFINDOR!"

Sirius and Remus exchanged rather shocked looks, but then joined in the chorus of Gryffindor applause.

Peter, with a wide, giddy smile plastered on his face, took a seat right next to Sirius. "Howdy, lads," he said. "Took a bit of doing, but looks like I'll be joining you lot."

Sirius was in shock, it seemed. Still doubting his own placement, there was no way in hell that Petter Pettigrew belonged in Gryffindor.

Remus, on the other hand, seemed to recover. He shot a smile at Peter and said, "Good to have you, Pete."

All three of them turned when McGonagall called out, "Potter, James!"

In total, Sirius guessed the Sorting Hat was on James Potter's head for all of two seconds, before it shouted out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Though he knew James's Sorting was pretty much a guarantee, Sirius couldn't bring himself to join in the applause.

James strutted over, his chest poofed out, and shook hands with Frank Longbottom. Then, he turned, eyeing the first year side of the table. The only spot left was between Remus and Dorcas Meadows. Seeing as the first year girls were highly engrossed in some conversation or other, Sirius highly doubted James would get them to scoot down. With a huff, James sat down next to Remus. He crossed his arms across his chest and continued to glare at Sirius for the rest of the Sorting.

When Dumbledore announced the Sorting complete, the feast began. Food swirled into existence all around them: shepherd's pie and spare ribs and any kind of potato he could possibly imagine. Sirius, who was no stranger to lavish meals, found that he was rather impressed. Salivating a little, Sirius reached to the middle of the table, for a bowl of potatoes.

Immediately, James Potter grabbed his hand. Sirius jerked back, with a surprised yelp, then knocked his elbow on the edge of the table. It fucking hurt, but he refused to give James the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, so instead he lowered his injured arm to his lap. "What the fuck, Potter," he hissed.

James leaned across the table, keeping his voice low and threatening. "I don't know how you tricked that goddamned Hat into putting you in Gryffindor, but I'm onto you, Black. You're a Slytherin, down to the bone. You don't fucking belong here and I'm never going to let you forget it."

Sirius swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew he didn't belong. The Hat had tried to place him in Slytherin. Twice. "Fuck off, James," he muttered, that darkness inside him suddenly threatening to consume him.

This time, reaching for a bowl of mashed peas, Sirius brought it close to his own plate, to dish it out. Sirius didn't quite see James reach for his wand, but he heard the muttered spell, and before he could properly react, Sirius Black had mashed peas running down the front of his robes.

Hearing the noise—or perhaps Sirius's colorful curses—the entire Gryffindor table turned to gawk at Sirius. After a second of taking in the misplaced first year now covered in green mush, nearly every Gryffindor burst out laughing.

Sirius felt himself turn bright red, ducking his head a little and hiding behind a curtain of black hair. Sirius sent a silent prayer out into the void that all this noise didn't attract the attention of the Slytherins or his cousin.

James Potter, for one, looked rather smug.

"James!" Remus hissed, elbowing James sharply in the side. Remus reached for his own wand, ready, apparently, to defend Sirius's honor—and boy, wasn't that a new feeling?

Sirius placed the now-empty bowl of mashed peas back on the table. "It's alright, Remus," he muttered, not daring to look at James. Instead, Sirius flicked his wrist and the mess disappeared from his robes.

Remus shot Sirius a look that said it was very much not alright, what James had done.

"Everything okay down there, lads?" Frank Longbottom called, from about halfway down the table, amidst the ebbing snickers.

"Everything's fine," Sirius called back, despite the fact that James still had his wand pointed at him. Sirius threw a meaningful glance at Remus, begging him to back down.

With a sigh, Remus set about preparing a plate. When it was full, he handed it across the table to Sirius. Though a bit shocked, and throwing a cautious look at James, Sirius accepted the plate and handed his own empty one back to Remus.

With a huff, Remus nudged James, this time prompting him to eat. "There we go," Remus said, once James's, Peter's, and his own plates were full. "Guess we're one for four, then, aren't we?"

Three blank faces stared at Remus.

"One for four, in guessing which house we'd all be Sorted into," Remus explained. "Looks like we were only right about James. I hope none of us had particularly high hopes for earning decent marks in Divination."

Sirius gave him a weak smile. He was grateful for Remus's attempt at breaking the tension, but with James still glaring at him like that, Sirius couldn't allow himself to relax.

Remus tried a different tactic. "Peter, you said your dad was Gryffindor, right? Guess you do take after him, then, eh?"

This time, it seemed to work. Peter went off on a tirade about his family, one that Sirius didn't care to follow. James, aside from a few more withering glares, ignored him.

Despite a few meaningful looks at his still-full plate and what could only be constituted as a growl from Remus, Sirius didn't dare pick up his fork until James Potter was almost done with his meal.

"First years, after me!" Frank Longbottom shouted over the roaring crowd as soon as the feast was over. Obediently, everyone stood and crowded around Frank. "Blimey," Frank said, looking them all over. "Only seven of you this year? Makes my job easier, I guess."

Sirius glanced around. He and Remus stood at the back of the group, separated from James and Peter by Lily and her friends, but Frank was right. There were only the seven of them.

"Right, then," Frank said, clapping his hands together. "This way to the dormitories."

Remus stayed close to Sirius as they walked, James and Peter, a few steps ahead, just behind the girls. As they navigated the hallways of the castle, Frank pointed out classrooms and gave general directions, and helpful tips to make it to class on time.

"Where do you think the Gryffindor common room is?" Peter whispered to James.

"North tower," James said, without hesitating, because, of course he knew.

James Potter was Gryffindor down to his very core.

Sirius's stomach turned over and Frank's monologue faded to background noise. Once again, that familiar terror clawed its way up the length of his spine. He was in fucking Gryffindor. He'd asked to be in fucking Gryffindor.

His mother would know about it. Salazar's balls, with the connections Walburga Black has, she probably already knew about it.

His mother was going to fucking kill him.

Sirius's breath came out in short, frantic gasps. His vision swirled a bit and there was a loud drum pounding away in his ears.

Next to him, he's fairly certain Remus said something, but whatever it was, it didn't register. Nor did he register that the rest of the group had come to a stop outside the portrait of a Fat Lady.

Suddenly, Remus grabbed his elbow, to keep Sirius from running smack into James.

Sirius let out a sharp, startled cry, and jumped away from Remus. Tears pricked the corners of his vision and Sirius willed them away, because fuck that hurt, but he'd be damned if he cried in front of James Potter.

Frank stopped talking and all of Gryffindor turned to stare at Sirius.

Sirius forced himself to focus on Remus, who stood a few feet away, both his hands visible in a placating gesture. Sirius let out a breath. "Sorry," he muttered. "Stubbed my toe."

It was clearly a lie, but Frank let it slide and continued with his lecture about the Gryffindor rules: curfew, girls and boys dormitories, that kind of stuff.

Once again, Sirius wasn't paying attention.

He needed help.

Andromeda, his brain supplied, and, Merlin, why didn't I think of this earlier?

Remus took a step towards him, close enough to whisper to him, but hands still out in a silent promise not to touch Sirius again. "You alright, mate?"

Sirius nodded, even though, no, he fucking wasn't, thanks. "Do you have a quill and parchment on you by chance?"

"What? Why?" Remus asked, keeping his voice low.

"You look like the sort of bloke that would carry a quill and parchment around," Sirius said.

"No, that's not what I meant." Remus laughed a little. "Why do you need them?"

"Need to write a letter."

"Now?"

"Sort of a family emergency. I need to send it tonight." The sooner, the better, Sirius thought. His mother would already know. She would have sorted out a way to torture him from afar. He needed a plan, needed someone on his side, after tonight, who knew of the horrors the Blacks can inflict when someone's stupid enough to cross them.

Andromeda would help. Andromeda would understand. Andromeda would have a plan.

Remus gave him a long, searching look. "It can't wait for the morning?"

Sirius bit his lip and shook his head, trying to keep a lid on his desperation. Remus didn't need to see that.

Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that Remus saw it anyway. Remus reached into the pocket of his robe. "I have a napkin from King's Cross and a ballpoint. Will that work?"

The napkin was a little crumpled, but otherwise clean enough. Sirius, however, had never seen a ballpoint before and had no clue what to do with one. He snatched both out of Remus's hand, expertly avoiding contact, then held the ballpoint up to his face to examine it.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Sirius asked, eyeing Remus around the ballpoint.

Remus snorted a bit. "You write with it."

"Oh," Sirius said, considering it. "You haven't got any ink, then, do you?"

"There's ink in pen already, Sirius."

"Really?"

"Try writing on your hand if you don't believe me."

Sirius eyed him, but took the cap off the ballpoint and scribbled all over his left hand. He grinned, then held up his work for Remus to see. "Wicked," he said, eyes wide. "Now which way was the owlery again?" Then, mostly to himself, he muttered, "Someone needs to make a bloody map of this place."

"What? Sirius, you can't just wander off."

"Why not?"

"You'll get lost."

"No, I won't." Well, he didn't think he would. Remus, however, gave him a look. Sirius rolled his eyes and conceded. "Fine. I'll ask one of the portraits if I get lost."

"You'll miss curfew," Remus said. "Besides, Frank hasn't given us the password yet."

Sirius winked at him. "Then wait up for me." Remus opened his mouth to protest, but Sirius beat him to it. "Please, Remus. This is really important."

"Fine," Remus said, after a long moment. "Frank said the owlery was in the west tower."

"Thanks. Cover for me?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "I will."

Without another word, Sirius slipped away. He jogged through the hallways, got turned around once, but the portrait of Flannigan O'Henry pointed him in the right direction again. The hallways were dark, so Sirius reached into his pocket for his wand, and muttered, "Lumos."

His wand gave a burst of light and quickly flickered out. He tried again—and again—but wasn't able to sustain the pale, blue light for more than a few seconds. Eventually, he gave up, put his wand back in his pocket. He waved his left hand and a flame danced above his palm. He kept his palm up, holding the flame in place as he climbed the stairs to the owlery. Right outside the door, there was a torch, to which he quickly transferred the flame.

Sirius took out the crumpled napkin—cleaned and flattened it with a flick of his wrist—and the ballpoint Remus had given him. He quickly scrawled a note.

Andromeda,

Gryffindor, not Slytherin.

What the bloody hell am I supposed to do now?

Sirius

He pocketed Remus's ballpoint. Then, he found an owl that looked decently clever and fast, gave it a treat to further encourage it, and sent it on its way. Sirius prayed Andromeda would get the owl tonight. He needed to hear from her. He needed to know he still had an ally who shared his blood.

When he returned to the north tower, Frank Longbottom was waiting for him. Sirius frowned. He still had ten minutes until curfew and Remus, not Frank, had promised to wait for him.

"Where's—" Sirius started.

"You're friend?" Frank said, raising a rather condescending eyebrow. "I sent him inside. He listened, though under protest, if it makes you feel better."

Sirius shrugged. It did, actually, make him feel better, that Remus had at least valiantly tried to keep his word.

Frank Longbottom didn't look too happy. Sure, he'd been the first one to welcome Sirius to Gryffindor, but as Frank's scowl deepened, Sirius got the distinct impression that the welcome he'd received had just been an act to impress the professors.

"What are you doing, Sirius?" Frank said, crossing his arms.

Sirius didn't particularly want to tell a prefect that he was writing to family on his first night away from home—especially with Frank now looking at him like that, like James Potter had earlier, after Slughorn gave him detention. It was the kind of look that said, You're a Black and you'll stab me in the back the second I give you the chance.

Sirius fucking hated it when people looked at him like that.

"Exploring," Sirius bit out, trying to keep his blood from boiling. He couldn't afford to lose his temper, or even let slip that Frank's attitude was getting to him. He had enough enemies inside Gryffindor already.

"Exploring," Frank repeated, with a frown. "It's almost curfew."

"Almost, being the operative word in that sentence," Sirius shot back. "I made it back. What's the problem?"

"You don't know the password, for one," Frank said. "How were you planning on getting in?"

Sirius glanced behind Frank at the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was in the process of examining her cuticles, seemingly bored, but Sirius knew she was keeping an eye on their exchange.

Sirius flashed a smirk at Frank. "I figured I'd flirt my way in."

The Fat Lady giggled.

Frank's frown deepened. "Listen to me, Sirius," he said, his voice hard. "This is Gryffindor. Not Slytherin."

"Gathered that, thanks," Sirius muttered.

"That means," Frank said, glaring at him, "that you don't get to get away with shit because of your name. The Black heir won't get any privileges here."

"Didn't think I would," Sirius said, indignant. Who the hell was Frank Longbottom to judge Sirius by his name and his family? It wasn't fucking fair. "Look, did I break any rules, or not? I didn't exactly stay for the end of the speech."

"You didn't, but—"

"Then let's go inside, shall we?" Sirius said, glaring right back at Frank. "We've got classes tomorrow and I've had a long day. What's the password, then?"

Frank looked like he had half a mind not to give the password to Sirius, but, after a minute, he muttered, "Dragon bones."

The Fat Lady's portrait swung open and Frank and Sirius stepped inside.

Really, Sirius should have braced himself for the ostentatious red-and-gold-strewn common room, but, as it was, it came as something of a shock. The Gryffindor common room was nothing like how his cousins described Slytherin's. Instead of gray, cold, and dreary, Gryffindor's common room was warm and inviting, and not just because of the hearth at the center of the room. Students lurked around the room, chatting with friends and telling stories of pleasant summer holidays.

"You best get to bed, then, if you're so tired," Frank said, and Sirius took it as You're not welcome here, Black. "Up the stairs, to your left."

Sirius climbed the stairs.

A pillow smacked him in the face the second he opened the door to the first year dormitory.

All the laughter in the room stopped.

James and Peter, who seem to be responsible for the pillow fight, froze and stared at Sirius. Remus was on his bed, pretending to read a book, but Sirius saw him throw a glance in his direction when the door opened.

"Where were you, then?" James demanded. "Off to get your good night kisses from your friends in Slytherin?"

"I don't have any friends in Slytherin."

"Seems like you do, seeing as I got detention and you didn't," James shot back. "Bet you gave them the password and everything. Should we expect everything in here to be green in the morning?"

"I didn't—"

"Bet they love it that they have a man on the inside, now, huh?"

Something inside his brain snapped. "I'm not a fucking spy, James!" Sirius shouted. "I hate Narcissa and Malfoy just as much as you do, except you have the great fucking privilege of not being related to them. They're so fucking full of it and they were torturing that little tattling shit for no other reason than the fact he was in their way! I'm not like them! I was going to hex them, long before you showed up, except my curse wouldn't have backfired!"

"Fine!" James shouted, right back at him. "Then why didn't you get detention right along with me?!"

"Because I'm the fucking Black heir!"

James stalked towards him, and Sirius raised the pillow that had smacked him in the face between them, in an effort to keep James from either shoving or punching him.

"That's right," James hissed. "You got away with it because of your name. You're beautiful, fucking pure-blood name, that has even Slughorn running after you, just fucking begging to kiss the ground you walk on. You're better than us, isn't that right? Better than a fucking blood traitor and a half-blood like Remus?"

Sirius cast a frantic glance at Remus. He didn't think that way, he didn't want Remus to think he did."No, James, I—"

James yanked the pillow away from Sirius and shoved him up against the door, pinning him there.

Sirius cried out in pain. Every point of contact, every inch of his skin burned where James was touching him. Razor blades seemed to carve their way across his skin, right down to the bone, and James kept knocking against the bruises on his ribs.

Goddamnit, Sirius couldn't help the tears that suddenly filled his vision.

"You don't fucking belong here, Black. A Gryffindor would never be so cowardly that he hides behind his goddamned name!"

"James, enough, already," Sirius heard Remus say, from his bed.

James Potter did not back down.

"ENOUGH!"

Suddenly, James was pulled off him and more or less thrown across the room. James landed on his arse and looked up at Remus Lupin in amazement.

Sirius slumped to the ground, unable to suppress a sob. He buried his face in his hands. His whole fucking body hurt and now James was going to see him cry.

"Can't you see he's had enough?" Remus asked James, his voice quieter now, more threatening. Remus half-turned back to Sirius. "Can you stand up on your own?"

Remus looked like all he wanted to do was reach out a hand and pull Sirius to his feet.

Sirius scrubbed a hand over his face, praying it hid the tears, and managed to nod. He pressed his back against the door—oh, fuck, his ribs—and somehow clawed his way to his feet, his breaths coming out in short, aborted gasps.

Without looking at any of them, Sirius crossed the room to the bed with his trunk underneath it, directly on the other side of Remus's. He flopped down on the mattress, then flicked his wrist to close the hangings. He pulled out his wand and whispered, "Silencio."

The spell didn't completely work—he could still hear James and Remus, now arguing in hushed voices—but Sirius didn't particularly care. He let out a full-body sob, clutched his ribs, and curled in on himself.

Sirius allowed himself to cry until the voices outside his curtains faded to nothing.

Rolling onto his back, Sirius felt the tears track down his face.

In his gut, Sirius knew he was well and truly fucked. There'd be a Howler waiting for him, tomorrow morning, one laced with some sort of nasty curse, if his mother had anything to say about it. She was sure to employ the help of Malfoy and Narcissa in order to make Sirius's life in Gryffindor a living hell and he knew she kept at least a few of the Hogwarts professors well within her spheres of influence. He'd have his work cut out for him, just trying to stay afloat, and that's only considering what his mother could do to him from afar.

Sirius felt his stomach turn over and thought for a second that he might throw up. There was no telling what sort of punishments Walburga Black would devise for him for when he returned to Grimmauld Place at Christmas. She could be rather creative in her punishments and there was no doubt in Sirius's mind that his mother would be keeping a detailed and comprehensive list of all his sins against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He'd pulled a prank with a known blood-traitor—one his mother specifically forbade him to associate with—against his cousin and her betrothed. The prank itself, though harmless, was far beneath the status for the Black heir and, more importantly, thoroughly embarrassed both Narcissa and Malfoy. To make matters worse, he accidentally befriended a half-blood boy and, at least in the eyes of his mother, furthered his association with one James Potter.

Then, worst of all, Sirius Black had gone and got himself sorted into Gryffindor. The house made for blood traitors and Mudbloods. He'd disgraced both his name and his station and brought shame to anyone who calls themselves a Black. Not only was he destined to be hated by his own kind, but James Potter seemed rather determined to make Sirius's life in Gryffindor as miserable as possible.

He'd thought anything was better than Slytherin. He'd wanted so desperately to believe the Hat when it had told him he was brave. That he could be brave. That he was one of the bravest people ever placed in Gryffindor.

Lionheart, the Hat had called him.

Sirius knew it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. His wand was dying and there was darkness in his every crevice of his soul. Maybe it'd taken Slughorn's detention for James to see it, but James was fucking right.

Sirius Black didn't belong in Gryffindor.

Sirius clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle another sob. He couldn't do this. He couldn't pretend to be something he's not, he couldn't prove everyone wrong, he couldn't win back James Potter's friendship.

He wasn't brave enough to do this alone.

"Sirius?"

Sirius sat up, furiously wiping the tears from his face, thinking, for a second, that it was James coming to taunt him some more, but no. That was Remus's voice.

"Yeah?" he whispered.

"Can I…" Remus hesitated a bit. "Can I come in?"

Sirius considered this for a moment. What, in Merlin's name, could Remus possibly have to say to him? James had laid it all out: Sirius was a pure-blood. He wasn't meant to associate with half-bloods, no matter how much he suddenly wanted to.

"Sirius?"

Sirius surprised himself by tugging the hangings aside.

Remus gave him a small smile. His scars were even more pronounced in the pale lighting. "Scoot over," he demanded. "All the way."

Not knowing what else to do, Sirius obeyed, leaving a fair amount of room for Remus to lay down on his side, facing Sirius, without any risk of touching him.

"Are you alright?" Remus asked, settling his head on Sirius's spare pillow.

Sirius wasn't sure how to answer that. "No," he said, eventually.

Remus looked him over, but he made no mention of the tear tracks on Sirius's face. "Is it your family? Do you miss them?"

Sirius laughed, genuinely surprised at the question. "I don't think it's ever occurred to me that I should miss them. Regulus, sure, but not the rest of them."

"Is Regulus your brother?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, his voice soft. "He'll start here next year. We're only a year apart."

"You're close, then?"

Sirius gave him a wry smile. "We had to be. There's no surviving that place on your own."

Remus's eyes widened and Sirius watched the comprehension wash over his face.

"That's just the way it is with my family," Sirius said, softly.

He looked over at Remus. His eyes glowed amber in the darkness, his scars cast silver shadows across his face. It was mesmerizing, really, Remus Lupin's face in the darkness. Sirius suddenly felt that he had absolutely no right to be looking at it. "You don't have to do this, you know," Sirius said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Sirius turned on his back, staring at the ceiling instead of Remus's eyes. "Defend me," he whispered. "Be my friend. You don't have to."

Sirius could feel Remus staring at him. "I know," Remus said, eventually, but he didn't get up to leave.

Sirius tried to smile, tried to believe that he was allowed to have this, just this one thing: friendship with Remus Lupin. "But, so you know, even if we're not friends, I'm keeping that ballpoint you gave me. It's bloody wicked, that thing."

Remus laughed, then flopped on his back, mirroring Sirius's position and still keeping a distance between them. "You can keep it. I made sure to bring a whole pack of them. I'm not particularly fond of quills." He paused for a second, then smirked. "Muggles make ballpoints in a whole bunch of different colors. I'll get you some colorful ones for Christmas."

Remus said it so casually, like it'll all be okay, like they'll still be talking come Christmas. Sirius shot him a look. "What should I get you, then?"

Remus shrugged. "I like chocolate. A lot, actually. Still can't believe you don't."

"Can't help it, mate. I'm allergic. But I guess I'll buy you a shit-ton of chocolates, then."

"Thanks."

They were quiet for awhile, just lying awake, taking comfort in each other's presence. Sirius, despite that darkness currently gnawing away at his insides, found he was enjoying himself, even if nothing was said, because—Merlin knows why—Remus chose to spend time with him. Remus chose to check on him, to make sure he was okay.

No one but Regulus had ever bothered to ask after Sirius Black.

"Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

Remus turned his head a little to look at him. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

Remus smirked. "I asked the Hat to put me in Gryffindor. It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw."

Sirius's eyes went wide and he sat up. "What? Why?"

"Well, actually, it said I could be suited for either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Given the choice, I asked the Hat to put me in Gryffindor."

"But why would you—"

Remus gave him a look that said, Shut up, you moron. "I didn't particularly want to leave you alone with James, mad as he is. I thought you might need a friend."

Sirius opened and closed his mouth. He was having a bit of trouble wrapping his mind around this new development. "You chose Gryffindor… for me?"

Remus shrugged. "I suppose so. If the hat put you in Slytherin, I probably just would have gone with Ravenclaw. We wouldn't have been outright rivals that way, at least."

Sirius stared at him. He'd thought the same thing, before the Sorting. The only way him and Remus could even remain cordial if Sirius had been sorted into Slytherin was if Remus was likewise sorted into Ravenclaw. Sirius, of course, had thought that far ahead. He hadn't dared hope that Remus would too.

Remus winked at him. "Plus, I think I'm the only one who's figured out your secret."

Sirius felt his stomach do a backflip. Secret? He had a lot of secrets, none of which he particularly cared for Remus Lupin to know. If Remus knew, well. If Remus knew, he wouldn't have asked the Hat for Gryffindor. "Secret?" Sirius sputtered. "What—"

"You don't like to be touched."

On instinct, Sirius scooted a little farther away, should Remus decide he wanted to test his theory. "I, um, that's not—"

"More specifically," Remus continued, making no move to touch Sirius whatsoever, "it hurts you when someone else touches you."

"Er, I—"

"Did I get all that right?"

Sirius froze for a second, then whispered, "Yes."

Remus shifted a little, to face him better. "Am I allowed to ask why it hurts when someone touches you?"

Sirius considered it. He'd have to explain the tattoo, which would mean he'd have to explain his family's pure-blood fanaticism, which Remus could take the wrong way, especially considering he's a half-blood. Sirius wasn't prepared to give away that secret. Not yet, no matter what Andromeda had said in her letter.

An idea struck him and Sirius smirked. "Am I allowed to ask you where you really got your scars?"

Remus appeared rather startled by the question. "I fell out of a tree," he said, a bit too quickly.

Sirius flopped back down, onto his back. "No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No," Sirius repeated. He waved a finger at Remus's face, tracing the scars without touching them. "If you fell out of a tree, there'd be scratches everywhere. These… There's almost a pattern to them. They're too straight, too deep to possibly be from tree branches. So, no. You didn't fall out of a tree. Or, well, maybe you did, but that isn't how you got the scars on your face. So what…"

He trailed off, when he saw the terror flash across Remus's eyes.

Remus bowed his head. He suddenly looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Remus, I'm sorry," Sirius said, wanting to comfort him, but not knowing how. He couldn't touch him, goddamnit, not even to comfort him. "I didn't mean to—"

Bright amber eyes snapped up to meet his own. "I can't tell you, Sirius."

Sirius leaned in, as close as he dared. "Why not?" he whispered.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. "Because it's a horrible secret, the very worst kind there is. Because if I tell you, then you won't ever look at me again."

"Remus, look at me," Sirius said, deliberately. After a moment, Remus opened his eyes. "I know a thing or two about secrets, okay? Even dark and horrible ones. I expect we understand each other, then, about why we keep those kinds of secrets."

Remus held his gaze for a long moment. "Yes, I suppose we do."

They were silent for a moment, acknowledging the weight of each other's nightmares.

Then, Sirius grinned, wide and mischievous. "I have an idea."

Remus laughed a little. "Sounds dangerous. Tell me."

"When we get out of Hogwarts," Sirius said, a smile dancing on his lips, "we'll tell each other all our secrets, no matter how horrible they are. We'll be brave by then, both of us proper Gryffindors. Secrets won't matter anymore."

Remus looked away. "If we're still friends, that is."

A jolt of insecurity shot through Sirius and he stiffened. Did Remus not want to be friends? He'd never properly asked, didn't think he had to, but still. "What do you mean?" Sirius asked, not caring if his voice was a bit higher than normal. "Why wouldn't we still be friends?"

Remus shrugged. "Dunno. People change. You might change your mind about me."

Sirius gaped at him, because no fucking way. "I'm not going to get bored of you, Remus," he said, because there was no way in hell he ever would. "We're mates. That's that."

Letting out a breath, Remus said, "Okay, then. When we get out of Hogwarts, and if we're still friends, we'll get pissed and tell each other all of our horrible secrets because we'll be brave and it won't matter. But, until such time, we leave the secrets alone."

Sirius, who had been nodding along rather enthusiastically, stopped.

"Sirius?"

"Hypothetically," Sirius started, taking his time with pronouncing the word, "if in the mean time, say I were to find out a secret of yours—how you got your scars, for instance—it'd be fair game, right? I'd have discovered it all on my own. It wouldn't be a secret anymore. It'd only be fair, them, for you to tell me if I guessed it right."

Remus paused, and took a long moment to consider this. "Alright," he said. "But same goes for you. If I find out about your no touching thing, then, horrible secret or no, you tell me if I'm correct."

"Fair enough," Sirius said, fairly certain that even if that secret slipped, he'd be able to keep the rest under lock and key. He looked Remus over, suddenly wanting to trace the pale lines on his face. "I'm never going to stop trying to figure you out, Remus Lupin."

Remus smiled. "Same to you, Sirius Black."

"Will you stay here tonight?" Sirius whispered. "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to."

"What about your—?" Remus gestured to the space between them. "I don't want to roll over on you in the middle of the night."

Sirius reached behind him and grabbed an extra pillow. He maneuvered it between them. There was just enough room on the bed for them to fit comfortably, even with the pillow separating them.

"That okay?" Sirius asked.

"Works for me," Remus replied.

Sirius was still in his robes, but he didn't care. He didn't want to move right now and he didn't think it was worth getting up from this bed. "Goodnight, Remus," he whispered. "And thanks. For everything."

Remus gave him a sleepy smile and closed his eyes. "Night, Sirius."