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.

10. Of Bargains and Regrets

JANUARY 3, 1972

Remus looked slightly less green when he helped Madam Pomfrey change Sirius's bandages the next morning.

It was funny, really. Sirius had seen Remus nearly torn to ribbons himself, but Remus seemed incredibly squeamish around Sirius's injuries; so much so, in fact, that Sirius would have teased him relentlessly for it, had he not been gritting his teeth and cursing his way through the various Aguamenti's and levitation spells, at Madam Pomfrey's careful instruction.

Merlin, he thought, when Remus finally let out a relieved sigh and Madam Pomfrey finally retreated to her office. Malfoy really did a number on me.

Really, it wasn't the equal-and-opposite sort of retribution that was generally expected of these sort of pure-blood grudge matches. Sirius had aimed his curse at Malfoy's face. It had been severe enough to scar, yes, but the scar was no longer than the palm of Sirius's hand. And he'd struck Malfoy on the side of his face, eyebrow to chin, an area that could easily be covered by Malfoy's stupid white-blonde hair.

Malfoy had…

Well, Malfoy had nearly carved Sirius in two, hadn't he? There was an X etched into Sirius's chest, from collarbone to hip.

No one could reasonably say that that had been a proportional response.

No one had decried this grave injustice and breach of pureblood traditions, either.

Sirius hadn't been lying, when he'd told Remus he remembered almost nothing after Christmas day. He knew he must have woken up at some point, because when his father had barged into his room yesterday morning—furious at what he'd deigned to perceive as laziness on the part of his eldest son and heir—Sirius had reached for the inkwells Alphard had given him.

He'd downed the very last of the nutrition potion, holding the vial over his mouth for as long as he could possibly manage without passing out, in order to get every last drop.

At half past eight, a house-elf popped in, bearing two steaming trays of food. Sirius's mouth watered on sight, and, with a little strategic manoeuvring so as to avoid re-opening his scars, Sirius managed to sit up. Remus muttered a, "Thanks, Speckles," as the house-elf set the trays on the pillow-wall between them, then disapparated.

They ate in relative silence. Sirius studiously sipped on his piping hot broth—this time containing small bits of beef—as Remus devoured his bacon and eggs. As he finished his soup, and sparing a glance to make sure Madam Pomfrey wasn't watching, Sirius snatched the last piece of bacon from Remus's fingers and more or less swallowed it whole.

Remus glared at him, but then sighed. He stood, slid out of bed, and placed the empty trays on the cabinet, before stretching his arms over his head. His neck and shoulders popped, and Sirius tried not to cringe at the sound.

"How are you feeling?" Remus asked, through a mostly-stifled yawn, and really, Remus looked terrible. His curly hair stuck out in every direction imaginable. His eyes were red-rimmed and opened way too wide in an apparent attempt to fight off exhaustion. His uniform was rumpled and untucked, but that wasn't all surprising given he'd slept in it. The scar across the bridge of his nose was a darker shade of pink, starkly contrasted against Remus's pale skin and freckles, almost as if—

As if…

Sirius counted the scars. Then, he counted them again.

No. No.

There was no way those were new.

Remus had stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays. He couldn't possibly—

"Sirius?"

"Hm? Yeah, sorry. I'm fine."

Remus frowned and raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

Sirius huffed. "Fine. I feel like shit, but considerably less shitty than yesterday. Not going to pass out any time soon, anyway. Hopefully. Most likely."

Remus didn't look particularly convinced.

Sirius pushed his luck anyway. "What are the chances of you helping me break out of here before Madam Pomfrey comes to check on me?"

"Not fucking likely."

"But—"

"Sirius, you almost fucking died."

"I did not!"

Piercing, half-golden eyes tracked down to Sirius's chest, over the bandages, then back up to the tattoo, and—

"Fine! Fine!" Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, trying to block it from view. Slightly mortified, he felt himself flush red. He wasn't used to anyone looking at his chest, his fucking tattoo, least of all Remus Lupin. It… It was unnerving. "Can you at least get me a shirt?"

He wasn't exactly sure when he'd taken off his own shirt—the exact events of yesterday were more than a little hazy in his mind—but he was certainly tired of not wearing one. It brought unnecessary attention to things he'd rather keep secret.

Remus nodded, then gave him a small reassuring smile. "Yeah, I think I can do that."

Remus made his way to the opposite end of the hospital wing, crouched by a small, bedside cupboard, rooted a round for a minute, then made a vaguely triumphant noise as he pulled out not just a shirt, but a pair of soft, Muggle trousers as well.

"Here," Remus said, handing over the clothes. "These should do."

Sirius eyed the clothes, subconsciously wiggling a little in his own, now-ruined designer trousers. The waistband and front part of his trousers were crusted with quite a bit of dried blood, Dittany, and other unmentionable, yet equally disgusting bodily fluids he'd rather not think too hard about. The trousers were about as far from salvageable as humanly possible.

"Thanks." Sirius took the proffered clothes and ever-so-slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He took a long moment just to breathe.

"Do… Do you need help?"

"No." Sirius tried not to snap, but he still managed to answer far too quickly and with far too much conviction.

Remus clearly didn't share any of his false bravado, but he turned his back all the same to allow Sirius the dignity of changing on his own.

Sirius shucked his trousers in one go—they were so caked with filth that they kept their shape, much to his disgust—but kept his pants. His silk pants were equally ruined, but Sirius Black had just enough pureblood formality beaten into him that he wasn't about to go pants-less in borrowed trousers.

Said borrowed trousers were rather large on him—so much so that Sirius muttered a quick spell to cinch them at his waist. The trousers hung well past his feet, the knees were rather worn, and never had such pedestrian fabric been used to clothe a member of the Noble and Most Pretentious House of Black, but they were incredibly comfortable. Absently, Sirius found himself wondering as to where one might acquire a pair and just what the consequences might be if his mother found out he'd gone to a Muggle tailor.

Sirius shook his head and reached for the shirt. It was an equally worn button-up, with a patch on one elbow and ridiculously long sleeves, but it was made of thick, pliable material that smelled of… starlight and piping hot tea. Right beneath the collar—

No. That couldn't be right.

Right beneath the collar, stitched ever so carefully, were the initials R.J.L.

"Remus, are these yours?" Sirius blurted.

Because if Remus had a spare set of clothes in the hospital wing, that might lead one to believe that not only had Remus been a recent resident of said hospital wing, but the injuries he'd hypothetically sustained had also been grave enough to either warrant a change of clothes or an extended stay in the hospital wing that would consequently necessitate a change of clothes, eventually. Which, really, could not be possible because Remus hadn't gone home for the holidays, so there was no logical reason for Remus to have been in the hospital wing at all.

Right?

Except the back of Remus's neck flushed red and Sirius felt his heart stop.

Because Remus had a new scar on his face that Sirius was now fairly certain hadn't been there when Sirius left.

Oh, how he'd wanted to believe that it was nothing.

Nothing, as it turned out, hardly ever worked in his favour.

"Where'd you get that scar on your face, Remus?"

"Siri—"

"No!" Sirius had half a mind to throw the shirt at the back of Remus's head.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Remus turned to face him, and Merlin, how had Sirius missed it? The scar across the bridge of Remus's nose was a pale pink, not faded silver. New. Raw. Fresh.

The fight drained out of Sirius, as though he'd been punched in the throat.

"You were supposed to be safe, Re," Sirius croaked.

"So were you." Remus's jaw tightened, but this time, he didn't turn away. "Our monsters will always find us, Sirius."

For a moment, Remus looked as though he wanted to say more, wanted to explain, anything. He opened and closed his mouth, his fingers fidgeting all over the place. Sirius waited.

And waited.

Then, suddenly, Remus froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid. Sirius watched, confused and mildly alarmed, as Remus tilted his head up and turned towards the—

The giant door to the hospital wing was open, just a crack. When and how that had happened without them noticing, Sirius couldn't be sure.

Remus frowned and… sniffed? Whatever he was doing, it was beyond strange. Sirius watched Remus's eyes dart around the room, seemingly unable to settle on anything in particular, always on the move, always searching for… something.

"Remus, what—"

Sirius heard the faint shuffle, the soft whisper of fabric, the slightly too-loud breathing.

Except there was no one there.

Readying himself for a fight with whatever ghost or shadowy figure that may or may not have infiltrated Hogwarts, Sirius tugged on Remus's shirt as quickly as he dared without risking reopening his wounds. He shoved the ridiculously long sleeves up past his elbows, called his magic to the tips of his fingers, and took a defensive stance next to Remus.

Someone—something?—hissed out a faint curse. Then:

"Ow!"

"That's my foot!"

"Potter, if that's your fucking hand on my arse, so help me God, I will—"

Sirius and Remus exchanged a startled glance.

"Evans?" Sirius called, to the otherwise empty hospital wing.

"Shit." That certainly sounded like James.

"Weren't they s'posed to see us eventually?" Peter, maybe?

"Yes, but not until after we scared the shit out of them."

"That doesn't seem very nice."

"It's supposed to cheer them up. All they need is a good bit of mischief and—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake!"

With a sudden whoosh of fabric, James, Lily, and Peter materialised out of nowhere, not five feet from them.

"What the fuck," Remus deadpanned, at the exact same moment Sirius gasped, "Is that a fucking invisibility cloak?!"

Sirius eyed the now semi-transparent, shimmering fabric caught in Lily Evans's fist.

"Yep!" James beamed and hesitantly snatched the cloak back from Lily. "It was a Christmas gift from my dad. Bit of a family heirloom, really. Turns out my great-great—"

"Shut up, Potter," Lily snapped, with a truly dramatic eye roll. She fixed her bright green eyes on Sirius. "How are you feeling?"

"Yeah," James echoed. He fiddled with the ends of the cloak, his nervous fingers blinking in and out of view. "Evans… Um, well, Evans explained about your—" James gestured vaguely at Sirius's chest. "—that."

Sirius glanced sown at the tattoo that was barely obscured by Remus's still-unbuttoned shirt. Suddenly rather self-conscious, Sirius waved his hand and did up the buttons.

"Yeah, mate," Peter said. "Sounds awful."

Well, if that wasn't the understatement of the century.

Sirius didn't quite know what to say, but, thankfully, Remus came to his rescue.

"How exactly did you lot get in here? Last I checked, that door was locked tight." Remus held up his mostly-healed-but-still-bandaged fingers as a visual aide.

"Evans told us not to—" Peter began, with marked hesitation.

"Peeves," James said, with relative confidence.

"For fuck's sake, Potter, I told you not to say his name!" Lily said, with blinding rage.

Somewhere, down the long hall outside the hospital wing, came a loud shriek and raucous laughter.

"Peeves?" Sirius asked. "The poltergeist?"

Andromeda had told him stories.

Lily buried her face in her hands and nodded miserably. "Now you've done it, Potter."

She was right—as she tended to be—because a second later, Peeves, the poltergeist, zipped into the room, did a flip mid-air, then began circling a startled Remus.

"Little Lupin is a loon," sang Peeves. "Loony Lupin howls at the moon."

"Shut the fuck up!" Lily roared at Peeves, standing on her tip toes, her hair flailing rather dramatically behind her. "You agreed to help and now you have, so kindly fuck off!"

Sirius couldn't help but notice that Remus had gone ghostly pale.

Peeves turned and floated over to Lily. "Little flower is a bore. Damn the King of Gryffindor!"

Lily drew her wand. "Why, you little—"

Peeves laughed, rather maniacally.

"Merlin, Evans, leave it alone. He doesn't mean anything," James said.

Peeves suddenly manifested in front of James, circled him a few times, then belted out:

"Little Potty Potter had a cloak of night

Little Potty Potter did what he thought right

Oh, how he's been conned

He who dies without a wand

Little Potty Potter, the blindly loyal knight."

James, for his part, looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"See?" James said, gesturing at Peeves. "It's just a stupid limerick. And he's just a half-mad poltergeist. Nothing more than a little mischief and chaos. He's perfectly harmless."

"No, he's not," Sirius said, because Andromeda had told him stories.

Peeves had been a seer, once, an age ago. He'd had a proper name, a respected position, and a good, long life. But, like so many, he died without having completed his life's goal, and in death, went utterly mad. The eons of rage and regret ate away at his once-bright soul, until nothing remained but a creature enslaved to chaos.

Peeves may not be the cruel and ravenous kind of poltergeist found in Wych Elm Manor, but he was far from the friendly, benevolent spirits that often wandered the halls of Hogwarts.

Eventually—years from now, or perhaps tomorrow—Peeves would fade into a dementor, just like the rest of his kind.

"He is anything but harmless," Sirius said.

The cackling laughter stopped as Peeves froze mid-air. Slowly, eerily, he turned to Sirius. The mischievous glint in his eyes turned horrifyingly manic. His smile of sharp, pointed teeth stretched wide and unnatural across his face.

Peeves floated over and stopped right in front of Sirius, so still he could have been a statue.

Sirius Black was not brave—far from it, in fact—and it took ever ounce of courage his mother had so desperately tried to beat out of him to face the utter cruelty in Peeves's dead, soulless eyes.

Then: "For ye be warned, young Sirius Black. You'll lose your soul and won't get it back."

It was a crescendo, a cacophony, each word louder and more deranged than the last, until at last, Peeves was screaming the words in Sirius's face.

Words he'd heard before. In Diagon Alley.

"What did you say?" Sirius breathed, because those words should be impossible. He'd locked them away in the deepest recesses of his soul.

Peeves repeated the verse, over and over, giggling like a schoolgirl.

Merlin, it'd been a long time coming, a festering volcano prime for eruption after tremors and earthquakes and trauma and heartbreak, and…

Well, something inside Sirius just… snapped.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" Sirius tugged at his hair, tried to block his ears, but Peeves turned the verse into a song. "Shut the fuck up!"

All at once, the volcano erupted. Sirius's magic flared to life, cackling and furious and burning beneath the surface of his skin. It exploded out from him, deafening and ravenous for blood and pain and all the darkness that Sirius tried so desperately to hide. He had just enough forethought to raise his hands and direct the cataclysm at Peeves.

Peter screamed. James swore. Remus… growled?

Lily Evans cast a Protego over all of them.

Peeves, of course, was utterly unharmed, seeing as there was absolutely nothing corporeal about him.

There was, however, a brand new scorch mark on the ceiling of the hospital wing. In any other circumstance, Sirius might have been proud of that.

Sirius sank down on the bed behind him, utterly depleted and trying to starve off a full-blown panic attack, because how could—

Peeves whistled, folded his hands under his arms, and flapped his arms in a poor imitation of a bird. He fluttered around the room, and holy-fucking-Merlin, it wasn't fucking possible.

"Sirius Black, how tragically flawed

Thought he might be the boy to kill God

Now Nothing's dictating

And that dark kiss is waiting

For the murder of the boy who killed God."

And, with that, Peeves vanished into thin air.

A deafening silence roared throughout the hospital wing.

James Potter opened and closed his mouth, spun a full three hundred sixty degrees, raised a finger in the air, pointed at nothing, then asked, "Was that the same—"

"Yep," Sirius replied, because what the fuck else could he say?

"From Diagon Alley?"

"Yep."

"The same one that Silas, the-fucked-in-the-head-pigeon—"

"Yes, James."

"Huh." James's finger fell limply at his side.

More silence. Then:

"I'm sorry, but what the actual fuck?!" Remus blurted.

Sirius gave a hapless shrug.

"A prophecy," Lily Evans answered for him, clearly just as unsettled as the rest of them. "That was a prophecy."

Sirius tried for a sardonic smile, but he was pretty sure he only barely managed an exhausted grimace. "I told you about Silas, didn't I, Remus?"

"You said a psychic finch or something told you that you'd kill God, but that—" There was something like terror dancing in Remus's amber eyes. "—That was not a prophecy, Sirius. That's a fucking death omen."

Sirius conceded the point. "Same difference, really."

Lily shook her head and took aim at practicality. "This is all assuming we believe in prophecy, which we shouldn't, really. It's hardly an exact science, after all."

As much as he'd love to take solace in Lily's words, this felt… real. Substantially more like inevitable fact than hyperbolic fairytale.

Fate or God or the hands of chaos incarnate… Whatever it was, it had a price on his head. Sirius felt the noose around his neck the same as he felt the cold, cruel nothing eating away at his soul. It could hardly be considered a hypothetical prophecy if it'd already begun.

The truth was, the clock started ticking the moment he'd asked the Sorting Hat for Gryffindor. Or, perhaps, before, when he'd killed his wand and healed his brother. Either way, the conclusion was the same and there was only one way this story was going to end.

He looked around at his friends. Lily had a hard set to her jaw, her chin tilted up in stubborn defiance. James looked, well… disturbed, to say the least, and remained uncharacteristically quiet. Peter appeared to be more confused than anything, really.

Remus… There was a frantic desperation in his eyes, silently begging Sirius to agree with Lily, to denounce his fate, or to fun screaming in the opposite direction of all this chaos.

"Siri—" Remus began, but he choked on his next words.

Sirius met his beautiful, amber eyes. Merlin, they were the brilliance of the dawn through a glass of firewhisky. "I told you my secrets were dark and my monsters were very real."

Remus swallowed. "That you did."

They didn't get a chance to say anything else—or even remotely recover from the fallout of the atom bomb Peeves set off—because, just then, the enormous, mahogany doors to the hospital wing burst open.

Professor McGonagall, prim and proper as ever, came in, seemed to take in the sight of five more-than-a-little-rattled first-year Gryffindors—three of whom were definitely not supposed to be in the hospital wing—and pulled up short.

Behind McGonagall came a genuine, yet slightly aborted laugh. Then:

"Mum?!" James Potter's voice cracked a bit on the high note.

The woman—James's mum, apparently—was tall, thin, and as poised as any pureblood matriarch that Sirius had ever met. Except… There was a glimmer of mischief in her dark eyes that left no doubt as to her immediate relation to one James Potter. She wore what Sirius assumed to be a gold and red sari underneath an open black robe, not at all dissimilar to that worn by Sirius's father when he attends to Ministry or Wizengamot business. Her skin was perhaps a shade or two darker than James, and her once-black hair was streaked with grey, but she was—objectively speaking—phenomenally beautiful.

"Don't be rude, James," she said, with just the faintest clip of a foreign accent. "Introduce me to your friends."

"Um." James seemed to be having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his mother was at Hogwarts. To be fair, Sirius figured that if it were his own mother making surprise appearances, he'd find himself in an early grave.

That being said, Mrs. Potter seemed to be the furthest thing possible from Walburga Black.

For one, Mrs. Potter looked at her son as though he were the most precious thing in the world, even though, technically speaking, James Potter was currently breaking the rules just by virtue of being in the hospital wing.

"Well," James managed, before casually looping an arm around Peter's shoulders. "This is Peter Pettigrew, Marauder, and this—"

He turned to Lily, but she ignored him entirely.

Instead, Lily marched right up to Mrs. Potter, stuck out her hand, and said, "Lily Evans. King—" Here, she directed an icy glare at James. "—of Gryffindor."

Mrs. Potter gasped, curtseyed, shook Lily's hand, then directed her own, slightly less murderous glare at her son. "James Fleamont Potter," Mrs. Potter said, and no one missed Lily's snicker at the use of his middle name. "You should have told me I'd be in the presence of royalty. I would have worn my formal robes."

"I didn't know you were coming," James cried, exasperated, then thought about it for a second. "Why are you—"

Mrs. Potter ignored him, and instead, addressed Lily. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. I must apologise on behalf of my son. He is a bit of an idiot."

It wasn't said with even a hint of malice, and Sirius might have even laughed at James's indignant response or Lily's excessive preening, had he not possessed an inherent mistrust of any-if-not-all maternal figures.

Mrs. Potter then turned fully to face Remus and Sirius. Her eyes twinkled as she said, indulgently, "Seeing as James can't be bothered to do this properly—" James threw his hands up in the air in a show of dramatic resignation. "—would you be so kind as to introduce yourselves?"

"Remus Lupin, ma'am," Remus said, respectfully. "Also a Marauder, I guess."

Remus turned to Sirius and quirked an eyebrow up at him.

Sirius got the distinct impression that Mrs. Potter knew exactly who he was and precisely why he was in the hospital wing, but still he said, "Sirius Black. Marauder," with all the pride and dignity he had tucked away in the secret crevices of his heart.

"Great. That's done then," James cut in. "Mum, can you please explain why you're at Hogwarts ruining my life?"

"Such a drama queen," Mrs. Potter said, with a wink in Lily's direction, before turning her attention back to her son. "That's a bit of a long story, I'm afraid, but the short version is that Minerva asked me here."

Four Marauders and one King of Gryffindor directed varying degrees of befuddled looks at Professor McGonagall, who was doing her best impression of one of the stone-faced gargoyles that lined the parapets of the castle. Though, if Sirius didn't know any better, he'd almost say McGonagall's cheeks turned just the slightest bit pink.

It was probably the lighting. Right?

"Um," James said, on behalf of everyone. "Why exactly is that? Are we in trouble?"

"You probably should be," Lily muttered.

"Oi! This was your idea!"

"Peeves was my idea! You're the one who suggested breaking and entering!"

"No, Evans, I believe what you said was, 'Fuck the rules, we need to get to Sirius.'"

That last part James did in a high, falsetto voice.

Lily huffed. "No reasonable person would ever believe that, Potter."

Either way, something warm leaked into Sirius's heart and he felt himself smiling, if only for a moment.

"Perhaps the long version, then," Mrs. Potter cut in. "If only to keep my son from further incriminating himself."

All eyes focused once more on Mrs. Potter, but Mrs. Potter, horrifyingly, zeroed her gaze in on Sirius.

He had a sudden and desperate desire to hide behind Remus.

Mrs. Potter seemed to instinctively sense his discomfort and she kept her tone soft and kind. "Sirius, my name is Euphemia Potter. Before I married James's father, however, I was Euphemia Shafiq."

Shafiq.

He should know her name.

Generally speaking, Sirius considered himself something of an expert on pureblood genealogies, particularly those amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Particularly those amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight that adhered to certain… traditions and rituals regarding blood curses and magical tattoos.

He had not, to his knowledge, ever heard that particular name.

"My father," Mrs. Potter continued, "was Devansh Shafiq."

That name he knew, just as surely as he remembered Marius Black.

Sirius always made special note of the exiled, even the second sons of second sons.

"My father was disinherited by the Shafiqs around the turn of the century," Mrs. Potter explained. "He never really gave a reason why—not like families such as ours ever need due cause, after all—but penniless and without anywhere else to go, my father took a portkey to India to stay with distant relatives. It was there that he met my mother." Mrs. Potter paused, seemingly for no other reason than dramatic effect. "Io Lysandra Black."

It was dead silent for a second. Sirius tried to count his breaths and still his heart. Then:

"Wait. Wait," said a very confused James Potter. "Gran was a Black?!"

Mrs. Potter gave her son a patient smile. "You knew this, James."

"I most certainly did not," James muttered.

"Why don't I know that name?" Sirius interrupted. "Your mum's, that is. Io Black is not on the tapestry."

"Or in any of the pureblood genealogies," Lily added, frowning.

"No, I don't suppose she would be," Mrs. Potter said with a heavy sigh. "My mother was disowned and disinherited by her own mother, days before she would have been woven into that damned tapestry at Grimmauld Place."

Sirius froze. He thought back to the day his mother had woven his own name into the tapestry. She'd been laughing, slightly drunk, silver eyes sparkling with mirth and victory as she waved her wand to spell out his name, one letter at a time. He'd been…

Well, he'd been crying, sobbing softly in the corner, picking at the bandage that covered his brand new tattoo.

"But that means—" he started.

"She was eight years old when her mother, Charis Black, exiled her," Mrs. Potter finished.

Charis Black.

Andromeda's ace up her sleeve that had backfired so spectacularly.

Charis Black, who had married a Crouch, but kept her own name.

Alphard had said her line wasn't gone. Not completely.

Next to him, Remus visibly stiffened. "Why would anyone disinherit an eight year old?"

"They're the Blacks," Lily all but spat. "Why else?"

Because, in the end, it all came down to loyalty and blood.

"Days before her… blood rite—" Mrs. Potter paused here to shudder, and honestly, Sirius couldn't blame her. "—Charis found out that Io had befriended a Muggle girl that lived down the way. When Charis found out, well… She killed the Muggle girl in front of her family and punished Io by performing the blood rite on her own."

Sirius nearly choked. "But—"

"Ordinarily, the blood rite requires the house matriarch, which Charis was not, and a gathering of the family. Charis… improvised." Mrs. Potter gestured vaguely at Sirius. "She carved that blood cursed tattoo into her screaming daughter's flesh and then left her on the street to die."

Because, of course, there was no end to the cruelty of the Blacks.

"Why the hell wasn't Charis sent to Azkaban?" James asked, seemingly just as entrenched in the story of his own relatives as the rest of them. "She killed a Muggle, for Merlin's sake."

"And broke the statute of secrecy, if she did so in front of the girl's parents," Lily added.

Sirius knew that answer. It was the same reason most of his relatives were not currently in Azkaban.

Politics.

"At the time," Mrs. Potter explained, "both of Sirius's grandfathers were engaged in something of a cold war, both vying for the right to be the Head of House Black. Charis was cunning, as Slytherin as the rest of them, and vowed to back Pollux, the younger, in his little coup. In exchange, when he ultimately defeated Arcturus Black II in a duel, he kept her out of Azkaban, even when some of the other Ancient Houses voted to prosecute."

"Both grandfathers?" Peter gaped and turned to Sirius. "Your grandfathers were—"

"First cousins," Sirius muttered, miserably.

"What happened to her?" Remus asked. "Your mum?"

"She went to the only people she knew. The Muggle family, whose daughter she'd once befriended. The Khatris." Sirius quirked an eyebrow. That was… unexpected. "They couldn't touch her, but they'd loved her before, and they loved her still, even in the midst of tragedy. They'd seen the cruelty of the Blacks and they did the only thing they could. In the dead of night, Io and the Khatris left England for India. There, they claimed she was their daughter, to hide her from the wrath of the Blacks, even though Io was as pale as the moon. The Khatris raised her, and when it came time for school, they found another wizarding family to teach Io magic."

"She never went to Hogwarts?" Lily asked.

"Neither did I," Mrs. Potter said, with a bit of a smile.

Lily shrugged and sat down on the bed, on the other side of Remus. She whipped out a leather-bound book, seemingly from nowhere, whispered something in… German? Then, she began frantically scribbling down notes. Remus tried to surreptitiously peer over her shoulder, but Lily didn't even look up as she smacked him with her left hand. She just continued her notes.

"My mother and father met when they were both seventeen. Both of them disowned from ancient houses and both almost completely alone in the world. They married after only two months."

Sirius sat up a little straighter. "They could touch each other? The Shafiqs… They have their own blood ritual, same as us. Even if they'd both been branded blood traitors they shouldn't have been able to touch. I can't touch James! Is there a way to—"

Mrs. Potter sighed, and whatever hope he'd suddenly had vanished in an instant. "Sirius, my mother's blood ritual was botched, at best. She had the tattoo, but it didn't affect her in the same way, as the ritual was not performed correctly. I never asked the specifics, of how my father got around his own tattoo. I'm sorry I can't offer you an answer or even a shred of hope. All I know is that my mother's tattoo affected her ability to have children."

Sirius didn't give a shit about his ability to have children. If he had any say whatsoever—which, generally speaking, he didn't—Sirius was fairly certain he didn't actually want children. He wanted to know how he could touch Remus Lupin without wanting to cut his fucking hand off.

"Gran died," James said, gravelly. "In childbirth. I remember that part."

Oh.

Shit.

Mrs. Potter nodded, solemnly. "My father raised me on his own, with the help of the Khatris. I grew up in India. I only met James's father during the war."

Sirius perked up at that. "You fought against Grindelwald?"

"I did. By the time the Muggle war broke out in Europe, Grindelwald was making moves internationally. Monty had been put in charge of the resistance movement in India. We worked with all sorts of people, from every walk of life, to build a better future and work for equality amongst not just wizards, but all magical creatures. We were the antithesis of everything Grindelwald represented. I'd like to think we still are."

Sirius's parents had both been too young to fight in the war, but there wasn't a single iota of doubt in his mind as to whose side they would have been on.

"The war ended and we decided we hadn't done enough. There was still prejudice and injustice in the Wizarding World. The echoes of Grindelwald's cries for blood purity can be heard even today."

Sirius knew that better than anyone.

There was a war coming.

"Is that why you're here, then? To see if I'm joining those—" And really, he couldn't come up with a better description, especially under pressure. "—racist fucks?"

James whirled on him in alarm. "You're not, are you?"

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose in a frighteningly McGonagall-esque gesture. "No, Jamie."

Mrs. Potter snorted a laugh. "Don't be daft, Jamie."

James turned bright red.

"I am here, Sirius," Mrs. Potter said, "because I am a barrister for the Ministry of Magic and I argue cases before the Wizengamot every day. Pureblood politics be damned. The abuse you've suffered is cruel and unusual in every sense. I am here because Minerva reached out, as did your Uncle Alphard. I am here to make sure that the events of this past holiday are never repeated."

Remus stood. Lily snapped her leather-bound journal closed.

"Can you prosecute his parents?" Remus asked, eagerly.

"Or send them to Azkaban?" Lily added.

"Or just set them on fire?" James muttered. Nobody, including Mrs. Potter or McGonagall, disagreed with him.

"If there is a statement from Sirius and formal documentation of the injuries from a Healer—"

"Like Madam Pomfrey?" Remus prompted.

"Yes, Mr. Lupin," Mrs. Potter said, patiently. "If we were to prosecute, Sirius could feasibly be removed from his parents' custody, even before the legal battle began. Alphard Black has offered Constellation's Keep, of course, as an alternative, but you are always, always welcome at Potter Manor, Sirius."

James pumped an excited fist in the air. "You could live with us, Sirius! You could be my actual fucking brother! This will be epic. Marauders and brothers-in-arms, not just at Hogwarts, but—"

But.

Sirius had a brother, and no matter how much it killed him, he could not trade one brother for another.

"No," Sirius said, his voice remarkably steady. "You can't prosecute."

It was so silent, they could hear Peeves's manic laughter from just outside the mahogany door, just as he began chanting Silas's limerick once again.

Lily threw her book down on the bed, making Sirius flinch back, just a fraction. "And why the fuck not?"

Numb, he looked at them, one by one. James's jaw was on the floor, Peter looked profusely uncomfortable. McGonagall, rigid against the far wall, wouldn't meet Sirius's gaze, but she subtly shook her head. Mrs. Potter's eyes were soft, but heartbroken. Lily was pacing, red hair flying about her face.

Remus…

Sirius stared into bright, golden-amber eyes that were glistening with unshed tears. He could see the pain warring with rage and devastation, carved brutally into every crevice of Remus's beautiful face. It almost made him choke, almost made him swallow his words, snatch them right out of the air before they could escape his mouth, but…

"I can't leave Regulus," Sirius said directly to Remus, because Remus was the only one in this fucking room that needed to understand. Even if Sirius was crazy and rash and out of his fucking mind, he needed Remus to understand the same way he needed air to fill his lungs enough to force the words out. "If I'm not there, Regulus takes my place, Re."

Because even if he took Mrs. Potter up on her offer, even if he fought tooth and nail for his own freedom and won, against all the odds, it wouldn't change the fact that Regulus was not safe there alone.

His mother, Sirius knew, would burn the world to ash and ruin before she pried her talons from Regulus's flesh.

At the very least, even though she was as clearly disappointed as the rest of them, Mrs. Potter seemed to understand, and, more importantly, move on. "All right, Sirius," she said. "The choice is yours and the option is available for as long as I am still breathing."

Which, all things considered, probably wouldn't be very long if she continued to challenge the authority of the Blacks.

Sirius chose not to voice that particular thought out loud.

"I believe," Mrs. Potter said, her voice taking on a lighter tone, "your Uncle Alphard spoke with you over the holiday?"

Honestly, Sirius had been under the impression that that particular conversation had been something of a pain-and-starvation induced hallucination, but that wasn't what bothered him.

"How do you know Alphard?" It hadn't escaped his notice that she'd mentioned his uncle once before, and apparently his uncle was willing to take up permanent custody of the disgraced heir. As far as he knew, though, even outliers such as Alphard tended to stay away from… blood traitors. It was particularly dangerous to associate with people like the Potters, especially if one were directly related to Walburga Black.

Mrs. Potter smiled wide. "Alphard is an old, dear friend with a kind, ferocious heart." In all his life, Sirius had never heard his uncle described like that. Usually, Alphard's name was accompanied by a rather impressive string of profanities. "Given his… work, Alphard requires a certain number of legal protections against those who may wish to see him fail." Most notably, Sirius's mother. "At our last conference, Alphard mentioned an offer he planned to make you."

Something wild and desperate flashed in Remus's eyes. "What offer?"

So, Sirius explained. "My uncle wants me to live with him, in Scotland, while I'm not at Hogwarts. With the exception of a few family gatherings, I wouldn't go back to Grimmauld for the summer holidays."

James nodded, wisely. "Good. Excellent. Solid plan. Do that."

"I can't," Sirius replied.

At James and Peter's vacant stares, Lily supplied, "Regulus. Honestly, Potter, pay attention."

"I will never leave him behind, James." Even if it kills me.

"As Alphard's legal representative," Mrs. Potter said, clearing her throat, "I have drafted something of a magically-binding contract. As per the terms, Regulus Black is not to be physically harmed in any way, by any Black or relation thereof, including any servants, employees, or… creatures under the legal jurisdiction of House Black."

There was no fucking way his mother would—

"Your mother and her representative, Mr. Fawley—" Because of-fucking-course it was Fawley. "—have already agreed to the terms. Signed on the dotted line, so to speak. All that's left is your choice, Sirius."

What? That couldn't be. There had to be a—

"What's the catch?" Remus asked.

But, deep down, Sirius already knew. He might still be the fucking heir, for all intents and purposes, but he was also a Gryffindor and a virtual blood traitor, as far as his mother was concerned.

It was one thing to have a pariah for an heir, but he knew Walburga Black would be damned before she allowed Sirius to corrupt her precious spare.

"I can't see Regulus," Sirius said, once more forcing the words out. "That's the catch."

"What?" James said. "Like… ever?"

"I'm afraid your mother was rather stringent on that point," Mrs. Potter said, slowly. "You're to have no contact with your brother outside of Hogwarts, when Regulus is old enough, and the mandatory Black family functions stipulated in the contract. Not even owls, Sirius."

Merlin.

That was the ransom price, for his own life and liberty.

Either abandon Regulus to a pit of vipers or take the poisoned bite himself.

Lily stood, looked at each Marauder in turn, before landing bright, green eyes on Sirius. "I think I speak for all of us," she said. "Take the damned deal, Black."

Both James and Peter nodded in enthusiastic agreement. Remus…

Remus reached for Sirius's hand and stopped short. After a second, Sirius moved just enough that their pinkies touched. It sent a lightening bolt of red-hot agony up his spine, but Sirius didn't care.

It was far less than he deserved for even considering the offer.

"I need you safe, Siri," Remus whispered, or maybe shouted. It was so loud and so infinitely quiet that Sirius wasn't entirely convinced that Remus had actually spoken for nearly a full minute. "You can't go back there. Please."

Honest-to-whatever-god-wasn't-currently-trying-to-fuck-with-him, it was the please that broke him and more than likely damned him all at once.

He turned to Mrs. Potter. "Swear to me that she can't fucking touch him."

Mrs. Potter nodded, solemnly. "In magicae mea, in nomine meo, et in vita mea."

On my magic, on my name, and on my life.

It was a pureblood oath, as ancient and resolute as the Noble Houses themselves. No one could take back an oath like the, no more than they could reach up and pull the stars from the sky.

"All right," Sirius said, his throat as tight as the noose around his neck. "Tell Uncle Alphard I accept."

All at once, Sirius was engulfed—drowning, really—in all things Remus Lupin. He was nearly knocked off his feet as long, lanky arms wrapped around him. He felt his bandages scrape against the open wounds on his chest. Pain and liquid fire shot through him and he could hardly breathe, but he didn't care because it was relief and victory and Remus.

Oh, how he'd missed this glorious pain.

Sirius clung to Remus, fingers digging into his shirt, his hair, holding on for dear life, because if he let go, Sirius feared he'd drown in his own guilt.

The fire in his blood tasted so much better.

"Thank you," Remus breathed into his ear.

Sirius thought maybe he could feel tears running down his own cheeks.

Vaguely, his brain registered shouting, but really, it was hard to focus on anything other than Remus and safe and pain, pain, pain—

Remus released him—or, rather, Remus was dragged off him by James and Peter—just as Sirius began to hyperventilate. Sirius flopped back on the bed, shuddering, trying to ignore the spots that suddenly danced in the corners of his vision, and attempting to force his lungs to take in oxygen normally.

It was rather difficult, because he was fairly certain he was laughing.

He managed to sit up, just as Lily marched over and thwacked Remus upside the head with her leather-bound book, which, really, was quite a feat given their height difference.

Remus sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, shook James off him, and muttered a vague apology to Sirius.

Sirius… didn't care.

That kind of pain didn't matter. It tasted like victory, like survival, like that inexplicable and primal need to shout at the heavens and demand retribution from the cruel, uncaring gods.

"I'm fine." Sirius managed to sit up without aggravating the bandages on his chest, though he was pretty sure he might be bleeding again. Maybe a little. He still didn't care. "He's fine. Leave him alone."

Reluctantly, Peter and James backed away from Remus. Lily waved a threatening finger in his face, her face set in a stern scowl.

"I'll owl your uncle immediately, Sirius," Mrs. Potter said. "I expect he'll write you once everything is finalised to sort out the arrangements for the summer holidays." She turned to her son. "James?"

James straightened and put on what Sirius assumed to be his best attempt at an innocent face.

"I hope you remember that whatever family heirlooms you may or may not have been bequeathed are to be used responsibly and not for general rule-breaking and mischief."

"Of course," James said.

Sirius hoped Mrs. Potter didn't have much confidence in the sincerity of that particular statement.

Mrs. Potter turned to McGonagall.

The very same McGonagall who hadn't said a damned word since she'd walked through the door.

Nor had she, until this very moment, taken her eyes off Sirius.

"I expect I'll be hearing from you shortly, Minerva," Mrs. Potter said, shaking her head. "Just like his father, this one. Always in trouble."

Mrs. Potter smiled warmly at each of them, before landing her gaze on Sirius. "It was a genuine pleasure to meet each and every one of you. Sirius… I cannot define right and wrong for you, nor can I force you to choose in any matter, but I want you to know that you are so very loved by your friends and everyone in this room desperately desires your safety. You are brave, Sirius Black, in every way that is worth a damn in this world."

Sirius had absolutely no idea what to say to that, so, choked with unexpected emotion, he nodded. Rather pathetically.

"I'll be off, then. Love you—" Here, Mrs. Potter paused to throw a wink at Sirius. "—Jamie."

James groaned.

Mrs. Potter blew a kiss and headed out the door.

Not a single Marauder or King of Gryffindor said another word, just stared blankly at an equally silent Professor McGonagall.

For the life of him, Sirius could not figure out why McGonagall was still here. Or, why she'd apparently reached out to Mrs. Potter in the first place.

McGonagall cleared her throat, tilted her head up, and nodded, once. "Off to class, you four. Mr. Black will still be here this afternoon."

With marked reluctance on each of their faces, James, Peter, and Lily shuffled towards the door.

Remus stayed put, glaring daggers at McGonagall from his place at Sirius's side.

McGonagall tightened her lips and looked away.

Sirius blinked. He was missing something.

"Mr. Lupin," McGonagall said to the ceiling.

"Yes, Professor?" Remus… growled.

"There will be no need for you to serve any detention. I will see you in class on Thursday."

Remus nodded, once, but did not give any ground. "Yes, Professor."

The words—the very important questions as to why Remus would possibly be serving detention when classes hadn't even started yet—were halfway from Sirius's brain to the tip of his tongue, when McGonagall turned on her heel to leave.

She paused, leaning against the door frame. "And, Lupin?" Her voice hit a high note, so far from the prim and proper and mildly condescending tone Sirius was used to. "You were… That is to say… Fifty points to Gryffindor."

Sirius was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor.

What the fuck had Remus done?

"Now, please go to class," McGonagall bit out. "Mr. Black will probably need your notes."

With that, she left.

"Um," James managed, but they all heard the unspoken question.

Sirius was still reeling from the fact that McGonagall had somehow managed to award Remus fifty points and insult Sirius's intelligence in under thirty words.

Remus still hadn't moved. Nor had any of the others.

"Remus—" Lily began.

"I don't want to talk about it," Remus said, and as far as Sirius was concerned, that was the end of that mystery. For now. "Siri—"

"Go on, then," Sirius said, nodding towards the door. "I'll be fine."

"You don't need my notes," Remus pointed out.

"Pfft. Not in Charms. And James will fill me in on whatever magical creature you manage to piss off in Cuckoo's class. I'm fine, Remus."

James gave Sirius a thumbs up. Lily rolled her eyes.

Remus tried and failed to hide his grimace. "You'll still be breathing and not bleeding when I come back this afternoon, right?"

Sirius smirked, and crossed his heart. "In magicae mea, in nomine meo, et in vita mea."

Technically speaking, Sirius did not break his promise. He was both breathing and not bleeding by that afternoon. Or, at least, not bleeding through his bandages, which he prayed was still a big enough loophole that he stayed in the general vicinity of keeping his promise.

He just wasn't in the hospital wing.

Where he was supposed to be.

Technically.

After rather miraculously keeping down both his lunch and the horrendous concoction of Madam Pomfrey's nutrition potions, Sirius had decided he'd had just about enough of the hospital wing. He'd never been particularly resilient in the face of boredom and monotony and he didn't see why that should change simply because he'd almost died.

So, he snuck out.

Which would have been considerably easier if he'd nicked James's invisibility cloak first. Hindsight, and all that.

His wandless attempt at a disillusionment charm that he'd spent the entire morning practicing had been shoddy at best. He'd been less invisible than he would have liked, and his skin had taken on that pasty whiteish-blue hue of a ghost. And, it'd given him one hell of a headache. All in all, it clearly hadn't been his most successful complex spell he'd attempted as of late, but he'd still managed to sneak past the ever-watchful eyes of Madam Pomfrey when she'd been distracted by two sixth year Hufflepuffs who were rather charred around the edges after an apparent potions accident.

He'd even managed to stuff a few pain potions into the pockets of Remus's trousers. Just in case.

He'd been rather relieved that everyone else had been in class as he'd made his way up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. He hadn't remembered the trek as being so… exhausting.

Granted, that'd been before he'd lost ten pounds and been cursed and starved for the better part of two weeks.

He'd had to stop twice to catch his breath, each time ducking into an alcove, so as not to be seen by even the ghosts and portraits. He did have at least a semblance of remaining pride, after all.

In the boys dorm, Sirius had made a beeline for his trunk. He hadn't actually seen his wand since his mother had taken it when he'd first arrived at Grimmauld Place. He'd been half-convinced she might not have returned it at all, until he'd opened his trunk and saw his beautiful, perfect, cursed wand lying on top of all his things.

He'd felt an immense weight lifted off his chest. Even if the stupid thing was more or less useless, he was immensely grateful that it was still his.

Now, Sirius lay flat on his back, sprawled across Remus's bed, at least moderately comfortable in his own trousers and one of James's soft, Muggle shirts that he'd somehow managed to wrangle over his head without disturbing his bandages. He held his ice-cold wand against his heart, idly tracing the runes on the grip with his thumb. Surrounded by Remus's woodsy scent, Sirius allowed himself to feel comfort for the first time in… eons.

For a moment, that is. Until the guilt set in.

And… the guilt for not feeling nearly as guilty about accepting Alphard's offer as he probably should.

He'd abandoned Regulus. There'd be no saving him, no hope of redemption for his little brother if Sirius wasn't there to shoulder the wrath of any and all disobedience.

Regulus would be forged into a weapon in Sirius's place, set on fire and sharpened into submission, until he was as deadly as venom-laced goblin steel.

Regulus wouldn't…

Sirius didn't think Regulus had a rebellious bone in his body. He was far too clever for that.

Far too Slytherin, in fact.

"Thought I might find you up here."

Sirius nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of James's voice. Then, he was equally startled by the darkness leaking in from the windows and the pale flicker of candlelight against the walls.

He'd apparently been staring at the ceiling for quite some time.

"The four of us looked for you in the hospital wing after class," James said.

"I escaped," Sirius supplied, with a smirk.

"Yeah, we deduced that as well." James stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the nearest bedpost. "I thought Madam Pomfrey was going to have Remus's head for allegedly aiding and abetting your daring escape."

Sirius sat up, wincing a little as the movement tugged on his bandages. "We are talking about the same Remus Lupin, right? The same Remus that ties his shoelaces every time and colour-codes his Muggle books by genre and preference?"

"You didn't see him yesterday, mate." James's voice rasped and caught a little on the last word.

Sirius frowned. "What… What does that mean, Jamie?"

James shook his head, gave Sirius a look that told him that he very much did not want to respond, but James was a Gryffindor, down to his blood, and he was brave.

"You scared all of us," James bit out, "but especially Remus. I've never seen him so close to absolutely losing his shit. Evans said… Evans said he went off on McGonagall. A bit."

"He did what now?"

"Yelled at her, I suppose." James gestured at Sirius's chest. "Said that was her fault."

It wasn't—not really—but that was so far beyond the point. "Why— Why would he do that?"

"Because he cares about you, you fucking moron. We all do, of course, but Remus is… Remus is different. He'd go to war for you."

James's voice brokered absolutely no argument. It said as a fact, an absolute truth, impervious to contradiction or appeal.

He'd go to war for you.

There was a very distinct possibility that war might be in their immediate near future.

He couldn't allow himself to think about that right now. "He… yelled at McGonagall and she still gave him fifty points?"

James shrugged. "Mum said McGonagall isn't particularly great at displaying emotions."

"Or remorse, apparently."

"She didn't give him detention, at least. That means we're back to business as usual as soon as you're up for it." Sirius grinned wickedly at him, ready to jump back into any sort of ordinary chaos and mischief James Potter might have already planned. "You know, all things considered, it's not so bad, really. Someone else might have been expelled for talking to a professor like that."

That dampened his mood, but only slightly. "I certainly would have been."

James opened and closed his mouth, whether to agree or disagree, Sirius honestly wasn't sure. James seemed to lose his train of thought. Instead, his dark eyes caught on Sirius's thin frame drowning in James's shirt. It certainly wasn't as big as Remus's button-down, but Sirius had unfortunately resigned himself to being the second smallest Marauder.

Sirius tilted his head as James continued to stare. "Jamie…?"

James's face was tight and frighteningly sober. "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again, Sirius. I thought you were… The blood…"

James Potter was horrifyingly close to tears, and honestly, it wasn't like Sirius could reliably promise something similar would ever happen again. Not with his family. Not even if he went to live with Alphard. His mother had a unique talent for finding new and inventive ways of torturing him. He didn't even remotely believe that an oath on her magic would stop her.

The Blacks were nothing if not infinitely creative when it came to pain and vengeance.

So, Sirius did the one thing he could think of.

He stood, paused for a second to collect himself—though not quite long enough for James to figure out what he was about to do and run—then launched himself at James, clinging tightly to him. It burned, it nearly reopened the scars on his chest once again, but Sirius was so, so far beyond giving a single damn about something as insignificant as pain.

Not after the day he'd had.

James, on the other hand, squawked, flailed his arms about, but eventually caught onto the fact that Sirius wasn't going to release him until he damned well felt like it.

Sirius more or less flopped back on the bed the very instant he let James go, hands shaking and breathing hard. He smiled, as wide and as manic as Peeves.

"Will you fucking stop doing that?!" James snapped, clearly attempting to be far more stern than what actually came across.

"Absolutely not."

"You're a fucking idiot."

"Arsehole."

"And I love you."

Sirius sat up, eyes wide and wild. "W-what?"

James just shrugged, a far too casual of a gesture given the enormity of his words. "I love you, Sirius. You're my brother, in every way that actually counts."

No one… He'd never…

He'd only ever heard those words from Regulus and Andromeda. Even then, and although he'd never for a second doubted their sincerity, they were his family. His blood. And that came with a certain amount of familial obligation.

This… This was entirely James's choice. His uninhibited, fearless, and utterly incomprehensible choice.

No one had a wand to his head, nor had he been threatened by an irreversible blood curse.

The fairytale prince chose him, all on his own.

Merlin, Sirius loved him, with every shattered piece of his heart.

Brothers, James had said.

Sirius Black would do anything, fight any deity, or cull any star from the blanket of the night sky for either one of his brothers.

James, who suddenly looked rather wary, took half a step back and drew his wand. "Sirius, I fucking love you. I'd fucking die for you. But, Merlin help me, if you try to hug me again, I will Stupify you. Which might end up actually killing you, given that I'm shit at it and you're already hurt. In which case, I would be morally obligated to jump from this tower in both a show of solidarity in death and because of my overwhelming grief at your death by my incompetence."

Sirius barked out a genuine laugh, and Merlin, it tasted like a drug. So much better than that shit Madam Pomfrey had given him.

"You're not going to hug me, are you?" James asked, eyes narrowed.

Sirius shook his head. "I've had enough for one day."

"Good. Now stand up and fix your hair. At least try to look presentable."

Brave fucking words coming from James Potter. "Um, why?"

"Because." James tucked his wand back in his pocket and gestured in the general direction of the stairs leading down to the common room. "Once we realised you'd evaded capture, Lily and Remus began… plotting. Peter and I helped, naturally, with the organising and shit, but I've been informed by the love of my life that I am contractually obligated to specify that it was their idea. It's all downstairs, waiting for you. I was, of course, sent to fetch you, but then you got me all confused with the hugging and the professions of undying love, so I almost forgot, and—"

"James. What's going on?" Sirius cut in, suddenly rather nervous. It had been a long day, at the end of a very long holiday, and he was nowhere near one hundred percent. Sirius wasn't sure if he had the emotional capacity to—

"Oh, just come on." James tugged so hard on the edge of the duvet that Sirius nearly toppled from the bed. "Let me show you."

And so, Sirius followed James down the stairs.

What waited for him in the common room was entirely unexpected.

Fabian and Gideon Prewett sat on the back of the largest sofa, on either end. Both of their bright, fuchsia beards had been—to Sirius's surprised—sheared. Instead, both of them sported rainbow freckles and bright yellow hair.

They still looked utterly ridiculous. Honestly, Sirius was impressed.

Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter sat squished together in the middle of the sofa and appeared to be acting as a sort of counterweight to keep it from tipping over from the twins' constant fidgeting.

Frank Longbottom leaned heavily against the mantle, a deep frown seemingly carved into his face. Leaning against Frank was an equally placating Alice Fortescue.

Remus and Lily stood in the middle of the room, engaged in something of a hushed, conspiratorial conversation.

From the looks of things, everyone had gathered… for him.

Sirius stopped so suddenly that James tripped over himself and entirely missed the last stair in a valiant attempt to avoid colliding with Sirius.

James ended up sprawled out on the thankfully-plush carpet. Conversation stopped. Heads turned.

"Ow," James moaned.

Moving in near-telepathic unison, Fabian and Gideon marched over and hauled James to his feet, each twin grabbing one arm. They then mimed brushing him off. Fabian ruffled his hair, until James swatted him away.

Sirius remained frozen, until Lily marched over, until she was just a few inches from him.

"Say the word," she said, so quietly he was fairly certain no one else heard, "and this stops here."

"Um." Sirius gulped and took one more look around the room. "What exactly is this?"

"I'd like to know that as well, Evans," Frank Longbottom said, gently moving Alice aside to properly grouse at them.

"Oi! Frankie!" Fabian said, slinging a long arm over James's shoulders. "You normally talk to your king like that?"

"Show some respect," Gideon chided.

Frank rolled his eyes. "I'd also like to know when that happened and why I wasn't consulted. You don't just get to go about appointing monarchs—"

"Treason!" cried Fabian.

"Blasphemy!" yelled Gideon.

"Off with his head!" roared Alice Fortescue, waving a rebellious fist in the air.

Frank's jaw dropped at the betrayal.

Lily looked rather smug.

Nobody had answered his question.

"Evans?" Sirius prompted.

Lily shrugged and nodded at Remus. "This was his idea. Ask him."

Remus ducked his head, his curly hair falling in his face as he offered Sirius the first real smile he'd seen since waking up in the hospital wing.

"This… these people," Remus began, opening his arms and gesturing around the room, "are the collective beating heart of Gryffindor. They are everything that makes anyone want to be brave, be kind. Heroic. They are the best of any of us, and together, in one way or another, they've shown that they're not afraid of monsters. They're your family, Sirius Black. They will fight for you and beside you, come whatever."

Sirius's eyes tracked over Marlene and Dorcas, who nodded along. Marlene winked at him.

"This," Lily said, "is your honour guard, Sirius."

"When one of us falls, we all fall. When there's a monster to face, we do so together," James added. "No one gets to go off and kill a god all on their own, mate."

Gideon crossed his arms over his broad chest and nodded once, definitively. "He's right. You're one of us. And you have been, from the moment that hat sent you up here instead of to the snakes."

Fabian tilted his head up and shot Sirius a triumphant smirk. "And until the very fucking end."

"You're ours," Marlene agreed.

"Gryffindor to the bone." Dorcas, now. Peter squeaked out something similar.

Sirius… didn't have words. Instead, he turned his attention to Frank, who was still brooding against the mantle.

With a smile dancing on her lips, Alice jabbed her elbow into Frank's ribs. Hard. He grunted.

"Yes, fine," Frank groused. "Welcome to Gryffindor. Hurrah. Now, will someone please tell me the it sounds like we're about to go to war?"

Sirius almost laughed.

Because, the thing was, war had been declared ages ago, long before anyone in this room was even an idea. For as long as there had been wizards and Muggles on this planet, for as long as one side feared the other, for as long as one side dared to love the other, there had been war.

They were bystanders, casualties, collateral damage in an epic, impossible, battle.

In the end, they were cannon fodder. At best.

But… They also might be all that stood between hope and the infinite abyss of insanity and chaos.

Family, Remus had said.

Maybe that was what family was supposed to be: a line in the sand between everything and nothing.

On your side, come whatever.

"If we're going to war..." Remus said, reaching a hand towards Sirius. They didn't touch—not quite—but Sirius could taste it all the same. It felt like everything and rebellion. "…then you should be the one to declare it. They deserve to know the kind of monsters they'll face if they're on your side."

Against his better judgement, against every sane thought left in his brain, Sirius found himself nodding.

Remus grinned, nearly manic in his victory.

Merlin, Sirius loved him.

"First." Lily stepped between them, holding up her hands. "Sirius, release the Marauders from their oath."

Right. He'd forgotten about that.

"Yeah, mate," James said, trying and failing to suppress a shudder. "Bloody inconvenient, that."

Sirius didn't remember a whole lot about the day before, just waking up in the hospital wing. Everything else was fuzzy at best, but…

He remembered seeing the shock and terror in Remus's bright golden eyes in the bathroom mirror. He remembered Remus saying his name and… shouting.

Merlin. How they'd managed to get him to the hospital wing without breaking their oath was something of a miracle.

More than likely a miracle orchestrated by Lily Evans.

"All right. I'll release you. But…" Sirius turned to Remus, searching for words he'd never thought he'd say. "You have to let me tell them. I need…"

I need to pretend I'm as brave as you think I am. Just for a few moments.

"It's my secret to tell, Remus," he said, instead.

"Always," Remus confirmed.

Before he could talk himself out of it, before whatever courage he'd conjured from nothing abandoned him entirely, Sirius raised his wand and prayed to every deity he knew that it worked, just this once.

Miraculously, the tip of his wand shone silver.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, release you, Remus John Lupin, James Fleamont Potter, and Peter Percival Pettigrew from your oath to me. I thank you for your loyalty, your friendship and your honour. May your magic be free of the words that bound it."

As he spoke, tendrils of silver starlight snaked out from his wand, nearly invisible ghost-like fingers reaching, clawing, for James, Peter, and Remus. When he finished speaking, the magic tying them all together crackled, ignited, then silently erupted in a whisper of air.

"Did… Did it work?" Peter asked, after a rather uncomfortable silence.

Sirius honestly wasn't sure. His wand was unreliable at best and nothing more than a damned and cursed twig at worst.

James, officially solidifying himself as both the bravest and the stupidest amongst the four of them, blurted, "Sirius's parents are pureblood fascists who hate children!"

Lily buried her face in her hands.

Sirius, despite himself, barked out a laugh.

"Well, we all knew that," Marlene said, sardonically. Then, catching a glimpse at Dorcas's mildly startled face, she added, "Well, most of us."

Frank and the twins nodded uncomfortably.

"Why don't you tell us why we're here, Sirius," Alice said, her voice gentle and melodic.

So, Sirius told them.

"When I was eight, my mother performed a blood curse on me, binding me to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." After only a moment's hesitation, he tugged on the collar of Jame's T-shirt to reveal the tattoo.

Toujours Pur.

Merlin, he'd never deliberately shown anyone those words carved into his skin before, let alone a room full of Gryffindors.

Taking a breath, he continued. "It means—"

"Always pure." Frank's voice was clipped, his expression more sour than usual.

The twins—the goddamned flamboyant and animated Prewett twins—were pale. Fabian looked like he either wanted to start throwing curses or just throw up.

"There were always rumours," Gideon began, gritting his teeth together and nearly snarling out the last word. "Stories Gramps told on Halloween about before the war, when the Ancient Houses had more power."

"Yeah, but those were just ghost stories meant to send the kids running for the safety of their blankets so the adults could stay up and drink. That—" Fabian pointed a finger at Sirius's chest. "That is very, very real."

"Then let's find the cure," Marlene said.

Sirius said, "There isn't one," at the same time Lily muttered, "I'm working on it."

Green eyes immediately turned to glare at him.

"'Course there's a cure," Fabian said, flippantly. "Every curse has a cure. Them's the rules."

"Not the killing curse," Sirius muttered, darkly. "No one's ever cured that."

Fabian clicked his tongue and winked at Sirius. "Not yet."

Dorcas Meadows looked incredibly lost, her dark brown eyes wide as she mouthed the words ghost story and killing curse to herself a few times before asking, "Yes, but… But what does the tattoo do?"

Sirius closed his eyes. "It's a blood curse, Dee. It's meant to keep the bloodlines pure, make sure that no tainted blood ever graces the family tree. It… hurts… when…"

How could he admit that he could never even touch someone who wasn't at least ten generations wizard on both sides of their family?

How could he possibly explain that although he'd had no choice, although he hated the tattoo and every damn thing it represented, he was still marked? He was branded for darkness and nothing and the eternal abyss and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it.

Fate was the cruelest puppet-master.

He would enjoy watching her bleed.

His eyes found Remus Lupin, who's mouth ticked up in just the slightest smile, as if he could see the thoughts of blood and murder and ancient, dead gods.

"I can't touch anyone of a lesser bloodline," Sirius said, not once looking away from Remus. "Blood traitors, half-bloods, Muggle-born, you name it. If I touch anyone not born to someone noble and ancient, it feels like my blood is on fire."

"But…" Dorcas's finger waved over the Marauders and Lily. "You touch them all the time."

Behind him, James coughed and sheepishly scratched the back of his hair. "Yeah. In light of recent events, the Marauders have recently adopted a no-touching-Sirius policy."

Sirius frowned. He was fairly certain he hadn't agreed to that.

All the fires of hell were better than nothing at all.

So, he said:

"No, we haven't. Or if we have, I veto it, effective immediately." He cut off James's high-pitched protest with a glare. "I'm not made of glass, James."

"But you said—" Peter squeaked out.

"I'll decide what I can handle," Sirius said, with as much conviction as he could muster. "And if one day I wake up and decide I want to snog you and your stupid antlers again, I will damn well do as I please. Fuck the pain."

From the mantle, Frank scoffed. "Not self-destructive at all, are you, Black?"

Before it was even really out of his mouth, before Alice could smack him, Fabian drew his wand and muttered a hex. Frank's wavy, blonde hair braided itself into two, short plaits that stuck out in opposite directions from the top of his head, both tied off with a pink ribbon.

Fabian stuck out his tongue. "Stuff it, Longbottom."

No one did anything to help the very indignant Frank, who tugged on his hair, trying to undo the braids.

"It's not self-destruction," Sirius said, because someone had to. "It's…"

"Rebellion," Remus finished for him. "Revolution."

Slowly, Sirius nodded.

"You wanted war, Frank? This is hardly even the start. My family and the Ancient Houses will do much worse to anyone who stands against them." Summoning all the courage in his heart and the mania in his blood, Sirius tilted his head and smirked. "Are you Gryffindor enough to fight?"

Frank Longbottom stared down at Sirius, expressionless, braids entirely forgotten.

"That's why you're all here," Lily said. "Sirius might be the only one of us marked and branded by the purebloods, but it won't stay that way forever. We've all seen the writing on the wall, heard it from the Slytherins, or read about it in the papers."

"You want us to start a war?" Dorcas asked, incredulous. "We're first years."

"We're not starting anything," Remus replied. "Whatever dark things wait for us… they'll find us all the same. We're closing rank and defending what's ours."

"And that starts with Sirius."

It does?

He opened his mouth, but Lily cut him off.

She nodded to each and every one of them, even Frank. "You were chosen because of your loyalty to your house and the fire in your hearts. You are Gryffindor's honour guard. As your king, I am asking for your help in protecting one of our own."

Sirius didn't really know whether he should fall down at Lily's feet in gratitude or go hide in a corner in mortification, his pureblood sensibilities and pride warring with his innate sense of practicality.

"What do you need us to do, boss?" Gideon asked.

This time, Lily nodded to Remus, who stepped forward, hovering to Sirius's left.

"Make sure he's safe," Remus said. "No one touches him, unless—"

"Unless I initiate contact," Sirius cut in, nudging Remus's elbow, just for a heartbeat, before pulling away. For once in his life, didn't bother to hide the shudder of pain.

Remus gave him a small smile. "If circumstances arise, if there's an emergency, you are to ensure that only purebloods come in direct contact with Sirius."

Marlene raised her hand. "How pure are we talking, Sirius?"

Sirius flushed a little, mildly disgusted that he knew the blood status of every single person in this room. Well, pretty much everyone in the castle, for that matter.

"You're fine, Marls," he muttered. "Frank, Alice, and the Prewetts, too."

From behind him, Peter piped in. "What about me?"

Sirius tried and failed to hide a grimace. Technically speaking, he could touch Peter. The Pettigrews, although neither noble nor ancient, were a large enough pureblood family that went back a few hundred years. It should be no different than touching Marlene, or even Frank, but…

He felt the same infinite nothing pain when he touched Peter Pettigrew as he did when he touched Lucius Malfoy. He'd do just about anything to avoid that kind of… soul-eating nothingness.

Merlin, Sirius wasn't about to explain that to his friend, either. It'd crush him.

"Sorry, Pete," Sirius said. "Not pure enough."

Peter, predictably, was rather crushed.

"The rest of us," Lily went on, gesturing to three Marauders and Dorcas, "will act as buffers and smoke screens. No one touches him. Not in the halls, in the Quidditch stands, or in classes."

"And," Remus finished. "No one knows about this outside this room, with the notable exception of McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey."

"Are we all in agreement?" Lily asked.

A chorus of enthusiastic answers flooded the room. Fabian and Gideon high-fived, Marlene and Dorcas stood and each grabbed one of Lily's hands, nodding and smiling the whole time. James and Peter walked over to Remus and clapped him on the shoulder, and Merlin, all the air left Sirius's lungs when he caught a glimpse of the triumph in Remus's eyes.

As the noise died down, all eyes turned to Frank Longbottom, who had yet to say a damned word. Slowly, he pushed himself away from the mantle and sauntered right up to Sirius, until he more or less towered over him. Sirius held his ground.

Then, Frank held out his hand. "You're one of ours. All of Gryffindor stands with you, whether they know it or not."

Sirius clasped Frank's hand at the elbow, unsure of what else to do, and nodded once.

Much to his surprise, Frank smirked. "Knew you'd bring chaos right to our door, Black. Called it the moment you were sorted."

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Oh, chaos is just the beginning, Longbottom. Just you wait. But… thank you." He surveyed the room, landing, inevitably, on Remus. "All of you."

Merlin, the sun and stars could never compare to the fire in Remus's eyes.

James cleared his throat. "I think the most important thing we all learned today is that Sirius really wants to snog me."

JANUARY 4, 1972

Remus talked in his sleep.

Sirius wasn't entirely certain it was something he'd missed entirely, despite having slept next to Remus for a majority of the first term, or if it was a more recent development.

Though he'd been awaken hours earlier by the sound of his own name on Remus's lips, Remus hadn't really muttered anything coherent since. More importantly, he didn't seem to be lost to the same realm of nightmares Sirius himself frequently visited.

Instead, Remus alternated between bits of incoherent English, half-formed French swear words, and what Sirius assumed to be Welsh, but, in all fairness, it could be pure gibberish. Occasionally, Remus's face would scrunch up, or his hand would suddenly reach out and grasp the pillow between them, as though Remus meant to throw it across the room. Then, his lips would tick up in a smile, he'd calm, and edge just a bit closer to Sirius.

Despite the fact that, by the time he actually got up, he was mere millimetres from falling off the bed entirely, Sirius found the clearly-exhausted Remus Lupin incredibly endearing, and did his best to sneak down to the Great Hall without disturbing him.

Although it was barely half-six, there were far more students in the Great Hall than he'd expected. Well, they were mostly Ravenclaws, which wasn't really a surprise, but there was a rather large and concerning gathering of Slytherins at the edge of their table, all hunched over… something.

Sirius paused in the enormous double doors—debating whether or not it was wise to start shit now, especially given his injuries—before Malfoy's head popped up and an evil grin spread across his pale face. Sirius scowled. They were up to something, and whatever it was, it couldn't be good. He felt his magic crackling beneath the surface of his skin, was one, two steps on his way over to confront Malfoy, when James Potter called out, "Oi! Sirius!"

Sirius froze, mid-step, and turned back to the Gryffindor table. James waved at him, as though absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary.

Reluctantly, Sirius turned on his heel and took his seat across from James.

"Didn't realise you were up yet," Sirius said.

"Didn't realise you were a complete idiot," James shot back, lowering his voice and casting a surreptitious glance over Sirius's shoulder at the Slytherins. "I've been keeping an eye on them, too, you know. They haven't done anything yet. Not even when the Hufflepuff Muggle-borns walked by."

"Yes, but they're plotting," Sirius groused. "It's what they do."

"Of course it is. But seeing as we can't do anything to stop it, I figured we might as well enjoy a healthy breakfast. Eggs?"

After just a moment's hesitation, Sirius took the serving spoon James offered him and piled a heaping serving on his own plate. He'd been able to keep down all the food he'd had yesterday, as well as the last of Madam Pomfrey's nutrition potions, so he figured he'd be okay with the solid foods.

"Besides," James said, through a mouthful of toast. "I wanted to talk to you. I've had a thought."

Sirius smirked into his glass of pumpkin juice. "Spying and thinking before breakfast, Jamie? Don't use up all your brain power. We still have class today."

James flicked a few beans at him with his fork, but Sirius vanished them mid-air with a smirk and flick of his wrist.

"Arsehole," James muttered. "It's Evans's birthday. On the thirtieth."

"Is it?" He hadn't known that.

"Yes. Before the holiday, and after much pestering, Remus finally caved and admitted he broke into McGonagall's office and discovered all of our birthdays." He paused, his glasses slipping down his nose, just a little bit. "I'm going to throttle both of you later, by the way, for not telling me about your birthday."

Sirius remembered the roof, the distant scent of snow, the warmth of the duvet wrapped around him, falling asleep as Remus read him The Little Prince.

"Oops," he said, noncommittally.

James rolled his eyes, in the most dramatic way imaginable. "Anyways, Evans's is the thirtieth. I thought we might throw her a Marauders-level party, truly worthy of the King of Gryffindor."

Sirius blinked. "That… That's actually brilliant."

"You sound unreasonably surprised," James deadpanned.

"Are the Prewetts in?"

"Hope so," James replied. "We'll need butterbeer."

"And music," Sirius said. "That'll be Marlene and Dee. Hopefully."

James nodded, thoughtfully, tapping two fingers against his chin. "Yes. Then all that's left is for you and I to come up with ha genius plot that will help Evans fall madly in love with me."

Sirius groaned and very nearly gave in to the sudden and inexplicable urge to face-plant in his breakfast. "How, in Merlin's name, do you plan on accomplishing that?"

"No clue. That's why you're my wingman," James said, cavalier as ever, before downing his own glass of pumpkin juice just as Marlene and Dorcas took their seats at the table, just a short ways down.

James's eyes caught on something behind Sirius, and, for a few harrowing heartbeats, Sirius flashed back to the moment before Malfoy's curse hit him. He imagined Malfoy and that wicked smirk—not the least bit disrupted by the vertical scar Sirius had carved on his face—aiming his wand at some unlucky half-blood Hufflepuff with the same malicious intent he'd had right before he'd nearly cleaved Sirius in two. Again, he felt his magic bubbling just under the surface of his skin, rising and falling with each breath he took in a herculean effort to calm his thundering heart, before—

Sirius turned to see Lily Evans arm and arm with a still-rather-sleep-deprived Remus Lupin.

He swallowed his panic and let out a breath.

James leaned across the table, oblivious to Sirius's near-meltdown. "You… You don't think Remus is in love with Evans, do you? I mean, she's gorgeous and perfect and he can't be blind to that. And he's brilliant and bloody clever and my best mate—or one of them—and they spent the holiday together. Merlin, what do you think they talked about? What if—"

"James," Sirius cut in. "Shut up."

Though something twisted and nasty and decidedly unfamiliar curled around his heart at the idea.

Peter came jogging in—well, it was more of a wobbly speed-walk, really—and shouldered right past Remus and Lily in his beeline for the food. He plopped himself down at James's side, immediately reaching for the pastries. Lily patted Remus's arm twice before releasing him to take her seat besides Marlene, while Remus sat next to Sirius, a piece of bacon somehow already in his mouth.

"Morning," Remus muttered, with an only slightly forced smile, just as a screech echoed through the Hall, indicating the arrival of the morning owls.

Sirius had grown accustomed to ignoring them. Unless he'd written Andromeda, he never really expected mail. In fact, the only one of them that ever received anything with any degree of regularity was James, and then, only from his parents, and he'd just seen his mother yesterday.

So, when a giant, ghost-white eagle owl landed on the table between the Marauders, then presented its taloned foot to Remus, all four of them stopped eating.

The owl was holding a rolled up copy of The Daily Prophet.

Remus blinked at the bird. "I don't… I don't subscribe to—"

The owl screeched in disagreement.

"It's a biased, unfair representation of the news," Remus argued, glaring at the owl. "Its editors sensationalise the truth, marginalise minorities, all to win favour with their subscribers, who are predominantly—"

The owl screeched again, this time garnering the attention of the rest of the table.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Remus roughly grabbed the owl's leg and yanked the paper free. "I'm not bloody paying you."

The owl flared its wings a few times, then took off.

Remus unrolled the paper, only to have a note fall into his lap.

All of a sudden, Remus went deathly pale.

Alarmed, Sirius turned to face him. "Remus?"

"Well," James said, clearly oblivious to whatever panic Remus felt. "What's it say?"

A trembling, scarred hand held out the attached note to Sirius.

RL,

Enjoy.

-M

James snatched the note out of Sirius's hand. "Who the fuck is M?"

For a moment, he turned a narrow-eyed glare at Marlene. She stuck two fingers up at him.

But honestly, who else would it be?

"Remus," Sirius asked, his voice low. "Why is Malfoy sending you a copy of The Daily Prophet?"

A threat. It had to be a threat. Whatever Malfoy lacked in general intelligence and looks, he made up for by his uncanny ability to follow through on his threats.

A threat didn't technically break Malfoy's oath to Sirius. He'd sworn not to betray Remus. It was just a subtle enough difference for a snake like Malfoy to use to his own advantage.

Remus didn't seem to hear him, his eyes glued on the front page of the paper. He swallowed once, twice, but it seemed to lodge in his throat. Eventually, he gave up and passed The Daily Prophet to Sirius.

Amidst several Ministry officials, Orion Black's deep obsidian eyes glared back at him and Sirius felt sick.

"Read it, Sirius," Lily demanded, reaching across the table to grasp Remus's hand. He didn't seem to notice. "Or hand it off to someone else."

With a breath and a muttered curse, Sirius started to read.

Wizengamot Moves Forward on Anti-Dark Creature Legislation

Kara Kennedy-Kirkwood, reporting.

The controversial Anti-Dark Creature bill, commonly known as the Lestrange Doctrine, was approved by the lower courts yesterday. As litigators on both sides will continue to argue their case, a final Wizengamot vote will likely take place later this month.

The Lestrange Doctrine—named after its author and most outspoken advocate, Falco Lestrange—seeks to make the admittance of Dark Creatures to Hogwarts illegal and punishable by a three-month sentence to Azkaban for both the admitted "student" and the member of the faculty who signed off on it.

"Our goal is to keep our students safe," said Orion Black on Monday. "A Hogwarts acceptance letter is a privilege, not a right, and a privilege that should only belong to the worthy. It's a fantastical, ridiculous notion to think a Dark Creature could ever be found worthy. They're nothing more than mindless beasts, reliant on instinct and bloodlust. There's no reason to endanger our students as we have in the past."

Black is, of course, referring to Valerie Valvadova, the last publicly-known Dark Creature to be admitted to Hogwarts. Valvadova, a born vampire, transferred to Hogwarts during her third year, after her family immigrated from Siberia. Through known to be rather adept at magic, given her pureblood mother's bloodline, Valvadova took after her father, the head of a prominent vampire coven, in more than just looks and bloodlust.

In 1812, during Valvadova's sixth year, she attacked and drained three Hogwarts students, including Onyx Lestrange, the third son of Barnabas Rodolphus Lestrange, the then-patriarch of the Ancient House. Barnabas appealed to the Wizengamot and secured a blood debt against the Valvadova coven. In exchange for his son's life, and the lives of those other students killed, Lestrange oversaw the execution of Valerie and both of her parents.

Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts, Senior Warlock of the Wizengamot, and most notable wizard to speak out against the Lestrange Doctrine declined to comment on whether Dark Creatures had been admitted to Hogwarts since the Valvadovas' execution.

"It's a simple matter, really," Orion Black said. "If the beasts cannot be reliably controlled or brought to heel, they have no place in the most renowned school in the Wizarding world."

"The lines have been drawn, the declaration has been made, and our wands are at the ready," said Mr. Tom Riddle, a rising socialite and respected orator in Wizarding Britain. "All that's left to do is sign the damned thing, for our children, for our future, and for the sanctity of our magic."

Despite Mr. Riddle's confidence, those who oppose the Lestrange Doctrine will have the opportunity to present their case in the coming weeks. Early polls suggest an overwhelmingly favourable public reception of the bill. The Wizengamot will cast their final votes towards the end of the month.

Sirius felt the paper fall through his fingers onto his half-finished plate.

Mr. Tom Riddle.

"Well," Peter said, munching far-too-casually on his toast. "I don't see what all the fuss is about."

Lily's eyes were emerald fire, merciless and all-consuming. "What."

It wasn't even in the same vicinity of a question. It tasted like a threat, palpable in the air.

Peter shrugged. "It's not like they're wrong. Dark Creatures are monsters."

As deadly as a viper coiling to strike, Lily drew her wand, her other hand still clenched tight around Remus's. "Take. It. Back."

Peter seemed oblivious to the rather immediate danger he was in. "It's in their name, isn't it? They're Dark Creatures. They don't belong at Hogwarts. It's too dangerous for the rest of us."

Eyes wide, mouth hanging open, James slowly edged away from Peter, out of the blast-zone. "Pete, mate, you really have to consider—"

"They let pureblood supremacists into Hogwarts every damn day and no one cries fowl," Lily snapped. "I'm sure half of those Slytherins would rather I not be here and wouldn't hesitate in using violence to either intimidate or make it impossible for me to be here."

"Well," Peter said, apparently more than willing to die on this hill. "That's a rather broad assumption, don't you think, Evans? Not all purebloods are violent. Sirius isn't."

Sirius would beg to differ. He'd killed his own wand.

Lily smirked, rather… evilly. "Then not all Dark Creatures are violent."

"Maybe not intentionally," Peter conceded. "But they can't help it, can they? They're monsters, out of control. They can't safely be around—"

Lily rose to her feet, shouted a hex, and Peter's mouth snapped shut and didn't reopen. The entire Gryffindor table stared at her, their breakfasts and inane chatter forgotten.

"You heard what that arsehole in the paper said, Pettigrew." She spat out his name. "Wands at the ready, declaration made. You sure as shit better be on the right side when the curses start flying, or so help me God, I will deal with you myself." Her eyes skimmed over the rest of the table. "Anyone else who is in favour of this bullshit bill can talk to me directly."

Her eyes landed on James, hard and unforgiving, as if daring him to cross her.

James didn't hesitate. "Anyone with magic has a place has a place at Hogwarts. Fuck Lestrange, fuck that Riddle what's-his-name, and fuck your dad, Sirius. No offence."

"Absolutely none taken."

Lily actually looked… almost impressed, but it was gone in an instant, her face schooled back to neutral. "Good." She nodded once. Then, to Peter: "Grow the fuck up, Pettigrew."

Then, she stormed out, every eye in Gryffindor following her.

After a few moments, most everyone went back to their breakfasts. Sirius reached out and carefully folded the paper and Malfoy's note and tucked them both into the inner pocket of his robe.

"It won't pass," James said, definitively. "Not with Dumbledore against it."

Sirius wasn't so sure. Not after what his father had implied over the holiday. Orion Black had all but declared victory.

His father wasn't one to lose.

"Now," James continued. "The real question is why Malfoy would be sending this to—Merlin, mate, are you all right?"

Alarmed, Sirius turned to face Remus, next to him.

Remus, who hadn't made a sound since he'd handed Sirius the paper.

Remus, who was about as deathly pale as the Grey Lady.

Remus, who, without a word, stood and left.

Sirius found Remus pacing back and forth in front of the Transfiguration classroom, his books clutched tightly to his chest. When he caught sight of Sirius, he froze.

Remus raked nervous, twitching fingers through the mess of curly hair hanging in his face. "Look, Sirius, I can explain."

"Explain? Explain what?" Sirius was confused. He pointed in the vague direction of the Great Hall. "You know that thing from Malfoy was meant for me, right?"

"What?" Remus stared at him like he'd suddenly sprouted a second head.

Sirius swallowed, suddenly nervous. It wasn't like he was used to talking about the mind games and veiled threats his family tended to dish out. "Yes, well. Malfoy likes his threats."

Remus gaped at him. "Sirius, the letter was addressed to me."

"Yeah. There's a reason for that." Sirius scratched the back of his neck.

Remus raised an eyebrow, daring him to explain.

What the hell. Remus knew about the tattoo. He might as well know about this too.

"I made Malfoy swear to never betray you, under any circumstances. He was making threats and accusations, saying you didn't belong at Hogwarts. Just general, pureblood bullshit, really. And, I don't know. I was angry and scared and I panicked. Narcissa bound the Unbreakable Vow—"

"What?!"

Sirius didn't stop. "Yes, look. I made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to keep you safe, and I might owe him a debt, but it doesn't matter. He can't touch you. Ever. If he tries, he drops dead." Sirius pulled out The Daily Prophet. "This… This is just Malfoy's way of telling me that he doesn't need to be the one to threaten my friends. My parents will do it all on their own. There's a war coming, and anyone less than pureblood will be caught in the crossfire."

Remus's eyes were wide, shimmering amber in the dark corridor. "You… You made an Unbreakable Vow?"

"Yes."

"For me?"

"Yes."

"What do you owe Malfoy in return?"

"A debt. Like I said. Unspecified and in any matter of his choosing."

"Jesus-fucking-Christ, Sirius." Remus looked like he was about to collapse in on himself. Reaching for him, so close to touching, Sirius took a step towards him. "What if he asks you to hurt someone? Use an Unforgivable? Or… kill someone?"

Sirius Black did not so much as blink. "I'd do it."

His wand might even let him.

"Why the fuck would you make a deal like that?"

"Same reason you went off on McGonagall. Same reason you asked me to take Mrs. Potter's offer. Same reason you gathered half of Gryffindor to stand by my side."

Because I'd go to war for you.

Remus shook his head. "I'm not worth—"

"Shut up," Sirius snapped. "You're everything, Remus."

Merlin, the chaos and devastation in Remus's eyes.

"I might have asked that hat for Gryffindor. I might be a Marauder, and a proud one at that, but I was raised by Slytherins. I know the games they play, the bargains they make, and despite evidence to the contrary—" He gestured wildly at his own chest. "—I do know how to win. I will throw any curse, cut any throat, if it means keeping my family safe. Fuck the consequences."

"Sirius—"

"I don't regret it. Not one bit. But, if you tell me you would have done anything different if Malfoy had threatened me, I'll at least try."

Remus couldn't. Wouldn't. And Sirius knew it.

"The fuck do you mean, if," Remus whispered. "I wanted to claw Malfoy's eyes out and leave them for the carrion birds when I saw what he'd done to you. Probably would have, if you hadn't been bleeding so much."

It was so goddamned feral and said with such honesty that Sirius couldn't help the insane laugh that bubbled up in his throat.

Remus smiled, just a little, but it was enough.

Transfiguration was… interesting.

Despite the fact that Sirius was technically still supposed to be in the hospital wing, under Madam Pomfrey's proverbial lock and key; despite the fact that Sirius had not once drawn his wand—instead opting to wandlessly change not one, but twenty-three feathers into varyingly bizarre and phallic-shaped candlesticks—McGonagall did not look his way once.

Sirius was rather peeved about it.

Lily kept vanishing his candlesticks, as soon as he could make them. Sirius wasn't so much as annoyed about that as he was… up for the challenge, so to speak.

He flicked his wrist and James's quill turned into a three-pronged penis sculpture. James let out a delightful and dignified squawk of surprise, but it still didn't garner McGonagall's attention. She was currently lecturing a Hufflepuff on the other side of the room.

Remus vanished James's former quill with a flick of his wand.

"You could at least try the assignment," Remus urged. "It's precision work. Should be a bit more difficult than a candlestick. Even uniquely crafted candlesticks. A pea into a thimble, Sirius. Surely, you—"

Sirius twirled his pointer and middle finger and the pea turned into a rather phallic-shaped thimble.

Remus rolled his eyes, but at the very least, didn't vanish it. Technically, it fulfilled all the parameters of the the assignment. "Sirius, what are you—"

"She's ignoring me."

"Yes," Remus agreed. "And that's probably a good thing."

"Why, though? There's no reason."

"Do you want her to yell at you?"

Sirius thought about it. "Yes. Just because she say me cleaved in two doesn't mean we still can't be mortal enemies. Some normalcy would be nice."

"I don't think any sane person ever wanted to be mortal enemies with Professor McGonagall."

Sirius smirked at him. "Except you, apparently."

Remus flushed. "That was a one time occurrence."

"Really? Because I'd pay good money to—"

The bell sounded.

Then, and only then, did McGonagall turn her attention to him. "Mr. Black, I'd like you to stay after class."

Remus froze.

"Do you think it was the penises?" Sirius whispered.

"No, I don't," Remus said, eyes locked on McGonagall.

James glanced between Sirius and a stone-faced Remus, before muttering, "We'll catch up with you in History of Magic."

James, Peter, and the rest of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs filed out of the room.

Next to him, Remus didn't move.

Professor McGonagall rounded her desk, then leaned against it, a few paces from Sirius and Remus. She crossed her hands in front of her, and tilted her head.

Sirius was fairly certain he'd never seen her lean on anything. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

Despite trying to catch her attention for the entirety of the past hour, he suddenly realised he really, really didn't want to speak to her.

He had nothing to say.

"Mr. Lupin, although your loyalty is appreciated, I wish to speak to Mr. Black alone," McGonagall said.

Remus narrowed his eyes, glanced at Sirius, then glared back at McGonagall. "I'm staying."

McGonagall's expression cracked. Just a little.

She was nervous.

Sirius wasn't quite sure what to do with that information.

"I assure you, Mr. Lupin, that Mr. Black will be safe. I do, after all, have a duty of care for all my students." That, apparently, meant something to Remus. Sirius watched as Remus's amber eyes widened in surprise. "There are things I must discuss with Mr. Black, privately. Though, I have no doubt he will tell you later."

Remus scowled at her.

"You may wait right outside the door, Lupin."

It was a dismissal, but still, Remus didn't move.

That is, until Sirius gave him the most subtle of nods.

He'd be okay. Probably.

What more could she possibly do to him that his family hadn't done already?

Still glaring at McGonagall, Remus rose from his seat, nodded once to Sirius, then left.

The second Remus was gone, McGonagall let out a long breath. It made her look younger, frightened even. Her glasses were almost imperceptibly crooked and her pointed hat was at a slightly sharper angle than normal.

"I find myself, Mr. Black, faced with a certain number of regrets."

That wasn't at all what he'd expected her to say. "Um…"

"I harbour no illusion that any amount of explanation or pontificating on my part will offer any sort of vindication or justification for my actions, but I believe, at the very least, that you are owed the answer as to why I acted in the manner I did."

Sirius had no clue what was going on.

McGonagall closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, and it was so frighteningly normal that all it only served to demonstrate how visibly uncomfortable she was. "Walburga Black was—is—four years my senior. We attended Hogwarts together, though in rival houses."

"You… what?" Sirius sat up just a bit straighter. He'd never heard much about his mother at Hogwarts, and he had an incredibly difficult time picturing her as an eleven-year-old attending classes, squirming as someone placed the Sorting Hat on her head.

Already betrothed to his father.

"We were not, as you can imagine, friends."

"Pretty sure she doesn't have any of those," Sirius muttered.

And, to his utter shock, McGonagall let out a small laugh. It seemed to take some effort to school her face back to neutral. "The war against Grindelwald and his followers never officially came to Hogwarts, but the spirit of it was there, in every corridor, every class, and in the hearts of many professors and students.

"Before he defeated Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore was little more than a brilliant, young idealist amongst the professors. Despite the fame of his name and his house, he had very little sway with the other professors, who tended to be sympathetic towards Grindelwald's cause. Even after Grindelwald fell, the sentiments remained strong. The professors never did anything, so I and a few friends, well… We may have earned a detention or two for our beliefs, but that's a story for another time, perhaps."

And one Sirius would very much like to hear.

"I saw students expelled, their wands broken, and lives destroyed for no other reason than their impure bloodline. Your mother—though she hardly ever worked alone—was directly responsible for a number of these expulsions. She was cruel and unimaginably inventive when it came to waging her own war against her inferiors. Even against rival purebloods who were not as amenable towards Grindelwald's ideologies. She had a Weasley legally declared a squib simply because he had a stutter, despite the fact that had obviously received a letter deeming him worthy of Hogwarts already.

"I watched Walburga Black and her band of loyal followers commit atrocity after atrocity, while the Headmaster and a majority of the professors stood by and did nothing. Everyone feared the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black as much, if not more than they feared the Dark Wizard himself. Grindelwald could only claim one's life. Your mother could burn your name, your family, and everything you hold dear to ash."

Merlin. He was well aware of that.

McGonagall took in a long breath. "I have never hated anyone more than Walburga Black in my entire life, Dark Wizards be damned."

Me neither. And she gave birth to me, Sirius thought, and barely bit down on his tongue in time to keep from saying it out loud.

"All this is to say, Mr. Black, that I have failed you, in every cosmic and cataclysmic way possible."

Sirius was fairly certain that his jaw dropped open.

"I knew exactly what kind of monster she was, yet I sent you back there anyway. Even when you asked for my help. And… And it almost cost you your life."

And wasn't that an alarming way to put it?

"Though I know I shall fall woefully short of the debt I owe to you for my error in judgement, I should like to do everything in my power to make amends. I'd like to offer my personal tutelage, in any and all subjects pertaining to Transfiguration and whatever I may know about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Sirius sat up straight and narrowed his eyes. "You want to keep an eye on me."

McGonagall sighed. "I know you've been told this before, Mr. Black, but you are an exceptionally talented young wizard. Even if you use your skills to make… inappropriate sculptures." Sirius smirked. She had noticed. "Refining and honing such talents can only add to one's prowess as a wizard. Especially if one were to learn how to use his wand properly."

His dead wand.

McGonagall continued, "The fact that additional lessons and time spent contemplating the intricacies of magic may keep you from general mischief and mayhem barely crossed my mind."

Was she… teasing him?

Sirius wasn't sure. "How long will these lessons be?"

"One hour, twice a week before curfew," she replied. She paused for a moment, then added: "Which should still leave you additional time for… marauding."

She was definitely teasing him.

Sirius didn't know how to feel about that.

"Until when?"

"For as long as you like. Until you graduate from Hogwarts. After, if you wish." She was babbling, just a bit, but eventually, she settled on, "Until I have nothing more to teach you."

Sirius leaned forward, then dared to ask, "You'll teach me to become an animagus?"

McGonagall hesitated for just a second. "Perhaps. When you're of age."

And, Merlin, wasn't that brilliant?

Which really only left one thing.

"Why me?" he asked, because he had to. Because experience had taught him to recognise when things were too good to be true, when intentions were hidden behind veiled motivations and secret histories. "Guilt can't account for everything."

McGonagall said simply, "You're Gryffindor, Mr. Black. You deserve a chance to fight back."

That wasn't an answer, but it was… something.

Ever so slowly, McGonagall rounded her desk. She pushed her glasses up her nose and straightened her hat with a flick of her wrist.

Wandless magic. Huh.

"I don't expect a decision now, of course," McGonagall said. "Talk it over with your friends—with… Lupin—and consider every angle. I'll be here when you've arrived at a conclusion, Mr. Black."

Sirius nodded, then shoved his quill and parchments in his bag. When he'd almost reached the door, McGonagall cleared her throat. He turned.

She held his thimble between her two fingers. "It's a shame about the shape, Black. You almost earned full marks."

Despite Remus's near-constant pestering and sad puppy-eyes, Sirius refused to tell him what McGonagall had said to him on their hasty walk to History of Magic. Grudgingly, Remus seemed to accept Sirius's promise of later, on the roof just before Professor Binns materialised form behind the chalkboard. Less than three minutes into class, Remus fell asleep.

Reasonably, Sirius knew he should be paying attention to the thrilling tales of the Goblin Wars, but he couldn't be the least bit bothered today, even for the sake of Remus Lupin. Instead, he spent the hour planning.

He needed answers.

The second Professor Binns faded once more into the walls, Sirius snagged James Potter by the end of his long scarf and frogmarched him out of the classroom, before promptly shoving him into a broom cupboard down the hall.

"Sirius, what the—"

Sirius flicked his wrist and locked the door.

After a second, James held up his wand and whispered a quick Lumos.

"You know," James said, his face entirely neutral. "I was mostly kidding about your obsession with snogging me. But, if you insist on dragging me into a cupboard—"

James puckered his lips and leaned forward.

Sirius flicked his wrist, called up a gust of wind, and James promptly landed on his arse. In a bucket.

"I don't want to snog you, arsehole," Sirius wheezed, laughing so hard he almost doubled over.

"Salazar's tits, Sirius, I was kidding!" James yelped, managing to wiggle his arse free. He stood and brushed off his robes. "Ugh, it feels like I wet myself."

Sirius raised a hand again, but this time James's eyes went big and he held out his wand at Sirius.

"Uh-huh," James said, eyes wide and glued to Sirius's fingers. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Drying spell."

"No way. Not that close to my bits. You'll end up vanishing them."

"Aw, Jamie, you'll hurt my feelings. I'll be gentle."

"No."

Sirius shrugged. "Suit yourself."

James wiggled a little, clearly uncomfortable. "Why, exactly, did you drag me in here?"

"Oh," Sirius said. "Because I have a plan."

"And it couldn't wait until we're in the common room? Or for Peter and Remus?"

"Nope. This is exclusively a Black and Potter operation."

"I'm listening."

Sirius smirked. "We're gonna break into the Slytherin dorms."

"I'm listening intently." A maniacal grin spread across James's face. In the half-light, it looked rather hilarious, really: all shadows and lines and dark features. "Are we getting back at Malfoy? For—" He gestured at Sirius's chest.

"What? No," Sirius said. "We won't be getting back at Malfoy for that. It's done."

"But—"

"Done, James." Because, in war, you have to pick your battles, and Sirius refused to pick one that might end the terms of his Unbreakable Vow. He would not risk Remus.

James rolled his eyes. "Okay. Care to tell me why we're breaking into Slytherin, then?"

"Because you need a gift for Evans," Sirius replied. "And I need detention."

"Um. What?"

"You know," James said, "as much as I am generally a fan of your particular brand of madness, Black, I have to admit that this is probably the stupidest plan I've ever heard."

"Shhh."

"I still don't understand how you expect us to get in there."

"Same way Evans did."

"And how did Evans get in there, exactly?"

Sirius had a hunch, but still hadn't figured that out for sure, but he wasn't about to tell James that. It'd taken quite some time and no small amounts of pandering and bribery to get James here in the first place.

"You want to invite Snape?!" James sounded more like a banshee than anything human. "To Gryffindor tower?!"

"We'll blindfold him and… strike a deal with him. Slytherins like making deals. It'll be fine."

James leaned close, peering deep into Sirius's eyes in the near darkness. "Have you gone mad? Look, I know the holidays were shit, but I'm fairly certain you've completely lost—"

Sirius cut him off. "Evans is friends with Snape. Snape—and believe me, only Merlin fucking knows why—means something to her. Invite Snape and Evans will be happy. If Evans is even slightly less inclined towards throttling you, she might actually figure out you're a decent bloke."

James's eyes were a little bit wild. "Snape's in love with her, Sirius! He announced it to the whole bloody school!"

"Yes, but Evans isn't in love with him."

"How do you know that?"

"She's my friend, James," Sirius said, because it really was that obvious.

James rolled his eyes in the most over-dramatic way possible. "How do you know she won't fall in love with him if he's there?"

Because I know how his story will end, Sirius didn't say.

Because it was always the same for people like Snape.

They could never taste the bitter-sweet rot of power and superiority until it had already leeched into every crevice of their soul.

"Because Evans is too smart to fall for a Slytherin, James," Sirius said, instead. "But she might be dumb enough to at least like you if you'd just pull your head out of your arse. Green is wrong colour for your complexion, Potter."

Even in the darkness of the broom cupboard, Sirius watched with bated amusement as James flushed a glorious, Gryffindor red.

"She wants to save him, James," Sirius said. Even though she can't. "Show her you're brave enough to let her try."

Reluctantly, James nodded. "Fine. Let's go talk to Snape, then. And get you your detention. For some fucking reason."

James took half a step back as a group of fourth year Slytherins walked past them, nearly right into Sirius, who almost stumbled out from under the invisibility cloak in his effort to avoid James's flailing limbs.

"Oi!" Sirius snapped. "We can't get caught until we're inside!"

"And why exactly is that?"

"I need detention from Slughorn, not Filch."

"Why—"

"Shut up, Potter, they're saying the password."

As subtly as he could manage whilst still avoiding contact with James under the invisibility cloak, Sirius waved a silent amplifying spell at the Slytherins. One after another, the whispered words echoed back to Sirius and James.

Magica virtus.

The enormous carving of a snake slithered aside to reveal a door and hissed as, one by one, the Slytherins entered their common room.

"What's that mean?" James whispered.

A chill shot up Sirius's spine. "Magic is might. It was Grindelwald's anthem to his followers."

"Well, that's encouraging." The stone snake once more coiled around the door until it faded back into the walls of the dungeon. "Let's go."

Together, nearly in sync to keep the invisibility cloak in place, they crept forward until they were standing under the giant, stone snake. Its gleaming emerald eyes glared down at them, all-seeing, all-knowing, invisibility cloak be damned.

James and Sirius stood in front of it, shoulder to shoulder, for nearly two whole minutes. "Go on then, Black. Say it."

Sirius turned on him, sharply. "Why do I have to say it?"

"I don't want to." James shrugged. "It's Grindelwald's anthem. Bad luck."

"But you're okay with me saying it?"

"Better chance of it working, if you say it. You're more Slytherin than I am."

"Rude." But true.

Sirius said the words.

Just like with the Slytherins, the snake slithered aside to reveal the stone door.

"Merlin," James huffed. "I was kind of hoping that wouldn't work."

"Looks like you'll get your snog after all, Potter."

"Lovely."

Instead of a staircase or a brightly-lit common room, the stone door opened to reveal a long, winding corridor. Mildew and drips of pungent lake-water oozed out of every crack and crevice of the wall not draped in green and silver tapestries.

"This is nauseating," James muttered. "How do they live like this? It's freezing."

Sirius had no answer to that.

"Woah." James stopped suddenly at the mouth of the corridor that suddenly opened to a wide, spacious common room nearly three times the size of Gryffindor's. "That's a giant fucking squid."

The entire far wall seemed to be made of glass and looked out to what could only be the bottom of the Black Lake. The squid lurked in the murky shadows, half out of sight, but several of its tentacles stretched across the glass, leaving smears of slime and… fish guts.

Stalactites interspersed with floating lanterns hung from the high ceiling, nearly twenty meters above their heads. Couches, cushions, and lounge chairs circled a raging bonfire in the middle of the common room that, although lit, did little to nothing to warm the chill in Sirius's bones.

Several students lounged about reading or playing together on one of the many Wizarding Chess sets scattered around the atrium. The Carrows, both of them slouching low on opposite couches, seemed to be engaged in throwing small, silver daggers at a picture of Dumbledore apparently cut out of The Daily Prophet.

How close had this been to being his second home, his sanctuary from the world? Was it even possible for a cold and dank dungeon with its very own giant squid to be safe? Or, would it have simply become another realm in his nightmares, if he had been sorted into Slytherin?

Would it be that for Regulus?

Sirius shuddered and tried to focus. He had a job to do. He scanned the room once, twice, then once more just to be sure.

No Malfoy. Or Narcissa.

Apparently, the universe, too, agreed it'd been rather harsh with Sirius Black as of late. He certainly deserved a reprieve.

"Snape's not here," James whispered, startling Sirius more than he'd like to admit. "Where do you figure—"

"Left," Sirius said, figuring if the the boys' dorm was to the left in both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, it'd more than likely be the same in Slytherin. Sirius veered to the left, forcing James to follow close behind to stay hidden under the invisibility cloak.

Once out of sight from the common room, however, James stopped abruptly and yanked the cloak off of them.

"Oi! My hair!" Sirius yelped, his hands flying to his head, trying to pat down the static mess.

James's hair looked frighteningly no different than it ever did. Apparently, that hair potion was good for something after all.

"Can't let Snivellus know about the cloak," James said, tucking it away in his bag.

Sirius shrugged. It would make future pranks rather difficult. Particularly if Snape snitched to a professor and had the cloak confiscated.

The hallway was lined on one side with every assortment of Slytherin memorabilia one could think of: from posters of Quidditch stars, to ancient parchments depicting famous potion makers. Sirius kept his nose to the ground as they passed a seventy-odd-year-old article on Phineas Nigellus Black that showed Sirius's great-great grandfather shaking hands with the then-Minister of Magic as he accepted his role as headmaster of Hogwarts.

The same article hung in a silver frame over the mantle in the library at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had spent many afternoons debating the consequences of just throwing it in the fire.

It'd surely be worth it, just to see one of his vile ancestors burn.

James stopped in front of Phineas Nigellus. "Is that—"

"Yes," Sirius grumbled, but kept moving.

James hurried to catch up. "Am I related to him?"

Huh.

Sirius paused. "Some distant grandfather, I think. Arcturus Black, Charis's father, was his youngest son."

"Weird," said James, and, yeah, it was. It was almost impossible for Sirius to imagine that James Potter, fairy-tale prince, could possibly come from the same line of inbred pureblood tyrants that he did.

They rounded a corner, only to be met with a line of doors, each one inlayed with silver trim and a serpent door knocker. They were numbered, one to seven, all the way to the end of the hallway that appeared to be another window to the bottom of the Black Lake.

James nodded to the closest door, marked with a number one. "Figure he's in there?"

"Here's to hoping." Sirius reached for the door handle.

The inside of the Slytherin first year boys' dorm was the exact opposite of its counterpart in Gryffindor in almost every way. For one, there were posh, green curtains hanging over each of the twenty-some beds around the room. Each bed was partitioned off with mahogany folding screens for apparent added privacy. A great, skin rug—probably made out of some magical creature too precious and rare to mention—was spread across the floor in the middle of the room. Next to the bathroom at the back, there seemed to be an entire potions station, complete with an active burner.

"Merlin," James whispered. "I didn't realise there were so many first year Slytherins."

"You should have seen Ravenclaw," Sirius said, remembering the bunkbeds.

"Which one is his?" James said, peering around the first partition at an empty bed.

From the back of the room, there was a rustle of fabric, then: "Rookwood? Is that you?"

Severus Snape stepped out from behind his own partition, wearing—surprisingly—a black set of pyjamas that were only slightly worn around the edges.

"I found him," Sirius deadpanned.

"What the fuck." Snape turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, his eyes flashing almost black as he drew his wand.

Sirius disarmed him with a flick of his wrist a heartbeat later. It wasn't so much an Expelliarmus as it was a sudden and unexpected gust of wind.

With all the dexterity of any decent Quidditch player, James caught Snape's wand mid-air, before quickly scanning the rest of the dorm.

Snape looked rather incensed, but it only lasted a second. A cruel sneer spread across his face.

"You know, there's a rumour going around about you, Black," Snape said, his eyes tracking down to Sirius's chest as he stalked closer. "I didn't put much stock in it. Lucius does like to brag. But, perhaps—"

Snape reached out a hand.

Quick as lightening, James stepped between them, his wand pointed at Snape's throat. "Touch him, Snivellus, and I swear to Merlin, baldness will be the least of your worries."

Sirius hid a smile. He loved the chaotic, violent streak in his fairy-tale prince. But, right now, it was counterproductive.

"Wand down, James," Sirius said evenly. "And give Snape his back. We come in peace."

Both James and Snape stared dubiously at Sirius, until Sirius snatched Snape's wand out of James's hand and held it out. Cautiously, Snape took it.

"Now," Sirius continued, eyes fixed on Snape. "You know I can disarm you with a flick of my wrist. You know I have a valiant knight here ready to hex you into next month. And we all know you can't throw a decent punch. So, let's all just stand down and pretend to be civilised."

Words he'd never thought he'd say.

"What do you want?" Snape sneered.

James smirked, his tone suddenly light and affable. "What are you doing on the thirtieth, Severus?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. James didn't even hesitate, going straight from Snivellus to Severus, as though they were the oldest of friends. It was almost… haunting.

Snape stiffened. "The… thirtieth?"

"Fancy a party?" James asked.

"With you?" Snape sounded as though he'd rather die.

"For Evans?"

It was at this point that Severus Snape turned a violent shade of red and Sirius had to cough to hide the laughter that suddenly burst from his throat.

"Yes, Snape," Sirius said, with just a hint of a teasing note in his voice. "We're throwing a party—"

"—And we thought you'd want to come," James finished.

"To a Gryffindor party?"

"Well, Evans is a Gryffindor," James said. "So, yes."

"In Gryffindor tower?"

"Where else?" James huffed.

"A party for Lily in Gryffindor tower on the thirtieth?"

James and Sirius exchanged a glance. It was quite possible that Snape was just an idiot.

"What exactly about any of that is confusing to you?" Sirius asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible in these trying times.

Snape seemingly ignored him. "And you want me there?"

"Merlin, Jamie, I think we broke him."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "That's Lily's birthday. This is a birthday party."

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose, in what he was beginning to realise was a habit of exasperation he seemed to have picked up from McGonagall. What a nightmare-inducing thought that was.

"Yes," James said, his voice somehow infinitely more patient than Sirius felt. "We'd like to formally invite you, Severus Snape, to Lily Evans's birthday party on January 30 in the Gryffindor common room. Any more questions?"

Snape crossed his arm, a frown cutting across his face. "What gave you the impression that I'd ever trust you?"

"One—" Sirius stepped forward, mirroring Snape's stance. "—Evans is my friend, Snape. I wouldn't do anything to break her trust. Ever."

Snape scoffed.

Sirius bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. "Two, she's your friend. She'd want you there."

Something like hope flashed across Snape's black eyes for just a second, before it choked and died back into his usual sour expression.

"And three—" Sirius paused. He hadn't discussed the specifics with James. "We'll swear on our magic that we won't break into Slytherin again for pranking purposes."

"What?" James said.

Snape scowled. "That's blackmail."

Sirius smirked. He was so glad Snape picked up on that. Slytherins—occasionally—were good for something.

Poor James Potter looked hopelessly confused.

"If I don't go—"

"And agree to our conditions of a truce," Sirius added.

Snape's eyes flashed. It'd be terrifying if he posed even a fraction of a threat. "If I don't attend your party and agree to your conditions, you and your ilk will have free rein of the Slytherin common room for general… mischief and mayhem."

"Oh, that's brilliant," James whispered, and Sirius winked at him. It was brilliant, because there was so much Sirius could do to make the Slytherins miserable without directly crossing Snape or Malfoy. His fingers twitched at the thought.

"What exactly are your conditions, Black," Snape said through gritted teeth.

Easy. He ticked them off on his fingers. "January 30 every year will be a day of truce between us, for Evans's sake. We'll swear on our magic, every Marauder and you, that there will be no foul play between us on that day. In addition, from henceforth, the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms are neutral territory. No inter-house rivalries or general mischief and mayhem may be performed by the visiting party."

James nodded along. "Sounds fair."

Snape rolled his eyes. "I'm assuming I won't be allowed into Gryffindor tower whenever I choose?"

James blanched.

Sirius didn't blink. "We change our password about once a week, Snape. It's rather tedious, really."

He was almost one hundred percent certain that the same could not be said of Slytherin. Not with a password like that.

Somebody might have to do something about that.

Snape glowered and looked as though he'd rather like to pull out his greasy hair, one clump at a time.

"Fine," he groused. "I'll go. But I won't enjoy it."

Probably not, but Sirius had a hunch he'd fake it for Evans's sake.

"Not to worry," James said. "There'll be butterbeer."

Sirius raised his right hand, allowing the magic to dance between his fingers in little bursts of red sparks.

"Up for swearing your oath now, Snape?" he asked. "Or are you scared?"

Not to be outdone, Snape drew his wand once more. "Raise your damn wands."

James was momentarily elated to learn that Snape's middle name was Tobias, only to realise that he had to subsequently admit to his own middle name was Fleamont in order to fulfil his part of the oath.

It took all of five minutes.

"Great. Perfect. Thanks, Snape—" James started.

"I'm doing this for Lily, not for you." Both Sirius and James forced themselves to ignore the blood traitor that Snape tacked on to the end of that. They still had business, after all.

"Now, Snivellus," Sirius said, his tone far too light. "If you could please inform Professor Slughorn of our presence in the Slytherin dorms, that'd be lovely."

Snape's expression was worth the price of any stupid oath.

"What?"

Slughorn placed both hands on his desk and very nearly careened forward; if not for his rather large midsection, Sirius was fairly confident that he might have face-planted on his own desk.

All in all, Slughorn did look rather peeved. Or, as though he was trying to be peeved, but it seemed to be quite a bit of effort. His face was red and splotchy and he kept wheezing between every few words.

To his credit, he had apparently run all the way through the winding tunnels of the Slytherin dungeons to catch Black and Potter in the act. Sirius had thought Slughorn was going to faint when he'd burst into the first year boys' dormitory only to find Sirius and James sitting casually on the unnamed-magical-creature-skin rug, pretending to play a game of Exploding Snap that they'd nicked from one of the trunks.

Now, James and Sirius sat next to each other on a bench in the Potions classroom, feigning guilt.

"How is it, exactly, that not one, but three Gryffindor first years managed to sneak into the dungeons in the span of a few months?" Slughorn wheezed.

James and Sirius shared an unimpressed glance. Then, almost as if they'd rehearsed this, James said, "Probably because of that super-secret password of yours."

Sirius couldn't have been prouder of his conniving, slightly evil prince.

Step One, after earning his desired detention: Get rid of Slughorn.

"Yes," Sirius added. "Your not-at-all-problematic-super-secret password."

He lets the sarcasm drip into his words.

Slughorn loosened his tie and gulped. "Yes. Well, you see, the prefects choose the password. I have nothing—"

"Makes sense," Sirius said.

"Does sound like Malfoy." James nodded serenely. Then, to Sirius: "Reckon Dumbledore knows?"

"Hm. I highly doubt it. Doesn't seem to the type to be exceptionally pleased if a certain house were using the motto of his arch-enemy as a password to their common room."

"Sounds like insubordination."

Sirius shot Slughorn a winning smile. "And I assume that any professor with any knowledge of such a password might find themselves in a spot of trouble, should the headmaster find out."

Slughorn's red face turned a sallow, sickly colour. He rounded his desk, tightened his tie, and made for the door.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, there's somewhere I need to be." He spun in a full circle, surveying the pristine classroom. There hadn't exactly been that many classes since the holidays for potions accidents to accumulate the usual gunk around the room. "Scrub… something. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and the like. Leave when you're done. Report back at the same time tomorrow."

With that, Slughorn left, slamming the door behind him.

Sirius waited all of three seconds before clapping his hands together and rushing for the door to Slughorn's office. "Right. Let's get to it, Potter. He won't be gone forever."

Step Two: Break into Slughorn's office.

Sirius flicked his wrist and the office door swung open. Not even locked. Sirius barked out a shout of victory before immediately diving into the mismatched pile of school records on the dusty shelves.

James followed, slowly, his hands in his pockets and eyes on the door to the classroom. After assuring himself that it was going to remain closed for the foreseeable future, he took a spot next to Sirius and grabbed the nearest tome, not really glancing at it at all.

"How'd you know that would work?" James asked.

Frankly, Sirius could have asked James the same question. James had gone along with it, after all.

Sirius waved his hand to clear away some of the dust surrounding them in a cloud. "Because I happen to know that Slughorn is the worst breed of Slytherin."

"Fat and incompetent?"

"Ruthlessly selfish."

James hummed in response, cracking the spine of his tome, which seemed to be nothing more than an ancient potions book written in… hieroglyphics. James traced a few of the pictures with his finger. "Think Malfoy will get his badge taken when Slughorn tells Dumbledore about the password?"

Sirius rifled through a loose stack of parchments. Seventh year potions essays, apparently. "He's not going to speak to Dumbledore."

James's head jerked up to look at him. "What do you mean? 'Course he is."

Another stack. Merlin. More potions essays. "He's going to speak to Malfoy. To get Malfoy change the password before anyone else notices."

"Why, exactly?"

The next stack of essays belonged to fifth year Slytherins. Though it was far amiss from what he was actually searching for, Sirius searched through them meticulously. "Because we're Gryffindors. Expendable. Malfoy's not. Slughorn won't burn his relationship with Malfoy if he can avoid it."

"I don't follow."

With another shout of victory, Sirius held up Malfoy's essay, with his annoyingly perfect handwriting. Thorough and well researched, it was sure to earn an Outstanding.

With a wild smirk and a twirl of his fingers, Sirius set the essay on fire.

Vanishing the pile of ash, he continued, "Pretend we're good, rule-following Gryffindors for just a moment. Or, at the very least, Gryffindors with a bit of an ego and a strong sense of justice."

"Sounds like us. Carry on."

Sirius shuffled over to the next bookshelf. Enrolment records. Getting warmer.

He gestured mindlessly as he continued. "We notice an injustice—say a particular password to a certain house's common room is more like an oath of fealty to a fallen, fascist regime—and we tell a professor. That professor chooses to do nothing about it. We, being noble and righteous Gryffindors, decide to take the matter to the Headmaster."

James was still idly flipping through his book of Egyptian potions. "Okay."

Sirius's eyes flew over the leather bindings. Financial records, donation records, potion inventories…

"Except said professor has already erased all evidence of whatever crime or misdemeanour we have accused him of, having already addressed the crime with the offending prefect. Now, we're in a tricky spot, because we're making wild and unfounded accusations about a supposedly-respected professor to the headmaster as well as admitting we violated the school rules by breaking into another house's common room. Meanwhile, said professor walks away unscathed."

James slammed his book shut."Huh. I take it we're not going to Dumbledore, then."

Employment records, Ministry reports, O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores spanning several generations…

"Definitely not."

"You're bloody terrifying when you think like a Slytherin," James said.

That made Sirius pause."Believe me, I know."

James stood and brushed the dirt from his robes, before drawing his wand and muttering a cleaning spell over the both of them. "You do realise this will mean we won't be able to break into Slytherin again, if the password's changed."

"It's not like it was super hard to find out the first time, Potter," Sirius muttered, though there was no bite to his words.

House-elf contracts, medical reports—

"Merlin, finally!" Sirius exclaimed. "Here it is."

Sirius dragged the large tome free of the shelf and held it over his head in triumph. His arms wobbled, just a little. It was slightly heavier than he expected, and Sirius was still slightly more injured than he'd like to admit.

"Hogwarts Detention Records, 1800-1950." James glowered. "That's why we had to get detention?! Sirius, we're not even in there!"

Sirius rolled his eyes, then lugged the book over to Slughorn's desk and cracked it open, flipping quickly towards the end. "I know that. Slughorn keeps recent detention records on cards until the end of each term when he selects and unlucky student to transcribe them into the current tome. That's how it's always done. Andromeda said Ted had to do it several times before Slughorn finally decided he liked him."

"Okay, fine." James crossed his arms. "I still don't understand what we're looking for."

"1947. Ish."

Sirius flipped, scanned, then flipped again. James, though emanating waves of exasperation, crowded close enough to peer over Sirius's shoulder.

He turned the page, and his heart skipped. In neat, formal writing, at the top of the page: Minerva McGonagall, 2nd Year, Gryffindor.

Step Three: Revel in manic victory.

Below it, listed in increasingly erratic handwriting, dates and descriptions.

Sirius laughed, elated and half-crazed, as he scanned the page, and the next, and the next. He couldn't possibly be expected to choose a favourite.

Sept 3, M. McGonagall set booby trap outside Slytherin dungeon. Small explosion. No injuries.

Oct 5, M. McGonagall hijacked Sonoros spell for inappropriate Quidditch commentary. Many expletives.

Nov 7, M. McGonagall and co. staged protest outside headmaster's office over expelled student. Mildly inconvenienced everyone.

Scratch that. On the third page, Sirius found his favourite.

Mar 10, M. McGonagall punched W. Black in face. No apparent reason.

"Holy fucking shit," James breathed, annunciating each word. "Is this… McGonagall?! Our Minnie?! How could she never tell us?!"

Sirius couldn't force the wild grin from his face if he had a wand to his throat.

Then, at the very bottom of McGonagall's last page of offences, scrawled hastily and with such force it'd left a noticeable indent on the page:

M. McGonagall, having amassed a total of 63 detentions in a single calendar year, hereby sets the record for the most detentions from a single student ever recorded in the history of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May her record never be broken.

James jabbed his finger at the last sentence. "That sounds like a bloody challenge. What do you say, Black? Think we can break her record?"

"Fuck, yes. I'd say we're off to a pretty good start." Sirius couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled from his throat. "Now, go find some parchment. I need to make a copy of this so I can frame it and hang it in the dorms."

JANUARY 5, 1972

It was well after midnight by the time James and Sirius finally made their way back to the Gryffindor dorms. Though Sirius was bone-weary, in pain, and thoroughly exhausted, it'd been worth it to sort through McGonagall's detention records. She'd never quite matched her second year record, but she was by no means a saint in her later years at Hogwarts, after Sirius's mother had long-since graduated.

James had even managed to hastily scrub a brand-new cauldron, so as not to arouse suspicion, before Slughorn had returned.

With as much reverence as they deserved, Sirius carefully placed the parchment copies of McGonagall's detention records in his trunk, vowing to transfigure frames for them in the morning. They deserved a place of honour, where everyone could bask in the glory of the mere thought of a young, rebellious Minerva McGonagall.

Noticing that both his and Remus's beds were empty, Sirius snagged his duvet and made his way to the cracked window, his exhaustion notwithstanding. He felt as though he'd hardly seen Remus all day. Sirius missed him, the ache in his bones be damned.

Mindful of the new scars on his chest and the ice on the roof, Sirius carefully took his place next to Remus and leaned against him, for just a second, before waving a heating charm over the both of them.

Remus's breath glistened in the air, crystallising and vanishing with each exhale. Moonlight danced across the scars on his face and his eyes nearly outshone the stars above them.

Merlin, Sirius couldn't look away.

Remus reached into the pocket of his robe, beneath his own thick blanket, and pulled out a letter. Sirius froze in the dim light, when he recognised the Black seal.

"This came for you while you were out," Remus explained.

"Got detention," Sirius managed, eyes glued on the letter. Any elation he'd felt at McGonagall's detention record vanished in a heartbeat.

"I figured." Remus nudged him, eyes flicking to the letter, hanging in the nether-space between them. "Anyway, I intercepted this owl before anyone else could see, in case it's bad news. It's not hexed or cursed or anything. I checked. Several times."

"Thank you," Sirius breathed, before reaching out with a shaky hand to take the letter. He broke the seal as Remus cast a Lumos.

S—

Mother told me about her bargain with Alphard.

You did the right thing, Sirius, and you need not beg forgiveness for your choices.

I hope this reaches you, because I have an inkling it might be the last time I'm able to write you without Mother noticing. That particular term of the agreement is rather… inconvenient.

Please write to Andromeda and Ted on my behalf, to make sure they're okay. I do not regret the choices I made, Sirius, and I pray to whatever god hasn't yet abandoned you and me that you don't regret yours, even for a second.

The stars will fall where they may, brother, and all we can do is destroy the riddles they leave in their wake.

I love you, to the very end. I swear to you that we will see each other soon. Until then, be brave, Sirius.

R.A.B.

A single tear fell, unbidden, from Sirius's eye, soaking into the parchment, right next to his brother's signature. He scrubbed a hand over his face, drew in a shaky breath, and folded the letter back up.

"Regulus?" Remus asked, softly.

Sirius could only manage a nod.

"Is he all right?"

"No," Sirius breathed, because how could Regulus possibly be all right, bound as he was by their mother's chains? "There's a war coming, Remus."

Gravely, Remus said, "I've heard."

"My parents, Malfoy, Tom-fucking-Riddle. They're all part of it." He pulled the duvet tighter around himself. "We're fucked."

Remus was silent for a long, nearly infinite moment. "What of the Dark Creatures?"

Sirius froze, Malfoy's threat echoing back to the forefront of his waking nightmares. "What of them?" he asked, carefully.

Remus fiddled with the frayed edge of his robes. "What happens to them, when the Lestrange Doctrine passes?"

"It won't pass." The lie tasted bittersweet on his tongue.

"It will. And you know it."

Merlin, did he ever. He'd known his father and Mr. Tom Riddle would win this particular battle long before Malfoy sent him that damned article.

The Blacks never threw their lots in with the losing side.

Remus hangs his head, defeated. "What happens to them, Siri, when they are forbidden an education and forced to register with a government who wants their blood and hearts for potions experiments? What happens with the next bill, or the next, that prevents them from marrying or owning land? Where do the monsters turn when their home and hearts are stolen from them?"

"They'll have a choice," Sirius said, his voice as cold and as distant as the stars above their heads. "Either submit to the whims and wiles of the Ministry, or face their own extinction."

There were tears tracking down Remus's face, ethereal waterlines that mapped out his scars.

"It is cruelest hand fate can cast, to be left with a choice like that," Sirius whispered.

Remus bowed his head, an unbidden, unnatural fury leeching into his voice. "Maybe not. Maybe they deserve it. They're still monsters."

"No. No, Remus, they're not." He'd never said something like that before, so reckless and contrary to everything he was raised to believe. It was liberating, a gasp of fresh air after eons of drowning. "Some are born. Some are made. Very few have a choice in who or what they are. And none of them deserve the hand they were dealt."

Sirius reached out his hand, oblivious to the cold, and hooked his pinky with Remus's. "Every monster needs a hand to hold, fate be damned. You and I should know that better than anyone."

Agony coursed through him, like a living, breathing ocean of fire, but still, Sirius held on.

Remus was the one to pull away, and when he did, Sirius gave a full body shudder, gasping for breath.

For a moment, he thought he'd dive into that oblivion—raging, burning, on the fall from the cosmos, to the Nothing Place, where stars go to die—if only to taste the agonising fire of Remus's touch for one second more.

Perhaps Sirius had lost his mind entirely. It wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility.

Minutes later, when Sirius had once again caught his breath, Remus whispered, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saying that."

Sirius paused, unsure at what Remus was getting at. "Why?"

"Because you're right. Maybe things would have been different if someone had told Frankenstein's monster that he was loved. Maybe they'd all have earned a happy ending."

And Merlin, Remus's words followed him into oblivion.