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.

11. The King's Riddle, Part 1

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The King's Riddle

JANUARY 5, 1972

He awoke to moon-silver eyes and curtains of raven-black hair—that was just starting to be what one such as Walburga Black might consider of improper length—hanging over his face. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of dittany and starlight and…

Magic.

"You talk in your sleep. You said my name."

Much to Sirius's apparent delight and amazement, Remus Lupin felt himself turn bright red.

It was way too goddamned early for this.

"Did you sleep at all?" Remus groaned into his pillow, tucking it under his chest and rolling onto his stomach to block out the light. There wasn't much of it—far too little streaming in from the open window that led to the roof for it to be even remotely close to breakfast. They'd either forgotten to pull the curtains when they'd made their way inside last night, or Sirius was attempting to systematically drive Remus mad.

Dealer's choice, really, on that one.

Sirius wiggled around on the bed, shuffled the pillows between them until he was sitting up and leaning against the headboard.

"No," Sirius said, his tone bright and chipper. "I figured I spent most of the last two weeks unconscious, so I've more than hit my quota for sleep. Henceforth, I shan't be needing to sleep."

It was entirely too early for the use of the word shan't.

Somehow—miraculously—Remus managed to raise his head a little.

"Nightmares?" Remus deadpanned.

Sirius's silence was more than telling.

Not to be deterred or let darkness settle between them, Sirius waved his hand. "Were you dreaming about me, Remus? Was I wearing clothes?"

Remus wanted to die.

He had been dreaming about Sirius. In fact, there'd hardly been a night in the last two months—outside the full moon, that is—that he hadn't dreamed of Sirius.

For the most part, there seemed to have been clothes involved. Generally speaking.

(There were exceptions to every rule. Remus was only human. Mostly.)

"How're your scars?" Remus shot back, because all's fair at half-six in the morning.

Sirius rolled his eyes and glared at him. "Fine."

"Liar."

With a huff, Sirius raised his shirt. Remus lifted his head off the pillow and squinted a little to get a better look. The green oozing bits had gone and Remus could no longer smell even a trace of infection. Most of the scars had scabbed over, which had to twinge with any sort of movement, but they looked significantly better than even yesterday morning.

Still, a pit formed in Remus's stomach at the sight of them. When the wolf scarred him like that, Remus tended to heal in a few days—faster, if he applied dittany—but with Sirius, it'd take weeks. Longer still, for the scars to fade to silver.

Christ, if he ever got his teeth around Malfoy's throat…

"All right, calm down," Sirius said, before lowering his shirt, and it was only then that Remus realised he'd been growling.

He'd been doing that a lot lately.

Mr. Hyde needed a tighter leash.

"I applied dittany before you woke up," Sirius continued. "Downed the last of the pain potion, too. Probably need to nick more of that."

Remus hmmm'd, noncommittally. He preferred to only commit high crimes and misdemeanours when the sun was up. Though he could probably be convinced for Sirius's pain potion.

Speaking of high crimes and misdemeanours…

"What'd you have detention for? You never said." Of course, because there'd been far more important tragedies to contend with.

But, now, in the early light of dawn, a mad and reckless grin broke across Sirius's face as he launched into the tale of breaking into Slytherin, meeting with Snape, and—

"McGonagall has the record?!" Remus sat up in bed, his exhaustion forgotten. "No fucking way."

Sirius gave him a blank look, flicked his wrist, and three sheets of parchment came zooming in through the hangings, landing on the pillow between them.

"Christ," Remus muttered, perusing the list. "This is amazing."

Jan 2. M. McGonagall hexed all of Slytherin table to sing in operatic tones when speaking. Infuriated everyone.

After a minute, Remus looked up at Sirius, who leaned back against the headboard, looking smug. "Why, exactly, did you need this? I mean, of course, we'll hang it in a place of reverence and take copious notes for future endeavours, but why did you go looking for her detention record in the first place?"

Sirius's face sobered, just a hair. "McGonagall offered to tutor me yesterday."

Remus felt his face scrunch up in confusion. "What? Why? You're not failing. Actually, I think you're top of our class."

"Don't tell Evans," Sirius said with a wink, before his face fell again. He toyed with the edge of his shirt. "McGonagall felt guilty, I think. About…" Sirius gestured at his chest. "I think she apologised to me, Remus. Or, tried to anyway."

Remus nodded once and bit back another growl. "Good. She needed to."

Sirius fidgeted a little, then absently rubbed the spot above his heart. With every iota of hatred he had in his bones, Remus cursed the words carved into Sirius's skin.

"She said she knew my mother. Hated her, even."

Remus looked up sharply, but Sirius refused to meet his eyes.

"I'm not exactly in a position in which I can accept things like that at face value. Especially when my mother is involved," Sirius explained. "Apologies. Confessions of guilt… They're just words, Remus. Stories and justifications. Whispers in the dark and half-forgotten memories. They don't mean anything."

Remus gestured at the detention records. "You needed proof."

"It would seem," Sirius said slowly, "that the stories are true. McGonagall waged war against my mother and the purebloods."

"So what does that mean for you? Will you take her up on her offer?"

"I don't know. I don't know what she's planning on teaching me, either. Or why. Guilt doesn't account for everything. I'm so tired of being a pawn on the chessboard." Sirius was silent for a moment. "If I did accept, there'd be conditions. She'd have to agree."

Remus nodded. "For what it's worth, conditions or no, I think you should accept."

The words shocked Remus almost as much as they did Sirius. Sirius's eyebrows went up.

"I didn't realise you were McGonagall's fan at the moment."

"I'm not. I hate her for sending you home, especially when she knew what would happen. And despite having recently gained a new respect of her—" Remus gestured at the detention records. "—I'm not saying you should trust her unconditionally. That being said, she's a brilliant witch with a world of knowledge. It might be.. fun."

That last word came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

"I'll think about it," Sirius conceded. Then, "Now. How 'bout breakfast?"

Remus groaned into his pillow. He might be awake—sort of—but he very much dreaded the idea of actually getting out of bed.

"Only if there's coffee."

Sirius was playing with his wand.

Which sounded so startlingly like a euphemism in Remus's head that he very nearly snorted his coffee. All things considered, it probably would have been a highly efficient means in which to get the caffeine directly into his bloodstream.

Sirius was simultaneously trying to eat a plate of eggs, unroll a scrap of parchment, tie his hair back with his wand, and write something on the parchment with a brand new quill.

"Need a hand?" Remus asked, with both of his hands firmly occupied in holding his mug of coffee as close to his mouth as possible.

Sirius shovelled a spoonful of eggs into his mouth and glared at Remus, before tossing his wand in the middle of the table and rifling around in his bag. "Have you got another one of those magic Muggle quills that produce their own ink? I think my dear mother confiscated the one I had."

Remus hummed around his mouthful of coffee, then reached in his bag and handed over a ballpoint pen. Sirius let out a triumphant cry and carelessly tossed his quill over his shoulder, before immediately beginning scrawling on the parchment.

Not really thinking too much about it, Remus reached out for Sirius's wand. It felt heavy in his hand, ice cold to the touch. It was perfectly straight and rigid, and when Remus held it up, he could just catch a trace of the musty, dark scent of the Whomping Willow.

Absently, Remus traced a finger up and down the handle of Sirius's wand.

"What do the runes mean?" he asked, tracing over the ornate carvings.

"No clue," Sirius replied, furiously scratching something out. "How does one ask if the love of one's life is still breathing?"

Remus looked up. "Are you writing Andromeda?"

Sirius nodded, a frown etched into his features. "Some… things happened at Christmas dinner. Bad shit. And 'Hey, 'Dromeda, is your boyfriend alive? Regulus says he's sorry for almost killing him, by the way,' really doesn't sound to great."

"Ted's alive," Remus said. "I met him—and Andromeda—a few days ago in Hogsmeade. The shop's gone, but they're both fine. They're going to elope."

Sirius blinked at him several times. "Um. Glad to hear they're safe. I have several questions—all of them pressing—but none more important than how the fuck did you manage to sneak to Hogsmeade without telling me?"

"There's been a lot going on," Remus whined, but launched into an explanation of his adventure to Hogsmeade. Luckily, Sirius seemed to be hungry enough for details on his cousin and her fiancé/probably-husband-by-now that he didn't seem to catch Remus's vague and purposeful avoidance of the actual means by which he and Lily had arrived in Hogsmeade.

That was a secret for later, when whispers of mayhem and mischief were afoot.

"She said she'd write you when it was safe," Remus finished.

Sirius nodded and tucked his scratched-out letter back in his bag. "Thank Merlin they're okay. I was… Shit, Remus, it was bad."

"I know. She… may have mentioned what Regulus did."

Sirius's face fell. "It wasn't his fault. He was trying to save me. Save all of you. He was just… so damned Slytherin about it."

Remus didn't know what else to say about that—whether to condemn or commend Regulus's choice, both given that Remus was one of the people Regulus had subsequently protected from the wrath of Walburga Black and given the fact that it'd almost cost Ted Tonks his life—so he stayed silent.

"Guess I'll wait 'til I hear from her," Sirius said. "No use in letting Rogelio get lost somewhere over the Atlantic."

Sirius held out the ballpoint pen.

"Keep it," Remus said, waving it away. "I've got loads more in my trunk."

Mirroring Sirius, Remus held out Sirius's wand. When Sirius reached for it, Remus pulled it back.

"Have you written Ollivander?"

Sirius's face paled a little. "What?"

"About your wand."

"Why?"

Merlin, Remus thought they'd talked about this. "About whether or not it's possible to switch out the core."

Remus, of course, knew it was possible. He'd read pretty much everything available in the Hogwarts library on wand-lore over the holidays.

He just didn't know for certain if werewolf teeth were a viable replacement for a unicorn hair wand core. Or the logistics how to actually exchange one core for another.

Right now, it was just a series of highly complex and dependant hypotheticals.

Remus watched, second by second, as Sirius retreated in on himself. Something like anguish and regret washed over his face.

"Pretty sure my wand's beyond fixing. Don't really need Ollivander to confirm that," Sirius mumbled. "My wand's dead, Remus."

Remus frowned, because that couldn't be true. The wand was heavy as stone and cold as the grave, but it wasn't dead. Remus could feel the magic of it in the palm of his hand, taste it in the air. It was everything the wolf inside him loved about the night: freedom and darkness, the stars and full moon shining down on him.

It wasn't dead. The wolf could sense the wand's magic.

Gripping the runic handle and twirling Sirius's wand in the air, Remus whispered a spell, and much to their mutual amazement and wonder, Sirius's fork turned into a rose. Not a black, dead rose, like Sirius had conjured the first day of transfiguration class, but a vibrant red one, albeit with slightly larger-than-normal thorns.

Sirius openly gaped at him. "How did you—"

To be honest, Remus was equally surprised that had worked. It'd been a rather arduous process at Ollivander's when Remus had selected his own wand. Apparently, the wolf had a major influence on Remus's magic. And was rather picky.

But Sirius's wand had been made from the Whomping Willow, had been crafted for the keeper of the Willow's secret.

For the hundred-thousandth time, the true nature of the Whomping Willow and the secret of the wolf was on the tip of Remus's tongue. Christ, something inside him howled, yearning to tell Sirius the truth.

Sirius Black was worthy of that sort of secret.

But, for the hundred-thousandth time, Remus remembered his promise to Dumbledore. To his father.

The wolf had to remain a secret.

He could be expelled, if the secret got out. And with the Lestrange Doctrine on the horizon, he'd be well and truly fucked.

"Your wand's not dead, Sirius," Remus said, instead. "It just… needs a new core."

Remus turned the wand over in his hand, until the handle was offered to Sirius, who took it, face awash with awe and reverence.

"What kind of core?" Sirius asked. Then, hesitantly, with just enough hope to make Remus's heart flutter erratically, Sirius added, "You said… You said you might have an idea?"

Remus didn't exactly know how to explain the teeth he'd pulled from the wolf's maw a few days ago, carefully wrapped in cloth and tucked away at the bottom of his trunk.

At the same time, that hope in Sirius's eyes reverberated in Remus's soul.

The teeth would work. If the Whomping Willow guarded a secret, if the wolf was the secret, Sirius was its keeper, then the teeth would work. Remus knew it in his bones.

As long as Ollivander could somehow craft them into a functioning wand.

"I do," Remus said, forcing himself not to elaborate. "I'll write to Ollivander."

A smile, as bright and as beautiful as the morning sun after a night of terror, broke across Sirius's face.

"Thank you," Sirius whispered. "I—"

They were saved from the weight of that particular conversation from none other than James Fleamont Potter.

"Oi, Black!" James shouted from across the Great Hall. Both Remus and Sirius turned as he strutted over, trailed by Peter. Around them, the Great Hall had, at some point, filled with the regular breakfast crowd. Remus hadn't noticed, but a few heads turned at the sound of James's proclamation.

James came to a stop next to Sirius, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"You ready for this?" James whispered to Sirius, Remus only picking up on the question courtesy of the wolf's hearing.

Sirius's face scrunched in confusion before a wicked and wild smirk spread across his face. "Fuck, yes," he all but shouted. Heads turned. "Proclaim away, Potter."

Remus hid a laugh. Right. Their bet.

"Right," James said, nodding once. "On your feet, love of my life."

Absently, Remus found himself wondering just how far James was willing to take this.

The answer was, of course, to the fucking moon.

With Sirius standing in front of him, James leapt onto the Gryffindor table, right where Sirius's breakfast had been a moment earlier.

"What's going on, then?" Lily Evans sat down next to Remus, pressing close, and casting calculating glances at James, as though she were secretly plotting on pushing him off the table.

"James lost a bet," Remus informed her.

"This ought to be good," Lily groaned.

"Listen up, everyone!" James had, sometime in the last few seconds, cast a Sonoros charm on himself. The Great Hall fell silent. "I must confess something to all of you. I can stay silent no longer. I'm wholly, completely, and irrevocably in love with Sirius Black."

"I take it back," Lily stage-whispered. "This is the best day of my goddamned life."

James looked down at Sirius, his hand over his heart. "Sirius Anna-Maria Black—"

Sirius choked on air. "Anna-Maria?!"

"I'm not saying your father's name in my heartfelt confession of undying love. He's a dick and it'll kill the mood," James shot back.

"Right. Yes. Continue." Sirius waved a hand.

"Sirius Patricia Black—"

"I liked Anna-Maria better."

James glared. "Sirius Eunice Black—"

"Oi!"

"Get on with it, Potter!" Lily Evans called, clearly having the time of her fucking life. She frantically gestured at Marlene, who produced a camera from her bag.

"Sirius Esmerelda Black." James paused, blinked in what he probably thought was a romantic manner. "I have loved you since the moment I first set eyes on you. You are clever and gorgeous and I dream of snogging you often."

"Lame!" Lily shouted.

James resolutely ignored her. "You have beautiful eyes and fantastic hair."

"Cliche!" Lily yelled.

Cutting a glare at Lily over his shoulder, James added, "And I have a composed a poem that expresses my truest of feelings."

This was met with whoops and hollers from the Gryffindor table, none louder than those of Lily Evans.

James cleared his throat—which really didn't sound to pleasant with the Sonoros charm—and recited from memory:

"Sirius, my love for you is no farce.

Love of mine, you have a nice arse.

Your eyes of silver, hair of black—er."

James paused and turned bright red. "I seem to have forgotten the rest. The gist is I'll love you till my dying day, et cetera, et cetera."

"Boo!" Lily cried.

Sirius, however, looked ecstatic. "Good enough. Get over here, Potter."

James hopped down from the table, an ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face. He stopped right in front of Sirius—paused for a moment, hesitant to touch—before Sirius grabbed him by the hair and snogged him.

Thoroughly.

Deep in his bones, the wolf growled. Remus shoved it into the furthest corner of his mind, tried desperately not to think about the distinctly green feeling in his gut, and joined in the shouting and raucous applause erupting from the Gryffindor table.

Marlene hopped up on the table with her camera. Several flashes went off in quick succession.

Remus's eyes cut to a group of Hufflepuff girls who were noticeably swooning. He gnashed his teeth together a bit, until Lily elbowed him in the ribs, her eyebrow raised in question.

Remus didn't have an answer.

Finally, James and Sirius sprang apart. Or, rather, Sirius reached his limit and more or less propelled James backward with his magic.

Remus could taste it, sparking in the air.

He forced himself to ignore that, too.

Sirius was breathing hard, noticeably shuddered once, but otherwise seemed to be functioning. Thoroughly snogged, but functioning.

James Potter was dazed and confused, and weird and unexplainable instincts aside, Remus couldn't hold back a laugh.

Neither could the rest of the Great Hall.

Then, from the head table, Professor McGonagall stood. Immediately, silence echoed over the hall. Stone-fucking-cold sober, she said, "Ten points to Gryffindor for this morning's entertainment."

Then, she sat back down.

A beat later, the Gryffindor table erupted in another round of applause and chaos. Half the table leapt to their feet, surrounding Sirius and James. Remus and Lily exchanged a proud glance when they caught sight of the Fabian and Gideon Prewett weaselling their way through the crowd and surrounding Sirius on both sides, each slinging an arm around his shoulder, buffering him from the rest of the crowd.

Sirius ducked his head a little, under their arms, but with Frank Longbottom taking up a position at Sirius's back, he seemed to realise he was safe.

His honour guard was there to protect him.

Across the room, silver eyes met Remus's, content, peaceful, and triumphant. Just like that, the monster in Remus's soul settled.

While the rest of the hall descended into madness and mayhem, Remus sat back down next to Lily Evans, pulled out a piece of parchment and another ballpoint pen, and began to write a letter.

If Remus was honest with himself, Care of Magical Creatures had been an absolute fucking nightmare since day one.

He had lost track of the number of creatures he'd managed to anger, terrify, or outright piss off and the number of times he'd had to subsequently apologise to Professor Cuckoo. Although Remus was certain Professor Cuckoo had been made aware of his… condition, he hadn't exactly been as sympathetic towards Remus's circumstances as Remus would have hoped. Remus was reasonably convinced that he had the lowest grade in this class on record, and despite the constant disasters, Professor Cuckoo continually urged him to attempt interactions with whatever magical creature had struck his fancy that week.

The fact of the matter was, every magical creature out there hated him. They could sense the wolf lurking behind Remus's eyes.

It seemed, however, that none hated Remus Lupin more than Hickory Dave.

Given that, over the past few months, Hickory Dave had become rather amorously attached to Professor Cuckoo, it'd become the first years' routine to feed her at the start of every class. Hickory Dave's meals were increasingly nauseating—and to no one more so than to Remus, who had the unfortunate nose of a werewolf and an abhorrence to all things slimy that seemed to be the preferential meal of a Clabberts. Therefore, not only did he have to keep his own nausea at bay and his wolf in check, but he regularly had to deal with the bright red knob on Hickory Dave's forehead, her high-pitched wailing, and what always seemed to be a failing grade.

Today, in particular, was a bit of a disaster.

"She's got my hair!" Sirius wailed, at nearly the same pitch as Hickory Dave's terrified caterwauling.

Generally speaking, of everyone in the class, Hickory Dave seemed to like Sirius best, and naturally turned to him for protection when the mean and nasty werewolf tried to offer her breakfast.

Remus stood, stone-faced, with a spoonful of honey mustard maggots-and-grits held out to the Clabbert. James flailed uselessly around them. Peter covered his ears, screaming right along with Hickory Dave.

"Let me just—" Arms flying in a thousand different directions, James steadied his wand and pointed it at where Hickory Dave had a death-grip on Sirius's hair.

"Wand down, Mr. Potter!" Professor Cuckoo shouted above the noise. "If you even think about hexing my Clabbert, I will speak to Professor Dumbledore about having you removed from my class!"

Remus thought about hexing Professor Cuckoo's Clabbert.

"Merlin's saggy tits, someone get her off! I'm going to have a bald patch!" Sirius's voice hit an unnatural octave, as he tried to pry Hickory Dave away from his head. Her grip remained strong.

Professor Cuckoo raised an eyebrow and began writing notes.

Remus glared at the Clabbert, trying to convey his grave displeasure at the situation, in the hopes that Hickory Dave would submit to his werewolf mind powers.

Hickory Dave wailed louder and began to pull.

"Ow, ow! Fucking Salazar's ball-sack!"

James's eyes were wide and frantic, hands darting out to grab, to touch, before he seemed to remember Sirius's tattoo. "Evans, help him!"

Lily gestured wildly at Sirius. She couldn't touch him, either. "What the fuck do you want me to do, Potter?!"

James blinked. Remembered the plan. "McKinnon!"

Marlene, ever the wonderful embodiment of rainbows and sunshine, had her camera out. The constant flashing seemed to be pushing Hickory Dave to the point of epileptic seizure, which somehow involved even more hair-pulling.

"I'm busy, Potter." Marlene took a picture of the Marauders and Hickory Dave.

Sirius screeched and let out a long stream of profanity.

James was about to rip his own hair out.

Peter was turning in nervous circles and biting his nails.

And Remus. Who was currently wishing death and dismemberment upon a harmless woodland creature.

Ultimately, it took Lily frog-marching Remus halfway across the courtyard for Hickory Dave to calm down enough to finally release Sirius's hair. She didn't stop her caterwauling, however, until Professor Cuckoo handed her off to a Hufflepuff with the instruction to feed Hickory Dave the rest of her breakfast from the safety of his office.

It took significantly longer for Sirius to stop messing with his hair.

"You're sure there's not a bald spot?" Sirius asked James for the thirteenth time. James just shook his head and straightened his glasses.

"Not even a little one?"

"Sirius!" James hissed.

Professor Cuckoo was glaring at the four of them.

Well, no. More specifically, he was glaring at Remus.

"All right. Everyone have a seat. Take out parchment and a quill. In light of recent events, I would like us to have a discussion," Professor Cuckoo said. "Please know that everything we cover today will be on the final exam at the end of the term."

"Um." Peter raised his hand. "We're outside. There's snow on the ground. What are we supposed to write on?"

"You're a wizard, aren't you, Pettigrew?" There was genuine doubt in Professor Cuckoo's voice. "Figure it out."

Peter stood frozen, unsure of how to proceed.

Remus narrowed his eyes. For the most part, Professor Cuckoo was well-liked by students. He was reasonable and fair, and had a natural affinity towards animals, which generally Remus saw as a positive attribute. Sirius, in particular, got on well with Professor Cuckoo, and had, before the holiday, told Remus in no uncertain terms that Care of Magical Creatures was his favourite class.

Today, however… Professor Cuckoo was different.

Remus didn't quite know how he knew, but something didn't taste right.

The wolf had its hackles raised.

As much as Remus hated the creature inside him, he knew enough to trust its instincts.

Professor Cuckoo kept looking at him. The wolf seemed to think it was a challenge.

"Here, Peter," Remus said, still at the edge of the courtyard. He drew his wand and, with Lily's help, levitated several large rocks to the centre of the courtyard for them to use as makeshift chairs. Other students caught on and did the same.

Sirius plopped down on the rock next to Remus, still fiddling with his hair.

"Today," Professor Cuckoo began, "we will be discussing the difference between magical creatures and Dark Creatures."

Remus froze. Alarm bells went off in his head. He was half-convinced his forehead had started to flash red, just like Hickory Dave's.

The wolf in his brain demanded he bare his teeth in defiance.

To one side of Remus, Lily sat up ramrod straight, her mouth a thin line and green eyes filled with fire. On his other side, Sirius sat equally frozen, his messy hair entirely forgotten.

"Actually," Professor Cuckoo continued, as if he hadn't just placed a ticking atom bomb at Remus's feet, "over the holiday, I had the privilege of attending a, er, lecture on this very subject, presented by someone very knowledgeable on the subject. He's been in the papers recently, in fact. Mr. Tom Riddle."

"Um, Professor—" Lily started

"What the fuck?!" Sirius shouted, rising to his feet.

"I think that's just about enough profanity out of you today, Mr. Black," Professor Cuckoo said, casually. Fucking conversationally. "Please have a seat."

Sirius did not sit. Instead, he glared at Professor Cuckoo with all the rage and fury of a wild animal. Remus thought the wolf would be proud.

Professor Cuckoo elected to ignore him, which was, ultimately, his first mistake.

One should never ignore the likes of Sirius Black.

"As you well know," Professor Cuckoo began, and Remus tasted bile, "Dark Creatures are those classified with a XXXX danger rating or above. All require handling by trained experts and most reasonable people argue that their existence should be more closely monitored by the Ministry."

"Bull—" Lily started, but Remus snatched her hand and squeezed it tight. He didn't need her defence. Not now. Not with stakes this high.

Remus saw red sparks flickering between Sirius's fingers.

Professor Cuckoo glared at the Gryffindors, and for perhaps the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Remus felt unadulterated hatred emanating off his professor. "Additionally, unlike other magical creatures, Dark Creatures have a penchant for spreading their disease. Usually, this is done through a bite, or through an exchange of blood or saliva. This, in particular, marks these creatures not only as a bane against their usual Muggle prey, but also a direct and viable threat against the very foundations of Wizarding culture. If we allow these creatures to continue unchecked, breeding and festering in dark corners, spreading their disease, then we open ourselves to extinction."

At that, Sirius barked a laugh. It was not a nice laugh. "And what about their extinction? What the fuck do you think will happen when you take away their ability to have an education, a job, a life?!"

"In the grand scheme of things, Mr. Black, there are… casualties. Unfortunate, but necessary."

Remus felt his blood run cold.

"Casualties," Sirius repeated, nearly spitting the word. "Casualties are for war, Professor."

As if they weren't already in the middle of a bloodbath.

Professor Cuckoo's lips pressed together in a thin line. "These creatures are dangerous, Mr. Black. Registering them with the Ministry of Magic is the only way to keep the rest of the population safe. Any other… side-effects are morally justifiable."

"Have you tried fucking talking to them? Negotiating? I thought that's what all those circle-jerks at the Wizengamot were about."

On Sirius's other side, James choked on a laugh.

"These are not reasonable creatures. Negotiation was not an option."

"Then the way I see it, Professor," Sirius said, slowly, annunciating each and every words, "these creatures aren't the dangerous ones. Maybe the real danger to Wizarding society is people like Tom Riddle."

Professor Cuckoo's voice took on a different note. "Careful, the side you choose, Black. The beast you're trying to defend would not hesitate to rip your throat out."

Sirius's throat was not the one the wolf wanted.

"Any creature, Dark or otherwise, will scream and fight and rip out throats if they're threatened and pushed into a corner. I've got the bald patch on my head from Hickory Dave to prove it."

Something dark and dangerous—something the wolf intrinsically recognised—flashed across Professor Cuckoo's eyes. A grin twisted his features. "Well, Mr. Black. I'm sure your father would be eager to hear of the sentiments you've—"

"Sirius, sit down!" The words erupted from Remus's mouth without thought, without credence. Only instinct and desperation. Feather, meet scale.

Heads turned. Eyes widened. Time slowed.

Silver eyes read the panic etched into Remus's face.

Because if Orion and Walburga Black got word that their recently-liberated son was expressing anti-pureblood sentiments, they'd rescind their acceptance of Alphard's offer in a heartbeat.

Even tucked away, out of sight and out of mind, if the Black heir became a revolutionary, they wouldn't hesitate to burn him alive.

Christ, Remus could still smell the dittany on Sirius's wounds, hidden beneath his robes.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Remus and the wolf were of the same mind.

Sirius Black came first. If he wasn't safe, nothing else mattered.

Even if it meant Remus would be proverbially tar and feathered in front of the class.

Sirius sat down, his eyes never leaving Remus. In fact, everyone was staring at him.

"Mr. Lupin," Professor Cuckoo said, a rather cruel smile twisting his face. "Given your disastrous performance earlier, perhaps you'd like to contribute to the discussion."

For a startling moment, Remus wondered if Professor Cuckoo was about to out him in front of everyone. Remus did not cower. Did not so much as blink. If he'd be damned for the wolf, he'd be damned with his head held high. Like a bloody Gryffindor.

"Your father, Mr. Lupin—among other things—used to be rather highly regarded in respects to his work campaigning for stricter regulations on Dark Creatures. Did he not?"

"What?!" Sirius and James blurted, in perfect unison.

Lily's nails dug into the palm of Remus's hand.

In their cottage, lost somewhere in the unpronounceable villages of northern Wales, Remus's father had a study. It was no bigger than a shoebox under the stairs, and a man as tall as Remus's father had to duck his head to even fit through the door. Every time Lyall Lupin had caught his son peering around the corner into his office, he'd gotten this far-off look in his eyes—halfway between terror and heartbreak—before he'd close the door and lock the forgotten past and what-might-have-been's inside.

But the first spell Remus Lupin had mastered was how to unlock doors.

One night, when Remus was young, when the house was dark and the moon was new, Remus found himself dying to know why his father looked at him like that. As though, maybe—maybe—Remus was nothing more than a ghost.

Remus closed his eyes now, his mind propelling him back to his father's office, lined with parchment and books and pelts of unknowable creatures. His desk that smelled of silver and spilled ink and a thousand, thousand words and letters that Remus never wanted to read. Words of condemnation, of decimation and destruction. Words that told of a past that would have had Remus's heart on a plate.

He thought of the silver knife pinning Fenrir Greyback's picture to the wall next to the window.

"My father," Remus said, his voice clipped, "hasn't worked for the Ministry of Magic since I was very young."

"So I've heard." Professor Cuckoo seemed to be enjoying this. "Mr. Lupin, would you care to explain the specific classification of XXXXX, according to Newt Scamander?"

Remus's jaw tightened. "It means that the creature is an imminent threat to even a trained wizard."

"And how many known creatures have this classification?"

"Twenty-three."

"And what is Scamander's recommendation?"

Remus narrowed his eyes. He knew where Professor Cuckoo was going with this.

Remus wasn't going down without a fight. "Bring them tea and toast for breakfast when they're cranky."

Next to him, Sirius laughed. It was glorious.

"Ten points from Gryffindor. Answer the question, Lupin."

"I'm also told they're rather fond of chocolate."

Snickers erupted from the other Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

"Another ten points. What does Scamander recommend in regards to Dark Creatures?"

"Scamander recommends a good book to read, a knitted blanket, and a crackling fireplace on most nights outside the full moon."

"Detention, Lupin. One week."

Remus smiled at him, humourlessly.

Professor Cuckoo cleared his throat loudly and the laughter around them died out. "Scamander recommends classification and containment for all those creatures rated XXXXX. Which means—" He shot a withering look at Remus. "—there is legal precedent for the Lestrange Doctrine."

"No, there's not," Sirius snapped. "Scamander was a magizoologist, not a politician. He never held a seat on the Wizengamot."

"Nonetheless, his work has stood the test of time and is considered the standard for classifying and handling Dark and magical creatures. The Lestrange Doctrine is based on fact and research, and research shows there is only one way to deal with creatures such as these."

"Chain them in silver and brand them?" Remus growled, glaring at Professor Cuckoo.

"Use them as canon fodder," Sirius whispered, bitterly.

Professor Cuckoo didn't reply. "Now, as Lupin told us, there are twenty-three known creatures classified as XXXXX. The Lestrange Doctrine will only apply to these twenty-three creatures. This is a rather liberal concession for most, but it was necessary in the art of compromise."

Sirius scoffed loudly at the word compromise.

More like precursor to genocide, Remus thought.

Because, at the end of the day, that's always the direction these things go.

"Lupin," Professor Cuckoo said. "Will you name an example of a creature that is included in the Lestrange Doctrine?"

Well, if that wasn't a set-up, Remus didn't know what was.

He glared at Professor Cuckoo. "I think I've said enough today, Professor. Why not give another student a chance? James knows the answer."

"Vampire!" James shouted, helpfully.

"Name an example, Lupin, or it's two weeks' detention."

Remus crossed his arms. "No."

"A month's detention, Lupin."

"I'd rather not."

"Banshee!" Sirius yelled. Then, counting off on his fingers: "Incubi, Succubi, Djinn—"

Professor Cuckoo's neutral expression broke immediately. "One more word out of you, Black, and I'll—"

"Shadow Men!" Remus growled, loud enough to cut Professor Cuckoo's words short.

This was his battle. Remus refused to allow Sirius Black to become a casualty.

"Good." Professor Cuckoo scowled. "Another."

"Rakshasa."

"Another."

"Wraiths. Wyverns. Wendigos."

Professor Cuckoo's eyes flared. "Another."

Fucking fine.

"Remus—" Lily started.

"Werewolves," Remus snarled.

The whole class was staring at him, in varying degrees of confusion and wonder, but none more so than Sirius Black.

Remus felt exposed. Like a live wire, ready to electrocute anyone who dared touch him.

And, fucking Christ, Sirius did touch him. Just the slightest brush of his index finger against Remus's hand, but Remus felt it in his bones—in his teeth—and he knew Sirius did too.

How long until Sirius asked about the wolf lurking behind Remus's eyes?

Remus couldn't bare the question, couldn't voice the secret.

He wasn't that fucking brave.

He stood and left.

He only waited until he was sure the last fifth year Ravenclaw had not only left, but disappeared down the corridor.

He didn't bother to knock.

McGonagall didn't seem all that surprised to see him. She looked slightly more put together than she had yesterday after their class. Remus smelled only a whisper of magic and something that registered in his brain as a cat, rather than that cloying scent of nervousness that had clung to her robes the day before.

"Mr. Lupin," McGonagall began, barely concealing a sigh. "Have a seat."

Which was a rather polite way of asking what the fuck he was doing in her office. Again.

Remus did not sit.

"Look," he began. "Look. I know I'm not exactly in a position to be asking you any favours—and believe me, if I thought I had another option, that's where I'd be—but there are some things out of my control, so I'm asking for help."

"Help," McGonagall repeated.

Christ, the wolf wanted to tear him to pieces just for asking.

"I need your permission to transfer out of Care of Magical Creatures." Then, as an afterthought, Remus added, "Immediately."

McGonagall blinked at him. "Care of Magical Creatures is a required class until you take your O.W.L.s fifth year."

"Right. I know." Remus scratched the back of his neck. "It's just that, well, I was hoping, given my particular circumstances, that there might be grounds for an… exception?"

"An exception." Her reply was far less of a question than Remus's initial statement.

"Yes, er. The creatures have a distaste for the wolf—which is natural, I suppose—but it makes it rather difficult to fully apply myself to the care aspect of the class. My care usually results in wailing and grinding of teeth. Or pulling of hair, as it were."

"I'll acknowledge your unusual circumstances, Lupin, but—"

Except he wasn't going to give her a chance to turn him down.

"Please, Professor." Remus squeezed his eyes shut, because he really was that fucking desperate. "Please."

McGonagall considered him for a long moment.

"Did something… happen, Lupin?" A perfect eyebrow rose slightly. "With Professor Cuckoo, perhaps?"

Her tone suggested she already knew the answer to that. Or, suspected, at the very least. Remus forcibly reminded himself that this was the woman who'd taken it upon herself to fight in a war against Grindelwald all on her own. At twelve years old, no less.

There was just the slightest possibility that Professor McGonagall was already on his side.

Remus swallowed his pride, shoved the wolf into the farthest corner of his mind, and said, "Yes, Professor."

McGonagall nodded once, curt and short. "Do tell, Lupin."

As diplomatically as possible, Remus explained what had happened in Professor Cuckoo's class. He somehow managed to recount the events without swearing even once, which, if he was being honest with himself, Remus considered something of a minor miracle.

When he'd finished his account, McGonagall slowly sat down in her chair behind the desk. Both of her elbows sat on the armrests, her hands folded neatly in front of her face, her features etched with concentration.

"Please sit, Mr. Lupin."

Very reluctantly, Remus sat down on the edge of the bench closest to him, leaning forward a bit on his elbows. It was the only concession the wolf would allow, antsy and agitated as it was.

McGonagall levelled him with an even stare. "You think Professor Cuckoo was trying to expose you? Deliberately?"

"The thought crossed my mind, yes," Remus replied. "Or make it easier for someone to piece it together."

Which, honestly, was more of an immediate concern.

Lily already knew, and although Remus knew she would do nothing to let the secret slip, Professor Cuckoo had done more than his part to ensure that the idea of a werewolf was already on everyone's minds.

Sirius wasn't an idiot. Neither was James Potter, for that matter.

"I can't let that happen, Professor," Remus said. "I made a bargain with Dumbledore, that no one would find out. And if they did—"

"There's now the concern of the Lestrange Doctrine."

"Yes."

Remus was silent for a moment, the air feeling thicker around him.

"Professor, if that passes…" The words stuck in the back of his throat. "If that passes, will I have to leave?"

At his question, McGonagall's neutral expression shattered into one Remus recognised from his own mother, usually the morning after the full moon.

Devastation, at destruction already wrought.

"It is my understanding," McGonagall said, drawing out each word, "that Dumbledore has been rather stringent on a clause that makes the bill non-retroactive. That clause will ensure Dark Creatures already admitted and attending Hogwarts will not be affected by the Lestrange Doctrine."

Remus nodded. "But if I were to be discovered…?"

"Then there's a good chance that the Wizengamot could have that clause rescinded."

Right. He'd thought as much.

Hearing it out loud still felt like a punch to the gut.

"All right, then." Remus leaned forward. "I'd like to repeat my request to be removed from Care of Magical Creatures. It's only a matter of time until—"

"Lupin—"

"Christ. I have a project I can work on. Been working on it with Professor Rattleburn, really. Just… It can be more specific. Academic. I can—"

"That's all well and good—"

"It's on wand-crafting. Lily and I did a project on it—well, on wandless magic, really—over the holidays. I'd like to continue the topic. It'll be—"

"Merlin, Lupin—"

"I'll write to Ollivander. I was planning on doing it anyway. I'll research wand-lore, wandless magic, anything. Everything. While they're in Care of Magical Creatures, I'll—"

"Remus."

Remus stopped babbling.

He didn't think he'd ever heard McGonagall call any student by their first name.

She rolled her r's.

Sharp blue eyes met his. "I was recently reminded that I do possess a duty of care to each and every one of the students under my supervision, but none more so than the Gryffindors."

Remus flushed bright red. "Yes, ma'am."

"As such, I see no reason for you to remain in Care of Magical Creatures. Particularly if it is at all a detriment to your well-being."

Remus's heart lurched. He honestly hadn't believed she'd go for it.

"You will need to write a proposal for this research project of yours. With your academic strengths, as well as my and Professor Rattleburn's recommendations, I see no reason the Headmaster will not accept your research project as a viable substitute for Care of Magical Creatures. You will, of course, have to sit the O.W.L. for it during your fifth year, but you should manage at least an Acceptable with only theoretical knowledge of the subject. Which, I believe, you already possess."

"That won't be a problem." His wolf could sense more about more about magical creatures on instinct than had ever been written down in one of Newt Scamander's books.

"Now," McGonagall continued. "You mentioned a detention?"

"A month," Remus muttered miserably. "With Professor Cuckoo."

After today, Remus couldn't imagine getting through a month alone with the man without further bloodshed.

Particularly if the Lestrange Doctrine passed.

"Although I cannot hope to dictate the discipline and practices other professors enact in their own classes, as your head of House, I do have rudimentary say over with whom your detentions are served. I'll write Professor Cuckoo. You'll serve the whole month, Lupin, but you'll serve it with me. Am I understood?"

She was trying to be stern, but Remus had never heard her sound more flippant.

"Yes, Professor."

"Good." Placing both hands on her desk, McGonagall rose to her feet. "Now, if that's all, Mr. Lupin, I do have an afternoon class."

Remus nodded and stood. He was halfway to the door when he suddenly remembered and froze.

"Professor…" He spun slowly on his heel to face her. "There's one more thing. Sirius… He…"

Under her breath, she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, Merlin, it's been one bloody day, but that didn't make sense. Professor McGonagall didn't swear.

That being said, the wolf had impeccable hearing.

Remus almost smirked. "Sirius… may have said some things. In Professor Cuckoo's class"

"What sort of things?"

Things a young Minerva McGonagall would have been immensely proud of, Remus thought, sardonically.

"A great many anti-Lestrange Doctrine things," Remus answered, instead. "Professor Cuckoo hinted that he'd be writing Sirius's parents. Several times."

"I see." A deep frown cut across McGonagall's face.

"I know you said you couldn't interfere, but—"

"I'll take care of it."

Remus, already preparing and mounting another rapid-fire defence, paused. "You—what?"

"I will do everything in my power to make sure those letters, if they exist, will never reach Orion and Walburga Black."

"You will?" Really, it was rather disappointing. He'd constructed a rather brilliant speech in the past minute or so. It would have rivalled the last time he'd been in this office, certainly.

"You were right, Lupin."

"I was?" He knew he was. Well, he was usually right in regards to Sirius Black. But it wasn't like he'd expected Professor McGonagall to acknowledge it.

"I failed Sirius Black in every imaginable way. I won't be doing it again."

Well. It she had been apologising to Sirius the other day.

"I will be halting all communication between Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place," McGonagall continued. "Walburga Black will not hear of anything her son does while under my supervision. Gryffindor secrets, and all that."

Then, Professor McGonagall did the most bizarre thing possible: she winked at him.

McGonagall continued on, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

"If and when Mr. Black does something reckless and ill-advised—which I think we both can acknowledge is rather inevitable—" Remus took a moment to nod along, sagely. No use in denying it, really. "—I will handle it directly. Anything outside my spheres of influence will automatically be forwarded to both the Potters and Alphard Black. As far as I'm concerned, they are his legal guardians, even if the eyes of the law disagree with me."

Absently, Remus wondered if McGonagall had told Sirius any of this.

He felt like Sirius might have mentioned it if she had.

"I've already set a trace on the owlery. Anything addressed to, or involving the names Walburga or Orion Black or Grimmauld Place will take a detour to my office, where I can further monitor the communications."

Remus was fairly certain that was illegal.

He was rather impressed.

"All this is to say, Mr. Lupin, is that Sirius Black is safe. I swear it, on my honour as a Gryffindor."

That was one hell of a promise.

Remus tilted his head—a gesture the wolf seemed to pull out of him—and acknowledged her acts of subterfuge and bravery, all for Sirius.

The wolf was… happy. Relieved.

"Thank you," Remus said, because in the end, all that mattered was that Sirius was safe.

McGonagall nodded in return, then fixed him with a stare. Not for the first time, Remus wondered if the animal in her soul could sense the monster in his.

"I am going to ask you this question exactly once, Mr. Lupin, and I expect and honest answer. Mr. Black… Sirius. Does he know?"

Remus didn't need to ask what she meant.

"No."

"I imagine if he did, we'd have to keep a fairly tight leash on him. Based on his behaviour today, I'd say there's a very real chance that boy would storm the Wizengamot itself, if he thought for a second it'd help you."

And honestly, Remus Lupin had no fucking clue what to do with that information.

Remus managed to avoid his friends the rest of the day, unable and unwilling to answer their questions about Professor Cuckoo's class. He'd have to eventually, he knew, but he'd rather do so on his own terms. Spin his own fairy tales, in which he could pretend for a moment that he was anything but the monster that decimated the lonely, mountain village.

He'd hidden out in the library, ducking in and out of shelves whenever anyone entered, eventually hiding near the Restricted Section with a roll of parchment. By the time he'd stood and stretched his aching knee, he'd used the entire roll and had very little to show for it other than the scribbled-out ramblings of a half-formed letter.

He'd worry about that later.

When dinner was due to start in the Great Hall, Madam Pince sniffed him out and threatened to hex him if he didn't leave the library. Still, Remus didn't go to the Great Hall, instead opting to camp out in front of McGonagall's classroom, reading up on wand-lore and waiting for his detention to start. When she arrived after dinner, she opened the door without a word and ushered him inside. Remus deposited himself at a desk in the back of the classroom and once again attempted to write a letter.

McGonagall casually passed him by on several occasions, an eyebrow raised, but never did she comment on the slow and steady accumulation of crumpled parchment at Remus's feet. As the hours ticked on, Remus felt his nose continually scrunching up in concentration, his lips torn to shreds from biting them in frustration, and his fingers… Christ, his fucking broken fingers. He had to keep shaking his hand to keep circulation flowing.

Rather miraculously, by the end of the second hour, Remus had composed a semi-coherent letter.

He spent the next hour revising and scribbling things out. It looked a mess, but it was, technically speaking, coherent.

Dear Mr. Ollivander,

Recently, I received permission from both Professors Minerva McGonagall and Amelia Rattleburn to conduct an independent study on the nature of wand-crafting. I was hoping that you, as the foremost expert on the subject, might provide some resources or additional reading to help me in my studies.

As of late, I have a particular vested interest in the theories and practices surrounding the core of a wand. I have several pressing questions on this subject. Most specifically:

1. Must the core of a wand always be complimentary to the chosen wood? Or, is the core more closely tied to the magical signature of the wizard?

2. What events or circumstances might lead to a wand core—

2. If a wand core were to somehow become ineffective, can it be feasibly replaced utilising the original wood?

3. If the core of a wand can be replaced, is it typical to replace the damaged core with the same type of core (that is, from the same creature)? Or, is it possible to use a new type of core and maintain the same integrity and magic of the original wand?

4. If a new core is viable, can that core come from any sort of magical creature? Or must it be a dragon, a unicorn, or a phoenix?

Any insight or information you have would help me in my studies immensely. Thank you for your time and any assistance you may offer.

Remus J. Lupin

After several minutes of structured debate with himself, Remus scribbled down one last question, at the bottom of the letter.

5. Hypothetically, if the core of a wand came from a Dark Creature, would the magic inherent in such a core negatively affect the character and magic of the wizard who wields the wand?

Then, he carefully folded, sealed, and shoved the letter in his bag before his reason caught up with him and he incinerated it entirely. With the letter safely out of sight and… not at all out of mind, Remus folded his hands on the desk, and tried to appear normal.

McGonagall was staring at him. From her raised eyebrow and tilted head, Remus got the feeling that she'd been staring at him for quite some time.

With a mere flick of her wand, she cast a Timus.

Christ. Remus hadn't realised how late it was.

"Better be off, then, Lupin," McGonagall said, casually gesturing for him to leave. Remus stood. "If you hurry, you can drop that at the owlery before curfew. I would hate to see more parchment go to waste."

He knew what she meant. If he waited until morning to send the letter, there was a good chance he'd chicken out entirely. Some bloody Gryffindor, indeed.

Remus felt himself blush, but nodded, and all but flew up the steps to the west tower, his bad knee screaming at him the entire time. Reminding him that he still had another set of stairs to Gryffindor tower to contend with.

Remus's heart lurched as he tied the letter to the leg of Sirius's favourite owl, Rogelio, his hands shaking. He shouldn't be this nervous. He knew it wasn't logical to fear a man like Ollivander, who knew nothing but the kindness inherent to his heart.

Ollivander was the kind of man who'd looked at Remus and seen him. Not just the truth and reality of the wolf that lurked behind Remus's eyes and clawed at his soul, but Remus himself. The eleven-year-old boy who'd somehow been granted a miracle at the eleventh hour.

He'd never told Sirius—never told anyone, really—of his own trip to Diagon Alley, the day before he'd boarded the Hogwarts Express. It was… too much, too many secrets too close to the surface, waiting to be discovered and devoured by a set of prying eyes.

Remus was sure Ollivander had known what he was the moment he'd walked into the store, trailed by his extremely apprehensive father. Still, Ollivander hadn't balked at the challenge of finding one such as him a suitable wand—one that appeased the rage inherent in the wolf. One that wouldn't rend the soul of a creature already cursed and damned with the darkest kind of magic.

In the end, it'd been a pliable cypress wand with a unicorn hair core. As brave and as pure as the wolf was dark and murderous.

Remus still couldn't fathom why such a wand would have chosen him and the monster that shared his heart.

For as long as he lived, Remus knew he'd never forget the first time he'd held his wand in his hand. It was the only time, since he'd been bitten, that Remus and the wolf had been in perfect synchronicity, body and soul. As if releasing that magic—that very first spell with his unicorn hair wand—had quelled the ravenous appetite of the beast inside.

The wolf still hated the taste and scent of magic—still tried to tear Remus to pieces because of it—certainly, but that first spell…

The chains had broken.

The stars had aligned.

The wolf had bowed to the wizard.

He knew Ollivander had seen it, the enormity of that single point in time for Remus. For his father, standing in silent awe behind him.

Christ, what Remus would give to witness that moment with Sirius Black. To see his magic, as wild and as reckless as a star burning across the sky, tamed by a wand forged for him.

It terrified him, how badly wanted the wolf's teeth to be the answer to everything. Wanted this to work.

Because what if it didn't?

Sirius was waiting for him on the roof.

Remus paused in the windowsill, awestruck, because…

Because Sirius was beautiful, like this. Like no words in any language could ever dare to describe. His dark, sable hair blended with the blanket of stars around him, pale skin illuminated by the waning moonlight. Frost sparked on his breath, in his eyes, beneath his hands planted flat on the roof, as Sirius tilted his head up to stare down the silence of the night. He was ethereal. A god amongst men. But… but it was infinitely more than that, Remus realised.

No one could ever hope to be as recklessly triumphant as Sirius Black, scarred though he was. Sirius, bathed in the starlight of his ancestors whilst sitting atop Gryffindor tower with a half-blood werewolf, was utterly vanquishing. Far below, in the mortal realm and even farther beneath the earth, Remus imagined he could hear the sound of clattering bones—the only sound, save for the steady cadence of Sirius's heartbeat, echoing through the night—as those same ancestors screamed their malcontent from their graves.

Remus didn't know how long he stared before Sirius's frost-flecked silver eyes met his. A smile broke out across Sirius's face and the wolf in Remus's heart demanded Remus tilt his head back and howl in homage, in victory, in adoration at the majesty of Sirius Black.

Remus didn't know what that meant—didn't dare question the truth that dwelled in the heart of the wolf—just smiled back and took his rightful place next to Sirius.

Close, but not touching. Never touching.

At that thought, Remus shoved the suddenly-discontented wolf aside.

Something like silver fire danced in Sirius's eyes as he flicked his wrist, enveloping them both in a warming charm.

"How was detention?" Sirius asked, softly, so as not to disturb the slumber of the stars above them. Under his breath, he mumbled. "It wasn't fair, you know. That you got detention. Didn't know Professor Cuckoo was such an arse."

"He wasn't. Well, I mean, he was in class, but…" Remus struggled to find the words. The secret—the wolf, the damned reason he'd hidden from his friends all day—was a heavy noose around his neck. "I mean that I didn't serve detention with him. McGonagall commuted my sentence, so to speak. I'm serving the month with her."

Remus kept his eyes fixed on the sprawling castle far below them, but he felt the weight of that silver fire on him.

Eventually, after apparently realising that Remus had no plans on elaborating on the particulars of his conversation with McGonagall, Sirius said, "She's bending the rules. True fucking Gryffindor."

Remus didn't miss the sharpness in his tone, the venom-laced dagger lying in wait beneath his words.

So, Remus said, "I'm transferring out of Care of Magical Creatures."

It wasn't a defence of McGonagall—Remus Lupin would be the last person to justify her actions, especially to Sirius—but it was… something. A point to consider, in the grand scheme of things.

Sirius looked rather intrigued. "We all should, after today. I'll talk to James—to Evans—and we'll see about going to the Headmaster and—"

"No," Remus cut in.

Because if they went looking, they'd find the wolf lurking, waiting to devour them whole.

Sirius blinked at him. "Remus, Professor Cuckoo's an arse, at the very least. If he's aligning himself with Riddle and my father, then he's dangerous. He'll bring war to Hogwarts before—"

"Then get him fired."

In hindsight, Remus wondered if it was wise to issue such a challenge to Sirius Black.

Sirius's grin went feral and madness sparkled in his eyes, but all he said was, "Okay." Then, he added, with a shrug of his shoulders, "Won't be as much fun without you."

"I'll help you sack the next professor." Promises, promises. "I'm told those teaching Defence don't last more than a year."

Sirius pouted. "I like Rattleburn."

"You liked Cuckoo this morning."

"Fair enough." Sirius paused. "What'll you do instead? While we're in class?"

"Work with Rattleburn and McGonagall." The latter he tacked on almost as an afterthought and brushed passed it just as quickly. "Research project on wand-crafting. Similar to what Evans and I did over the holiday, but more in depth. I was… Well, I was sort of hoping to use you as a case study."

Darkness shadowed Sirius's eyes, quelling the silver fire. "You won't like the answers to those kind of questions, Remus."

Remus was fairly certain he knew the answer—it was why he hadn't posed that particular question to Ollivander—but he'd let Sirius keep his secrets.

It was only fair, after all.

"The past stays where it's at," Remus said, easily. "I'm looking for answers for the future. You need a new wand core, Siri."

Sirius stared at him for a long moment. "You really think it'll work?"

He prayed it would.

He prayed there was someone—something—out there to hear his prayer.

"I think magic is an insurmountable mystery. Intrinsic and essential to our very being, yes, but more infinite a mystery than any man can ever hope to understand." Remus looked at Sirius, at his eyes of silver frost-fire, and the halo of stars around him. Beautiful. Annihilating. "Yet, the magic obeys you—bows and dances for you—at the mere thought. Christ, Sirius, if ever there were someone born to—"

"I don't want to talk about fate tonight, Remus." Sirius sat the word, venom on his tongue.

"All I mean," Remus amended, just as easily, "is that you are utterly remarkable, Sirius Black. If I can help you in any way, give you a wand that can help you tame the magic in your soul… You deserve a wand as unbreakable as you."

There were tears in Sirius's eyes by the time Remus finished speaking: silver leylines tracking down his face, shimmering in the moonlight.

"All right," Sirius breathed, scrubbing a hand across his face. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the wand, freely offering it to Remus. "Take it. It's mostly useless, as it is now Do whatever you need."

Heart in his throat, Remus took it. The wood was ice-cold to the touch.

Dead, Sirius had said that morning.

Not quite, a silent, hopeful voice whispered to Remus.

Absently, he wondered if someone had heard his prayer. He wondered if he believed in such things.

"Thank you, Siri."

Sirius's expression was entirely unreadable. He edged imperceptibly closer to Remus and inclined his head, just a little.

"Your father," Sirius began, and Remus tensed. He'd wondered how long it'd take Sirius to ask. "I know you said on the train that your dad worked for the Ministry, but you never mentioned…" Christ, Cuckoo was a snoop. "What did he do, exactly?"

Remus hesitated only for a heartbeat before opting for the truth. Or, as much of the truth he could offer with the secrets that lay between them.

"He hunted them. Dark Creatures. Travelled all over the world doing it." A wry smile twisted across Remus's face. "That's how he met my mum, actually. He saved her from a vampire in southern France. He was supposed to Obliviate her after—she was Muggle and she'd seen his magic—but lucky for me, he bent the rules a bit."

"Why'd he stop?"

Fenrir Greyback.

This time, Remus bent the truth to his will. "Change of heart. Change of circumstances, I suppose."

Circumstances.

Remus had grown up in a small neighbourhood just north of London, until he'd been bitten. He'd gone to a Muggle primary school, had friends, and had been well-liked. His mother would sing him French lullabies and he'd known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he'd been the single greatest point of pride in his father's life.

Then, it'd all been stolen, slipped through his broken fingers, the night Fenrir Greyback had come for him.

They'd moved to his father's cabin in Wales. Remus had withdrawn in on himself, aided and abetted by the trauma etched into his parents' features, by the scars etched into his own. He'd lost track of the nights he'd lie awake, listening to his mother's sobs, his father's angry whisper-shouts, quiet and furious, yet echoing through the walls that separated them.

He'd been nothing but a scared and broken young boy growing up in an unpronounceable village, who spoke French more fluently than Welsh, who was so much of something other, but mostly neither. Neither Welsh nor French, neither Muggle nor wizard. Neither wanted nor unwanted.

Neither fully human nor the particular breed of monster his father used to hunt.

Except, on the full moon.

When they'd lock him in the cellar.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the answer, but didn't press any further. "Do you think he'd side with them? Riddle and my father?"

Remus loved his father, and knew he was loved in return. Irrevocably and intrinsically, he knew that, deep in his bones. He'd hug his father, cling tight to him when he'd been frightened as a child, wished to grow up to be just like him, but… But Lyall Lupin was not a perfect man. Remus knew that, too—knew it from that look in his father's eye, flittering and fading fast, just out of Remus's eye line most days, but unmistakable thanks to the senses of the wolf.

It was fear and terror, mixed with regret and loathing.

Christ, there were times, Remus could taste it.

His mother's heart had been broken, the night Remus was bitten, but his father…

His father had chosen Remus, his son, over his chance of vengeance and retribution, and there were days Remus knew he regretted it.

It'd left Lyall Lupin a broken man.

"No," Remus said, bowing his head. "He won't go to war over it."

His father wouldn't risk it. Never, if it meant exposing Remus.

Exposing Lyall's own greatest shame.

Sirius nodded once, accepting all the things left unsaid.

Remus pulled himself from his own past, once more focusing on Sirius Black. Wondering how he'd ever allowed himself to look away.

"Have you given McGonagall an answer yet? About her offer to tutor you?" Remus knew he hadn't.

"I've decided to make her wait." Sirius looked rather proud of himself.

"For your benefit? Or her torment?"

"Both," Sirius said. "I'm trying to decide if sorry is enough."

To some, Remus supposed, it would sound cruel, to draw out forgiveness like that, but Remus knew better.

Forgiveness was a mighty tempest over the ocean: it came in waves and powerful gulls, ready to rend your heart and break your spirits if you were too careless, too naive or ill-prepared. Sometimes, if you dove in head first, you'd drown in under a minute, suffocated by the cruel, uncaring water around you. Other times, you'd wait on the shore for the storm to pass, and by then it'd be too late. Your courage would fail entirely. The sea would be tranquil, the dust settled, and there'd be nothing worth living for left before you.

Sometimes, if you were particularly brave, you'd bide your time, play the odds and count the cards, then dare to chance the storm.

Sometimes, Remus wondered if he'd ever be brave enough to forgive his own father.

"Oi!" James Potter called from the window. He clambered onto the roof, just a tad bit too clumsy for comfort on the frost-covered tiles, but managed to keep his balance. "Bloody-well knew you'd still be out here."

"Fucking finally," Sirius muttered, spirits lifting as he nudged Remus, just once, in the ribs to get him to scoot over.

"Where've you been?" Remus asked James, as he sat on Remus's other side.

"Detention," James grumbled. He jerked his chin at Sirius. "Slughorn let him go early. Still trying to bloody collect him. It's revolting."

There was no heat behind James's words. Hardly any annoyance at all, really. Gone were the days when James would deign to punch Sirius for the undeniable favouritism he was shown because of the Black name.

Christ, Remus was relieved.

"Yes, well," Sirius muttered. "I'm not too keen to join his collection. Don't want to be stuck on a shelf with Malfoy and Snape."

"And Evans," James said, his suddenly taking on a stupid, dreamy tone.

Sirius perked up immediately. "Speaking of, are the Prewetts on board?"

James nodded. "Marlene and Dee, too. The Prewetts will distract Frank long enough for us to sneak Snape in."

Remus choked on nothing. "Excuse me, what?!"

James gestured to the window. "Should we get Peter out here for this? Make it a full-scale Marauder's operation."

Sirius shook his head. "Nah, let him sleep. I'll fill him in tomorrow."

Secretly, Remus was relieved. This time on the roof, beneath the blanket of stars, in the shadow of the full moon, with Sirius—with James—it was sacred. And Peter… Well.

If he was being honest, Remus had been avoiding Peter Pettigrew as much as possible these past few days, ever since the article about the Lestrange Doctrine. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, having a friend he knew would turn on him in fucking heartbeat, should Peter discover his secret.

If Remus was being completely honest, it broke his heart and terrified him half to death.

Trying not to be too obvious about his relief, Remus forced himself back to the matter at hand. "What's this about Snape?"

"We're sneaking him into Gryffindor tower," Sirius said, like it was something they did every day.

James looked positively giddy. "It's Evans's birthday present."

"So instead of an ordinary birthday present, like cake or a nice wool hat or something, you've decided to sneak a Slytherin into Gryffindor?"

"There'll be cake too," Sirius said, flippantly. "Bloody chocolate, if you prefer."

Remus was momentarily distracted by the thought of chocolate cake. He shook his head. "Yes, but Sirius, he's a Slytherin. A fucking terrible one, at that."

"I know. He's under an oath, sworn on his magic. It'll be fine."

Remus sighed, resigned. "All right, but… did it have to be Snape?"

"It's so Evans falls in love with James," Sirius explained.

Remus didn't follow, and at his blank look, Sirius launched into a detailed and animated argument—mostly with himself—justifying Snape's presence and somehow, in some convoluted way that Remus didn't quite follow, determining it to be proof positive of the inevitability of James Potter and Lily Evans falling madly in love.

James nodded along and added occasional commentary, but mostly went dewy-eyed and stupid at the mere thought of Lily Evans. It was ridiculous. Remus loved him for it.

"All we need now is butterbeer," Sirius concluded, emphatically.

"Um. About that." James raised a finger. "Fabian said McGonagall threatened to kick them off the Quidditch team if she caught them smuggling any contraband from Hogsmeade. He also mentioned Frank was a bit of a snitch, in that regard."

"He shouldn't be, from the way he was drinking at the Halloween party," Remus muttered.

"So, we'll distract Frank," Sirius said. "Shouldn't be too hard. Just get Alice to—"

"No. No way," James said, shaking his head. "We can't risk the Prewetts getting thrown off the team. We're matched against Slytherin, the first Saturday of next month. Gideon's the best Keeper we've had in a decade and Fabian's been target-practicing with the Bludgers for months. I've been going to the practices. He aims for the head. It's glorious. If they're off the team, Gryffindor won't have a shot. We will bring eternal shame upon out house."

Remus had yet to actually attend a Quidditch game—the first had been right after the November moon, and he hadn't been even remotely up for it—and to his knowledge, Sirius hadn't gone either. It wasn't as though he didn't care, exactly, it was just…

Remus wasn't sure there was a single person alive who could match James Potter's enthusiasm for Quidditch.

"All right," Sirius said. "Marauders on butterbeer duty, then."

"Sirius, you're twelve," Remus said. "No one in their right mind would ever sell you butterbeer, even if you managed to sneak out of Hogwarts."

For the second time that evening, Remus realised he'd inadvertently issued a challenge.

"Not a problem. I'll come up with something before the thirtieth, Remus, you'll see."

James let out a triumphant cry, echoing across the castle, but Remus…

Well. Remus's heart fucking shattered.

The thirtieth was a full moon.

The thirtieth was a goddamned lunar eclipse.

The wolf hated the nights when it couldn't feel the light of the full moon on its back, bask in its shadow, taste it in the air. Whether it was a storm or an eclipse, it usually ended in violence for Remus, a slave to the wolf's vengeance.

Remus already knew he'd face retribution for stealing the teeth.

He figured he'd need a few days, at best, to be fully functional afterwards, and there was no way he'd risk attending the party, even for a little, if it fell on the same night of the moon. The wolf would be… temperamental. Territorial. And if Snape was going to be there, well…

The wolf seemed to think that Slytherins might taste best, if he one day got one between his teeth.

He couldn't lie, couldn't prematurely say no to James and Sirius's plan, because the excuse of his mother's illness was supposed to be spontaneous, a day-of necessity. Anything else—anything other than the white lie of his poor, sick mother—and they'd figure it out.

"I'll help," Remus managed, when Sirius began to stare at him strangely. He'd been quiet too damn long. "We'll come up with something brilliant, Siri."

Because they would, even if Remus couldn't be there to see it.

Remus already had an idea.

JANUARY 7, 1972

On Friday, a panting and wheezing, thoroughly-exhausted Rogelio deposited a stack of four books right on top Remus's thankfully-empty breakfast plate.

Sirius made a screeching noise not at all dissimilar to the owl, and nearly spilled his tea on James's lap as he surged forward, diving for Rogelio.

Remus, in turn, went for the books, saving them from any further tea-spilling calamities.

"Merlin's tits, Remus, you're going to kill my owl!" Sirius exclaimed, deftly helping Remus unhook the books tethered to Rogelio's talons, all the while skilfully avoiding Remus's fingers. Once freed, Sirius scooped Rogelio into his arms, cradling him like a baby.

If Sirius cooed a bit at the owl, Remus wasn't going to mention it.

"He's not your owl," Marlene said, around a mouthful of toast. "He belongs to Hogwarts."

Sirius, ever the pillar of maturity and well-mannered debate, stuck his tongue out at her. "Yes, but I love him."

Rogelio cooed back, pushing his head into the palm of Sirius's hand.

Remus was fairly certain Marlene said something back, thus sparking something of a heated repartee between her and Sirius, but Remus wasn't listening.

The books the owl brought were huge, and there had to have been some manner of levitation or lightening spell woven into them for Rogelio to manage flight at all. The covers were old—more ancient even than some of the books in the Hogwarts library. One cover—the middle one, Remus noted—was in serious danger of falling off entirely, held together only by a few resilient strings visible through its cracked spine. The title of the largest tome, the one on top, was in French: Baguette et la Magie Inhérente. No one else seemed to notice, save for Sirius, who merely raised an eyebrow.

Remus dug out the piece of parchment protruding from beneath the French tome. His name was on the front, in loopy, elegant handwriting. There was a small ink-stain in the bottom cover. Remus tore it open.

Mr. Lupin,

My dear boy, I am so glad you've written. Wand-crafting is a subject upon which I shall never tire speaking. I'll gladly share whatever knowledge I've amassed over the years with anyone willing to listen.

In answer to your first question, yes. The core of the wand and the wood it's made from must be complimentary. Without a compatible core, I'm afraid all you'll have is a rather ornate stick. But, you are correct in assuming that the witch or wizard's own magical signature is also something of consequence. After the wood and the core are magically bound, the newly-forged wand takes on a bit of sentience, or alive-ness—no need to get into that now. (Thought, over the centuries, there have been several highly metaphysical texts published on the subject. No definitive conclusions, I'm afraid, though I assume that's rather common on the matter of philosophy.)

All that is to say that after a wand is forged and has chosen its witch or wizard, it fuses with the magical signature of the wielder at the casting of the first spell. Most hardly remember theirs, but for some… it's a rather significant moment, as it binds the witch or wizard to the true magic of their soul. The wand always, dear boy, chooses the wizard, based on the magic it senses inside. If one were inclined to believe in such things as fate or destiny, one might deign to look for proof in the art of wand-crafting.

As for your remaining questions, I would, perhaps, like to speak about them in person. Although the questions are incredibly thorough and demonstrate an impressive level of intelligence for one your age, I have a feeling they are far less hypothetical than they appear to be on parchment. I have no qualms discussing such things with you, dear boy, but given the current political climate, I think it best to have such a conversation in person.

Unfortunately, I'm off later this morning to Germany to meet up with an old friend—business at my shop is rather slow this time of year, I'm afraid—and I won't be back until next month. Until then, I hope these books can assist you in your research. (If I recall from your first visit to my shop, your father mentioned that your Muggle mother taught you French.) I will send you and Professor Rattleburn a letter when I return, so we can set up a time for you to floo to my shop in Diagon Alley.

Until then, keep a list of your questions as they come up. I sincerely look forward to meeting with you.

Best,

G. Ollivander

Across the table, Sirius and Marlene seemed to have reconciled. He now appeared to be teaching her how to massage Rogelio's wing feathers in just the right way to get the owl's eyes to flutter. James stood on Sirius's other side, hand-feeding Rogelio bits of bacon. With a stern warning, Sirius passed Rogelio over to Marlene, so the others could preen over the owl without fear of accidentally touching Sirius.

Rogelio, for his part, immediately took to Marlene, leaning in close and nuzzling under her chin.

"Traitor," Sirius muttered, abandoning the group and taking up a sentry position behind Remus. Ever so precariously close to touching, Sirius said, just loud enough for Remus to hear, "So. Wands, then?"

Remus just nodded, his scarred fingers trailing over the broken spines of the books in front of him. Behind him, he could almost taste the hope that was starting to blossom in Sirius's heart, and Jesus Christ, the wolf revelled in it.

Because no one on earth was more worthy to wield the magic lying dormant in his soul than Sirius Black.

"This is a shortcut," Sirius insisted.

"You said that after the last two wrong turns," Remus replied.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Sirius huffed, but he mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, This place needs a bloody map!

Frankly, Remus was inclined to agree.

After lugging Ollivander's tomes to Herbology and nearly getting the French one devoured by a Snarl-Dragon seedling, Remus made the executive decision that the books needed to make an immediate journey to his trunk in Gryffindor tower. Lily had suggested he simply levitate them, but Remus had taken one look at the four, crumbling, rare tomes and come to the conclusion that he could absolutely never hope to pay Ollivander back for any hypothetical damages, should he fuck up the spell. It was safer to carry them.

Whether it was simply his general disposition as a loyal friend or if he'd noticed Remus's grimace at the mere thought of climbing all those stairs in the fifteen minutes between Herbology and Defence, either way, Sirius had insisted on coming with.

Remus had been hesitant to hand over half the tomes—not because he thought Sirius was up to something or harboured any sort of nefarious intent towards the precious, ancient tombs of knowledge, but because the books each weighed probably a quarter of Sirius's own weight. And, well. Sirius was still injured. Remus could smell the dittany.

In the end, they'd compromised. Sort of. Sirius had made a show of lugging three of the tomes out of the greenhouse, before reluctantly relinquishing two of them back to Remus once they'd made it to the back staircase, free from prying eyes.

After that, there'd been a series of wrong turns and Remus hadn't been paying attention to anything other than making sure Sirius was actually all right climbing stairs and hefting the book. By the time they realised they weren't where they were supposed to be, the staircase they'd been on had moved off to parts unknown.

Remus was half convinced the castle was deliberately fucking with them. If magic castles did that sort of thing.

From Sirius's mutterings, Remus assumed Sirius had arrived at a similar conclusion.

"Nine hundred fucking years," Sirius said, "and not once did anyone think, Gee, it would be handy if we knew how to get around this place." Then, with a cry of dismay, "Merlins swampy pits, we've passed that painting three times."

They had. It was hard to forget. A wood nymph and a water sprite were caught in a rather amorous position that was not entirely appropriate for an institution of learning. Though, Remus supposed, the figures in the paintings had to do something to pass the time.

The wood nymph adjusted his loin cloth and sent a leer at Sirius that made Remus's hackles rise.

Sirius either didn't notice or ignored it entirely, as he picked a staircase seemingly at random and started climbing.

The best Remus could figure, they were somewhere between the fourth and fifth floors, near the south end of the castle. He could no longer smell the musty paper scent of the library on the third floor, but when he inhaled deeply, he could just catch a whiff of cold and snow and ice, which probably meant they were close to a balcony. Hopefully. If they found a balcony, they'd be able to see out over the rest of the castle. Remus was reasonably certain he'd be able to navigate to Gryffindor tower from there.

At the top of the spiral staircase—fifth floor, then?—Sirius paused to… wheeze. Remus frowned. He'd been doing that quite a lot, really, and he was, perhaps, a shade paler than he'd been that morning.

"Sirius, give me the book," Remus said, his voice neutral. He lifted a knee—his good one—to balance the other books and held out his opposite hand to Sirius.

Sirius gave him a look that he normally only directed at Snape or Malfoy. All the fury and fire of a dying star, yet it was gone in an instant, replaced by something else when he seemed to realise he was talking to Remus, not someone after a pound of flesh.

"I'm not an invalid," Sirius pouted, though nearly collapsing against a wall a moment later certainly didn't help his case. "I'm not weak, Remus."

"I know you're not," Remus said, because really, it was obscene to think of Sirius Black as anything less than an indestructible, immutable force of nature. "I, of all people, will never think that. I just don't want you to open your scars."

Or, pass out and go tumbling down five-ish flights of stairs.

"So, what? You plan on carrying all of these?" Sirius glanced dubiously at Remus's knee.

Remus opened his mouth, but immediately swallowed his words.

Every instinct both Remus and the wolf shared screamed danger and wrong and fight and run.

From down the corridor, someone laughed.

It was not a nice laugh. No, it was deranged and demented and quite possibly hysterical, almost like—

"Peeves." If it was possible, Sirius paled even more.

As if summoned by his name—and Christ, he probably was—Peeves manifested before them, his too-wide grin opened just a hair to reveal yellow, pointed teeth.

Had his teeth been pointed in the hospital wing? Remus couldn't remember.

Either way, Peeves was a thing of nightmares.

Remus hadn't asked Sirius about any of that—not about Peeves, or the prophecy, or Sirius's own reaction to it. He'd wanted to—God, did he ever—but there'd been a lot going on at the time, and bringing up things like that with everything else imploding and erupting around them was a cruelty Remus would never tolerate.

Still. The words echoed in his brain, ricocheted in his soul.

That look he'd seen in Sirius's eyes, when Peeves had recited Silas's prophecy, Remus had seen it before. Usually, under the light of a full moon, when the wolf would stalk a rabbit or a raccoon downwind, waiting for the right moment to attack, to kill, to devour. Right before the killing blow, when the wolf's maw closed around its throat, Remus would catch the look in its eye.

Resignation. Surrender.

Prey.

And that was wrong. Sirius Black was not weak. He would not just roll over and die.

Slowly, carefully, never taking his eyes off Peeves, Sirius crouched to lower the book to the ground before straightening once more, his hands held up in surrender, despite the magic crackling between his fingers, in the air around them. Without a second thought, Remus mirrored him, drawing his wand.

Peeves cackled, his eyes darting between them, as though trying to decide which one of them to torment first.

Then, to Remus's surprise, Sirius took a step forward. Towards the poltergeist.

Sirius Black was prey no longer.

He was on the hunt and Remus's wolf was right behind him.

"I was wondering when you'd show up again," Sirius said.

Peeves looked absolutely giddy. Remus levelled his wand, a spell on the tip of his tongue if Peeves made a move for Sirius. Instead, he just laughed and sang, "Sirius Black, how tragically flawed—"

"Yeah, shut it," Sirius snapped. "We've all heard that one. Move the fuck on."

Unfortunately, Peeves did, his attention zeroing in on Remus. "Silver fire, moon and stars," Peeves chanted. "Twisted ire, golden scars."

Remus had no idea what that meant, but he had to force himself not to flinch at the mention of the moon. It would not do, he thought, to have Peeves's attention focused on him. Not if he could see the wolf behind Remus's eyes.

Luckily, Sirius was going for the throat.

"I have questions." Sirius waved a sparking finger at Peeves. "And you're going to answer."

Peeves laughter morphed into a lilting whistle as he twirled himself around in an aberration of a waltz. "Pour the wine and see the dancer," Peeves sang. "Does he know the ask and answer?"

"No riddles," Sirius snapped. "Not today."

"Riddle me this, or riddle me that," Peeves chanted. "Why the fuck would you trust a rat?"

Remus frowned.

Sirius sighed and tried a different approach. "I know what you are. What you used to be. You were a Seer."

That was news to Remus.

Peeves stopped his eerie dance and looked down at Sirius, his head tilting at an unnatural, unnerving angle.

"The future is yesterday and the past is right now." The poltergeist turned his bent neck to Remus. Christ, he looked like a hanged man. "You said that in a dream once."

Before Remus could open his mouth, mull over all the possible meanings of that statement, he caught the look in Sirius's eye. He'd never forget that, as long as he lived. Remus knew that in his bones.

Years.

He saw the years flying by in an instant, a heartbeat, lost in Sirius's silver eyes, as though Sirius were the Seer and Peeves nothing more than a phantom. Sirius was no longer here, but ten, twenty years from now, living out the destiny Remus had somehow etched into a dream. And Remus… Remus was along for the ride, hurtling through space and time, tethered to Sirius by desperation, by existential happenstance, by fucking willpower alone. It was cosmic and cataclysmic and—

It didn't make sense.

There was a very real chance that Remus's mind was playing tricks on him.

But, at the end of it all, the very last page, there was nothing. Or, perhaps there was everything: something and nothing forever in balance, forever at war, tied together for eternity by the same thread of destiny that anchored Remus to Sirius.

Remus Lupin had never been so terrified in his life. Greyback, his first moon, the wolf lying in wait to devour his heart… Nothing compared to the story he saw in Sirius's eyes. It was… harrowing.

Remus would rend his soul and tear out his heart, if it'd make any difference. If it'd save them from that ending.

Fate would demand one hell of a ransom, for the life of Sirius Black.

Then, Sirius blinked, as though he'd been violently yanked back to the present, Remus right along with him.

Peeves started to cackle. "Which is better, which is worse? To share a coffin, or share a curse?"

"Stop it." Sirius's voice was ice-fire.

Remus couldn't breathe.

"How do you know about Silas? About my dream?" His dream?! "No more rhymes. No more games. Just answer the question."

"The Veil is thinnest right—" Peeves tapped his temple with a ghostly finger. Once, twice… "—here. Sometimes there are monsters." Dead eyes turned to Remus. "And monsters have claws and teeth that tear through shadows and death. And me? I see."

Up until that very moment, Remus hadn't been entirely certain Peeves was capable of speaking outside of rhymes and couplets. It was… refreshing, if not still a resounding cause for alarm. Remus found himself asking, "See, what, exactly?"

"Everything." Peeves repeated the word, mouthing every syllable. "And Nothing. All at once." Then, to Sirius: "She wants you dead."

Remus almost choked. "Who wants him dead?"

"My mistress."

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you say that my mother sent you to torment me, I swear on fucking Merlin's grave, I'll—"

"Not," Peeves said, "her."

A heartbeat.

A millennium.

"Oh," Sirius said. "Her."

Something sharp pierced Remus's heart.

There could be no mistress more cruel than Walburga Black, save one.

Fate herself.

Sirius squared his shoulders, set his jaw. "How do I kill a god?"

Which, at the end of the day, was the only question that mattered.

Remus could not fathom how anyone in Sirius's life could have—even for a bloody second—ever mistaken Sirius as anything but the perfect embodiment of everything it meant to be named a Gryffindor.

Weak. Prey.

Bullshit.

Remus wanted to laugh, as mad and as humourless as Peeves.

Sirius Black was the bravest person alive. One way or another—with Peeves's help or without it—Sirius would find a way to kill God.

And maybe mount her head on a pike, on top of Gryffindor tower.

Any cognisance, any recognition of reality Peeves might have had mere moments ago vanished, evaporated before Remus's eyes. Peeves began swaying in a non-existent breeze, oblivious to everything but the rhythm and meter of the universe.

"No one knows what lies ahead, when gods and kings and dogs lie dead."

"Answer the question," Sirius growled. "How do I kill a god?"

In his heart of hearts, Remus knew Peeves wasn't going to answer.

Things could never be that easy.

"How can he ever face another?" Peeves intoned, his voice rising with every beat. "The death-marked prince has damned his brother!"

Remus saw the life drain from Sirius's eyes. His words were almost stolen on the next breath of air. "What did you say?"

Peeves just laughed.

Magic—raw and wild and unconquerable—sparked around Sirius, danced on his fingers, and set his eyes ablaze. Remus felt it, prickling the hair on the back of his neck, whispering to his very soul.

If ever Remus saw a creature, mortal or otherwise, who was born to withstand the wrath of both gods and men, it'd be Sirius Black.

Christ, he was beautiful.

"Stop it!" Sirius snarled, a mass of rage and ruin. "Just fucking stop. You've had your fun. Now answer the damned question or fuck off! Enough with the fucking riddles—"

With that, Peeves struck, equal parts malice and annihilation.

"Every Riddle sounds the same

But maybe Riddle is but a name

I know his face, know his plan

Know he seeks to rule this land

Hail, the soldiers damned to war

Riddle, thy name be Vol—"

"Enough!" Sirius roared, and Peeves swallowed that last word before either of them heard it. "Fuck you and your stupid, pointless games! Just… stay away from me. And Remus. And fucking all of us. Keep our names off your bloody lips and out of your bloody rhymes, or so help me, I will find a way to exorcise you and send you to the gates of hell myself."

Peeves just grinned, flashing yellow, pointed teeth. Madness and vengeance crackled across his features.

With a flick of his wrist—outstretched so as to assert a little more control and finesse—Sirius summoned his tome from the ground, once more cradling it with both hands to his chest, now seemingly oblivious to its weight.

Sirius inclined his head towards a set of stairs Remus was fairly certain hadn't been there a minute ago. "Come on, Remus."

Remus followed, because, when it came to Sirius Black, he could—forever and always—do nothing else.