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.

7. Pay the Ferryman

NOVEMBER 3, 1971

Sirius shivered, clutching his cloak tight against his chest. He'd transfigured it, a little bit longer and a little bit heavier, to combat the cold weather, but it still did little against the wind outside the castle. Snow flurried around him, coating the ground and, much to his annoyance, his hair. His breath came out in little frozen puffs.

He'd barely reached up to knock on the enormous door to Hagrid's hut when Andromeda threw it open and nearly tackled him in a hug. She was laughing, almost manically, and Sirius returned it. He wrapped his arms around her waist and let her warmth surround him.

After a minute, Andromeda pulled back, cupping his probably-frostbitten face in her hands. "Happy fucking birthday, kid," she said, a grin spread wide across her face.

Inside, Hagrid crouched over the hearth, stoking the flames, and coaxing a kettle to boil. He stood, when Andromeda and Sirius walked in, and clapped his gigantic hands together. "Sirius!" Hagrid boomed. "So glad you could make it. Spot hasn't shut up about missin' you since you left. She's even saved you a seat."

Hagrid gestured to the table, where two large chairs were pulled out. On the one nearest them, Spot, the orange-striped kneazle, sat, curled around herself, her tail flicking, and her large, green eyes locked on Sirius. She jumped down, as elegantly as a lioness, and pranced right up to Sirius, wrapping her long tail around his leg. She purred.

"Oh, she's quite taken with you, Sirius," Hagrid said, with a deep, bubbling chuckle. "No surprise, really. Professor Cuckoo says yer the top of his class, did ya know that?"

Sirius hadn't, and shook his head. If he was at the top of his Care of Magical Creatures class, it was only because Remus was the absolute worst when it came to the handling of magical creatures. He'd come within a few feet—or sometimes even just within a thousand meters—and every creature, from Hickory Dave to Professor Cuckoo's flobberworms, seemed to lose their shit. Sirius spent most lessons first calming down Remus, who took great offence at the creatures' distaste for him, and then consoling whatever creature had been traumatised for the day. He had a knack for handling the creatures, sure, but he hadn't really thought it was anything out of the ordinary.

Spot hooked her tail around the back of his knee and more or less dragged Sirius to one of the giant chairs. He sat, obediently, and Spot immediately hopped into his lap and went to sleep.

"She's… nice," Sirius said, and he meant it. Mostly. She hadn't try to claw him to shreds just yet.

For the record, Sirius still hated cats.

"That she is," Hagrid said, with a burst of pride. "Wanted to wish you happy birthday, Sirius. Woulda baked you a cake if Andy had given me any warning that you'd be comin' by today."

Andy?! Sirius mouthed to Andromeda, when Hagrid turned his back to grab the kettle. Andromeda ran a finger across her throat, demanding his silence on pain of death.

"Er, thanks, Hagrid," Sirius managed, after another pointed glare for Andromeda. "It was kind of a… last minute thing."

It had been, too. Andromeda had written him that morning: a short note that wished him a happy birthday and then went into vague allusions to a viable plan to keep Sirius at Hogwarts over Christmas. Sirius had scribbled back a hasty reply, then had ducked out of History of Magic the second Professor Binns began his lecture.

"Well," Hagrid said, clapping his hands together once more, after handing off the kettle to Andromeda. "I'll leave ya to it, then."

"No," Andromeda said, her voice genuinely kind. She set the kettle down on the table next to Sirius. "No, Hagrid, please stay. It's not fair for us to kick you out of your home, especially when it's snowing."

"Aw, it's all right," Hagrid said. He grabbed his cloak from a hook above the door. "I've gotta tend the hippogriff herd. It's calving season, y'know. Merlin knows why the daft creatures insist on birthin' in the middle o' winter, but I'm not going to question them. Delicate sensibilities, those hippogriffs." Hagrid turned back to face them. He bent down a little and winked at Andromeda. "Besides, the less I know about the dealings of the Black family, the longer I'll live, I expect."

Andromeda and Sirius exchanged a look. It wasn't like Hagrid was wrong about that.

"Thank you for lending us your house, Hagrid," Andromeda said. "I'll make sure Ted sends some nutrient potions your way for the baby hippogriffs."

Hagrid smiled, and maybe a tear welled in the corner of his eye. Sirius couldn't quite tell. "Thanks, Andy. Happy birthday, Sirius."

Spot let out a growl as the door opened and let in a blast of cold air, but was back to purring the second it slammed closed again behind Hagrid.

"So," Andromeda said, raising an eyebrow. She flicked her wand at the kettle and it levitated off the table, pouring tea into two separate mugs. "You didn't bring your friends."

It wasn't an accusation, per se. Not really. But something about Andromeda's tone of voice sent Sirius's insides bubbling. It was almost like she pitied him. He felt his face flush red. "I, er. Um. Well—"

"You didn't tell them it was your birthday."

"I, um. No."

Andromeda's face softened. "You could have, Siri. From what it sounds like, they would love to celebrate with you."

"I know," Sirius mumbled. "Party of the century, probably. I don't know, I just…"

"Never really celebrated it before?" she asked. Sirius's eyes snapped to hers. She waved her hand, dismissively. "I was the same way, when I came to Hogwarts. I didn't really celebrate my birthday until Ted figured out when it was, in fourth year."

Sirius laughed a little. "Yeah, well. Remus figured mine out, too. He broke into McGonagall's office during detention and stole a file with my name on it. He gave me a Muggle book last night. We stayed up reading it."

"He… broke into McGonagall's office?!" Andromeda repeated, barking a laugh. "Merlin, where is this Remus? I want to meet him."

Sirius suddenly felt like the floor had been torn out from under him. "He…"

Merlin, Sirius didn't know what to say. He's gone to see his family, but he'll be back later today, hopefully, but he probably won't be in one piece. They hurt him, you know. He has scars. He has so many fucking scars and I can't do anything to—

No.

Even if Sirius thought Andromeda could help Remus, it wasn't Sirius's secret to tell.

So, Sirius repeated the company line: "His mother's sick. He had to go visit her."

Andromeda nodded. "I'm sorry he couldn't be here to celebrate, then."

Sirius put on a brave face and waved her off. "I thought we were coming up with a scheme to keep me away from the Warden."

"Mm, same thing. But, before I forget…" Andromeda reached under the table and shoved a box at Sirius. It wasn't wrapped, just a wooden box marked ZONKO'S. "Ted and I thought that since you have something of a proclivity for pranks, these might help you out."

Inside was the best assortment of joke products that Sirius had seen outside a store. Dungbombs and Sticky Straws, Frog Spawn Soap, and Nose-Biting Teacups. Sirius grinned up at his cousin.

"Thanks, Andy," he said, snickering a little at the horrible nickname.

"Call me that again and I will quite literally shove a Dungbomb down your throat."

Sirius grabbed the box and pushed it well out of her reach, just as a precaution. She was a Slytherin, after all. Spot growled on his lap and peeked one eye open, glaring at Andromeda, before closing her eyes once more.

Andromeda sipped her tea. "Ted and I have something of a plan."

"Oh?" Sirius ran a cautious hand along Spot's back. She preened, arched, then settled down with a contented pur.

"Have you heard of the Slug Club?"

Sirius pulled a face. "I got an invitation at the start of term, but it was… er, revoked almost immediately. Slughorn didn't like that I'd fessed up to that whole mess with Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express."

Andromeda hummed sympathetically. "No, he wouldn't. He's all about amassing power and talent, collecting the brightest wizards of the age under his fat, little thumb. He wouldn't like a snitch amongst the ranks, especially one who is more loyal to someone else other than him. Such a person is dangerous to a man like Slughorn."

"Makes sense why I was uninvited, then."

Andromeda shrugged. "Are you decent at potions?"

"I'm fucking phenomenal at potions," Sirius said, puffing up his chest a little. "Or, well, when I'm not always fixing Remus's mistakes. He says everything smells funny and he can't concentrate."

"Good," she said. "That's good."

Sirius narrowed his eyes, confused. "Why, exactly, is that good?"

"Ted and I were both in the Slug Club. Me, well, because I'm a Black, and Ted because he's a goddamned prodigy in potions. Slughorn even made a donation when Ted announced he was going to open his apothecary. 'Course, now that means that Ted gives ol' Sluggy the first choice of all the potions ingredients from his suppliers, but that's besides the point."

"All right," Sirius said, slowly, waiting for her to get to the point.

"Slughorn has every reason to want you in the Club, even if he thinks you're a snitch and more loyal to your friends than to him or your family. You're still a Black. More specifically, you're the heir. With a little prompting, I'm absolutely positive me and Ted could convince Slughorn to send you another invite."

Sirius frowned. He didn't particularly want to be part of any club that only wanted him for his name and station, let alone one run by the Head of Slytherin. "Okay, but what would that—"

"Slughorn has a Christmas party every year," Andromeda said, with a conspiratorial smirk on her face. She took another sip of her tea. "It's exclusive. Prestigious. He only takes the best. Narcissa got her first invite this year, even though she's been in the Slug Club since her first year."

Sirius's eyes widened as the pieces started to fall into place. "You're saying that—"

"If Ted and I can convince Slughorn to send you an invite, there's a chance that the Warden will let you stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. It'll be an honour. Might earn you some brownie points with your mum and dad."

"Not enough to make them forget I'm a Gryffindor," Sirius muttered.

"But maybe just enough to let you stay," Andromeda countered. "It might be putting of the inevitable, Siri, but it'll buy you some time. You can't go home now. Not while that incident with Malfoy is fresh in their minds. I won't let—"

Her voice took on a desperate edge and she choked a little. She knew what that meant for him just as much as he did.

Andromeda swallowed past the apparent lump in her throat. "I think this'll work, Siri. I've got to at least try."

He nodded, slowly, honestly taken aback by the ferocity in her eyes. No one had ever—

That is… Merlin.

No one had ever been this desperate to save him. He loved her for it.

"Alright, 'Dromeda," he said. "It's worth a try."

Something dangerous… something as horrifying as hope began to swirl in the pit of his stomach. It was such an unfamiliar feeling that he almost didn't recognise it.

A wild and wicked smile cracked across Andromeda's face and her silver eyes twinkled just a little. "Perfect. Ted and I will write a few letters and send them off tonight. Do you think it's too much I refer to you as 'the shining star on the Black family tree'?"

"Merlin," Sirius groaned, felling his cheeks flush pink. "I'm not sure Slughorn would appreciate poetry."

She laughed. "No, I suppose not. I'll be sure to mention the wandless magic, though. A man like Slughorn will salivate at power and skill like that. Has he seen you do any of it yet?"

Sirius frowned. He glanced down at his hands, a few sparks of magic jumping between his fingers as he stroked Spot. He rarely thought about his wandless magic, if he was honest. It was just… natural to him, by now. Like breathing. More often than not, he found himself forgetting that wandless magic didn't come naturally to most wizards. Objectively, of course, he knew it was rare. His mother, with all her bragging, had solidified that fact in his mind years ago. He knew his skill and precision, in particular, were practically unheard of, especially for his age.

For the most part, Sirius chalked it up to his bloodline and his years of boredom in Grimmauld Place, with nothing to do to pass the long hours between beatings and lectures but practice twirling that incessant pull of his own magic between his fingers until it did something productive.

To him, wandless magic was ordinary.

Like fucking breathing.

He hardly took his wand anywhere these days, but he couldn't say anyone had really noticed—outside of his friends and Lily Evans and maybe the Prewetts—other than McGonagall. She watched him like a hawk in Transfiguration, ready to tell him off if he so much as thought about trying a spell without using his wand. Given that the spells he did with his wand always backfired, Sirius was half-convinced that, at this point, McGonagall just liked watching things quite literally blow up in his face.

"No," Sirius said, after a moment. "Slughorn hasn't seen it. No one has, really. Or no one's noticed."

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "I guarantee you that the Slytherins have noticed. Malfoy's noticed. No one can do the things you can without a wand, Sirius, except maybe Dumbledore, and I doubt even Dumbledore could at your age."

Well. That opened the door to a whole slew of questions Sirius had never even considered about himself.

He'd never bothered questioning his magic before. It was just… natural.

He was starting to realise that maybe he didn't want to think about it. If it had anything to do with his bloodline, the answers were probably Dark.

"It'll intrigue Slughorn, at the very least," Andromeda said, completely oblivious to how fast Sirius's heart was beating. "You'd make a shiny new addition to his collection."

"Great," Sirius muttered. But if it kept him from Grimmauld over the holidays… He swallowed the swirling questions and managed a smile. Barely, because—

There was another question, burning the back of his tongue, that he'd waited to ask her for months and months, one that he wasn't certain he actually wanted to hear the answer, but…

"Andromeda?" he said, and Merlin, his voice sounded small.

"Yeah?"

"How long have you and Ted been together?" It was out of his mouth before he could stop it, rephrase it, or broach the subject from another angle, because Merlin. That was not the right question.

"Officially? Since sixth year. Friends since about third. Don't tell my mum, though. Not that you would." She stopped, then narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Just… wondering." Fuck. It really shouldn't be this difficult, but—

Sirius was terrified of the answer.

Andromeda gave him an unimpressed look. "Ask the question, Sirius."

Merlin, she was good. Slytherin to the core.

"How do you and Ted…" Sirius made a vague hand gesture. "Y'know."

"I'm not explaining the birds and bees to you, Sirius."

Sirius groaned in frustration. "No. Merlin, no. That's not what I meant."

She smirked. "I know."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. "You… know?"

Of course she did.

"You want to know how I can touch Ted Tonks when he's Muggle-born and I have this handy-dandy magic tattoo right above my heart."

"I… Yes."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why—" She smirked at him, something he didn't quite recognise dancing in her eyes. "—do you want to know?"

"I—"

Because I can't touch any of my friends. Because I can't shake their hands, or clap them on the back, or hug them when they're sad or in pain. Because walking through the halls is one of the worst thing I've experienced and I can't let anyone know how much it fucking hurts me.

Because every time I touch Remus Lupin, I think the pain's going to burn me alive.

Sirius swallowed around the lump in his throat and forced his voice to be calm. "Because you found a way around the tattoo. And I want to know how."

This time, a strange wariness flashed across her face. "It's… It's not as simple as that, Siri. To fight a curse like that, you've got to be willing to do the same kind of magic."

Sirius felt his blood run cold. "You mean… The cure… It's Dark?"

"It's not a cure," she said, slowly. "Ted's the only one I can touch that's not pure-blood. It's a blood-binding, a long and complicated ritual and it's… Sirius, it's permanent and forever and no, it's not Dark, but it's more powerful than you can fucking imagine and I—"

She pulled up short.

"What?" he prompted, needing to hear her finish the thought.

She grimaced. "It's not anything that can be taken lightly, Sirius. It's not something you can do just so you can be closer to your friends. It doesn't work like that."

"But you and Ted did it." Merlin, his voice sounded small and pleading, like a fucking child.

"Because Ted and I are forever," she said, like it was that simple. "We have been, since the very day I met him."

And Sirius nodded, because he understood. Because that was what he needed to hear, even if it shattered any hope he might have had for a way around the tattoo.

A blood-binding. Forever. That was a hell of a lot to ask of anyone.

"Thanks, Andromeda. I… Just… Thanks."

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you more." She gave him a warm smile. "Happy birthday, Sirius."

"You've given me a chance, at Christmas. And… answers," he said, returning the smile. "That's more than enough."

On his lap, Spot yawned, and stretched, digging her claws into Sirius's thigh before hopping down. Silently, he cursed the stupid creature. That fucking hurt.

Spot yawned again, then curled up on top of his feet.

Andromeda finished her tea and cast a Timus. "Merlin, I'd better get going. I told Ted I'd man the register for the afternoon crowd."

"Ted has an afternoon crowd? At an apothecary? What, in Merlin's name, is he selling?"

Andromeda laughed and shoved his shoulder. "I should hope he has an afternoon crowd, because he was closed all morning." At Sirius's tilted head and raised eyebrow, she continued. "Merlin, Siri, we were up half the night last night. Ted's shop is on the northern edge of Hogsmeade, right? There's this Shack, just up the hill, and the noises. People are saying it's haunted, but you'd have thought someone was being disemboweled in there."

"The Shrieking Shack?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, that's the one. You've heard of it?"

"Dumbledore mentioned it at the welcome feast. He said some nasty spirits took up residence or something."

"Nasty's an understatement," Andromeda muttered, standing and gathering her cloak. She paused, her face scrunched up a bit. "Thing is, ghosts exist everywhere, right? They're all over Hogwarts, but they're hardly ever violent, not even the Bloody Baron or Nearly Headless Nick, who both have more than enough cause to be bitter and cruel in the afterlife. But mostly they're just—I don't know—bored with the prospect of eternity. Vengeance and violence don't seem to matter much when you don't have a body anymore."

"So… You don't think the Shrieking Shack's haunted." Sirius said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"I don't know if it's a ghost or a monster or a bloody serial killer," Andromeda said, drawing out her words. "I just think that whatever's in the Shrieking Shack, it's in more pain than any creature, living or dead, could possibly imagine. And I think it breaks my heart, just a little, for anyone to be in that much pain."

Sirius couldn't get her words out of his head for the entire trek back to the castle.

NOVEMBER 4, 1971

"Sirius? Christ, Sirius wake up!"

Someone smacked him in the face with a pillow and Sirius nearly leapt out of his skin.

Remus scrambled to the other side of the bed, deftly dodging Sirius's flaying limbs, using a spare pillow as a shield between them.

"Fuck," Sirius muttered, his heart still in his throat. Whether from the nightmare or the abrupt wakeup call, he couldn't tell. "What time is it?"

"Around three," Remus said, lowering the pillow and cautiously settling back against the headboard. There was a faint glow, peeking through the hangings on Sirius's bed from the almost-full moon looming outside the window. Remus wore pyjamas, a pinstriped, button up top and matching pants. He had a nick across the bridge of his nose and gauze bandages around his wrists poked out from beneath both sleeves, causing them to bunch a little at the cuffs. Two of his fingers on his left hand were taped together, from knuckle to nail, the tips just a little bit purple.

Merlin, Sirius felt every scrape, every bruise, every damn broken finger as if it were his own, because how could anyone keep sending a kid like Remus—wonderful, perfect, kind-beyond-all-logic Remus—home when he comes back looking like that?

Sirius was going to tear whoever did this in half. He swore it on every beautiful freckle on Remus's face.

But maybe not tonight.

Sirius scrubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry." He squinted at Remus in the almost-darkness. In the dull light, Sirius could make out the bags under his eyes. "When did you get back?"

Remus didn't respond for a long moment and Sirius almost believed he'd fallen asleep sitting up or forgotten or maybe Remus had miraculously decided they weren't going to talk about the fact that Sirius was having one hell of a nightmare until about forty four seconds ago, but then: "You were talking in your sleep."

Fuck.

"That…" Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. "That happens sometimes."

Remus's voice sounded small in the dark. "Is... All that. It's really going to happen, isn't it? When you go home."

Sirius, despite his still-thumping heart and the tangy taste of blood in his mouth from where he'd undoubtedly bit his tongue in his sleep—and, well, maybe it wasn't all just Remus's pain he felt tonight—because he wracked his brain for the remnants of his nightmare, desperate to figure out what Remus could have heard, but then—

It didn't matter. It was all the same, anyway.

His mother and her wand pointed at him and curses and Kreacher and pain pain pain.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remind himself that he was awake.

Safe. Here, with Remus Lupin.

Safe.

"If history's any indication," he muttered, "if I go home, I'm royally fucked."

He could see it, plain as day, in Remus's eyes. Remus Lupin, of all people, knew what that meant.

Remus settled into the space beside him, nestled as close to Sirius as the pillow between them would allow, a warm and lingering presence that was more comfort than Sirius would care to admit to anyone.

"'If you go home'?" Remus asked, quietly, and maybe there was a note of forbidden hope in his voice.

"Andromeda has a plan," Sirius said, and he quickly reiterated the conversation from Hagrid's hut.

"Do you think it'll work?"

"I don't know," Sirius whispered, because, honestly, he hadn't allowed himself to think about it much outside of his conversation with Andromeda.

Hope was a dangerous thing and, Merlin knows, it was so easily extinguished. There were so many factors at play: Andromeda, Ted, Slughorn, his mother. The inevitably cruel hand of fate that seemed to have it in for him.

Finding an impossible hope, then having it snuffed out… It was enough to make any sane person dangerous.

A thing like that… It would break Sirius Black in two, and he knew it. He felt it in his bones.

Sirius knew what it would cost him if he allowed himself to hope.

That lasted until breakfast.

Sirius—who was certainly not accustomed to receiving letters, unless he was expecting something from Andromeda—glanced up from his tea to see a large, grumpy owl deposit a neatly-folded letter right on top of his toast. After a raised eyebrow from a barely-conscious Remus and a somewhat confused frown from James, Sirius shooed the bird away and flicked off the little bits of jam from the corners of the envelope. He broke the seal.

Mr. Black,

It seems, rather, that you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. Regardless of that business with Lucius Malfoy and the Potter boy, I have found you to be an exceptional student in my classes. I hear from your other professors that you possess an above average intelligence and a strong proclivity towards magic. It doesn't surprise me, given your family. I've never known a Black to shirk in their pursuits, magical or otherwise.

To demonstrate my heartfelt apologies and perhaps to turn over a new leaf between us, I would like to cordially invite you to a little Christmas gathering I'm hosting in my office over the holidays. First years are hardly ever in attendance at my Christmas gatherings, but it would be my honour to see you seated amongst your peers and two of your classmates who've also garnered an invitation.

Best regards,

Professor Horace Slughorn

Sirius read the letter through twice, just to make sure he hadn't made it up.

This was a way out.

It'd fucking worked.

He felt the smile spread across his face.

"Sirius?" Remus asked, his eyes flicking to the letter as he sipped his tea.

He passed the letter to Remus. James crowded close to read over Remus's shoulder.

Something like triumph danced in Remus's eyes when he looked up. "Andromeda?" he asked.

"Seems like," Sirius said, and Merlin, hope never tasted so sweet. Who cared if it was dangerous? He'd won!

"I can't believe this!" James said, emphatically, snatching the letter from Remus's hands to read it more closely. "He's apologising to you!"

"Yeah, well," Sirius said, casually. "'Dromeda reminded Slughorn that I'm a Black and that I'm something of a prodigy. Slughorn collects prodigies, you see, so—"

"He apologised to you and now is begging you to come to his Christmas dinner. He's a goddamned kiss-arse!"

"You'd be surprised how many people would leap at the chance to kiss my arse, Potter. You'll have to wait your turn." James made a face that so clearly said Not in a million years, Black. Sirius barked a laugh. "Besides. It keeps me here."

The annoyance washed out of James's face at that and he changed tactics. "Yes, well, if I'd known that all we had to do is mention your name or prestige and all the professors will fall at your feet—"

"Except McGonagall," Peter cut in, helpfully.

"—Except McGonagall, I'd have been taking advantage of you since the day we met, Black."

Part of Sirius wanted to call bullshit, because James had hated him for his name, just as McGonagall still did, but he wasn't going to ruin the high he was feeling at not having to return to Grimmauld Place.

"I wonder who the other two first years who got an invite are," Peter said, now leaning over the table to read the letter that was still clasped in James's hand.

"It's got to be Remus," James said, slinging his free arm over Remus's shoulders. "His cauldron only exploded once last week. That's gotta be a record. Certainly something to get him on Slughorn's radar."

Remus groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Lily got one," Marlene McKinnon said, unashamedly butting into their conversation. She shuffled closer, sandwiching Peter against Remus across from Sirius. Marlene eyed him closely, before, after a moment, he forked over the letter. Marlene stroked her green beard as she read, in a way that uncomfortably reminded Sirius of Dumbledore, when he was pontificating.

Dorcas Meadows peered over, resting her own purple beard—Merlin, this was getting out of hand—on Marlene's shoulder.

"Yeah, she got it this morning," Dorcas Meadows said.

"Sirius, can you get me an invitation?" James asked, his eyes on Sirius wide and pleading.

Ordinarily, this was the point in the conversation where Lily Evans appeared and dumped pumpkin juice on James Potter's head.

Ignoring James completely, Sirius leaned over his place and glanced down the table. "Where is Evans?"

Dorcas swallowed and gestured in the vague direction of Gryffindor tower. "She went up to the common room. She got another letter from her—"

Marlene elbowed her in the ribs. They exchanged a hard look and something passed between them, an acknowledged truth, a story to stick to.

"She's in the common room, but she wants to be left alone right now," Marlene said.

James's eyes nearly leapt out of his head. He started to get to his feet, but Remus's firm grip on his arm yanked him back down. "Why? Is she okay? What happened? Lily, is she all right? What—"

Remus clamped a hand over James's mouth, much to everyone's relief.

Sirius, in a much more calm and reasonable voice, said, "What's wrong?"

Another silent conversation passed between Marlene and Dorcas, this one including vague hand gestures and frustrated glares, culminating in Dorcas shoving her palm in Marlene's face. Marlene grumbled something about surrender, then, with an eye-roll, Dorcas said to Sirius, "You can go." Her gaze cut to James and turned icy cold. The effect was only slightly less intimidating with the purple beard. "But only Sirius."

Sirius stood, pushed back the bench, and was out the door before he saw Remus deposit Peter into James's lap in order to keep James put.

Sirius thought the common room was empty when he crawled through the portrait hole. He turned right, ready to brave the impossible stairs that led to the girls' dorms, when he heard a faint sob.

He spun on his heel.

Lily sat cross-legged on the floor, by the hearth. Her shoulders were haunched and shook every time she sobbed. Bright red hair curtained her face, a few strands sticking to her cheeks.

Sirius walked over, slowly and silently, and sat down across from her.

She sniffed, then hastily wiped her face. "Christ," she muttered. "Didn't even hear you come in."

Lily fussed with her hair and wiped her cheeks again with the sleeves of her robe, trying to appear presentable.

Sirius ducked his head a bit to catch her eye. "You don't have to stop crying just because I'm here, Evans. I don't give a shit if you cry."

He'd known her for a little more than two months, and she'd already seen him have most of a meltdown. Even if he was the shittiest person in the world, he'd never hold a few tears against her.

Bright green eyes met his, wide and tear-stained, searching his soul for any hint of duplicity. She sniffed again, but did not cry. "Why are you here, Sirius?"

He shrugged. "Didn't feel like sitting through breakfast."

Lily didn't buy it. "Dee sent you?"

Another shrug. "If it makes you feel any better, Marlene didn't seem too happy about it."

"It does, actually."

Lily was quiet for a moment, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths, her eyes trained towards her lap instead of at Sirius. There was a crumpled letter resting on her legs. It was paper, instead of parchment, and looked like it had been torn directly out of a larger book of some kind. The ink was blue, the handwriting large and ostentatious, and so slanted that Sirius didn't even try to make out the words upside down.

Sirius shuffled a little, reaching for words of comfort, but he didn't have any. Merlin, he was shit at this. Why was all this so much easier with Remus?

After a long silence, he made a vague gesture at the letter, and forced himself to ask, "Your family?"

Her nose scrunched up a little. "Yeah. How'd you—"

"Because everyone tries to hide the pain caused by their families," he said, the words coming out before he has a chance to really think. Lily's eyes went wide and he knew he'd guessed that much right, at least. He let out a breath, then, while pointedly touching a finger to the spot over his heart and the horrible words hidden beneath his robes, Sirius said, "They're supposed to love you, take care of you, but… It doesn't always work out like that, does it?"

Lily shook her head, slowly, side to side, her eyes never leaving his. Merlin, he almost hated how she did that, how she looked at him like she's the goddamned cartographer of his madness and insecurities. His skin prickled, because when Lily Evans looked at him like that, it meant that she'd figured him out, knew every fucking thing about him, every dark secret and silent tragedy.

It terrified him and he wanted to hate her for seeing right through him, but—

There was a small part of him that was fucking relieved.

If she'd figured him out, he'd never have to say his secrets out loud.

Then she smiled, her lips quirking up in a wry smile, and it was acknowledgement and understanding and absolution and all the things he was certain he didn't deserve, because this wasn't about him, goddamnit.

"Yeah," she said, gesturing to the letter and yanking him right back to the moment. "It's my sister. Petunia."

Sirius barked a laugh, and it was out of place and ill-fitting, but he couldn't stop it. "Petunia is a stupid name."

The smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was there, just a twinge of her lip, a tug at the freckles on her cheek, just enough to let him know that she appreciated his attempt to make her feel better.

"She's older than me by four years and she's always been a bit… much," Lily said, after a moment. "She's very proud, always worried about what everyone else thinks about us. She's so much like my mum, in that. It was just how they were, Petunia especially. Staunch, and uptight, but kind, deep down. That is until…"

Lily trailed off as a tear trailed down her cheek. She caught it, just as it reached the tip of her nose, and she looked at her fingers like she was surprised to see them wet.

Sirius had an inexplicable urge to reach out and grab her hand, make her forget about the stray tear, or maybe wrap her in a hug and let her cry properly, but he couldn't.

So he didn't.

And he felt horrible about it.

"Did you know that Dumbledore hand-delivers Hogwarts letters to Muggle-born first years?" she asked.

Sirius shook his head, his eyes wide, because he hand't.

"It makes sense, really," Lily said, in a voice that oozed practicality. "What a shock, right? Imagine being perfectly ordinary parents, with perfectly ordinary children, until one day, a fucking bird shows up with a letter and promises admittance to a special school of magic."

Sirius almost got lost in the image of it all: a world without magic, growing up without owl post and magical tutors and tomes upon tomes of ancient, magical books. "That had to be so—"

"Boring?" Lily supplied, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Mundane? Monotonous?"

"No, Merlin," Sirius muttered, then searched desperately for the right word, before she could fill in the blank for him again.

A world without magic wasn't something he could properly comprehend.

Sirius didn't rememberer his own first experience with magic. If his mother's braggart stories were to be believed, he'd summoned more food to his plate before his first birthday. His magic ebbed and flowed from his hands as easily as breathing. He could feel it, too, flowing through his veins, every second of every day. It felt like life itself, wild and phenomenal, all at once. It wasn't something he could even fathom living without. Or even… not knowing it was there.

"Inexplicable," he decided, because that was the best word for it.

And Lily gave him a look like… like she was almost proud of him.

"So, Dumbledore shows up and explains it all," Lily continued. "Asks if I've ever done anything special or extraordinary and then starts explaining magic to my perfectly ordinary parents. And Petunia."

"But not to you?" Sirius asked, gently.

Lily shook her head. "I knew what I was. Severus—" Sirius pulled a face at the mention of Snape, but at Lily's glare, forced his features back to neutral. "Severus explained it all to me a few months before Dumbledore came. He said I was magic and would get a wand and go to Hogwarts, just like him. He always said I was special and he told Petunia off for calling me a freak."

And, Merlin, what a thought that was. This, all of this—his entire world—was all so new to her. He tried to imagine the grandiose sense of wonder that she must have felt when she'd found out, when she realised she wasn't like everything else.

He wondered what she thought when she'd first seen the ceiling in the Great Hall. Auclair said it was meant to mesmerise the lower-borns. What had it been like when she'd seen the stars from inside the castle for the first time?

What had it been like when she'd first tasted magic?

He had a more difficult time trying to imagine Snape explaining it to her.

"Oh," was all he could manage.

"My dad was thrilled. Even my mum played nice," Lily said. A ghost of a smile flashed across her face, before disappearing so fast Sirius wasn't quite sure it'd really been there in the first place. "You should've seen my dad shaking Dumbledore's hand. You'd have thought he was the Prime Minister or something."

Lily's fingers tightened around the letter and her eyes filled up with tears. "After Dumbledore left, though, Petunia let loose. She called me a freak and an abomination and kept saying that magic was unnatural and unholy."

"Unholy?!" he asked, because of all the words that could be used to describe magic, unholy seemed… blasphemous.

Unholy. Because, really, it didn't get more fucked up than that. Anyone else—Muggle, or Squib, or fucking vampire—would kill for just the slightest taste of a witch or wizard's magic. It couldn't be unholy, this itch that was buried under his skin, under Lily's skin, under the skin of any and every witch or wizard that had ever held a wand.

Magic was like fucking breathing.

She nodded, swallowing something of a sob that threatened to bubble over. "Petunia and Mum can be religious, when it suits them. Not enough to go to church every Sunday—or even on Easter or Christmas, really—but just enough to call down the wrath of God in order to prove a point." She paused, then met Sirius's eyes, and deadpanned: "Witchcraft invokes the power of the devil."

"Really?" Sirius asked, deciding that was probably the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "If I'd've known that, I'd have summoned the armies of darkness to torment my mother ages ago. Thanks for the tip."

This earned him the laugh and the eye roll he'd been hoping for.

Lily wiped her eyes. "My dad managed to move the conversation away from fire and brimstone, eventually, but Petunia refused to speak to me, even right before I left."

"Merlin," he said, half under his breath.

"What?" Lily prompted, a wary of the expression flickering in the depths of her eyes. "If you're about to say something nasty about my family, then you have another thing coming, Sirius Black, because—"

"No!" He held up his hands in surrender. "No. I just… I never realized that the prejudice went both ways."

Because Salazar's balls, what a thought that was. Petunia Evans hated Lily for her magic, same as Walburga Black would hate Lily for the exact same reason. They'd both call Lily unclean, unnatural, a freak of nature. Mudblood. One hated out of spite and envy, then called it unholy out of convenience, because Lily Evans had something that her sister could never even dream of possessing. The other's hatred was more sinister, perhaps, because it was rooted in an ancient repository of superiority complexes, ideals of purity, and centuries of conditioned malice.

He'd never thought it would come to this: that someone could be hated in the way that Lily Evans was. By her family, by her world, by his world, attacked and berated on all sides simply because she has magic in her veins same as him.

A fire gurgled in his belly, something just a little bit dangerous and ready to ignite in the face of injustice.

Lily Evans didn't deserve this.

She watched him closely, cataloging the emotions that flashed in his eyes, that manifest by the clenching and unclenching of his fists. Without saying anything, she handed over the tear-stained paper.

Lily,

Mum and Dad asked me to convey their elation and approval that you've been invited to attend the magical ball hosted by your school over the coming holidays. They regret that you'll be unable to come home for Christmas, but understand that you've made new friends and would greatly prefer to spend time with your own kind. Dad said to be sure to inform you that they've put a gift for you in the post, but we're not quite sure if it'll reach you before Christmas, if ever, given that it's not being delivered by way of one of those ridiculous birds.

Of course, I know that there is no ball over the holidays, but I thought it best if you not come home. Mum's having guests over and, well, there's really no need to frighten Gran with your incessant little parlour tricks. It would really put a damper on things here, and we can't have the neighbours thinking you're off to a school for troubled children or something. Mum and Dad have a sort of standing in this community and, well, frankly, you put all that in jeopardy with all your talk of magic and unnatural things.

I expect there'll be some function or other you'll have to attend over Easter as well. So, we will not be seeing you until the summer holidays. And when you do come home, I expect that you will not bore us to death with excessive talk about your school or unholy practices.

Petunia

The word unholy had been underlined three times.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, his voice thick with building emotion. "No one should ever have the right to say those things to you. Not Malfoy, or the Slytherins, or your own goddamned sister."

Merlin, because if Regulus said that sort of thing to him, Sirius was fairly certain he'd drop dead on the spot.

Lily took the letter back from him, tossed it unceremoniously into the hearth, then flicked her wand at it. The letter disintegrated in a quick burst of flame.

"Maybe it's for the best," Lily mumbled. "I've written my parents every week since I arrived at Hogwarts. Long letters, too, explaining all the things that they'll never be able to understand or see but—" She sniffed, again, then wiped her cheeks. "This is the first time I've heard from any of them."

"Do your mum and dad feel the same way Petunia does about magic?" Sirius asked.

Lily shook her head. "My dad doesn't. He was so excited when Dumbledore came. But, my mum… I think she's the same as Petunia, except she won't even risk writing it down or saying it out loud. That would mean acknowledging the fact that I'm a witch."

Her eyes turned to the smouldering remains of Petunia's letter. "I thought by writing them, they'd come to understand it all better, maybe see how happy and natural this is for me. It's… Except for Severus, I've never met anyone like me before. Hogwarts feels like home to me." She managed a small smile. "Even if I'm constantly fending off Potter's marriage proposals."

Sirius barked a laugh. "He was ready to storm Gryffindor tower when he heard you were upset."

"Well, thank you for stopping him. I'm not sure I could tolerate James Potter at the moment."

"Thank Remus," Sirius said. "He forced Peter to give James a lap dance and provided me with ample opportunity to escape."

She laughed. "Oh, Christ, I think I would've paid to see that."

"It was quite the sight," he said, more for the benefit of her imagination, given that he hadn't stayed long enough to really see it either. He leaned forward a bit, hands on his knees, a wicked smirk creeping up his face. "Now. We must begin planing for mischief making over Christmas, Evans. It's the only thing left to do."

A look of surprise flashed across her face. "Wha— We?!"

"Didn't I mention? I'm staying at Hogwarts. Officially. As of half an hour ago."

"Really? Remus said—"

"I'm really staying," Sirius said, elated to be able to say those words aloud. "Slughorn invited me to some dinner thing, so now I'm obligated to—"

"Wait," Lily said, waving a hand in his face. "You're in the Slug Club?"

"Surprised, Evans?" He laughed a little at her expression, because, yes, she was. "Well, with a little nudging from my cousin, plus a lot of emphasis placed on me being the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Slughorn invited me to his Christmas gathering."

"I thought there we were the only two first years who—"

It was Sirius's turn to be surprised. "We?! Who—Oh, shit."

"Yup."

"Oh, Merlin, no."

"Oh, Merlin, yes." Lily had a ridiculous smirk plastered on her face. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and handed Sirius a piece of parchment bearing the same seal as the one in his own pocket. "Severus and me. We were invited last week. I wasn't going to go, but now I suppose I ought to."

Sirius pouted. "Are you telling me that I went through all that to avoid seeing my horrible mother just to be stuck sitting next to Snape on Christmas?"

"Seems like." Lily gave him a hard look. "I know what you think of him, Sirius Black, and it's… It's not entirely fair. He's kind to me, and he's my friend. He was all I had, until a few months ago, and now…" She paused, a shadow of pain flickering across her face. "He hardly speaks to me outside of class."

Sirius grimaced, remembering Snape's mortified face when he'd blurted, "I'm in love with Lily Evans!"

"That may be partially my fault," he said, rather quietly, because the truth was, even if Snape was embarrassed by the result of the Hiccuping Secrets, Snape still had whatever agreement he'd made with Malfoy for his own protection to contend with. Malfoy wouldn't approve of Snape's friendship or childhood crush on a Muggle-born. But, instead of voicing all this, Sirius said, "But at least his hair grew back."

She gave him a look that said she'd very much like to throw something at him, or maybe punch him in the stomach again. "You should know, part of me is still furious with you for making him tell the whole school he's in love with me."

"I didn't mean to get you involved," he said, earnestly, because it was the only thing he could say.

Lily heaved a sigh, like her chest suddenly had a thousand pounds resting on it. "It was only a matter of time, I suppose. I had a bit of a hunch that he felt that way, but I..."

She trailed off into nothing.

"Do… Do you feel that way?" Sirius asked, absolutely hating the image in his head of Lily Evans being swept off her feet by Severus Snape.

This time, she did punch him, right in the knee-cap, because it was the only thing she could reach.

"Ow!"

"Sorry. Sorry," she muttered, scooting a bit out of reach, just to assure him that she wouldn't be touching him again any time soon. "But, ew. No. No fucking way. He's my friend, Black. That'd be like me having a crush on you."

Sirius's nose wrinkled up. "Ugh, that's horrible."

Lily made a noise that Sirius took to mean that she was also equally disgusted by both prospects. After a moment, her face smoothed out again.

"So," she said. "Christmas?"

"Christmas," he agreed. "You, me, and Snape. It'll be a laugh."

She waved a very threatening finger in his face. "You'll be civil to him, Sirius Black. Or I swear I'll—"

"All right, all right. I promise." Sirius crossed his finger over his heart to prove his point. He leaned back a little, grinning. "It'll be nice, though. You and me. King and Queen of Gryffindor tower. At least for the holidays."

"We've established that I'm not going to be your fucking queen. How about I duel you for the title of king?"

"You're on, Evans."

Sirius leapt to his feet, his magic sparking. Lily reached behind her and chucked a throw pillow at him.

"Not now, you berk. We have Transfiguration."

"Correction. We're late for Transfiguration." He cast a Timus to prove his point. "Let's skip and settle this right now."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "McGonagall hates you, Sirius. She might literally kill you if you skive off Transfiguration."

"Brave of you to assume she won't still kill me if I show up late."

Lily groaned and got to her feet, drawing her wand.

"Fine. Do your worst, Black."

"Oi! Where the hell have you been?" James shouted as he and Peter exited the Transfiguration classroom amidst a swarm of first year Hufflepuffs.

James stopped dead in the middle of the hall when he caught sight of Lily Evans, standing with her chin held high next to Sirius, a crown of yellow lilies woven into her hair. Sirius had stolen them from the greenhouse on the way here and used a little bit of magic to twist them into a crown.

Remus, who had his nose buried in a book, rammed into James from behind, and his book clattered to the floor. "Christ, James, you—"

Remus's eyes landed on Sirius and Lily.

James, for his part, had started to drool.

Lily directed a very pointed look at Sirius's forehead that probably would have liquified his brain if she suddenly got laser eyes.

Sirius cleared his throat, then swept his arm out in a wide gesture at Lily. "I, Sirius Black, appointed herald of Her Majesty, the King, present to you, the Marauders of House Gryffindor, Lily…"

He paused. He didn't know her middle name.

"Josephine," she supplied, with a cut nod.

Sirius managed to curtail his reaction, deciding it would be best to unpack that later.

"… Lily Josephine Evans, King of Gryffindor."

"King?!" Peter squeaked.

James, of course, had the exact opposite response. He fell to his knees, the moron. "Your Majesty," he said, a beatific expression plastered on his face.

"Oh, get up," Lily snapped. She tilted her chin up once more, reasserting her regal pose and voice. "James Potter, should you ever kneel before me again, I shall have you flogged—"

Sirius snorted. "He might enjoy that."

Lily immediately flushed bright red, nearly the colour of her hair, and Merlin, Sirius couldn't hold back his laughter, even when she thwacked him with her book.

James, for his part, looked helplessly confused.

"Don't worry, Jamie," Sirius teased. "Remus will explain it to you when you're older."

Remus's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "I most certainly will not."

"James Potter," Lily said again, her voice a pitch or two higher and her face still brilliantly red, "I forbid any sort of ridiculous behaviour from you. And… and you'll not speak to me for the rest of the day—week! Month? No, week—unless I address you directly."

"Yes, Your Majesty," James said, solemnly, and honestly, Sirius hadn't expected him to agree to all that.

"Your Majesty?" Remus said, nudging James aside with his shoulder. There was a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. "How is it you came to hold such a noble title?"

"Yeah," said Peter, petulantly. "I thought we were the kings of Gryffindor."

"You've been usurped," Lily said. "Sirius lost a duel."

Peter's jaw dropped. He turned to Sirius. "You lost? You? You mean you let her win, right?"

"I did not!" Sirius said, indignity.

"Come off it," Peter said, dismissively. "You threw Snape across the hall and nearly sliced Malfoy in half. How could you lose to a—"

"Peter! That's no way to talk about your king," Remus snapped, smacking him upside the head before Sirius could enact the murder plot he'd been planning in his head ever since Peter threw out Malfoy's name. That wasn't a chapter in his life that he was particularly proud of, nor did he appreciate it when it was casually brought up in conversation.

"Yes, but how—"

"I'm shit at wandless defensive charms," Sirius growled. "She knocked me on my arse, fair and square."

Lily grinned triumphantly, seemingly choosing to ignore Peter's line of questioning.

"'Bout time someone knocked you on your arse," Remus said, but he tossed a wink at Sirius, and his voice was light.

"Mr. Lupin, a—"

Five heads turned just as McGonagall appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, shit," muttered Sirius. Then, to Lily: "Told you we just should've met them in Potions."

"I wanted to inform my subjects of my ascension to the throne," she muttered back, out of the corner of her mouth.

McGonagall just glared at them and Sirius wondered just how much of their conversation she'd overheard.

"Evans. Black." McGonagall said Black like it was some annoying fur ball caught in her throat. "I didn't see you in class."

Sirius said, "We had a prior commitment," at the same time, Lily Josephine Evans said, "We'll see you in detention tonight, Professor."

Sirius turned to gape at Lily, utterly betrayed.

McGonagall's expression gave nothing away. "Very well." Then, with a pointed glare at Sirius, McGonagall added: "Your Majesty."

Lily Josephine Evans preened like a fucking peacock. All hail the King of Gryffindor.

Sirius was torn between lashing out at McGonagall, with cries of injustice and accusations of favouritism, and falling on his knees at Lily's feet like James fucking Potter and begging her to teach him her maniacal, Minerva McGonagall-charming ways.

"I can't believe you just gave us detention," Sirius groaned, instead.

"We skipped class. Therefore, I enacted a fair and just punishment. You're welcome."

"Snitch."

"King," Lily shot back, holding her head high. Then, with a sparing glance at James and Peter, she spun on her heel. "Come along, boys," she called over her shoulder, as she rounded the corner to the dungeons.

"Mr. Lupin," McGonagall cut in. "I'd like a word."

Remus frowned, and something flashed across his eyes, but Sirius didn't have long enough to see what it was before it was gone again, erased in that perfectly even face Remus sometimes made when he was trying to hide how much pain he was in.

That same something lurched in the pit of Sirius's stomach.

Glancing at James, Sirius jerked his head in the direction Lily had gone. After a moment, James took the hint and dragged Peter along. When they were gone, Sirius took half a step towards Remus, then stopped when McGonagall glared at him.

"I need to speak with Mr. Lupin," she repeated, accentuating every word.

"All right," Sirius said, with a shrug, because Remus wouldn't meet his eyes.

"In private, Mr. Black."

"All right."

McGonagall heaved a great sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. Sirius noticed that she did that a lot in his presence. It made him proud.

"You have class, Mr. Black."

"I'm here for moral support," Sirius said, because Remus certainly looked like he needed it.

Another sigh, but this one sounded a hell of a lot more like reluctant acceptance. "Very well." She pointed to the spot right outside the classroom door. "Sit right there. Behave."

Deciding it was best to not push his luck, Sirius obeyed without question. Remus shot him a glance, that dangerous, horrifying something lurking somewhere behind his amber eyes.

McGonagall shut the heavy wooden door behind Remus, leaving Sirius alone in the hall.

This was taking far longer than Sirius had anticipated.

The sit-and-behave order from McGonagall lasted all of five minutes before Sirius was on his feet, pacing in front of the door. Fifteen minutes in, he glanced up and down the hallway, before pressing his ear against the heavy oak, but he couldn't hear a damn thing. Figures, McGonagall would put a silencing charm on the door.

He tried not to worry or wildly speculate. He really, really did. But that look on Remus's face combined with the inordinate amount of time he suddenly had on his hands, wild speculation was pretty much his only option.

He bit his thumbnail and stopped pacing.

Fact: Remus was scared. Or nervous, maybe. Ashamed? All three? Remus was… something.

Logical conjecture: Remus knew why McGonagall pulled him aside to speak in private.

If Remus knew—or, at the very least, suspected—why McGonagall wanted to speak with him and he was… heartbroken (maybe?), then Sirius felt fairly confident in concluding it had something to do with Remus's scars and his trips home.

If that was the case, it could go either way.

Maybe, McGonagall had finally taken notice of Remus's scars. Or, more specifically, how he tended to have more of them whenever he returned to Hogwarts after visiting his sick mum. If that was the case, Sirius would be fucking ecstatic, because, regardless of Sirius's personal gripes with McGonagall, there was no way in hell McGonagall would allow that to happen to Remus Lupin. Even if she wasn't Head of House or a professor at Hogwarts and thereby entrusted with the safety and well-being of her students, McGonagall actually liked Remus. He was her star student. If she suspected someone was hurting him, Sirius was fairly confident that McGonagall would put an end to it immediately.

Then again, Sirius distinctly remembered Remus saying something about the possibility that he'd be expelled if anyone ever discovered his secret.

That…

Well, Sirius didn't even want to think about that.

He started pacing again.

An hour later—a whole fucking hour—the latch on the door clicked, and Sirius's heart jolted. He moved quick, darting to the spot from which McGonagall told him not to move, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and plastering a patently innocent expression on his face.

Remus slipped through the narrow crack in the door, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He tugged the door shut again behind him.

Remus looked very much like he wanted to cry.

Sirius jumped to his feet, then edged into Remus's space, close but not touching, in his orbit, but never colliding.

Remus glanced at him, and something like surprise flickered across his face. "You're still here?"

"'Course I am," Sirius said, easily.

"But you missed Potions."

Sirius shrugged. "Moral support, remember?"

Remus blinked, but his mouth twitched up at the memory of Sirius's arse stuck to the bench after that first Transfiguration class. It didn't last long, though, before whatever dark cloud remained from his conversation with McGonagall masked his features once more.

"Lunch or dorms?" Sirius asked.

Remus took a long moment before he replied. "Lunch." Then, with far more conviction: "Christ, I'm starving."

"Right. Let's go."

Sirius was three paces away before he realised Remus wasn't following. He stopped, then turned on his heel. "Remus?"

Remus met his eyes, his face remarkably blank, save for the single tear that trailed down the divots of his scars. "I'm staying at Hogwarts for the holidays."

Sirius's stomach dropped in relief and he broke out in a grin. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "That's brilliant! You, me and Evans. We'll—"

He swallowed his words at Remus's expression.

"You… You don't want to stay?" Sirius tried not to be hurt by that, because it was different than Evans not wanting to stay, wasn't it? Remus staying at Hogwarts was a good thing. He was safe at Hogwarts, just like Sirius.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't have much of a choice." He turned, slightly, gesturing towards the door. "McGonagall— We, er. We flooed my parents, and they decided it was best if I stay here." Remus gave a half-hearted shrug and muttered something about his mother's progressing illness.

It was all matter-of-fact, almost detached, like Remus hadn't been part of the discussion at all.

Why the hell wasn't Remus relieved? And, although Sirius didn't ask that, the question must have been written all over his face.

Remus sighed, caught his eye, and said, "I know what you think of my parents, Sirius, but I swear to you, that's not it. I love my parents and I—"

Remus choked on his words.

They hurt you. They scarred you, Remus. You said they were monsters. They—

Sirius Black had a hard time picturing anyone with a happy family. Whenever James talked about his parents and how Mr. and Mrs. Potter doted on him constantly, Sirius was overwhelmed with the wistful haze that often accompanied the telling of some romantic fairytale. It didn't seem real, that anyone could possibly be loved and content and goddamned happy to be around their family.

Deep down, he knew that this only spoke to how fucked his own situation was. He knew, logically, that some people, out there in the wide, wild world, had to be happy when surrounded by their family, else the human and wizarding races would've died out ages ago. It was undoubtedly a matter of statistical probability, but even then, Sirius's own experiences muddled his belief that such families could exist.

What he absolutely, positively refused to accept, however, was that someone could come from a family like his and still, by some logical inconsistency, defend them. No matter how good the person, no matter how kind, how remarkably brave or heroic in the face of atrocities, how could anyone—even Remus-bloody-Lupin—have it in their heart to love the people that did all that to them?

If Remus wasn't going to hate his family for the scars that crisscrossed his skin, then Sirius was damn-well going to do it for him.

However, in a rather dramatic bout of uncharacteristic forethought, Sirius held his tongue.

"I'm sorry," Sirius found himself saying instead.

Remus's eyes snapped to his, all amber waves of utter heartbreak and pain that went down to his bones. "What if—"

Remus cut off in something of a choked sob.

Sirius edged closer, almost imperceptibly. "What if, what?"

"What if I stay here for the holidays and still end up with new scars?"

He said it in a rush, so fast and with such force, that it took Sirius nearly a full minute to digest.

Because how the fuck was that possible? If Remus stayed at Hogwarts, he was safe.

Wasn't he?

"W-what?" Sirius breathed.

"I told you, Siri. The scars. They're not what you think."

Sirius tried to process this, to cross-reference with the conclusion he'd drawn when he'd first seen Remus on the platform—when he first sought after answers for the marks crisscrossing Remus's face, between his freckles—with the reality that Remus thought he could still be hurt at Hogwarts. His mind flitted through everything Remus had said about his scars: the pain, running with scissors, the absolute terror in his eyes when he left and came back with fresh marks. Dark Magic and wounds that won't heal and all that fucking blood in the bathroom on the second floor.

Monster.

Remus had said it was a monster.

What else could it be?

Once more, Remus seemed to sense the question written all over Sirius's face. "I swear I'll… I'll tell you when I'm brave, Siri," Remus whispered. "But now, I…"

He cut off again with a helpless shrug.

Despite every instinct nagging at him to push Remus for answers, Sirius sighed and let it go with a subtle nod.

"Now," Sirius said, finishing his thought with a trade-marked wicked grin, "you and I need to plan how to get away with the most elaborate Christmas prank that Hogwarts has ever seen. I might even be able to persuade Her Majesty, the King to help. We'll have a proper Marauders' Christmas, you and me."

NOVEMBER 5, 1971

When Sirius got back to the dorms that night, it was just past midnight. McGonagall had kept him nearly an hour longer than Lily Evans purely, or so it seemed to Sirius, out of spite.

Sirius loosened his tie, tossed it haphazardly on his trunk, before he tugged the hangings aside on his bed. Remus was asleep under his covers, the extra pillow situated in the middle of the bed, and plenty of room for Sirius to crawl in and sleep. He smiled, because, Merlin, Remus always looked so peaceful in his sleep, like all the fears and pain and doldrums of the day melted into the star-patterned freckles of his face.

A breeze swept at the hangings and nipped at the exposed skin on the back of Sirius's neck. Sirius turned to the open window and wondered briefly if Remus had waited for him on the roof before succumbing to the exhaustion from the day and from his recent visit home. Except, no, because when Sirius went to close the window, he found James Potter leaning casually against the roof, swaddled in a heavy winter cloak and a ridiculous dog-eared cap on his head.

"Thought you were asleep," Sirius said, casually, leaning back inside to glance at James's empty bed.

"Thought you'd be back hours ago," James replied, matching his tone. "Remus tried to wait up, but I sent him inside. It's slippery enough out here with the frost. Didn't need him taking an accidental nose dive in case he nodded off."

"Mm, no, we can't have that."

"You coming out, or what?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "You're not having a crisis, are you? Not that I wouldn't want to help, but it's been a rather long day and I'm rather beat."

"Not having a crisis, no. Just waiting for the fireworks." He said it with that mischievous glint in his eye, the one that sparkled there, constantly, no matter what he was doing. It was a wicked gleam that was so distinctly James Potter that Sirius found it impossible to resist. "In or out, Black?"

"Out."

Sirius flicked his wrist and summoned the duvet from Remus's empty bed. Wrapping it tightly around his shoulders, he carefully made his way out on the roof, then waved a quick warming charm over both him and James.

"Ta," James muttered, as colour flooded back into his cheeks. Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that James had been out there in the cold for quite some time. He pressed close, safely wrapped in the duvet, and despite the cold, he felt remarkably content up here on the roof with James Potter.

Then, the fireworks started.

Sirius had thought James was kidding, playing facetious at the very least, but there they were, one after another. Sparks of red and blue and gold danced across the sky, in a constant stream of hiss and pop and acrid smell of sulphur that settled over the castle. The fireworks came from all four corners of the castle, simultaneous and timed down to the second, one after the other, in a chorus of brilliantly coloured explosions.

Sirius leaned forward, a manic grin on his face, nearly close enough to touch the raining sparks. He glanced back at James. "Prewetts?"

James nodded, the blasts from the fireworks reflected in the whites of his eyes. "It's Guy Fawkes Day," he said, by way of explanation.

"That's a Muggle thing, right?"

"Yeah," James said. "Some guy tried to blow up Parliament. Or declared independence. Or maybe something with a prison?"

"No, no. The prison is the French one. Evans had a book about it. Well, not specifically. But it was mentioned."

"Ah." James paused. "To be quite honest, I'm not sure what we're celebrating."

The fireworks cascaded across the sky, shifted and morphed into patterns: a regimen of sparkling soldiers, an angular mask, then, finally, an illustrious bout of explosions.

"It's not like the Prewetts would pass up an opportunity to set off explosions," Sirius said.

James laughed as the last of the fireworks died down. "From what Marlene said, they got their whole bearded cult involved."

"Figures," Sirius snorted. "I knew there was a good reason behind starting a cult. I'm considering starting one of my own. Though, I'm not much one for colourful beards."

Silence fell over the castle, as the leftover plumes of smoke evaporated into the blanket of stars. A chill snuck up Sirius's spine, despite the warming charm and the duvet, and he edged closer to James.

"Are you in love with Evans?"

Sirius didn't quite know how to go about dissecting that question, so he started with, "What the fuck, James?"

"It's just…" James started, helplessly. "You spend a lot of time with her. And she likes you. Since when does she like you?"

"She's my friend, Jamie."

"Do you like her? I mean, I… How could you not? She's gorgeous. I wouldn't be mad if you did."

Sirius thought that James's tone seemed to suggest otherwise. Sirius quirked his eyebrow in a sort of challenge.

"Okay, fine," James relented. "I'd be upset if you were ogling my future wife."

"Mother of Merlin, James, I am not ogling Evans."

"But you spend a lot of time with her."

"She's my friend! Same as you and Remus and Pete!"

"But Lily…" James frowned. "She's gorgeous. How can you not want to snog her?"

"You're bloody gorgeous too, mate, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to snog you. You're rather bad at it."

"Oi!" James shoved him hard, nearly causing Sirius to lose his balance, before he grabbed Sirius's arm. Sirius thanked his lucky stars for the duvet, otherwise he may have very well flinched away and fallen from the roof.

"You think I'm gorgeous?" James asked, once Sirius had once again settled in on the relative safety of the icy roof.

"Salazar's fucking balls," Sirius muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, James, you're the prettiest princess in the castle. I'm still not snogging you again."

"Yes, but the question is how do I—or, we, it seems—get Evans to snog me."

"She hates you," Sirius deadpanned. "It's not going to happen."

And, honestly, James didn't seem too offended by that. "Yes, but she doesn't hate you."

"Because I'm her friend." He wondered how many times he was going to have to repeat that before James latched onto the idea.

"So, you love her?"

"I'm her friend," Sirius answered, slowly and deliberately, and it's Yes, I love her, because she's his friend, and No, I don't love her in the way James meant. It was the best possible answer he could give.

"Alright," James said, clearly understanding none of the subtleties of Sirius's answer. "You can talk me up, right?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I've already told her you're a horrible kisser, Potter. What more do you want?"

James looked rather offended at that. "I want to marry her and have thirteen children."

"Merlin, thirteen?" Sirius muttered. "What does anyone even do with thirteen children? Open a sweat shop? Good luck getting Evans on board with that."

"Yes, but that's where you come in."

"I will not be your pimp, Jamie."

"But you can convince her not to hate me."

"While we're on the subject of miracles, I suppose I'll just pull a unicorn out of my arse. I'll earn extra marks in Care of Magical Creatures."

James ignored the biting sarcasm. "Come on, Sirius. Please? I'll let you be the best man at our wedding."

Sirius barked a laugh. "I'd be the best man at your wedding if you married a toad. I'm your best friend, remember?"

Except James seemed to have gotten stuck on this whole idea of his wedding to Lily Evans. "Merlin, can you picture it? Do you think she'd wear a Muggle wedding dress? I bet she would. She's proud like that. It'll be long, and beautiful, and white, and Merlin, her hair. She'd look like a white-frosted carrot cake."

"If you ever decide to say that to her face, please make sure I'm there with a camera first," Sirius said, mostly in an effort to cut James off before he waxed poetic on every detail of the Evans-Potter wedding.

Again, James ignored him and blinked wistful dark eyes at Sirius. "You'll help me, right? Please, Sirius?"

"Fine," Sirius relented, mostly because he knew James wouldn't stop pestering him about this. "But, for the record, I think you have a better chance with that toad."

James threw his arms around Sirius's neck and pulled him close in a hug before Sirius could get away. It hurt, mostly where James placed a sloppy on Sirius's cheek, and Sirius was grateful for the modicum of cushion the duvet offered. He shoved James away, wiping the spit from his cheek.

"You can start by buying her chocolate, maybe. Or quills. Evans goes through quite a few quills," Sirius said. "Also, you should refrain from any future marriage proposals and mentioning the thirteen chidden."

"You're right," James said, nodding serenely. "That's more of second date material."

NOVEMBER 12, 1971

As the week went on, Sirius finally began to relax. He surrendered fully into the idea that he was safe and for once in his life, having hope had paid off. He was staying at Hogwarts over the holidays.

He was, however, beginning to understand that look in Remus's eye whenever the upcoming Christmas holidays were mentioned: the one that spoke of longing for home and, maybe, of something like abandonment. Despite the brilliant plans that Sirius, Remus, and Lily had concocted—one of which involved a secret tunnel that supposedly led to Honeydukes in Hogsmeade that Lily had heard one of the older Hufflepuffs discussing—Remus still craved to spend the holidays with his family.

And, maybe—maybe—Sirius was starting to understand. Because it didn't matter if he managed to worm his way out of the Black Christmas gathering, did it? Regulus was still there. Regulus was all but locked in Grimmauld Place, not just for the holidays, but for the year, left to face the wrath and anger of their parents without Sirius there as his protector, buffer, and constant advocate.

Would his mother turn her wand on Regulus, if Sirius wasn't there to take his own punishment for being sorted into Gryffindor, for scarring Lucius Malfoy, for being a general disgrace to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? He wouldn't put it past her and the thought nauseated him. What kind of monster would leave his little brother to go to judgment in his place?

Sometimes, mostly at night, when the elation and hope faded into the darkness, the guilt threatened to devour Sirius whole.

He'd mentioned his concern for Regulus in a letter to Andromeda and had included a draft of another letter addressed to his younger brother for her to forward. Though his letter to Regulus was subtle, filled with empty, yet heartfelt platitudes and subtle hints at acts of vengeance should Regulus face any harm on Sirius's behalf, Andromeda had shot down the idea entirely. We can't risk provoking the Warden now, Siri. If we do, she'll find a way to get you back to Grimmauld Place. She'd then gone into a rather lengthy explanation on how her presence had been specifically requested at Grimmauld Place by his mother, no less, only to find out from Bellatrix that it was because Julius Fawley—"the utter fucking, marble-brained, toadstool of a wizard"—planned to propose to her in front of all of the Black family guests, thereby making it nearly impossible for her to refuse.

Poor Ted, Sirius had thought, when he read the letter.

Andromeda had sworn up and down that she'd check up on Regulus, even amidst the impending proposal and chaos, but Sirius could feel the hollowness in the promise, no matter how well-meaning it was. Andromeda could do no more than check up on him, and they both knew it. She was powerless to help Regulus, to stop anything from happening to him, even if Regulus begged her to.

All and all, Sirius found himself praying to unnamed deities that his mother would take out her rage and frustration on Kreacher. Or, even, that she'd let it stew and simmer until the summer, when he could take the brunt of it. Anything to keep Regulus out of her line of fire.

Anything, well, except going home for the holidays.

He was pretty sure that made him a coward, but he was nowhere near brave enough to go home willingly.

Mostly, he tried not to think about it.

Like, earlier that week, for instance, when he'd hexed the ever-living shit out of the Carrow twins for teasing Dorcas Meadows about her beard. Marlene had come to his aid, mid-hex, and they'd both taken on a twin, only to end up serving detention with Filch when McGonagall had caught them. Commiserating in detention, both Marlene and Sirius decided they felt better knowing that the Carrow twins would spend the next day or so in the hospital wing regrowing all their teeth.

Or, two days ago, when he'd slid into the seat beside Lily Evans in the Great Hall, just before dinner, and said, "You know, James Potter is remarkably majestic on a broom, don't you think, Evans? I reckon he'll be a professional Quidditch player. His arse sure would look good in—"

Lily had glared at him, stood up, and left.

The next morning, she'd grabbed Sirius's sleeve—always careful not to actually touch him—and had all but dragged him down to the Quidditch Pitch. They'd watched James and Peter fly around for a bit, and every time Sirius had tried to ask Lily what they were doing there, she'd shushed him, then motioned that he watch James.

Ten minutes in the air and James had begun to… fidget. Twelve minutes in, he'd begun to swerve in an effort to itch his backside. Thirteen minutes in, he couldn't stop itching. Thirteen and a half minutes in, he tumbled off his broom from twenty feet up and would've landed hard on his arse had Lily not been ready with a Cushioning Charm.

"That's what I think of his arse," she'd said.

Sirius had gaped at her in amazement, as she'd held up a packet of itching powder. Plain, old, non-magic, Muggle itching powder, that she'd somehow managed to slip into James Potter's Quidditch robes.

Sirius found himself strongly reconsidering his insistence that he wasn't, in fact, in love with Lily Josephine Evans.

It had not, however, deterred James Potter in the slightest. He'd insisted on accompanying Remus, Lily, and Sirius to the library after lunch.

Now, James sat next to Sirius, his glasses slightly askew and hair as crazy as ever. He leaned back in his chair, his arms dangling limp at his side, staring at the ceiling and groaning in boredom.

Lily and Remus had been arguing for quite some time.

"How many books have you given him, then?" Lily said. "Two? Three? It's my turn!"

"To be fair, the last time it was your turn, you gave him Les Miserables. You could not have picked a longer book," Remus replied. "It's got to count for two."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Just because you picked the shortest possible book for your turn doesn't mean you get to go again, Lupin. That's not how this works."

James lolled his head to the side to catch Sirius's eye. He looked bored. Sirius figured if it wasn't for the excuse to blatantly stare at Lily Evans, James would've left ages ago. "Do they always talk about books?" James asked.

Sirius shrugged. He hadn't realised, until he sat down, that Remus and Lily seemed to have made some kind of arrangement that predominantly involved introducing him to the Greatest Hits of Muggle literature. He'd just thought they were being kind and occasionally lending and/or giving him their books.

But this… This was a competition.

Sirius kind of liked it.

"Since when do you read books?" James asked. "I haven't seen you touch your Potions or Charms book all year. And I'm pretty sure I saw you toss your Transfiguration book into the fire."

Sirius had done that, actually. He'd been particularly angry with McGonagall for giving him zero marks and taking away house points when he'd used wandless magic in class.

"That's because I already know all the spells in them. This—" Sirius gestured to Remus and Lily. "—This is Muggle stuff. Brave new world."

"Ooh," Lily said, her attention snapping to Sirius and cutting off mid-sentence with whatever she'd been saying to Remus. She reached for a scrap of parchment. "That's a brilliant one!" She turned back to Remus and glared. "But I'm saving that for later. He has to read The Three Musketeers first."

"No," Remus said, with a patient sigh. "Beowulf logically comes next."

"What about Shakespeare?" James threw in.

"No," Remus and Lily snapped.

Then, a sympathetic glance from Remus. "He's got to work his way up to Shakespeare."

Sirius, who had been told this before, just shrugged at James.

James held up his hands in mock surrender. To Sirius, he said, "I only know plays. My mum loves them and she takes me to see them. It's fun, really. We dress in Muggle clothes. Mum wears a sari and Dad spends the whole day swooning. If we go to one of the authentic performances, blokes play the girls' parts. Even Juliet."

Sirius tried to imagine what that was like, to have a mother who loved Muggle plays and culture so much that she took her son to see cross-dressers in a play.

Once again, James Potter's life seemed to be a fairy tale.

"You're the Marauders," Lily insisted, which caused James to sit up proudly and preen a little. "He needs to read The Three Musketeers. It should be your bloody anthem!"

"Beowulf should be our bloody anthem!" Remus shot back. "He's a warrior king, a true Gryffindor who defeats monsters!"

Sirius leaned forward, intrigued. "Do I get a say in all this?"

"No," Remus and Lily said, once more in unison.

"I'm not doubting the merits of Beowulf," Lily said, diplomatically. "I'm just saying that it's my—"

"Mr. Black?"

Four heads snapped around to stare up at the frowning face and clipped voice of Professor Horace Slughorn.

Something horrifically similar to dread settled in the pit of Sirius's stomach.

"Hello, Professor," Sirius said, forcing his voice to come out upbeat and even.

"Mr. Black," Slughorn repeated. "I wasn't able to catch you after class, but I wanted to speak with you."

Slughorn cast a glance over the table, which Sirius took to mean that Slughorn wanted to speak to him in private.

Sirius wasn't entirely sure he wanted to speak to Slughorn in private. He didn't think he could handle it, if his intuition was correct. This was not a conversation that would bear glad tidings.

Slughorn huffed in a way that reminded Sirius of his mother. He could almost hear Walburga Black's clipped tone, picture her upturned nose. Pure blood matters are not discussed in the company of our lessers.

For all Slughorn claimed to be above blood biases, he still deferred to pure blood traditions when it came to the finer pieces of his collection. And Sirius was meant to be the finest of them all, wasn't he?

The fucking Black heir.

In that moment, Sirius hated Slughorn, with every fibre of his being.

"Yes, Professor?" Sirius prompted, trying to convey with all the arrogance and authority of the Black heir that he was not moving from his seat.

Slughorn gave a halfhearted shrug, as if to say Very well.

"I received your mother's letter yesterday morning, Black," Slughorn said, conversationally, as all the air was sucked out of Sirius's lungs. "I understand why your cousin didn't mention it, seeing as the engagement's meant to be a surprise for her, but I do wish you'd told me you won't be able to attend my little Christmas gathering. But you must be with your family, I suppose. Pressures of the heir, and all that."

Slughorn chuckled, a deep, chortling thing that he clearly expected Sirius to reciprocate, but Sirius's brain had frozen somewhere after the phrase, your mother's letter.

"It's no problem to reschedule after the holidays," Slughorn continued, woefully misinterpreting Sirius's silence. "A private dinner will give us an opportunity to get better acquainted, I'm sure, far more so than an unnecessarily formal dinner gathering. Not that my exclusive Christmas party is too shabby, Miss Evans."

Sirius didn't catch Lily's reaction, if she had one at all. Slughorn hardly missed a beat before continuing.

"There are quite a few things I'd like to discuss with you, Black. Am I correct in assuming your father still holds his seat on the Wizengamot? There's one bill in particular that interests me, concerning magical—"

"My mother's letter?" Sirius said, his voice small and nearly broken. He hadn't heard a word of Slughorn's ramblings.

"Yes, yes," Slughorn said, pulling up short mid-sentence. He patted his robes, then rummaged through the pockets. "I do believe I still have it on me. Yes, here."

Sirius took the letter and stares down at the broken Black seal. Toujours Pur was printed in a harsh, yet elegant script right underneath, the same slanted pattern as the tattoo on his chest. His mother's handwriting.

Professor Slughorn,

While I'm sure my son appreciates your invitation to your dinner party over the Christmas holidays, I am afraid that I must decline on his behalf. Sirius is needed at home for a rather important family matter. Andromeda Black, whom I believe was another star pupil of yours, is due to be engaged to Julius Fawley on Christmas Eve. Sirius, as the Black heir, is needed, as per his station in the Black family.

I am sure you understand.

Walburga Black

Matriarch of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

His first thought was, I didn't know my mother could sound so diplomatic.

His second thought was his mother's voice, ghostly and disembodied, but still as cruel as ever: Nice fucking try.

His third was perhaps the most terrifying of them all: She knows I tried to run.

Numbly, Sirius handed the letter back to Slughorn, who was still fucking talking. "I sincerely look forward to meeting with you in the new year, my dear boy, and further cultivating our relationship. It always helps to have a Black in my corner. Do tell Andromeda congratulations, after the surprise, of course. She was one of my best. Shame about that Ted Tonks, really, poor chap, but Andromeda has always had greater things her future."

Sirius wanted to punch Slughorn in his fucking face, if not for himself, then for Ted Tonks.

"Until next time, then," Slughorn said, rocking on his feet a little, still seemingly oblivious to the bomb he'd just placed so casually into Sirius's hands. "Don't forget your Potions essays. I expect great things out of both you and Evans, Black."

Then he was gone.

The library was quiet. The library was always quiet—thanks, Madam Pince—but this was kind of silence that roared across snow covered fields in the dead of night: haunting and horrifying and carrying every sorrow left in the world.

"Right," said Remus, clapping his hands as loud as humanly possible. Everyone jumped but Sirius. "Marauders meeting—"

"And Lily," Lily demanded.

Remus inclined his head. "Marauders meeting, and Lily. Our dormitory. Right fucking now."

Lily flicked her wand at the mess of books on the table and all at once they slammed shut.

"Right," James echoed, letting out a long breath. "I'll go find Peter."

Sirius didn't remember exactly how he got from the library to the boys' dormitory, but he was leaning towards some form of teleportation before he remembered Apparition was impossible within the school grounds.

All he knew was that he was currently wrapped in not one, but two duvets, seated on Remus's bed, with Lily pressed against one side and Remus sitting an inch away at his other.

"Right," James said, biting his lip. He stood next to Peter, with his arms crossed "And I mean this with all the love in the world, but…" He paused, then said in a rush: "ShoudEvansbehere?"

Lily flicked two fingers up at him. "Fuck you, Potter."

"While I'm sure that would be lovely, my point is, she might not be aware of certain—"

"I'm his friend," Lily spat, every word laced with venom.

"Yes, but does she know about—"

"James!" Remus was quick. He hurled a pillow at James's head with such force that James stumbled back into the door. Then, looking a little guilty, and glancing between a blank-faced Sirius and a rather indignant James, Remus said, "We swore an oath, remember? On our magic. We can't say anything."

Oh, right. Sirius had nearly forgotten about that.

"But she doesn't know," James said, with a vague gesture that was probably supposed to mean something.

"I know enough," Lily retorted.

And Sirius shrugged, because, that's right. She did. Probably. He was operating under the assumption that she'd figured him out.

Sirius glanced around the room and, Merlin's saggy tits, when did his secrets get thrown around in little bits and pieces like dirty fucking laundry? James and Peter knew enough about his less than ideal childhood to be bound by an oath of silence. Remus knew about his wand and his general hatred of physical contact, but thankfully, not the specifics of either. Lily knew about the tattoo on his chest and the blood curse and—

"My parents—" Sirius started, by way of explanation.

"Hurt you," Lily finished.

And, yep, she knew about that too.

Lily Evans, cartographer of secrets.

A half-crazed voice in the back of his head whispered that if he hadn't seen her kindness or that little streak of reckless ferocity in her that made her so much more Gryffindor than Slytherin, he'd be absolutely terrified of her.

Maybe he was scared of her all the same. Just a little.

"Right," Remus said. He pressed himself into Sirius's side, just enough that Sirius felt the beginnings of pain, but not enough to actually hurt. "You are absolutely not going back there."

That same annoying voice gnawed at his subconscious, because Wasn't that what I said to Remus a week ago?

No one said anything for a solid minute.

"All right," Lily breathed, her voice steady and remarkably calming, given the circumstances. "I'll ask the question if no one else will: How do we keep him here?"

"What about your cousin?" Remus asked.

"Narcissa?" Lily asked, her voice hitting a high note.

"Andromeda," James said.

"The good one," Peter added, helpfully.

Sirius just shook his head. "I'll write her, but… Slughorn was her plan. It's all we were able to come up with since I was sorted. Plus, well…" Sirius thought back to Andromeda's latest letter and her nearly three page rant about Julius Fawley. "She's got her own shit to deal with."

"No offense, mate," Peter began, his voice barely a squeak, "but what's the difference in going back now and going back in the summer? You'll have to go back in the summer. Everybody does. So maybe it would be better if you just went back now and—"

"No fucking way," Remus snarled. It was difficult to see from where he was sitting, but judging by the look of horror that washed over Peter's face and the venom laced in Remus's tone, Sirius was pretty sure that Remus had bared his teeth at Peter. Sirius didn't know whether to be alarmed or flattered by that.

"Remus," Lily said, in a calm, soothing tone, as she gingerly reached around Sirius to put a hand on Remus's shoulder. She turned her gaze to Peter. "Everything's fresh on everyone's mind right now, Peter. It's a temporary fix, yes, but it'll give Sirius time to let things calm down."

Sirius wished that were true. He'd give anything for that to be true, but it wasn't. It couldn't be, not with the Warden and her list of grievances. Sirius was sitting on a fucking time bomb and it was not so much a matter of if it'll explode at all, but when and holy mother of Merlin, think of the fallout.

Peter fucking Pettigrew was right. Christmas or summer, Sirius was fucked. All he'd wanted was to put it off as long as possible.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Sirius said, and he was already through the sentence before he actually realised he was speaking out loud. "I'm going back for Christmas. That's the end of it."

"Okay," James said, clapping his hands together as he started to pace. "If you're stuck going back there, then we'll train you up. Defensive spells. All of them. Any one we can get ahold of. You said you could do magic at Grimmauld Place, yeah? We'll just make sure you're ready. You've got to work on your shield charms, anyways, mate."

The thought nauseated Sirius, because how much worse would it be if he actually dared to put up a fight?

"No." Sirius's voice came out so quietly that James almost missed it.

James opened and closed his mouth. Then, in a huff, he said, "Well, how do you know what it'll be like? Maybe it'll be fine. You'll see your brother and your family and have a lovely Christmas dinner and maybe it'll be just fine. You don't know that—"

"I know exactly what it'll be like!" Sirius roared. The words felt like desperation, deep in his soul, but Merlin, it tasted like rage on his tongue. Sirius took a second to savour it. "I've known since I asked that bloody hat for Gryffindor."

Because how could James-fucking-Potter, fairytale prince from a fairytale family, even begin to comprehend the horrors that lurked in the shadows of Grimmauld Place?

"Do you want to know, Jamie? Do you want to know what the Blacks will do to their pariah heir?" It came out detached, and maybe a little bit cruel, but Sirius was beyond caring. "They will do anything and everything short of ending my life or leaving a permanent mark. My mother is quite fond of the Cruciatus curse, did you know that? Do you know what that feels like, James? To see your fucking mother pointing her wand at you and-"

"Sirius." Remus's voice cut through the muddled cloud of rage and terror in his mind.

James looked, well, appropriately remorseful. Properly horrified, really. And maybe like he wanted a blanket of his own to hide under. Peter was as pale as a ghost.

Oh, look, said that horrible voice in Sirius's head. I've frightened them.

Sirius let out a long, laboured breath. "It'll be worse, now."

"W-worse?" squeaked Peter.

"She knows I tried to get away."

Sirius watched as, one by one, realisation slowly washed over their faces. It took longer for James, just as Sirius knew it would, because how could the golden, fairytale prince possibly imagine the horrific monster that lie in wait to devour Sirius's heart and soul? James Potter looked forward to his own homecoming and his smiling parents—his mum in a sari and his dad with his speckled grey hair sticking out every which way just like his son—would meet him on the platform, embrace him, smother him, then take him home to spoil him, dote on him, fatten him up before they sent him back to Hogwarts with his mother's lipstick smeared across his cheek.

Sirius didn't envy James. Not really, though the annoyingly logical voice in the back of his head told him that any other sane person should envy James Potter. A kid like James Potter would never know what it's liked to be unwanted, let alone the abject horror that seeped into your bones at the prospect of being loathed beyond all reason by someone who was supposed to love you.

No, Sirius Black didn't want to be James Potter.

But, in that moment, he also very much didn't want to be himself, either.

A wave of emotionless detachment washed over him, the bizarrely unnatural feeling you get when you suddenly find yourself begging gods you don't believe in to take it all back. Because maybe—maybe—it was better to have never been born at all.

And, Merlin, what a comfortingly terrifying thought that was.

Not for the first time—and certainly not the last—the voice in his head told him that he was batshit crazy.

For once, Sirius agreed with it.

"I don't know what to do," he found himself saying, because what else was there for him to say?

For a long moment, no one said anything. Sirius was pretty sure no one even dared to breathe.

Then, almost in unison, Remus and Lily glanced at each other—which wasn't easy, seeing as Sirius was bundled in a mess of blankets between them—and Sirius was suddenly struck with the realisation that they'd spoken about this before. That they'd strategised ways to keep him at Hogwarts. He wasn't sure how, exactly, that was possible, given Remus's oath, but if Lily had approached Remus, then technically…

Sirius supposed it didn't matter. Either way, they'd somehow arrived at the same conclusion.

"Right," Lily sighed.

"Pay the ferryman," Remus said.

"What?" James, Peter, and Sirius asked, in perfect, three-part harmony.

"Pay the ferryman," Remus repeated, emphasising every word. "It refers to the fee a dead soul gives to Charon, the ferryman, to cross the River Styx into the underworld."

"Well, isn't that an optimistic metaphor," Sirius muttered. Lily swatted him.

"In certain versions of the myth," Remus continued, as if Sirius hadn't spoken, "the dead soul can bargain with Charon—or, more specifically, bribe him—for a better place in the underworld."

"The point is," Lily cut in, "if you have the ferryman on your side, you might still be dead and fucked, but at least you have a modicum of control of where you end up."

"Okay," James said slowly, dragging out the last syllable. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "If Sirius is the dead and fucked guy—"

"Thanks, mate," Sirius deadpanned.

"—Then who is our ferryman in this particular scenario?"

Once more, Remus and Lily exchanged a look over his head. Sirius glowered. He was not particularly fond being trapped between someone else's silent conversation.

"McGonagall," Lily said.

Peter outright laughed.

James raised a finger and said, intelligently, "Uh…"

Sirius let out a long, resigned breath. "Yeah, that was 'Dromeda's first plan too."

"McGonagall hates Sirius," Peter said.

"Yeah, uh. He's not wrong," James said. He tossed a sympathetic frown at Sirius. "Sorry."

Sirius just shrugged because, yeah, McGonagall definitely hated him.

"Then we've got to get her to not hate him," Lily said, in a tone that said, Yes, you morons, it really is that simple.

"How?" James asked.

"No more pranks, for one," Lily replied. "At all. Not even the little ones you lot have been pulling under her nose. Leave the fucking Slytherins alone. At least until next term."

James looked sort of like he'd like very much to protest that point, but with a pointed glance at Sirius, he gave a curt nod. "Right. No more pranks."

"It wouldn't hurt," Remus said, slowly, "if Sirius improved his marks in Transfiguration. She's been known to favour her best students."

"I am her best student," Sirius muttered, his voice flat, because really, it was more a statement of fact than any kind of a boast. "She gives me bad marks because I can't do shit with my wand."

Remus nudged Sirius with his shoulder. "You and I will practice before every Transfiguration class. If you can do everything with wandless magic, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to do them with your wand. We'll work on each one until you can."

Sirius had some doubts about the viability of that particular bit of the plan, but Merlin, he was desperate and figured it might just be worth the effort. Plus, if anyone could figure out a way to get his goddamned dying wand to work properly, it'd be Remus Lupin.

"The four of us," Lily said, her finger pointing at herself, Remus, James, and Peter, each in turn, "we do everything we possibly can to help Sirius do everything right. Then, at the end of the term, Sirius asks McGonagall for permission to stay in order to help me and Remus with a special research project."

"Research project?" James asked. "What research project?"

"Wands," Remus said, and Sirius felt his stomach drop. "Wandless magic, actually. Which is why Sirius specifically would be necessary to the project."

"We've already got it approved with Rattleburn for credit," Lily added. "We can convince McGonagall, especially if she's a little more… amenable towards Sirius. It'd be a much less theoretical project if we had Sirius work with us."

Sirius pushed himself back on the bed, sitting crosslegged in the middle, so he could better look between Remus and Lily.

"When the fuck did you plan all this?" Sirius asked It didn't come out angry, or even surprised, really. To everyone in the room, it sounded a hell of a lot like gratitude.

"The second I figured out that Christmas might be a problem," Lily said.

Sirius couldn't figure out if that just meant since the Malfoy Incident, or if it was a subtle way of saying that Lily Evans had had him figured out since the very beginning.

"Oh," he said, stupidly.

"This could really work, Siri," Remus said, shifting a little so he could nudge Sirius's duvet-covered knee. "McGonagall's Head of House. Her permission could override your mother's demands if it were for a school-sanctioned project."

"Merlin," James muttered, ruffling his hair so that it stuck out more than it normally did. "They're right, Sirius. This could work."

Sirius let his eyes track over them. James, valiant fairytale prince with ridiculous hair that obeyed neither peasant nor product, and Peter, his loyal companion. Lily Evans, King, whose friendship and compassion were slowly becoming his lifeline. And Remus…

Remus, who knew intimately of the kind of pain that was entirely beyond description, who knew of horror and madness and unfathomable kindness. Remus, braveheart Gryffindor, who looked at Sirius like he was as bright and as infinite as the star that burned in the night sky…

Remus Lupin had a plan.

"All right," Sirius said, his voice a little hoarse and choked with emotion. "Let's do it."

The plan was a long shot. It was insanity and improbability and involved begging Minerva McGonagall to save him, but Merlin, it was a chance.

It wasn't hope that began to simmer in his veins, per se. No, Sirius Black could no longer allow himself to be blindsided and maimed by the consequences of something as dangerous as hope.

This… this was something like desperation, but Sirius didn't care.

It was a chance.

"Right," Remus said, smiling like the triumphant idiot that he was, all white teeth and amber eyes and pale, silver scars. "Grab your wand, Siri. We might as well start now."

DECEMBER 13, 1971

The thing was, by all reasonable counts, it should have worked.

He'd done everything right.

He'd met with Remus—more often than their usual nights on the roof and afternoons in the library—and they'd practiced every single flick and swish of his wand before Sirius had even been allowed to try muttering the spell. It was clunky, imprecise work, and more often than not, it left one or both of them more than a little singed around the edges. Nonetheless, Sirius had sworn and cursed his way through it, and it'd worked. After many, many long hours (and more than one heartfelt bargain with his wand), Sirius had finally managed to turn a teacup into hummingbird. And the hummingbird hadn't even puffed up and exploded, like it had in class the first time he'd tried it with his wand.

That'd been the first one, less than a week after Slughorn delivered his news. Sirius was pretty sure that McGonagall's eyes had nearly popped out from behind her square spectacles when Sirius had been the first person in class to produce a living, breathing, flying, non-exploding hummingbird in class. Though he could tell it'd pained her greatly, McGonagall had given him top marks. She had, however, made him stay after class in order to watch him perform the transfiguration not once, but four more times, until she'd been absolutely certain that Sirius had done it on his own, with his wand, without any assistance from one Remus Lupin.

After that, it all just sort of fell into place. Sirius spent nearly every waking hour practicing various Transfiguration spells with his tempestuous wand, until he was quite certain that he'd memorised every goddamned page of Remus's second-hand Transfiguration book, right down to the precise angle of the half-torn out page 236.

Remus had been called home again, at the beginning of December, supposedl both because of his mum's health and because he wouldn't be home for the holidays. He'd been gone for nearly four days, which, by Sirius's count, was certainly longer than normal. Lily and James had taken over Sirius's extracurricular Transfiguration lessons, though Sirius suspected James had mostly been there because Lily was there. James and Lily had spent a majority of the time bickering and, Sirius, well… He'd spent most of the time trying to keep Lily from permanently maiming his best friend in between her adjustments and suggestions for Sirius's own wand movements.

In class that Friday, the remaining Marauders had been exhausted, and Sirius hadn't been nearly as prepared as he'd been with Remus's lessons. He'd barely noticed James and Lily's quick consultation before class and hadn't thought much of it, really, but then, when one of the Ravenclaws—probably Micah Or-Something—had been about to successfully transfigure his candle into a field mouse, James had sent a bolt of fire at his own candle, melting it instantly. McGonagall, successfully distracted, had proceeded to lecture James about how fire was not to be used in her classroom at all, ever, end of story, and Lily… Well, Lily had hexed the ever-living shit out of Micah Or-Something. Sirius still wasn't entirely certain what she'd done, but he was more than certain that poor Micah Or-Something wet himself and had to make a hasty exit.

The rest of the class had proceeded in a similar fashion: James and Lily had alternated their roles as the distraction and the one who hexed the Ravenclaw who'd almost got the spell right. Micah Or-Something, thankfully, had been the only one to actually leave the class, so McGonagall had been none-the-wiser, though certainly more than a little annoyed. James and Lily had been brilliant, really, because they timed their distractions with their ridiculous and elaborate arguments.

"A summer wedding would be so much better, Evans," James had whined.

"Thirteen? Christ, Potter, no sane person would fuck you thirteen times, let alone bear that many children," Lily had shouted, while James pantsed one of the Ravenclaws. This one had earned Lily Evans detention for two weeks, a stern lecture after class, and had cost Gryffindor twenty points.

(So much for waiting until the second date.)

Ten minutes before the end of class, and no one had successfully done their transfiguration. Any Ravenclaw that had gotten close had been promptly hexed, until nearly half the class had been sporting sores in uncomfortable places. McGonagall had been so frazzled and put out that she'd actually let out a sigh of relief when Sirius had finally—finally—conjured a field mouse from his candlestick with his wand. She'd awarded him the highest marks in the class and a reluctant five points to Gryffindor, before dismissing the class early in order to sufficiently yell at Lily and James.

Sirius had waited outside, ready with both an apology for taking so long and numerous expressions of gratitude, but Lily had just shrugged when she'd walked out, her head held high and proud.

"You have to be the best. If this is going to work, McGonagall's got to know that you're the best," she'd said.

James had clapped him on the shoulder, with a quick, You're welcome, mate, and then had proceeded to tell Sirius that it wasn't that big of a deal, because it meant that James got to serve detention with Lily until the end of the term. Apparently, it hadn't mattered much that they were going to be scrubbing toilets with Filch.

Sirius's good mood had lasted until that Sunday, when Remus had stumbled up the dormitory stairs some time after dinner. His eyes had been sunken, though still flecked with gold, and dark purple bruises had formed underneath them. Both of his wrists had been bleeding through his rumpled shirt again, which very nearly sent Sirius into full panic mode, but Remus had just waved him off, whispering over and over, "I'm fine, Siri. I'm fine."

Sirius hadn't believed it for a goddamned second, but he'd allowed Remus to disappear into the bathroom for a long, hot shower. When Remus had slipped into Sirius's bed that night, his wrists had been wrapped in what looked like the torn and tattered remains of his shirt. Blood had still seeped out, a little watery, still wet from the shower, but neither of them had cared.

Sirius had whispered, "I'm so fucking glad you're not going home for the holidays."

Remus had sobbed into his pillow.

Sirius had thrown the duvet over him and pretended the tears and the blood and the scars didn't matter.

The whole staying-out-of-trouble thing had proven to be a bit more complicated than the winning-McGonagall's-heart thing. The Marauders were, by nature, troublemakers, and Sirius Black most of all. James and Sirius had, for the better part of the month, been fielding more of their time-sensitive ideas off to the Prewetts, which was both satisfying to see the pranks completed and the destruction wrought, but utterly devastating that they would never bear the Marauders' trademarked name into infamy.

The Slytherins were a whole other matter, because despite Sirius's pledge to leave them alone (and the Marauders' similar pledge out of sheer solidarity), the Slytherins were bound by no such obligations. The Carrows—who Sirius considered Enemies Numbers Three and Four, immediately after Snape and Malfoy—took particular delight in nagging and tormenting the Marauders, especially after they figured out there seemed to be no retaliation. The Carrows had spelled Peter's eyes shut, they'd cursed James to yodel everything for nearly two full days, and they'd once again given Remus vampire fangs—and that was just in the first week.

They still hadn't touched the goddamned Black heir.

Sirius seethed, swearing up and down he'd curse them into oblivion the second the next term started, but he did nothing.

All things considered, it could have been worse. Malfoy could have gotten involved. Sirius could tell—even from across the Great Hall—how much Malfoy wanted to curse the ever-living shit out of him, but McGonagall had threatened Malfoy's prefect badge and Malfoy was, at his very nature, the least-subtle, unimaginative, cowardly bastard on the fucking planet.

Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that Lily Evans had been keeping a tight leash on Severus Snape as well. They were talking again, even after the Malfoy Incident and the Great Snape Confession, and for the most part, they seemed to be friends. He saw them in the library every once in a while, sitting close together and whispering, and when he did, he'd spin on his heel and go to find Remus or James. Sirius both hated and couldn't even begin to understand how Lily could be friends with Snivellus, but he'd sworn to her that he wouldn't interfere.

Every now and then, when he'd be sitting with Lily in the library or the Great Hall and caught Snape glowering at them, Sirius found himself wondering if Lily was holding Snape to a similar promise.

He wondered if Snape loved Lily enough to tolerate her friendship with Sirius.

In a bizarre twist of fate, it was Crabbe and Macnair who'd started it. Of all the Slytherins that Sirius knew and loathed, up until this moment, Sirius wouldn't have even ranked the sixth-year-Crabbe and fourth-year-Macnair in the top twenty on his surprisingly thought-out list of enemies. They were, the both of them, more followers than instigators, and both rather stupid.

It was Regulus's birthday.

More specifically, it was Regulus's eleventh birthday.

Sirius was up early, as always, and sat in his bed to scribble down a quick letter to his brother. He'd summoned a proper quill from James's bag, rather than using Remus's ballpoint, just on the off chance that his mother had been burning his letters simply because they were written with Muggle ink and not just because they were from Sirius. The letter was quick, simple, full of Happy fucking birthday and Did you get your Hogwarts letter yet?!

Sirius's own Hogwarts letter had come later in the evening on his eleventh birthday. He couldn't quite decide if it was because the owl post was delayed for the day or if seven in the evening was the actual hour of his birth and therefore his exact eleventh birthday. He hadn't quite wanted to ask his mother, most especially because neither his mother nor father acknowledged that it actually was his birthday until that damn owl flew threw the window at dinner.

He didn't want it to be like that for Regulus. Regulus deserved to have his birthday acknowledged, even if the acknowledgment wasn't immediately accompanied by a Hogwarts letter.

Remus stirred on the other side of the pillow-barrier when Sirius slipped from underneath the covers. "Siri? What time is it?"

Sirius pulled on his boots and a thick Gryffindor robe that had to be James's. "Half five. Go back to sleep."

"Where're you going," Remus muttered into his pillow and, really, it came out more like a whine than a question.

"Letter to Regulus. It's his birthday."

Remus let out a long, mournful groan, then shoved himself upright. He didn't look to happy to be vertical. Light brown curls stuck out egregiously on one side, while they were pressed flat against his skull on the other. There were bags under his eyes and the scars on his face seemed to glow just a little in the pale, morning light.

Remus Lupin was not a morning person.

"I'm coming with you," Remus Lupin said anyway.

Sirius froze, halfway through the process of tucking Regulus's letter in an empty pocket of James's robe—if he could find an empty pocket, that is. "What? Why?"

Remus shrugged, then it immediately turned into a stretch. "Keep an eye on you, I suppose."

Sirius narrowed his eyes, not quite sure how he felt about a babysitter, even if it was Remus. "You should sleep."

"I'll sleep in History of Magic." Remus stood and pulled on his own robe: a tattered, brown-ish thing that was probably once soft and comforting.

"Model student, you are," Sirius muttered, but he didn't protest any more. He enjoyed Remus's company. Even grumpy, morning Remus.

They made their way to the West Tower, and Remus waited at the bottom of the stairs while Sirius climbed up to the owlery. He whistled twice, before the small barn owl that usually carried his letters to Andromeda landed on his arm. Sirius had named the owl Rogelio, because between him and Andromeda, Rogelio was the most ridiculous name for an owl that they could come up with. Rogelio didn't seem to mind it, and despite belonging to Hogwarts, he was quick and unyieldingly loyal to Sirius, even though, more often than not, Sirius forgot the owl treats.

Andromeda said it had something to do with the natural charm and charisma of being the Black heir.

Sirius thought that was bullshit. He was naturally charming and charismatic on his own, thanks.

Sirius tied the letter to Rogelio's leg, then fished in the pocket of his robe for some leftover biscuit crumbs—(Gross, James.)—to give the owl before sending him off.

Remus was slumped against the wall when Sirius descended the stairs. He thought for a moment Remus was asleep again, but then one amber eye quirked open.

"When are you going to ask McGonagall about the holidays?" Remus yawned into the question.

"Friday, I think," Sirius replied. When Remus made no move to stand, Sirius slid down the wall opposite him and mirrored his position exactly. "Evans has this whole week of good deeds planned. I'm tutoring third year Ravenclaws on their Charms homework, then helping Madam Pince sort through library returns—that was Evans's idea and, please, kill me now—then something with Madam Pomfrey. I think."

"How very altruistic of you," Remus deadpanned, though the corner of his lip twitched upwards in a small, secret smile.

"Seemingly selfless deeds to further my own ends," Sirius replied, matching his tone to Remus's. "My mother would be so proud."

"Pay the ferryman," Remus said, and really, that was the end of it.

Sirius smiled, and it was only a little bit forced. "Feel like breakfast?"

"Breakfast doesn't start for another hour," Remus replied, but his stomach growled loud enough for Sirius to hear.

Sirius snorted a laugh, then pulled himself to his feet. "Doesn't matter. I know where the kitchens are. You up for bribing the house elves into feeding us?"

For a second, Sirius thought Remus might protest because bribery and extortion, technically, were probably not ideal behaviour for someone who was supposed to be on his best behaviour, but in the end, Remus's stomach won out.

"Lead the way," he said.

Halfway down the stairs to the basement, Remus stopped so abruptly Sirius very nearly smacked into him.

"Re, wha—"

"Shh."

Sirius swallowed a pit of dread that suddenly settled in his throat. "What is it?"

"Slytherins."

Shit.

"Crabbe. And Macnair. I think."

Sirius tried to edge around Remus, to see what might be going on, but Remus stepped in his way, again narrowly avoiding touching him. Remus turned on his heels to face Sirius.

"Crabbe has Renada Pines pinned against the wall. She's a third year Hufflepuff. They've hexed her and she's bleeding from somewhere and the Macnair is saying some horrible things."

Sirius wasn't entirely sure how Remus could know all that—he wasn't even sure when Remus had had a chance to look around the corner without Sirius noticing—but that wasn't important.

Macnair's voice carried through the hall. "Fucking Mudblood slut. Never learns her place, does she?"

Sirius called his magic to his fingers, felt it dance, felt it flair up with the anger welling inside him. Next to him, Remus…

Well, for a hot second there, Sirius was pretty sure Remus growled.

"Right, then," Sirius said. "This'll be fun. Let's go."

Remus grabbed for his sleeve, narrowly missing the bare skin on Sirius's wrist, and Sirius instantly leaped back to avoid the touch.

"Remus, what the hell?" Sirius hissed.

For a half a second, Remus had the decency to look mildly apologetic. "You can't be here."

"What?"

"Pay the ferryman," Remus said, with a shrug. "McGonagall won't side with you if she catches you hexing Slytherins."

"But they're—"

Hurting her. Maiming her.

Remus said there was blood.

"I know," Remus snapped. "I know, okay? And they're not going to get away with it."

Sirius gave him a look that he hoped properly conveyed his great distaste for this whole situation, specifically the part about Remus being right about McGonagall.

"You're going to go find McGonagall," Remus said. "You're going to tell her what's going on and get her to come down here immediately. I'm going to—" Remus waved his hand in the vague direction of where the Slytherins had Renada Pines pinned. "—help."

"You want me to snitch?!" He felt the blood curdling in his veins at the very thought of it. It didn't seem very Gryffindor to Sirius.

"I need you to be safe. I don't care about the fucking Slytherins. I need to know that you're safe, no matter what, and if you get in trouble now, you won't be."

Every instinct Sirius had screamed at him to fight Remus on this. Crabbe and Macnair were dangerous. All Slytherins seemed to already have it in for Remus. Crabbe and Macnair were fucking monsters and Remus was about to throw himself in their path to save a Hufflepuff and—

"Please, Sirius," Remus all but begged. "There are far more terrifying monsters out there than these tow morons. I won't let you throw away your chance of escape. I need you to be safe."

Goddamnit.

Sirius gave a shaky nod, turned on his heel, then headed back up the stairs.

It didn't really occur to him until he was halfway to McGonagall's office that he wasn't exactly sure where McGonagall typically was at this hour. If she wasn't in her classroom, she'd be in her quarters, and for the life of him, Sirius had no idea where the professors stayed.

For the love of Merlin, someone really needs to make a map of this place.

His heart racing, Sirius sent a prayer to every deity he could think of as he knocked on McGonagall's office door. Once, twice, three times, then nothing. He tried again, two quick raps, then he slapped his palms helplessly against the door.

He was torn between spelling the door open, running aimlessly through the halls shouting for McGonagall, or racing back to the kitchens to help Remus and the Hufflepuff, his own fate be damned.

"Shit," Sirius mumbled, but he called his magic to his hands, little red sparks dancing between his fingertips.

The door swung open.

McGonagall loomed over him, her hair done up perfectly and her robes freshly pressed. She looked like she did during every lesson, not anything like he'd expected her to this early in the morning.

She scowled at him, a few wrinkles forming at the corners f er down-turned lips. Absently, Sirius wondered if those wrinkles had been there this whole time, or if he could take personal responsibility for them. He'd be rather proud of himself if it was the latter.

"Mr. Black." McGonagall's voice was laced with poison. "Is there a reason you're trying to break into my office this early in the morning?"

"I knocked," Sirius protested, then reined himself in. He didn't have time to argue with her. "Remus and—"

"I will not have you breaking into my office for some prank—"

Merlin's balls, she was impossible.

"Crabbe and Macnair have Rendada Pines pinned in the hallway by the kitchens. She's hurt and Remus said she's been hexed. He stayed to stop them. I came for help."

McGonagall paused for a whole five seconds, her eyes zeroed in on his. Sirius did not dare look away.

"Is this a joke, Black?" McGonagall asked. "Because, rest assured, if it is—"

"No! It's not a joke. She's hurt, Professor. They hurt her and she needs help."

An eyebrow went up, just over the rim of McGonagall's square spectacles.

"Please, Professor."

Remus put himself in danger to protect Sirius.

Sirius was not above begging McGonagall to make sure Remus was safe, too.

"Very well," McGonagall said. She stepped aside and gestured to the empty chair in her office. "You will sit there until such time as I return. You will not move a single inch. If I find out that this is any sort of a trick—"

"Detention for the next millennia, a letter home, and writing lines until my hand falls off?" Sirius supplied.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Indeed."

Sirius brushed past her and sat in the chair. By the time he turned around, she'd already left.

She was only gone fifteen minutes. Sirius bit his nails and fidgeted the entire time. He ripped a hangnail off his index finger, then flicked his wrist to quickly heal it before the blood welled up.

McGonagall walked back into her office in a flurry of now-slightly-rumpled robes, trailed by Remus.

Sirius sat up straight, but did not stand, as Remus took a seat next to him. Remus had a bruise under his right eye, but otherwise appeared fine. He gave Sirius a small smile and a nod that was probably meant to convey something, but Sirius couldn't quite work past the bruise and the gnawing guilt that had settled in his stomach.

Remus was hurt and Sirius had been sitting here the entire time.

"I'm fine, Sirius," Remus whispered, seeing the look on his face.

Sirius muttered a quick Episkey and pointed his finger at Remus's cheek. The bruise very quickly faded from purple to green to yellow, then it was gone and Remus was indeed fine.

Both boys turned to see McGonagall staring between them. She wore an expression that Sirius couldn't quite read, but if he had to guess, he'd say she was confused by their exchange.

"Professor?" Sirius asked.

His voice seemed to bring her back to the present and her expression neutralised. "Ms. Pines is being treated by Madam Pomfrey as we speak. She's expected to make a full recovery. I've entrusted the discipline of the Misters Crabbe and Macnair to Professor Slughorn, with the assurance that they are banned from the Quidditch team for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin…"

Both Sirius and Remus sat up a little straighter.

"For your actions today, I'm awarding ten points to Gryffindor."

The bitter, cynical voice in Sirius's head said that if he'd been James Potter, McGonagall would've shelled out fifty points.

"You did the right thing, Mr. Black, in coming to me." A crease appeared on McGonagall's forehead as she said it and Sirius very nearly laughed at the physical pain it seemed to cause her to compliment him.

"If that's all," McGonagall said, "I expect to see the two of you at breakfast in an hour."

Remus leaned forward in his chair, a hand held out to Sirius to tell him to stay put.

"Professor?" Remus asked.

McGonagall frowned. "What is it, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus turned to Sirius with a look on his face that Sirius understood instantly.

This was it.

If Sirius planned on asking McGonagall to stay over the holidays, he had to do it now, when he had somehow miraculously ended up in her favour.

"I do not have all day, Mr. Lupin."

Sirius took a breath, then put on his most innocent face, and recited the words that he'd been practicing with Lily for weeks. "Professor, as you know, Remus and Lily Evans have been given special permission to conduct research on the nature and workings of wandless magic over the holidays. They're in need of a test subject and they asked me to be their, ah, lab rat, I suppose. So I was hoping I could get your permission to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays to help them on their… academic endeavours. Please?"

Okay, so that wasn't exactly how they'd rehearsed it, that last sentence came out in a single breath, and the please was more of an afterthought, but there it was. His fate in Minerva McGonagall's hands.

Sirius was pretty sure his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

McGonagall held his gaze for a long, painful minute, her expression entirely inscrutable. Neither Remus nor Sirius dared to breathe.

Finally, with a deep frown, McGonagall said, "If you want to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, Mr. Black, then you'll need written permission from a parent."

Remus took over when Sirius waited too long to respond. "Professor, Sirius's parents have been somewhat… apathetic towards our project. Lily and I really want Sirius involved. He's the best either of us have seen at wandless magic and we'd like to test the limits of what he can do. We'd hoped, as Sirius's Head of House, you could over-rule his parents and—"

"No."

Sirius's entire world came crashing down with one word.

That's what it was. It was just No. Not No, I'm sorry, Black, but I must obey the rules. Not No, but maybe if you'd been a better student or hexed fewer Slytherins. Not even No, your actions today were pretty bloody heroic all the same. Good job, Mr. Black. You may be damned but you're still a hero.

Just fucking No.

Remus looked to be on that same razor-edge between sanity and total panic that Sirius was.

"Please, Professor, if you'd just consider…" Remus's voice hitched and he started over. "You've seen how Sirius's magic works. He just healed my face with a wave of his hand, for Merlin's sake. Have you ever seen anyone who could—"

McGonagall's piercing stare cut to Remus. "Professor Dumbledore has numerous books on the subject of wandless magic, Lupin. If you and Evans write to him, explaining your project, he's sure to lend them to you. As for a live subject, if you ask nicely, I'm positive Professor Dumbledore will be more than willing to demonstrate the mechanics of wandless magic for you. Without permission from his parents, Black will not be allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays."

"But, Professor, please—"

"No."

Her voice was harsh. Cruel, even. The final nail on Sirius's coffin.

Remus looked terrified, like he was debating between going to war with McGonagall or taking Sirius and running as far as he could before they were caught and executed. He kept sneaking glances at Sirius, amber eyes pleading for a response, but Sirius was… shell-shocked. Numb all over.

"But… I did everything right." Sirius's voice came out broken, scared, as if whispered by someone much younger than twelve to the monster lurking under their bed.

He wasn't even aware he'd said that out loud until McGonagall's eyes trained on him and they were… Murderous.

Even Walburga Black would cower in fear.

"Am I to believe, Black—" She spat out his name, like the poison it was. "—that your improved behaviour these past few weeks was motivated under the assumption that I would grant you a favour?"

Remus made a small noise. "No, Professor, it wasn't like that, I—"

"Quiet, Lupin!" She never looked away from Sirius.

Sirius tried valiantly to melt into his chair.

McGonagall placed both hands flat on her desk and leaned forward. "Listen to me very closely, Black. I will not allow you to manipulate me into any favours. You name, your station, your family's influence means nothing to me and I will not tolerate this idea that you seem to have that you can get away with anything just because of who you are. That is how Slytherins behave, Mr. Black, not Gryffindors and I will not stand for this blatant form of bribery in my house. Am I understood?"

"Professor, that's not—" Remus started.

McGonagall's sharp glare cut Remus off.

Sirius just nodded, just threw in the towel and fucking rolled over and surrendered to the inevitable, because what else could he possibly do?

"I will let you off just this once, on behalf of Ms. Pines and her continued safety thanks to your actions, but if I ever catch wind of this sort of behaviour again, Black, you and I will have a serious conversation about your continued future at Hogwarts."

Remus frantically glanced between Sirius and McGonagall, not quite willing to give up the fight. "Please, Professor, he can't go home, it's—"

"Why not?" McGonagall demanded.

But Remus couldn't say, and Sirius wasn't going to. Remus made a promise and Sirius was too much of a coward to acknowledge the horrors that awaited him out loud.

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line. "I will hear no more of this. The two of you are needed at breakfast."

Sirius went to breakfast. He's pretty sure he went to History of Magic, then lunch, then Potions—(Maybe? Did he have Potions today?)—and dinner, but he spaced it all out. No one really spoke to him or bothered him and everyone seemed to even deliberately avoid brushing past him in the halls, but Sirius didn't think too much of it. He didn't think too much of anything, really. Just one thought, over and over, and over.

He was fucked.

He was vaguely aware of Remus, hovering close all day, frantically whispering to James, then Lily, then Peeves? Did Remus talk much to Peeves?

By the time reality settled back around him, it was dark. The stars were shining overhead and Sirius was wrapped in a duvet that smelled like Remus, sitting in his usual spot on the roof.

Remus rapped on the window before climbing out, startling Sirius out of whatever fog he'd been in. Remus gave Sirius a weak smile, then sat down next to him, pressing up against the duvet from shoulder to hip.

Oh, how Sirius relished the dull pain.

"James said you made everyone else leave," Remus muttered.

Sirius nodded, though if he's honest, he didn't quite remember doing that.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Sirius said. "You're different."

Remus gave him a look that said he'd very much like to explore that particular statement in depth, but he let it drop.

"Lily's been in McGonagall's office for over an hour, pleading your case."

Remus didn't seem particularly optimistic about the outcome, and, quite honestly, neither did Sirius . There was nothing else to do. He didn't have any hope left to place on the shoulders of Lily Evans, no matter how stubborn she could be.

He wasn't sure he had much of anything left in him.

Nothing felt real anymore.

He'd chosen Gryffindor, he'd made these friends who seemed to care about him far more than he was worth, and for what?

Nothing.

Walburga Black was going to carve away any speck of Gryffindor he had left in him, chisel him down until he was once again her perfect heir.

"I'm so fucking scared, Remus," he said, and Merlin, where had the words even come from?

Remus draped an arm across Sirius's shoulders and, gods, it hurt, but it was real and tangible and this chosen pain was so much better than the nothing welling up in his soul. Sirius leaned into the touch for as long as he could stand it, teeth gritted together and eyes squeezed shut.

All too soon, Remus pulled away and put some distance between them.

"What can I do, Siri? There has to be something I can do."

Sirius shook his head, because there just wasn't anything else to do. This was it. His last chance, and it'd exploded in his face. He didn't have any more cards to play.

On Saturday, he was going home to Grimmauld Place. To his mother and his father and a brother who might not even want to speak with him. Home, to a prison of torture and terror and whatever corporal and psychological punishments the Warden could concoct.

Home, to be tormented for trying to be brave, when everyone knew he was a coward.

Home, with a dead wand and a virtual noose around his neck.

Home, for nearly three fucking weeks.

"What can I do, Sirius?" Remus repeated, a note of pained desperation in his voice.

Sirius reached for anything left, that last little spark of courage in his heart and finally managed a smile.

"Read to me?" he said. "Until it's too cold."

Amber eyes glistened with unshed tears and so, so many unspoken words between them, but Remus bit his lip and nodded. He drew his wand and muttered a quick spell. A second later, an old, beat-up paperback came floating through the open window.

"Fuck what Evans says," Remus proclaimed, opening the book after casting a quick Lumos. "Tonight, we're reading Beowulf. He's an expert at killing monsters, and, quite frankly, between the two of us, I think we need a monster slayer. Take notes."

Sirius managed a soft laugh, then waved a heating charm over the both of them.

He got lost in the stars, in the steady cadence of Remus's voice, in the epic story of a man who never stopped fighting the monsters that came for him.

It wasn't hope that settled in Sirius's heart, because hope was long gone and had left him empty of almost anything. Terror still ate away at his insides, itself a raging monster threatening to swallow Sirius Black whole, but this?

This was stolen, and wholly undeserved peace, next to Remus Lupin, on the roof of Gryffindor tower.

He knew it wouldn't last, but Sirius revelled in it, for as long as there were still words left on the pages of Remus's books, no matter the fate that had already been written for him when he returned to Grimmauld Place.

Here, now, Sirius was safe.

He swore on everything that he believed in—on friendship, on James Potter's ridiculous hair or Lily Evans's freckles, on the stars shining infinitely above them, on the miraculous, leyline pattern of scars on Remus's face—Sirius swore on everything holy left in the world that he'd hold onto this moment for as long as he still drew breath.

DECEMBER 18, 1971

Sirius was up, dressed, packed, and down in the courtyard on Saturday morning while everyone else was either eating breakfast in the Great Hall or packing in the dormitory. It wasn't because he was in any way excited about the prospect of going home—the opposite, in every possible way—but because he didn't know if he had the strength left in him to bear everyone else's excitement.

Though he knew James was as rightfully terrified for him as Remus and Lily were, James couldn't quite keep the excitement out of his voice whenever he talked about the holidays.

Fairy-tale prince.

Sirius loved him for it, and decided he'd give almost anything to make sure that James Potter never had to face the kind of monster that lived in Grimmauld Place.

It was freezing in the courtyard and Sirius wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. He'd transfigured it back to its original silver and green, though he doubted, at this point, it would make much of a difference when he got home.

His parents already knew he'd chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin.

At a quarter to nine, Sirius's head snapped up when he heard the steady clop of hooves and the rough grinding of wheels against cobblestone. One after another, droves of thestral-drawn carriages pulled into the courtyard.

The lead carriage marched right up to Sirius, coming to a halt in front of him. The two thestrals huffed, and one stamped its foot against the ground, its wings flaring a bit and knocking against the wings of the other.

Sirius was in awe of the creatures. They were huge, for one, and as horrendously beautiful as the end of a nightmare: heart-pounding, gasping in relief to once more see the waking world. He'd seen them from a distance, of course, both in Care of Magical Creatures and at the beginning of the year when they'd first disembarked from the Hogwarts Express.

Sirius reached out a hand and the two thestrals edged closer, the one on the left ducking its enormous head so Sirius could stroke its nose. The thestral nickered its approval of the touch and pressed closer and Sirius wrapped both his hands around the thestrals nose, scratching and stroking. He stared into the thestrals eyes, endless pools of shadows and mist, with no discernible pupils, maybe nothing more than empty sockets, an unfathomable abyss that knew only nothing and death.

Oh, how Sirius longed to fall into that abyss.

"You can see them, too, huh."

Remus didn't sound particularly surprised at the fact.

Sirius, however, was rather surprised by the fact that Remus could see them.

He wasn't going to ask about it, though. If he asked Remus, then Sirius would have to tell him why he could see the thestrals, and Sirius was nowhere near prepared to explain the whole story of Alphonse Auclair right now. He simply shrugged and let it drop.

Remus walked up next to him, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed a bit. Sirius did not release his grip on the thestral, nor did the creature back away from Remus. Cautiously, Remus reached out a hand to Sirius's thestral. The thestral's empty, shadowed eyes never left Remus as it slowly extracted itself from Sirius's hold and pressed its face into Remus's hand.

The thestral's eyes closed and it pressed closer to Remus. It let out a sound that could only be described as a purr.

"It likes you," Sirius said, and really, that was probably the most surprising thing yet. Every creature they'd encountered, from Hickory Dave to Hagrid's kneazle, Spot, had shied away from Remus or, on more than one memorable occasion, run screaming in the other direction.

The thestral edged closer, until its forehead was pressed against Remus's.

"It has no reason to be afraid of me," Remus replied, and Sirius wondered if that was supposed to be some sort of explanation. "Christ, Sirius, it's beautiful."

The thestral backed away as other students began to trickle into the courtyard, bowing to Remus as it did so. Sirius looked around: smiling faces wrapped in hats and scarves and winter robes, thrilled to be going home for the holidays.

Merlin, he was going to be sick. His breaths came out in short, aborted gasps, and the edges of his vision went fuzzy.

Remus very deliberately grabbed his arm. Sirius gasped and his eyes locked on Remus's, one, because it burned like divine fucking hellfire, and two, because Remus Lupin never intentionally touched him without a significant barrier between them.

"Promise me you'll come back," Remus whispered, his voice as broken and shattered as Sirius's heart. "For the love of God, Sirius, please come back."

Shakily, Sirius nodded, though he wasn't sure he could promise such a thing, not with where he was going. For all he knew, if his parents didn't outright kill him, he could be shipped of to Durmstrang at the start of next term.

Then, Remus pulled him into a hug, and long, impossibly strong arms wrapped tightly around Sirius's waist. He wanted to cry or scream or pull away, because every nerve in his body was on the verge of spontaneous combustion, but instead he gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into Remus's coat, clinging to him for all he's worth. Sirius pressed his face into Remus's neck, letting out a sob, because everything fucking hurt, but it didn't matter.

This…. This was real. This was pain he'd only begun to fathom.

This was a reason to live, a reason to grit his teeth through the horrors at Grimmauld Place.

This was a promise that he'd come back.

After a moment, a minute, half of an eternity, Remus pushed him away and took a step back. They were both breathing hard, and Sirius couldn't stop shaking, whether from pain or fear, he couldn't say.

"I'll be okay," Sirius said, but they both knew it was a lie.

James and Peter made their way up to them, James's carefree smile fading to nothing when he saw Sirius. Sirius's gut clenched. What was left of his pride flared up and roared at the pity in James's eyes, but outwardly, Sirius kept his face blank.

"Right, then," James said, clapping Remus on the shoulder. "Talk me up to Evans, yeah? Tell her I love her."

"Not a chance in hell," Remus replied, his voice sounding strained.

For once in his life, James didn't press the issue. Instead, he pulled Remus into a quick hug, then strolled towards the carriage.

"See you next term," James said, with a forced smile. He was trying to be brave for all of them.

With one last pat on the thestral's nose, Sirius made to follow James and Peter into the carriage.

Remus's eyes never left Sirius's, brilliant amber shining in the morning sun. Merlin, Sirius prayed he could remember that forever.

"Yeah," said Remus. "Next term."

Sirius didn't smile. He didn't even react, because he'd already made that promise.

Now, he just had to survive.